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    Cleanseth Away Evil
    Cleanseth Away Evil
    Cleanseth Away Evil
    Ebook61 pages43 minutes

    Cleanseth Away Evil

    By Michael Pockley

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    “You want me to bare my bottom, bend over your knee and let you spank me?”
    Almost apologetic, she clarified, “You do have a choice.”
    “Ah. No, thank you.” The beauty of good manners—they could solve anything.
    “The choice is either you take the punishment, or I leave you.”

    In marriage, what is the relationship between love and discipline?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBeaten Track Publishing
    Release dateAug 2, 2021
    ISBN9781786455048
    Cleanseth Away Evil

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      Book preview

      Cleanseth Away Evil - Michael Pockley

      Cleanseth Away Evil

      Cleanseth Away Evil

      Michael Pockley

      Beaten Track Logo

      Beaten Track

      www.beatentrackpublishing.com

      Cleanseth Away Evil

      SMASHWORDS EDITION

      First published 2021 by Beaten Track Publishing

      Copyright © 2021 Michael Pockley at Smashwords

      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 publisher, nor be otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

      The moral right of the author has been asserted.

      Paperback ISBN: 978 1 78645 503 1

      eBook ISBN: 978 1 78645 504 8

      Cover Art: Debbie McGowan

      Beaten Track Publishing,

      Burscough, Lancashire.

      www.beatentrackpublishing.com

      You want me to bare my bottom, bend over your knee and let you spank me?

      Almost apologetic, she clarified, You do have a choice.

      Ah. No, thank you. The beauty of good manners—they could solve anything.

      The choice is either you take the punishment, or I leave you.

      In marriage, what is the relationship between love and discipline?

      Note: This story includes use of terms, as a means of portraying character development, which may cause offence to some readers. The characters’ views are not those of the author or publisher.

      Contents

      Saturday, 6th June: 9 a.m.

      Saturday, 6th June: 9:15 a.m.

      Saturday, 6th June: 10:30 a.m.

      Saturday, 6th June: 11 a.m.

      Saturday, 6th June: 11:30 a.m.

      Saturday, 6th June: 11:45 a.m.

      Saturday, 6th June: noon

      Saturday, 6th June: 12:30 p.m.

      Saturday, 6th June: 2:30 p.m.

      Saturday, 6th June: 4 p.m.

      Saturday, 6th June: 6 p.m.

      Saturday, 6th June: 10 p.m.

      Sunday, 7th June: 8 a.m.

      Sunday, 7th June: 1:30 p.m.

      Sunday, 7th June: 5 p.m.

      Sunday, 7th June: 5:55 p.m.

      About the Author

      By the Author

      Beaten Track Publishing

      Saturday, 6th June: 9 a.m.

      You want me to drop my trousers?

      His cycling friends said Tom spoke with a plum in his mouth. If so, that morning the plum writhed with worms. Seated opposite his wife at the kitchen table, through hungover eyes he stared down at a neat, petite brunette while he, with rough stubble, curry-encrusted hair and a huge, chiselled head set upon vast shoulders, looked not so much a pillar of society as a disgraced boxer in a police photograph.

      Maria tried her best to ignore the trickle of drool that hung from his chin. The drool, she could not help but notice, was being hauled thin by gravity, stretching down and down until it clung to the tabletop. As he spoke, the drool swayed like the bass string on a guitar.

      Seriously?

      Yes. Her voice was a husky blend of certainty and fear.

      And my underpants?

      Yes.

      And bend over your knee and let you spank me?

      Saturday, 6th June: 9:15 a.m.

      Tom tried to swallow, but his taste buds were as sticky as a drying scab. He knew that the evening had started at The Cambridge Blue—he remembered the first few rounds—but afterwards, he feared, they might have wandered down Mill Road.

      It had been him, the road race team, plus Maria. The drinks had been on the team, their apology for dropping him as their sprinter. Fair enough. From the state of his head, they must have been extremely sorry. Either that, or he had stopped en route at a workshop to have his skull crushed in a vice.

      There was a vague recollection of it being wise to

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