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Justice for a Thief

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Justice For a Thief by Lizbeth Dusseau

Escaping her miserable family and abandoning the man she loves, the young Rebecca Coverdale trades a noblewoman’s life for a life of crime. She joins a scoundrel thief for a dangerous spree of thieving and sexual indulgence.

When she’s caught red-handed at her dangerous games, she faces ruthless bare-bottom punishment. Soon, she’s on the run, attempting escape the justice she deserves. Her own worse enemy, Rebecca’s crimes compound and she’s eventually imprisoned, later forced into service as a slavish wench in a fancy London brothel.

Even though her strong-willed nature fights her terrible fate, she finds a strange sort of pleasure in submitting to strong men and her rampant sexual desires.

This story includes intense, graphic punishment scenes in prison, before gawking audiences, and in intimate moments with her lovers. A story both Spanking and BDSM fiction readers will enjoy. In addition to straps, canes, paddles and over-the-knee spanking included are graphic sex, bondage and anal sexuality as Rebecca’s wild misadventures to reclaim her freedom unfold.

Weight 0.99 lbs
Artist Credit

Cover Art Oliver Sved, shutterstock.com

Publish Date

Revised Edition 2013

Page Count

174

Word Count

55827

Excerpt

She gritted her teeth and ignored the crowd, the excited murmurs, the crass chuckling, the coughs, the whispers and the tittering of one insipid woman. Pushing her britches to her knees, Rebecca’s bare behind came into view—two roundish globes of pearly flesh with dimples puckering at the top, depending on how far she bent. Though she held her thighs tightly clenched together, there was no way to avoid exposing her pubic curls and the plump labia of her female mound. The innkeeper, sufficiently pleased with her compliance, eimmediately grabbed for her wrists, and bound them in front of her, fixing the loose end of the rope to a piece of metal embedded in the far end of the stone hearth. Her ankles remained free of binding, but were nonetheless bound by her leather britches which settled in a clump at her feet. All modesty stripped away, she lay against the dusty stone vulnerable to the attack of these ghouls, whose sense of justice required her to endure this trial. Perhaps she’d earned it—perhaps this was fate catching up with her—for all her near scrapes, for all the pilfering, while laughing at those too stupid to know they were being taken for their jewels and coin. It was a life too good perhaps to avoid some reparations for the damage done.

“The girl’s been caught masquerading as a boy, a thief we presume though that cannot be proven.” The innkeeper spoke to the crowd as though it was necessary to explain. “She was found in the room of the Lady Oden in the middle of the night, looking suspiciously like she intended to the rob this noblewoman of her jewelry.”

As Rebecca listened to her sentence, she smiled to herself, appreciating the fact that this was truly just a minor setback in the exuberant pursuit of her occupation. If they only knew the whole truth.

“It’s been agreed that a good thrashing should suffice to set things aright—so we can all go on our way in peace.” As the innkeeper spoke, Rebecca’s remorseful reconsideration of her life during her woeful night fled. If she were going to the gallows at this hour, she’d go smiling. That was how fine she felt.

“This is not a task I relish. If there is any in this company that believes him proper to administer a thrashing to a wayward child of God, please take this task from me. It requires a strong arm that I no longer have—though I’d be determined, for the Lady Oden’s sake, to see it’s carried out properly.” He gazed about looking for volunteers.

Rebecca had even more reason to rejoice, noting the innkeeper’s lack of enthusiasm for the task; but of course she wouldn’t reveal the silly mirth that was almost turning the spectacle into a frivolous joke. There was silence in the crowd for some minutes as the innkeeper waited for someone to take up his challenge. Rebecca breathed easily feeling quite sure no one would answer his request. But just as she figured the old man had given up—someone spoke.

“I could do the deed, if it is so painful for you!” The voice rang out.

“Sir!” the innkeeper turned about and so did Rebecca, hearing a familiar voice.

Ellerby!

“Whom might you be?” the Lady Oden was the next to speak, appraising the commoner who conducted himself with the simple grace of a nobleman.

“I am this girl’s older brother. I assure you, she not only needs to be thrashed for having breached your sacred boudoir, milady, she has run away from her duties at home. She deserves what she’ll receive today, many times over. If I could make reparations here—apply the discipline soundly—I’d then take the brat back home with me where our father will deal with her one more time, and make certain that she doesn’t fall into her shameful life again.”

“How fortunate that you happened on this scene,” Lady Oden remarked suspiciously.

“Do you distrust me, ma’am?” Ellerby charmed her with an appealing expression of sincerity.
“I cannot be certain,” the lady retorted, “Though true, all it takes is a strong hand to compensate me for my trial. If you can do that, I doubt I have any other claim on her. I certainly don’t care what fate befalls her. If the innkeeper is in agreement, please go ahead.” She turned back as Ellerby moved forward to be handed the leather.

“I’m much obliged,” the old man said as he passed on the task. “Seems perhaps a good solution has come here, being able to dispense with the girl in a manner that should serve her well.”

“I’m not sure my sister would agree with you,” Ellerby remarked, eyes twinkling mightily. Rebecca fumed as she listened to the exchange. The man’s insufferable wit was disgusting. How could he have found her? There must be a tale in this one—and she was sure she’d know soon enough. “But I assure you, she’ll be out of your hair and off your hands once I’m finished.”

The innkeeper nodded.

Rebecca kept her eyes focused on the gritty fireplace in front of her, on the close inspection of the darkened stones—perhaps for the first time truly noting the distinct changes made by such use. It was a feast for her imagination to think about the hulking brutes who worked at the anvil, hammering shoes for horses, and branding irons and metal pieces of all descriptions. She remembered the trade most distinctly by one smithy she’d taken a fancy to at home. He was a mighty fellow she’d fucked just once when she was angry with Duncan—sort of the thing to throw in his face. And she made certain that he knew about her fling, giving him a description in complete detail of how the man had swooped her up in his bare massive arms and taken her to his bed, where a teaming cock ventured into her cunny with the artistry of the finest painter, or most accomplished musician. He knew how to toy with a woman’s privates—he knew their moods by instinct. His lips could flutter exquisitely at her doorway, playing in the path of desire a bit wistfully, like he was making music himself—right there, right at her clitoris—the instrument of tunes and body melodies. With his delicate grace, on the tip of his tongue, he brought her one climax after another, one swooning heat of passion. She could have cleaved to the brute forever for the delicious pleasure. And yet, his cock was far too big to please a woman; she had to be in the throes of a climax to open enough to allow him entry. He filled her full, certainly, but the force with which he pummeled her—his own desire having become dangerously potent from all the foreplay of woman’s cumming body—was difficult to absorb with any kind of reasonable welcome.

Thwack!

The first strike of the strap came crashing down on Rebecca’s ass. She jumped from the past, painfully shocked back to the present and a pain so demanding, she could concentrate on nothing else.

“Yeeeeaawwwww,” she screamed.

A half dozen strikes quickly followed. Ellerby launched the strap like a man with a sacred mission. Standing six feet back, he unfurled its great length so it snapped and danced against Rebecca’s fair skin, turning it a wild and torturous shade of horror. That crimson was as exhilarating for the crowd as it was painful for the chastised girl. She wriggled, no other choice, her body could not passively withstand this agony. Ellerby would know that if he backed off some, if he thrashed her with a degree of finesse, she might find the sensations warming like she had before. But no! He was methodically delivering what the Lady and the innkeeper expected—a punishment, a chastisement, as brutal a whipping as he could conscientiously lay on this dishonorable soul. He executed Rebecca’s trial with the disposition of a practiced disciplinarian—something that encouraged the injured Lady to believe she was truly being compensated for the crime of being awakened in the middle of the night by a suspicious intruder. There was satisfaction for her, satisfaction for the innkeeper—knowing that he was dispensing justice adequately—and satisfaction for Ellerby, seeing many months worth of grievances get their due with this unforeseen accident of fate.

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