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Thursday 12 June 2014

SpankingA2Z K is for Knightsbridge

K is for Knightsbridge

What or where is Knightsbridge, some of you might ask. Knightsbridge is an exclusive shopping and residential area of London. Probably most famous to us out of towners for Harrods or Harvey Nichols. Those sort of shops where if you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it. J Although Harrods does carry a good line of affordable socks so you can at least walk away with a bag bearing the name. Good marketing move that.
Knightsbridge is also the address of the fictitious Banbury’s Store in My Naughty Little Secret. Here's the opening paragraphs:


           I was standing in a stuffy, crowded tube, in killer heels and a slim-fitting, grey Calvin Klein suit, trying to keep my balance and at the same time, read the information I’d Googled on Banbury’s of Knightsbridge, the prestigious department store. Privately owned, almost one hundred years old, MD: Mr James Banbury. I tried to memorise major details from the last published accounts. I’d read it all before, but I didn’t want to be caught on the hop. I had a feeling in my gut that this job was going to be momentous, but, my God, I had no idea what it would lead me to.
            The building was impressive, four floors of classic majestic London architecture. Inside, the store was buzzing with life. I made my way to the fourth floor reception area and announced my arrival. I was ushered along a plush corridor and asked to take a seat in the waiting area until I was called. I was just settling myself when I noticed a silver-haired man ambling down the hall. He was tall with a portly figure and those red blotchy cheeks indicating high blood pressure, but his most striking feature was his cheerful demeanour. I couldn’t help but smile. He beamed his hello as he passed me and entered the office.
            A couple of moments later, a petite, glamorous lady approached me, introduced herself as Myra White, the personnel manager, and directed me into her office. The silver-haired man stood as I entered and offered me his hand.
            “Hello, I’m James Banbury; I’m pleased to meet you. Sigh-ob-han, is it?” He smiled apologetically at his inability to pronounce my name. He held my hand in his firm grip a little longer than was strictly necessary.

                “It’s pronounced shove-on, Siobhan Brennan,” I offered with amusement. “And I often wonder what my parents were thinking of when they named me; especially considering I was born in Harrow.” I saw his eyes crinkle up and figured my first impression in the corridor was probably correct: he was a good-humoured man. He offered me a seat right next to him at the round conference table.
            “Well, you certainly didn’t get your Irish brogue in Harrow,” he countered pleasantly. It was a good start and I could feel the tension slip out of my shoulders. He was extremely well spoken; it was obvious he had an expensive private school education and privileged background, but he was neither stuffy nor formal and I took an immediate liking to him.
            “No, that comes all the way from County Sligo; my parents moved back home shortly after I was born.”
            Before I knew it an hour had passed, and the interview was coming to a close. I noticed Myra said and asked very little, leaving it largely to James to garner the information, but I was careful to address my replies to both. James was charismatic, but I got the impression that Myra was a shrewd, smart woman and would have far more say in who was hired than she was letting on. She observed everything and the one or two occasions when she asked questions, they were astute and relevant, like which payroll packages I was familiar with and a few technical questions to test my proficiency on them. I asked a few questions about the organisation and then James finished up the interview. He confirmed it was ok to call my references before guiding me to the door with his hand on my back.
            It can be very hard to gauge an interview, but I had a good feeling about this. It was relaxed and I felt I’d had a good rapport with James. Maybe even a little too good. Myra was harder to judge. I was in high spirits as I left and decided to have a wander around the store after treating myself to mocha in the on-site coffee shop. The store had everything: home wares, ladies’ fashions, gent’s outfitters, a music department, an electrical department, and a hair and beauty salon. I went from department to department, taking it all in. I was absolutely staggered at the cost of some of the items. Bloody hell, women’s jeans costing over two hundred pounds, were they for real?
            I had wandered into the lingerie department and was holding a sexy silk basque and panties, debating whether or not I could afford them. Looking up, I was mortified to see James, and in his company was the most stunningly beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. He looked very irate and had started to say something in an abrupt tone to James, but James held up his hand to silence him.
            I could feel my cheeks redden as I quickly tried to discard the underwear. James didn’t seem to notice and he continued to address me, but it was obvious as hell the younger man had seen and was highly amused by my discomfiture, his own anger forgotten. Pig! He looked at the underwear, eyed me up and down and grinned lasciviously. The way he held his stare showed a steely nerve and almost defied me to react.
            I mustered up the dirtiest look I could, but the damn redhead colouring meant I was blushing furiously and I’m sure my attempt at a cold stare was ruined by my blazing cheeks. I drew myself up to my full but pathetic five foot two inches height and tried to look undaunted.
            “Miss Brennan, how lovely to see you again so soon. This is Michael Henrii, my s-s…er, new head of our buying department as of next Monday,” James introduced, touching my arm as he spoke.
            Michael offered his hand coolly, still eyeing me up and down. Oh, yes, he had confidence all right. One of those men who never doubted himself or his ability to attract women. Well, he was wasting his time on me. I’d seen the likes of him before and they were always more trouble than they were worth. I met his stare with as much stubborn defiance as I could muster, and spoke with much more confidence than I felt.
            “Hi, Michael, nice to meet you,” I lied graciously, as you do in these circumstances.
            “Hi yourself,” he answered in accented English, rolling his r.
            That explains it, I thought, he’s European, no wonder he seems so damn self-assured. It always amazed me how confident Europeans were. Neither the Irish nor the English seemed to have that innate self-belief that the mainlanders are born with. I briefly wondered what his story was, what brought him to England, and why he had been so angry, but James called my attention, stepped aside from Michael and spoke in a low voice.
            “Myra and I have been discussing the personnel assistant’s position and we’d like to offer you the job. Your offer letter is ready. We were going to get a courier to bring it to your house this afternoon, but as you are still here, perhaps you would pop back up to Myra’s office with me for a few minutes.”
            Yes, I thought triumphantly, it’s in the bag. I managed to restrain my excitement and calmly thank James. I agreed to go back upstairs with him, but it was most unusual to be asked to pick up an offer letter in person. James dismissed Michael, saying he needed a word with me in private. It was obvious from his dark expression that Michael was somewhat annoyed at being sent packing in the middle of their argument. But before he left, he boldly took my hand again, kissing it this time. Cheeky beggar; he had way too high an opinion of himself. Between James and Michael there was far too much touching going on for my liking. I’d have to go back to my old friend Google to make sure there were no unfair dismissals claims against the company.
          “I’ll look forward to seeing you again, Miss Brennan, au revoir,” he intonated, again staring me down. Ah, French, I thought without surprise.
            Coolly, I replied, “Siobhan, please.” I was feeling quite chuffed with my apparent composure, given his intimidation technique. 


From the moment she saw him on her first day at her new job in London, there was something about Michael which annoyed Siobhan Brennan… and something else that pulled her to this stunningly handsome man and his boldly arrogant personality. In spite of her misgivings she soon finds herself out on a date with him, and she is torn between a desire to defy him as often as possible and a deeper, more disturbing need to submit to him. It certainly doesn’t help that very embarrassing thoughts keep popping into her head uninvited: images of herself bent over, bare bottom on display, waiting for Michael to chastise her firmly.

It is not long before Siobhan, in a rash moment, actually dares Michael to spank her, only to find that he is more than up to the challenge of turning her naked backside bright red. To her horror, her sore behind only fuels the fire growing within her, and she is soon on her knees before him, blushing with shame yet needing him to take her and take her hard.

It is only afterwards that the couple must come to terms with what took place, and what it means for their relationship. Was this just a one-time event, something to be tried but never repeated, or will Siobhan find herself punished like a naughty girl again in the future? As scandalized as it makes her feel, in her heart she knows what she needs, but is Michael prepared to give it to her? And when she finds out that Michael has kept something important from her about his past and who he really is, will she be able to forgive him or will the revelation tear them apart forever?

Publisher’s Note: My Naughty Little Secret is an erotic novel that includes spankings, anal play, graphic sexual scenes, elements of BDSM, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book. 

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  1. I read your books twice as slow as most other books. I love the range of your vocabulary. Sometimes though, my dictionary is no help. So I'm asking you:
    'Irish brogue'? We don't get them much in Holland, but what is it?
    I really, really love the astute. Sometimes the word itself says what it is, even without a dictionary.

    Au revoir. No staring down. French.

    1. Hi Han,
      You probably get more Irish brogue in Holland than you realise, I think you have your share of Irish immigrants, we get everywhere! :D
      Brogue in this case means a lilting Irish accent.
      But it can also mean a shoe funnily enough. You know the heavy decorative shoes that pipers wear with kilts? That too is described as a brogue. Both come from different Irish words that somehow got absorbed into English with the same spelling, although the gaelic words are spelled differently but the pronunciation would have been pretty similar.

      A bientot :D

  2. Lovely first moment of attraction. I love the sound of an Irish accent.

  3. I have a friend named Siobhan and I will never look at her in the same way again. lol

  4. Tara, you are so talented! I loved the sample and I am reading Exile To Unity now, it's wonderful!!! Congrats, you tell a great story.

  5. great excerpt, Tara!
    I love the Irish brogue too. Mmm, sexy :)

  6. One thing about growing up in London with a parent who works on the Tube is that you end up knowing so much shit about the Underground.

    Knightsbridge is special; it is (now) the only Tube station with six consecutive consonants in its name. Why do I know this? It was on a quiz my Dad one Christmas. No idea why 20 years later I can still remember it! ;-)

    Oh, and sexy fantastic story! ;-)

    John (aka BawdyBloke)

  7. God, this was ages ago that I read it! It's nice to see it again and as all your books, love your style, love your stories and loved this trip to another part of the world.