Free Finely Disciplined Thoughts by Ashlynn Kenzie

your house?”
    Well, Lauren thought with faint surprise, there was a conversation starter one didn’t normally hear in political circles. If Watlington were depending on her husband to keep the verbal ball rolling, however, he would be in for a letdown. There was only one answer daddy Mark could give and it would be short and sweet and negative.
    “Most certainly,” Mark responded.
    And the sip of wine she had just tasted threatened to go down entirely the wrong way. What did he mean “most certainly”? The twins had never felt a disciplinary hand applied to their little posteriors and probably never would. For starters, their father was the appallingly guilty instigator and model for most of their mischief and he knew it well. So though he was quite excellent at bluster and threats, he relied entirely on time outs and missed opportunities — theirs, not his — to keep control of the duo.
    And while she had been known, on more than one memorable occasion, to connect the palm of her hand with a masculine cheek, it had always been a beard-enhanced face she took aim at.
    “Really,” Watlington mused. “So you do support a firm hand, shall we say, within the confines of the family abode?”
    “I thought most people did,” Mark responded with a completely innocent look that signaled approaching disaster. “We certainly find it most effective and rather imperative to the happy state of our home.”
    “Well, I’m not sure about most people,” Watlington intoned. “I am, personally, rather at odds with your view. And I must point out that if a clear majority were to share it, we probably wouldn’t have to keep having this discussion about government involvement. But, then again, I’m just the father of three grown daughters, so our perspectives may differ. I suppose if I had a house full of lively little boys I might think an occasional smack on their bottoms was in order, too.” And he chuckled at the table for twelve.
    She saw it coming.
    She was helpless to prevent it.
    She closed her eyes and prayed.
    Faith failed her.
    “Oh, I do beg your pardon. I’m afraid I misunderstood you completely,” her biggest little boy interjected with a nasty grin. “I thought we were talking about Lauren’s bottom.”
    And ten heads with arched brows and open mouths swiveled toward her as rich red color climbed from her chin to her brow.
    The distraction of fishnet stockings, she thought, would have been a blessing at this point.
     
     
    “How could you?” she hissed within the confines of their guest room hours later.
    “How could I what?” he demanded innocently while he obligingly unzipped her dress. “He was joking, wasn’t he? I thought it was all in fun. Come on now, my love. Kiss me, Lauren.”
    “You pillock. You bloody, blasted booby. You … you imbecilic moron! Do you know what the headlines will say about this tomorrow?”
    He paused in an effort to push the dress off her shoulders as she stood in front of the mirrored dressing table, snatching off the few items of jewelry she reluctantly wore on occasions such as this.
    Assuming a meditative stance, he considered. “Oh, I don’t know, something about ‘a spanking good time was had by all.’”
    She snarled and he abandoned any effort to help her further undress, turning his attention to removing his own jacket.
    “How can I possibly be in control of my party if they think I go in for — for …”
    “For what?” he asked with a rakishly cocked eyebrow as he removed his cuff links and tossed them toward her open jewel box on the dressing table.
    “You know for what. Did you have to make me the star of that peculiarly British fantasy?” she demanded as she struggled out of her slip.
    “Aha, it’s the fantasy part that bothers you,” he chuckled, unknotting his tie and pulling it free.
    “No, it’s you that bothers me. I can’t take you anywhere. I can’t trust you for a moment. You’re going to ruin me,” she spat out as she unhooked