Awesome Authors Presents Ashe Barker

Hardened by Ashe Barker

Chapter Two

I let out my breath, though I’m careful not to let her know I was holding it. Right up to the moment Molly dropped her pants for me, I expected her to bolt for the door. Usually so confident and assertive, the delectable Miss MacBride is completely vulnerable as she stands before me with her trousers around her knees. She hasn’t said as much, but I can read her well enough to be certain this is new to her, her first spanking. I consider myself a lucky man, and I have no intention of blowing this now.

“Would you turn up the volume of the radio?” I tilt my chin toward the TV sitting on the small chest of drawers beside my bunk. Molly obeys me, adjusting the sound to a level likely to at least mask any noise we might make.

I pat my lap, urging her to lay herself across my thighs. Having brought her to this point it’s best to move this on briskly now, not least because we have limited time and I have no intention of rushing at the end. Also in my experience a new submissive requires direction and firm control to get her past the initial shyness and insecurity. From the way she’s trembling in front of me it’s clear that Molly MacBride is painfully shy about what’s going to happen to her and is racked with nerves.

“You don’t have to do this, you do know that? Yesterday’s over and done with, there’ll be no hard feelings.” She’s scared, but it’s taken courage and determination to get this far. I doubt she’ll back out now, but I have to ask.

“I know that. I… I want this. I want you to do this. Please, be quick.” She throws herself forward to dangle across my lap, her stomach on my thighs and her head just off the floor. She grabs hold of my ankle to steady herself. Her trousers are down, but her crisp white cotton shirt is quite long at the back and covers her bottom. I leave that for now as I arrange her more securely. It would never do for her to fall. I lift my knee a little to elevate her bottom—I prefer her pretty little cheeks to be nice and high for what I have in mind.

My cock has been stiffening since she first uttered the words ‘I’m sorry,’ and is rock solid now. She can’t but be aware of my monster boner nudging her waist as I pull her in close and slide my leg over both of hers to trap her in position. I’m not really expecting a struggle, and if she asks me to I’ll let her up anyway, but a firm approach usually pays dividends. No woman wants to be spanked by a man who doesn’t seem to mean business. Well, that’s been my observation anyway. Sure enough, almost as soon as I take charge she settles and her body relaxes.

I take hold of the hem of her shirt between my fingers. “May I?”

She nods, and tenses again. I lift her shirt to reveal her perfect, round bottom, still covered in her pristine white, sheer lace knickers. It’s all I can do to not shoot my load right here and now. I have never seen anything quite so fucking beautiful in my life. Who would have dreamed such a treat lay beneath those serviceable prison-issue trousers? If this little adventure means I end up spending the remainder of my sentence in solitary with the sex offenders and violent psychopaths, it’ll have been worth it. Pity about the parole though.

I shove that unwelcome thought aside. “This is a bare-bottom spanking. Molly. Nothing else counts. I love your taste in underwear, but we need to lose the knickers too.” I hook my fingers into the elastic at the top of her panties, and though my words are issued as a statement, we both know I’m seeking permission.

She nods again, and I slide the lace over her buttocks to settle around her knees with the trousers, then take a moment to admire the peachy loveliness of her heart-shaped bottom.

I cup the lower curve of one cheek in my hand, comparing the pale tone of her skin to the darker shade of mine. Her arse is smooth, unblemished, the flesh firm to my touch. Her muscles contract under my hand as she clenches. I squeeze and caress her curves, first one cheek then the other, and I wait from her to soften again. Several moments pass as I caress her trembling buttocks, then she seems to simply sag across my lap as she sinks into this.

Fucking perfect.


“Yes.” Her reply is breathy but unequivocal.

“If you need me to stop, just say so. Okay?”

“Don’t I need a safeword?”

Ah, not a complete novice then. “If you like, though I’ll hear you if you just say you’ve had enough. Or if I think you’ve reached your limit.”


I’m touched by her trust in me and oddly humbled by it. If I were a less sex-starved and rather nobler man, I’d probably not lay a hand on her at all. Perhaps it’s better for both of us that I’m a selfish bastard and though I take my responsibilities as a dom seriously enough, I’m no saint and I’ll take submission where I can find it. Here, for example, draped across my knees, waiting.

I deliver the first slap, not especially hard, and I follow it with a firm rub to soothe the pain away. Molly lets out a soft sigh, her buttocks clench hard, then she relaxes under my hand. I repeat, this time on the other side, then pick up the tempo a little as I drop light spanks over both cheeks. Her firm bottom quivers with each spank, and quickly blushes to a pale rosiness followed by a deeper pink. As I build the pressure and make the slaps harder she starts to squeak and squeal, wriggling a little but never trying to avoid my hand.

Her buttocks are a bright, flaming crimson by the time I pause, but Molly makes no attempt to get up.

“Do you want more?” Christ, I hope so, but for her first time this has already been quite an introduction to the not-so-gentle art of kink.

“Yes. Please.”

Her voice is shaky but clear enough. I’m happy to continue if she is. I intend to push her to her limit or as close as I can get. She’ll leave here sore, a bit confused probably, but still craving more.

“I’d like to use my belt. Is that all right?”

“Oh, I’m not sure…”

“Yes, you are. Remember, I’ll stop whenever you tell me you’ve had enough.”

“Okay then, just for a bit…”

I don’t bother to correct that. In truth, I’ll be the one deciding how much she needs, unless she calls a full stop to the proceedings, but I think that’s unlikely. I’ve never had a subbie safeword on me yet. I ease her forward slightly so I can reach the buckle of my belt. I slide it from the loops of my jeans and fold it into a double thickness, clasping the buckle within my hand.

“Ten strokes with the belt, okay? You can count them if you like.”

Her response is a breathy squeak, and she grabs my ankle again. I pull back my arm and take the first swing.

Molly lets out a yelp and her entire body jerks. I watch as the darker crimson line of the belt blooms across her right buttock, pausing to allow her to process the sensation and to settle again. It takes several seconds, then when she becomes still I drop the next stroke across her left cheek.

Molly flinches, but there is no sound this time. Neither is she counting, at least not out loud. I wait for a few moments, then deliver two more strokes in quick succession. This does elicit a sharp cry, and I half expect her to ask me to stop. She’s shuddering, and her grip tightens on my leg, but as the seconds pass there are no words of defeat or surrender from her. I allow her ample time to call a halt if she wants to, then I repeat the two strokes.

Molly manages to stifle a squeal, for which I am grateful. I suspect we are both mindful of the men milling about just on the other side of the cell door and neither of us wants to attract attention. Had I had longer in which to plan this scene I would have certainly opted for a more secluded setting, but we are where we are. Next time, perhaps…

I apply two more strokes with my belt, gathering in intensity now. Molly is absorbing the pain well, riding it like a natural. She is tense, still rigid across my lap, but if anything, she has lifted her cute bottom up for me to spank. I can only guess at what else might be going on in her head, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that she’s loving what I’m doing to her.

“These will be the last two. They’re going to be across the backs of your thighs and they’ll really hurt. If you think you might scream tell me now and I’ll find you a gag.”

“No, thank you. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

“Good girl.” I spend a few moments stroking her flaming buttocks, the heat radiating up into my palm. Molly makes a sound deep in her throat, which I swear sounds like a purr to me. I continue the sensual caress, pressing my hand into her punished skin to better drive home the experience, to draw out for her that heady mix of pain and pleasure that will set the endorphins coursing freely through her system. This is why I didn’t want to rush.

“Are you ready?” I murmur.

“Yes,” she replies, pressing her bottom into my hand.

I draw my palm lower, down over the curve to stroke the backs of her legs, the crease where her bottom meets her thighs. This is the sweet spot I am about to thrash. I rub her there as I lean to my right, just enough to get a decent view of her pussy lips peeking out from between her legs. She is swollen, glistening, the moisture betraying her arousal. I trail my thumb along the length of her slit, ready to withdraw at the slightest protest from her. She submitted to a spanking, no more, and I won’t push her.

Molly gasps, but doesn’t pull away from me. Encouraged but still cautious I angle my hand so I can push my thumb between her folds to reach her clit. She parts her legs and lifts her bottom up. I require no further urging. Her clit is plump, swollen with her arousal. I take it between my finger and thumb and squeeze, gentle at first then firming up the pressure.

Molly is squirming on my lap, wriggling and writhing as she seeks to direct the touch to her sensitive tip. I know just what she needs, and have no intention of allowing her to set the pace now. I trail my fingertips around her clit, then flick the end. I swipe it from side to side, then from the bottom to the top. She is panting, thrusting her hips back, wordlessly begging me for her release.

She is there, right at the top, hovering at the edge of the precipice. I tease her for several moments, bringing her almost to the point of no return, then allowing her to slide back down. Her breath has been transformed into soft, sobbing gulps and her thighs are spread wide. When I am convinced she can take no more, I lift my hand from her.

“Close your legs, Molly.” I issue the command and wait for her to comply. She’s reluctant, but gloriously obedient even so. I transfer my belt back into my right hand ready for the final two strokes.

I thrash her across both thighs.

“Aagh!” Despite her good intentions Molly lets out a scream. I expected this, but even so, she did promise me that she would be quiet.

“Molly, I can still gag you.”

“I’m sorry, Jared, truly. I won’t make a sound next time.” She sounds so contrite I can’t help but smile.

“Good. Make sure you don’t or I’ll add on more strokes to help you learn that I mean what I say.” I keep my tone cool and clipped and the words stern because that’s what she needs. Molly MacBride is a natural submissive and she craves my authority and rigid control right now.

I drop the final stroke across her thighs, just below the first. She spasms hard, her entire body convulsing as she fights to absorb the pain. She shudders, her muscles softening as she lets it seep through her and away.

Even before she has finished processing the sensation I slide my hand back between her legs and rub her engorged clit. Her orgasm is instant, racking her body as I squeeze and tug on her sensitive nub. Her shudders, violent at first, subside but she is still trembling as I lift her from my lap and cradle her in my arms. She reaches up and locks her arms around my neck, her face buried in the dark grey fabric of my prison-issue T shirt.

I pull her in close and hold her. She is sobbing, her tears dampening my clothes. I rub my palm between her shoulder blades and kiss her short, sleek hair. It smells of apples, and something else. Cinnamon perhaps?

“You’re okay, I have you.”

She grasps me tighter for a few moments, then relaxes her grip. She lifts her face to look up at me.

Her eyelashes are spiky with tears, her cheeks flushed though nowhere nearer as pink as her bottom. Her trousers and those glorious scraps of lace that pass for knickers are still around her knees and as I shift my legs her sore buttocks are pressed against my jeans. Awareness of her discomfort flares in her eyes, though she does not protest. She gives a little shake of her head, as though recovering her senses and remembering where she is.

“I should go. My break…”

I glance at the clock. “You have a few minutes yet. How do you feel?”

Confusion flutters across her features. She grimaces. “Good. Bad. Christ, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Here we go. I smile at her. “But you did. And you enjoyed it, yes?”

She shakes her head, denial etched across her face. She opens her mouth to refute my conclusion but I lay a finger across her lips.

“Think carefully, and only say it if it’s true. Don’t lie to me, or to yourself, Molly. So, did you enjoy what we just did?”

She hesitates, then flattens her lips and nods. It’s brief, but the gesture is acknowledgement enough. I leave it there.

“Do you want to go?”

“I should. Really.”

She makes to get up from my lap but I hold her in place. “Not so fast. Just take a moment to let your head clear before you try to stand.” Molly would not be the first subbie whose knees gave out as soon as I let go of her. I prefer not to have to pick her up from the floor of my cell if I can help it.

She accepts my advice and we sit in something close to companionable silence for a couple of minutes. It is Molly who speaks first.

“I really do need to be getting back on the wing. Mr. Drummond will be looking for me soon.”

She’s right, sadly. I help her to her feet and pull her pants back up for her, then I fasten them. It’s an effort but I try not to grin too much when she hisses with pain as the sturdy, serviceable fabric of her uniform rubs against her tender skin.

I lean across her to retrieve her jacket from my bunk and pass it to her, just as all hell breaks loose outside.

* * * * *

Jesus, what’s all that din? There’s a horrendous crash right outside the cell, followed by shouts and the pounding of running feet. I thrust my arms into my jacket as I rush for the cell door. It doesn’t budge

“It’s locked. Give me your keys.” Jared holds out his hand, clearly expecting my compliance.

I shake my head, my prison officer sense of duty coming back to the fore with a vengeance now. “No, there’s trouble on the wing, I need to—”

“Give me the fucking keys, Molly.” His tone is harsh, demanding obedience.

I swallow and hand over the keys, then step back away from him. Gone is the gentle, almost lover-like persona of moments ago. The man now confronting me looks nothing short of deadly

“You stay there. Don’t move and don’t make a fucking sound.” He unlocks the door and opens it just a few inches then leans through to check outside. A moment later he hurls himself back inside the cell and slams the door shut. He turns the key in the lock, then pockets it.

“What’s going on? You have to let me out.” I dart back to the door to rattle the handle uselessly. “Give me my keys back. Now, or I’ll put you on report.” My head is filled with all manner of nightmare scenarios, the worst of which is the dawning belief that Jared North somehow duped me into staying in with him here whilst goodness knows what was happening outside. I am mortified, and more than a little terrified. My only weapon is bravado, and I pile it on thick as I advance on him. “Don’t make this any worse. Let me out now and we can say nothing more about this.”

North’s handsome mouth twists into parody of a smile. “Sweetheart, you won’t be in any position to say anything to anyone, ever again, if I let you go out there right now. There’s a full-blown riot kicking off, and if you blunder into the middle of it, you’re dead.”

“What?” I whirl to gape at the locked door, processing the shouts and crashes from the other side. The din is getting louder, the sound of splintering wood and breaking glass gaining ground over the raised voices. I leap back in shock when something big and heavy collides with the cell door. It rattles within the frame, but holds firm.

Jared pushes past me to press his ear up against the door. He turns back to me, his expression grim. “Just an accident, I think, probably a couple of dickheads trying to kill each other. Doesn’t sound as though they’re trying to batter their way in here. Yet.”

“Why would they?” I’m baffled, bewildered, desperately searching my recollections of basic training for any instructions on how to respond to this sort of eventuality. My mind’s a blank.

“If they realise there’s a screw trapped on the wing, they’ll use you as a hostage. If you’re lucky.”

“And if I’m not?”

He shakes his head. “Molly, don’t go there.”

His meaning is clear. I’m a woman, trapped among a bunch of violent, angry, resentful men, convicted criminals all of them, who make their contempt for the prison authorities evident at every opportunity. Jared’s right. I’m in a lot of trouble.

“No one but me knows you’re in here, and it’s best that lot doesn’t find out. We need to get you out, and quick.”

“The other officers will come looking for me. They’ll know I’m unaccounted for.”

“Probably, but they’ll have to get through that set of mad sods to find you. It’s more likely the screws’ll wait it out, see what happens when the food in here starts to run out or the lunatics get bored of smashing this place up.”

“But—that could be days.”

He nods, his expression grim. “I can’t see a locked cell door being ignored for that long, can you?”

“No, but—”

“I’ll get you out of here, but it’ll be better if we wait until everything calms down a bit.”

“How? How do you intend on doing that?”

“I have an idea. First though, we need to let the other screws know you’re safe, at least for now. You have a radio, right?”

“Yes.” I pull the receiver from the breast pocket of my jacket.

“Right. Get on it and tell whoever’s out there and listening that you’re safe and unhurt.”

“I’ll tell them I’m not hurt. I don’t feel exactly safe though.”

My companion gives a sardonic chuckle, then silently unlocks the door again. This time he opens it just the merest crack, but spends a few seconds carefully scanning the scene outside. He closes and locks it again then turns to me. He gestures to the radio, still silent in my hand. His meaning clear. Do as I say.

I keep my voice low as I speak into the microphone. “MacBride to control. Can anyone hear me?”

There’s crackle of static, then a voice booms out. “MacBride? Where the fuck are you? We need you up here. Now!”

I adjust the volume to quiet the voice, then turn to Jared. “It’s Drummond,” I hiss. I could add that he sounds pissed off, but that would be superfluous.

“Right, just tell him you’re still trapped on the wing and to wait for more information.”

I get back on the radio and relay that message. It is met by a barrage of expletives from Drummond; the gist of his outburst being that I should know better than to get myself into a hostage situation, he’s not about to endanger other officers by trying to rescue me, and that I need to hang on until reinforcements can be drafted in.

His attitude rankles, but I seek to reassure him. “Sir, I’m fine, for now. And I’m not a hostage.” At least I hope I’m not. I glance at Jared for confirmation.

He smiles at me as he slides a finger across the front of his throat, signalling me to end the conversation with Drummond. I do so, and replace the radio in my pocket.

“So, what happens now?” I ask, my voice creditably steady, considering.

“I always had Drummond down as a prick. I was right.” He lies down on his bunk, his hands behind his head. “So now, we wait. I can offer you coffee, or a digestive biscuit. Or another orgasm if you prefer.”

Heat floods my face as the extent of my predicament sinks in. How could I have been so weak, so stupid? Am I really so bloody needy that I put myself in this situation? My career is in tatters, even assuming I do manage to escape this God-awful mess with my life. I turn away from Jared’s knowing expression, fervently wishing I had never set eyes on the man.

“Oh, come on now, Molly, it wasn’t that bad.” His tone is lighter now, almost mocking. “Come and put your feet up for a while. I reckon we have a couple of hours to kill before it’ll be safe to try and make a run for it.”

“Go to hell,” I mutter.

Now he has the gall to bloody laugh out loud. “I daresay I will, eventually. Meanwhile though, I suggest we both try to stay calm and try not to attract any attention. At least sit down. My coffee’s not that bad.”

I perch on the bunk opposite Jared’s and lean forward, my head in my hands. I’m shaking, absolutely bloody terrified, an abject failure as an officer, and all this fool can do is take the piss.

“Are you crying?” His voice is gentler now. He actually sounds concerned. “I told I’d get you out of here, and I will.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Take off your jacket. And your shirt.”

“What?” I sit bolt upright. “Are you mad? If you lay a hand on me, I’ll—”

“Keep your voice down or I might have to spank you again.” He glances at his belt, still lying across the one small chair in the cell. “And do as you’re told.”

He rolls from the bunk and stands in front of me. Jared North is easily over six feet tall and towers over me. My slender grip on any remaining shreds of courage slips away. I shrink back from him. “Please, don’t…”

“For fuck’s sake, Molly, what do you think I am? You’ve been locked in here with me for the last half hour. If I was going to attack you, don’t you think I’d have done it by now? Get your imagination under control and your stuff off, then do as I tell you.”

He turns and makes the two strides it takes to cross the tiny cell. The muscles in his back and shoulders flex as he bends to drag open the drawer of his bedside locker and pulls out another prison-issue grey T shirt, this one neatly folded. He grins back at me. “You’re lucky. This was for after the gym later today. I’m guessing that little expedition’s off now so you get the fresh laundry.”

“You want me to wear your T shirt? It won’t fit.” That muscular frame, honed by countless hours spent in the gym, is still very much in my thoughts.

“So roll up the sleeves. I just want to make sure you blend in a little, enough to not attract attention immediately when you walk out of here. It’s lucky you have short hair, one less thing to worry about, and I don’t have a hat to lend you.”

“Walk out? You mean to disguise me as an inmate?”

He nods. “It should work. You only need to get as far as the gate—”

“This is Supervising Officer Drummond. All men are to return to their cells immediately.” The synthetic voice rings out over the loudspeaker system, piped from the safety of the central control room. There is a brief pause, then the voice booms out again. “You will allow Officer MacBride to leave the wing unharmed. Any violence against an officer will be dealt with severely.”

“What the…? Is that man actually a fucking moron?” Jared glares at the door, his expression thunderous. “Now they all fucking know you’re in here.”

“I asked him to wait until I contacted him again. You heard me say that?”

Jared nods, his expression grim now. “Right, but thanks to that dickhead time just ran out. Get that T shirt on.”

It no longer occurs to me to argue. I slip my jacket off and dump it on the bunk, then I unbutton my shirt. I reach for the T shirt, intending to somehow manage to shimmy into it without giving Jared the benefit of a free show.

“I don’t think so, Molly. Under other circumstances I’d be delighted in your choice of underwear, all that sexy uplift, defying the laws of nature, but it’s not quite the look we’re going for here. Lose the bra too, please.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” My uniform is hardly the most flattering outfit, but I like to jolly things up with some nice underwear. Normally it’s just for me, although today Jared North has had ample opportunity to admire my choice of foundation garments. My lacy, balcony style bra cost me nearly thirty quid at La Sensa and I’m very proud of it. The matching lacy knickers spent enough time around my knees; he can’t have failed to notice them.

He steps toward me and tips my chin up with his fingertips. “Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s lovely. Too lovely, because it accentuates your curves. The T shirt won’t fool anyone for long, but it doesn’t have to. Just the few seconds it will take to get to the gate at the end of the wing will be enough. But we do need those few seconds, and I’m worried that we may not get them. It’d only take one glance your way, and we might be in trouble. So do as I ask. Please.”

“Do you promise not to look?”


I huff out an exasperated sigh, but at heart I know he’s right. La Sensa doesn’t go out of their way to blend into the crowd. I reach behind me to unhook the fastener and allow the cups to fall away. I turn to take the shirt that he holds out to me and I pull it over my head.

“Won’t that attract attention too?” I straighten my new outfit, then tilt my chin to acknowledge the impressive erection that stretches the front of his jeans.

“Ah, yes, probably. But I’m only human, Miss MacBride. Could you take off your shoes too, and put these on?” He bends to pick up a battered pair of training shoes. “Not the nicest, I know, and Johnny will be sorry to lose them, but our need is greater.”

I view the offered footwear with distaste. “Is this absolutely necessary?”

He grins. “No prisoner I’ve ever seen in here wears polished black leather boots. We need those few seconds, Molly.”

I crouch to change my shoes, then straighten up. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Right, I need you to get back on that radio and tell the screws to have someone stationed by the gate into the octagon but don’t tell them what we intend to do. I wouldn’t put it past that idiot Drummond to broadcast our plan to the whole fucking wing. We can use your keys to get you through the gate, but if this turns to rat-shit we might need help to get you out.”

“What do you mean, rat-shit?”

“It’s a mob out there, especially after your muppet of a boss just announced that there’s an officer still on the wing. They’ll be looking for you, and men can do stupid things when they’re running on pure testosterone…”

My stomach clenches. He’s right. “What about you? Won’t you be in danger too?”

He grins. “I’ll survive. Just worry about yourself and make sure you get out of here. So when I give the word we walk out of the cell, no rushing, just a normal pace. Keep your head down and stick close to me. You stay by the wall and I’ll shield you from view as best I can. If I tell you to run, you fucking do it. Fast. Head straight for the gate. Make sure you have the keys in your hand, ready, because you won’t have long. If no one spots us, that’d be good and you can just slip through and away. If it gets nasty, I’ll do what I can to make sure you get to the gate, but that could be where your mates come in. Right?”

“Right.” I dig in the pocket of my discarded jacket for my radio. “MacBride to Control. Can someone come to the gate, please? Oh, and no more announcements over the loudspeaker, if that’s not too much trouble.” I’m past caring about Supervising Officer Drummond’s professional sensibilities—the man’s a liability.

“Understood.” I think I recognise the governor’s voice, which heartens me a little. Mr. Henderson has his head screwed on right. This might just work out after all.

“We’ll give them a couple of minutes, then we go. Yes?”

I nod. “Yes. And… thank you. For everything.”

“Thank me after, when all this is over.” He unlocks the door and cracks it open again. As he surveys the situation out on the wing he places his finger over his lips, indicating that I should be quiet, then he beckons me forward. “I can see screws at the far end of the wing, beyond the gates. The men are starting a cell by cell search so it’s now or never. Here are your keys. So, are we ready then?”

“I think so.”

He winks at me. “It’s been an exciting afternoon, Miss MacBride. You’ve brightened my day. Please feel free to drop in for another spanking, if you’re passing.”

“I should never have…”

“Hush, not now. We’ll talk about it. Later. Come on.”

He doesn’t wait for my responses, just opens the door wide and steps out of the cell. My heart is thumping as I scuttle after him.

I slip between Jared and the wall, though we have to make frequent detours to navigate the chaos of broken furniture, upturned tables, and the wreckage of what was G wing’s recreation area. The snooker table has been dragged up against the gate to prevent easy access from outside, but as the gate actually opens outwards I should be all right if I can just clamber over it.

The men are so pumped up I can almost smell their agitation. They are for the most part just milling around, scuffling with each other and hurling abuse at the prison officers huddled beyond the gate. A group who appears marginally more organised emerges from a cell across the corridor and barges into the one next door. Presumably, this is the search party looking for me.

“Don’t look up, don’t make eye contact. We’re halfway there.” Jared’s tone is low as he leads the way forward.

We almost make it. We’re within ten yards of the snooker table before we’re rumbled.

“There! That’s the screw bitch.” The harsh snarl comes from Prisoner YC3471, a vile individual known as Grouch, doing seven years for grievous bodily harm, with intent. I’ll be his next victim if he has his way.

“Run!” Jared shoves me in the middle of the back, propelling me forward as he spins to face our attackers. “Don’t stop, just fucking run.”

And I do it. I sprint hard for the snooker table and the gates beyond, pulling my keys from my pocket as I go. I don’t need them, the gates swing open as I approach and I hurl myself over the torn green baize to land in an untidy sprawl at the feet of the prison governor.

The gates clang shut behind me. I stagger to my feet and turn back to look. My last sight of Jared North is his broad shoulders disappearing back down the wing in the direction of the toilets and showers. He is surrounded by other inmates, and even from this distance I can tell there’s some furious gesturing going on. Someone swings a punch, Jared returns it, and disappears in a hail of fists and flying feet.

“Miss MacBride? Debriefing this way.” Numb, I follow the governor in the direction of the waiting police officers.

About Ashe Barker

Ashe BarkerUSA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker hasI been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.

Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.

She lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontë moors. When not writing – which is not very often – her time is divided between mher role as resident taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises.  And a very grumpy cockatiel.

Ashe has over thirty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, with several more in the pipeline. She writes historical and contemporary, M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. All Ashe’s books feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe loves to read about complex characters, intriguing settings and compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too.

Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.

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Books by Ashe Barker


BDSM, contemporary, erotic romance

Despite the fact that he is doing time for armed robbery, Molly MacBride is drawn to Jared North almost from the moment she sets eyes on him. Even behind bars his confidence and dominance are undeniable, and soon enough she is willingly baring her bottom and placing herself across his strong thighs, surrendering to both firm punishment and intense pleasure.

When all hell breaks loose during a prison riot, it is Jared who saves Molly’s life, but she is so shaken by the incident that she quits her job and does her best to put him out of her mind. As the years pass, however, Jared never relinquishes his place in her heart—or her fantasies—and when she learns that he has been released on parole Molly cannot resist seeking him out.

Through a combination of hard work and natural talent, Jared has forged a career for himself as a world-renowned photographer, yet in spite of his newfound sophistication and wealth he is no less dominant than he was when she first met him. It isn’t long before Molly finds herself submitting to both his stern discipline and his masterful lovemaking, but can she truly risk falling for a man whose criminal past could come back to haunt them both at any moment?

Publisher’s Note: Hardened is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, elements of BDSM, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Roses are RedRoses are Red

Contemporary, BDSM, erotic romance

Rose has had a crush on Iain McCain for years, so when she spots her sexy ex-teacher with a whip in his hand at her favourite BDSM club she decides it’s time for a little extra-curricular activity. All grown up now, and she decides a Valentine’s Day card might earn her the spanking she craves from him. Of course, she has to deliver it personally… on her knees.

Red Skye at Night by Ashe BarkerRed Skye at Night

Contemporary, BDSM, erotic romance

BDSM Writers Con Golden Flogger Award Nominee, Best Light BDSM category

Two strangers, one outrageous proposal, and the journey of a lifetime.

How far would you go? To Skye and back?

A random accident as a teenager wrecked Hope Shepherd’s aspirations to be an international athlete. Now working as a taxi driver, Hope is unsettled by a sexy Canadian she picks up at the airport. With his good looks and easy charm, he’s just the sort of man she can do without. But can she afford to turn down his offer?

He offers her a small fortune to drive him to Scotland, where he hopes to discover his ancestral roots. And not just anywhere in Scotland. Harry McLeod wants to go to the Highlands, to the Isle of Skye.

He is persistent, and Hope needs the cash. But what are the real terms of this outrageous deal?

Harry McLeod desires Hope, and the attraction is shared. If he can get her in his bed—or better still, tied to it—will she allow him to peel away her protective layers to release her inner submissive? Harry is stern, uncompromising, outrageously sexy and utterly irresistible. How will Hope respond to his dark brand of sensuality? Does he offer more than a generous fare and a few erotic encounters?

When they reach Skye, a feud spanning four generations challenges all that Hope thought she was coming to know about submission. Will it be enough to convince her that this could be a relationship to stand the test of time?

A Scandalous ArrangementA Scandalous Arrangement

Historical, erotic romance, Victorian, BDSM

After a foolish wager costs her brother ownership of the weaving mill in Yorkshire which provides her income, Victoria Wynne is left with no choice but to confront the man who took the bet and seek to dissuade him from claiming his prize. Unfortunately for her, that man turns out to be Adam Luke, an experienced, ambitious entrepreneur who is intent on keeping what he won.

Upon meeting her, Adam is enchanted by Victoria’s beauty and charm as well as her nerve and self-reliance. Adam is a man of singular tastes, and when Victoria asks to manage the mill in return for a share of the profits, he offers her a bold proposal of his own. She will continue to run the mill as she has for years, but in return for a substantially larger portion of the profits she will also serve at his beck and call behind closed doors, submitting to him in any way he desires.

Wanting to earn enough money to buy back the mill as quickly as possible—and with some part of her shamefully aroused by the thought of kneeling naked at Adam’s feet—Victoria accepts his terms. But submission initially proves difficult for a woman used to running her own affairs, and soon enough she finds herself bare-bottomed over his knee for a firm lesson in obedience.

Adam’s plans for Victoria run much deeper than just an occasional spanking. She will be stripped naked, bound, and teased until she is aching for release, and then at last he will take her long and hard. As Adam continues to train her, teaching her to yield to his mastery while bringing her more pleasure than she ever thought possible, Victoria cannot help falling for him. But can a lifelong bond truly emerge from such a scandalous arrangement?

Publisher’s Note: A Scandalous Arrangement is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, anal play, elements of BDSM, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

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