EXCERPT: "Hot to Trot", to be Released April 1!

HOT TO TROT BY BARRIE ABALARD, COMING APRIL 1 FROM LOOSE-ID!

Exes Patti North and Dylan Decker adore each other. Her problem? He cheated. His problem? Her temper. Fixing things will take more than spankings and hot sex, though that’s a good start.

Patti’s afraid to let Dylan back in her life, but, broke and desperate, she takes a job at the company he co-founded. Still lusting for him, she also yearns for some old-fashioned attitude adjustment—that is, a good spanking—over Dylan’s lap. Being childhood friends, they share memories and values. But Patti feels she can’t trust Dylan, and that pisses her off, which leads her to act rashly—and that pisses him off.

Dylan works at convincing Patti that he’s really changed and ready for monogamy. Hot spanking and sizzling sex erupts between them repeatedly, only for something to break them apart. A climactic scene in “Hot’lanta” that has Dylan spanking Patti for her temper leads to his claiming her back door. But can this contentious, lusty romance end happily?

HOT TO TROT, set in the sometimes funny-weird world of Boston high-tech, tells the story of two exes who still adore each other—and still annoy each other—more than any other twosome on the planet.

GALLEY EXCERPT FROM HOT TO TROT BY BARRIE ABALARD. COPYRIGHT 2008 BY BARRIE ABALARD. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

By the time six rolled around, I was as tired as a hound after a day’s hunt. I packed to go home, figuring I’d do a little work-related reading after dinner. A software worker’s job never seems to end -- there are always new releases, new deadlines, or new must-have features to incorporate. I considered the amount of time I would have to put in every day to do my job properly -- more than eight most days.

I wanted to start taking night courses that would lead to a graduate degree in Human Factors in Information Design. My resume would look fabulous with a master’s degree, and the topics interested me. But working for a start-up, even a reasonably established one like DD Technology, meant you didn’t keep banker’s hours. Finding time to groom and ride Flash would be difficult enough, let alone taking on the challenge of grad school after hours. I know, we software workers are usually paid well and have some perks that lots of industries don’t have, such as flex time, working from home, decent insurance, and so on. But believe me, we work for it.

My boss Dave was still in his office with the door closed, but Bonnie and Betty’s cubicles were vacant. I was trudging out of my own cube when Dylan phoned.

“Ms. North, I think you’d better report to my office.”

His distant tone made me shiver. What had I done now? “Yes, sir.”

I hurried down the halls, a little worried that he’d found a peach tree nearby. His door was closed. I knocked.

“Yeah?”

I poked my head around the door. “You, uh, called me?”

He stood, toying with a mean-looking wooden ruler. “Sit down.”

I sat in the chair opposite his desk. He walked around his desk to perch on its front edge, two feet away, and loomed over me. He whacked his palm with the ruler while he spoke.

“What we have to do, Ms. North, is find the underpants.”

Huh?

“Do you follow me?” Dylan asked.

“Not really,” I said. Has he gone totally nutso?

“You mean you don’t watch South Park? I figured you for a fan. You always liked Beavis and Butthead.”

He kept smacking the ruler against his hand. That, plus talk of underpants, made me hyperventilate.

“Nuh, no, I watch South Park sometimes, but I don’t follow you. Underpants?”

“You didn’t see the classic episode featuring the underpants gnomes?”

I could only stare. He must have finally flipped.

“Y’see, hon, these guys called the underpants gnomes sneaked into kids’ rooms at night and stole underpants, because the gnomes had a plan: find underpants and make a profit. However, they were hung up on exactly how to get from underpants to profit. Basically, the entire episode was a wacky lecture about capitalism. At any rate, you and I know how to get from underpants to profit. What we don’t know is how to find enough underpants to sell.”

I stood. “Dylan, excuse me for saying so, but what the hell is this all about?”

Wagging the ruler in my face, he ordered, “Sit down. I’m not done.”

I sat, bottom twitching in fear. He was definitely on something weirder than coffee. I sniffed a little, trying to detect a telltale odor on his breath.

“So, as I was sayin’, we need to find more underpants. In our case, it means more features for the latest version of our bread-and-butter product. Would you like to help with the effort?”

“I, uh, guess so.” I thought I smelled bourbon. Maybe he was a little drunk. Best to humor him.

“It’s settled, then. I’m going to add your name to the list of employees who meet once a week to brainstorm how we can make the product better for our customers. More underpants to sell means more profits. Right?”

“Uh, whatever you say, sir.” Nah, smelled more like bourbon mixed with paint thinner. Maybe gin? But when the hell had he started drinking gin?

“In the brainstorming meeting, you can feel free to trash the product all you want. I won’t be there.” His grin split his face in two, and the penny dropped.

“Dylan, is this impromptu session your way of punishing me for my faux pas in today’s project meeting? Scaring me to death, talking about underpants, and waving that ruler around?”

“Were you afraid I might use this ruler on you, with or without underpants?” He smiled like a fox inside a henhouse when the farmer’s not home. I swear, in another minute, he’d begin licking his chops.

“Wasn’t that the idea, to get me to think that?” Anger began to simmer inside me.

“Oh, yes. And it worked.” He laughed for a moment, then said, “You looked ready to bolt any minute.”

I stood, psychically spanked and privately oh-so-thoroughly humiliated. I forced bravado into my voice. “Well, I wasn’t that scared. Mostly, I thought you had gone around the bend.”

“Crazy?”

“Of course. All that talk about underpants and profit. Really.” I sniffed to punctuate my statement.

He aimed the ruler at my derriere. I jumped out of the way, and he laughed again. “Now, you’re upset, the way I was upset earlier. That means we’re even.”

I was halfway to the door when he said, “Listen, I have a proposal for you.”

His expression was full of longing. I began to feel less upset with him for the trick he’d played on me, but I wasn’t about to let him know that -- yet. “Yeah?”

“Call me crazy, but I think we can have the best of both worlds, kind of like we did at lunch today.”

I smiled. “You mean you want me to dump water on you?”

He suddenly found the markings on the ruler intensely interesting. A shy Dylan was a new-to-me Dylan. “Actually, I was thinking more like I could spank you now and then. You know, because it used to be so much fun. And hot, it was hot, like at lunch.” Now his gaze lasered into mine. “What do you say, ’Cakes?”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, to shake my tits in his face and laugh, telling him to dream on.

But, oh, brother, having Dylan again in that way, well, beads of sweat popped out on my brow at the thought. No one was beating down my door to offer me a spanking or sex or anything else delicious. Hmm.

“Um, and how would we keep this -- activity -- separate from work?” I found the strength to ask. God knows how.

He groaned. “Hell, I don’t know. If you say yes, we’ll find a way. I promise. And I’ll make sure I’m never the one to do your performance reviews or have authority over your status here, promotions, firing, whatever. I’ll stay completely away from areas involving your career. Just let me spank that wonderful ass of yours on a regular basis.”

With that, he dropped to his knees, singing out, “Pleeeeaaase,” his palms pressed together in supplicating prayer.

I giggled. “You’re a hoot, Dyl. You always were.”

“I’m serious about this. Will you?”

I looked into those damned green eyes of his, thought about how hot spanking got me, and of how hot his spanking got me, and of how long it had been since I’d had a proper one, with all the bells and whistles. The lunchtime swats didn’t really count.

I took a deep breath, exhaled, then said, “All right.”

He cleared his desk faster than anyone I’d ever seen, literally pushing most of the stuff onto the carpet with two sweeps of his arm. “Lock the door, sugar, then c’mere, and bend over the desk. I don’t have a good chair for over-the-knee. I’ll put that on my list of things to acquire in the next twenty-four hours.”

I did as he ordered, a lump building in my throat while I threw the lock and walked to the desk. Bending over and placing my palms on the surface, I said, “And, um, exactly what are you going to spank me for?”

He smiled, the kind of not-nice smile he always wore when he intended to get medieval on my heinie. “I think humiliating the hell out of me in today’s meeting would be a good reason.”

I felt my pussy contract. Wet already, and ready for action. “And what are you going to spank me with?”

“Oh, how about…the ruler?”

“Ahh!” was my gasped reply. Flat, wooden things are my favorite, next to a nice, hard palm.

He peeled up my skirt, slowly, as a tease. I heard him make a sound of approval and knew he liked seeing me in the thigh-high stockings instead of pantyhose. Then he hooked his fingers into my panties at the waist.

“Ms. North,” he said, using his most exaggerated drawl, “you know, darlin’, that I always, always, discipline naughty young ladies’ tender areas on the bare.”

I closed my eyes and let his words take me away while I waited for the kiss of the wood.

When the ruler landed on my sitting area, the sting was worse than anything he’d meted out at the restaurant. “Jesus H!” I cried out.

He whacked me again, this time searing my upper thighs. Oh, I hate having my thighs spanked. I hate it so much, and yet, I felt about three whacks away from coming. “Owww, no fair, no thigh spanking.”

“I think, after what you pulled in the meeting, you have no right to talk about what’s fair, Ms. North.” His voice dipped into a growl, and my pussy squeezed again. God, this man was the total package -- great spanker, great fucker, and the best head-trip giver I’ve ever experienced.

Three more times, hard and fast, the flat wood punished my seat. By then, I was bouncing on my toes, moaning from the smart and the arousal.

He walloped me another three times, in the same place, and damned if it wasn’t starting to really, really hurt. I danced a little more, bouncing my butt up and down in a vain attempt to ease the sting. I knew better than to throw a hand back to rub the pain away. Doing that always earned extra swats from Mr. Decker.

After that, I kind of grayed out with lust, as the ruler tattooed my bottom. Damned if he wasn’t awfully good at spanking the same place over and over, the way he always had been. The thought that I might still be a little sore the next morning from such treatment, well, mmm, it enhanced the experience, the whole damn hurtin’-so-good experience.

“Patti,” he whispered just before he laid his fingers on me between my legs. I moaned and twitched my pelvis, hoping he’d take it to mean yes.

“Ohhh, ’Cakes,” he said, and then the touch of a quick, hot tongue between the folds of my pussy took me away. I spread my legs as wide as they would go and pressed my front onto the desk while he made love to me, licking lightly at first, then licking with more pressure, and finally sucking my clit between his lips.

This son of a bitch, I thought, gives the best head I’ve ever had.

By the end, I was fucking his mouth until, with hot rockets shooting through my veins and my pussy on fire, I damn near passed out from the orgasm. While my shooting stars faded, he walked to his chair, sat, and gave me a look. I knew what that look meant. It’s a good thing I like to suck cock.

With my skirt still hiked to my waist and my panties around my ankles, I hobbled to the chair and knelt. “Sure I can’t talk you into a fuck?” I asked, looking up at him in an adoring-slave way.

He shook his head. “God, don’t tempt me. We shouldn’t even be doing this.”

“You knew what you were starting when you offered to spank me.” I let my tone be singsong, as if I were scolding him.

He looked at me over the tops of those nerdy glasses, grumbling, “Just suck my damned cock, Ms. North. And you’d better be good at it, or you’ll get another taste of the ruler. Or maybe even my belt.”

My nipples, which had been stiff ever since he had asked me if I wanted a spanking, puckered so hard they ached. He smiled. “Maybe you shouldn’t wear that clingy sweater -- with that bra -- to work again. I can see your nipples plain as day.”

He reached down, tickling each one once. “You bastard,” I breathed, feeling my pussy come alive. “Don’t touch them unless you plan to fuck me.”

He sat back in the chair, perfectly relaxed except for the enormous hard-on tenting his pants. “Ooo, Little Miss Well-Spanked is threatening me. I’m soooo scared.”

I wanted to shake him up a little, make him reveal how turned on he was. So, I moved my mouth to his zipper, and pulled it down using my teeth.

His expression went from smug to shocked, and I could see his cock pulse through the fabric while I tugged on the zipper, taking my damned sweet time. Once it was all the way down, I put my mouth to the opening and used my tongue to find his shaft.

“Jesus Christ,” he said when my tongue touched him for the first time, and I smiled. I’d finally shaken the composure of Mr. Decker. With his cock still technically inside his pants, I nibbled my way to the head, teasing the hole.

“Ms. North,” he moaned, “you’ll suck my cock now, or, honest to God, I’m going outside and finding a nice tree switch to take the skin off your behind -- and off your thighs, too. And, after that, you’ll still have to suck my cock.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I smarted off, but I recognized Dylan’s don’t-push-me-further voice. He would go outside, find a switch, and flay me alive with it. I know, because he did, once. I’ll never call his bluff again, not when he’s talking switches, which I truly do hate, and not with the sort-of-hate-even-though-it-turns-me-on kind of hate.

I started to reach for him, so I could take him out of his pants, but he said, “No. Use your mouth, with your hands clasped behind your back. And you’d best remember that tree switch.”

I obeyed. It took me a minute or two to fully get him into my mouth without my hands to help, but once I did, I Hoovered him.

He fucking adored it. I know he did, because he put his hands on my head so he could move it himself, all the while fucking my mouth. He was treating me like his little spanking slut, and it took me back, God knew. Dying to touch my pussy so I could come again, I kept my hands firmly clasped behind me. When he was in Mr. Decker mode, and threatening the switch, it was best to obey.

Not to mention it felt so goddamned good to obey. My head trip was in the stratosphere.

He cried out, so loudly I started. I swallowed every drop of his cum while he bucked his hips for a very long time. After he removed his hands from my head, eyes closed, he smiled. “Good girl, Patti. Very good. Now, run along home and take care of your sore behind, before I reconsider and go find that tree switch.”

“But I was good. I did everything you asked.” My protest was pro forma, part of the fun.

He patted the top of my head. “Have a nice night, Ms. North. Go on home and jerk off while fucking yourself with your biggest dildo and dream about my enormous cock. I know you want to.”

I did exactly as he ordered me to, butt delightfully, uncomfortably sore on my ride home.

GALLEY EXCERPT FROM HOT TO TROT BY BARRIE ABALARD. COPYRIGHT 2008 BY BARRIE ABALARD. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.