Protecting Jenny

Newsite Web Services LLC

Heat Rating: Sensual
Word Count: 36,984
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When Jenny sees the perpetrators of a terrorist attack, she is forced into the Witness Protection Program. But Jenny has other plans, and wants nothing to do with hiding. Agent Mitch Adams will do anything to keep her alive, including spank her. Will he be successful, or will Jenny escape and be a target? Three bonus spanking romance stories included.

BDSM category: spanking only

Protecting Jenny
0 Ratings (0.0)

Protecting Jenny

Newsite Web Services LLC

Heat Rating: Sensual
Word Count: 36,984
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Jenny ducked behind the laundry truck and peered out at the chaos. A bomb. Men clad in black were running everywhere. Her patients--the children--were already evacuated.

But she looked at the laundry truck and suddenly knew where the bomb was, remembered the way Assam had avoided her greeting. Noise was everywhere: bangs and pops and blood and cries. She grasped for her cell phone and--

"Ma'am," she heard.

--and she whipped around, coming face to face with Assam, the nice man who'd almost flirted with her every week, the nice man who brought in the laundry. The nice man who was holding something that looked kind of like the remote control that detonated bombs in the movies.

She ran inside towards the laundry, pushing past an officer and making her way down the hallways that suddenly seemed a maze. She turned down one corridor after another, never quite making it to the laundry room.

And then suddenly it was there in front of her, and a big black box sat in the middle of the floor. She knew, she just knew: when it went off, the other hospitals on his route would suffer the same fate. How she knew this was a mystery, but she knew it all the same. She punched at her cell phone while watching the black box. Its display counted down in glaring red letters--


--and the time kept ticking down, four minutes to go, three minutes to go. By some miracle the phone started working, but the timer suddenly started beating like a heart, ringing like an alarm clock with blood gushing everywhere; the timer sped towards zero like an altimeter in a crashing plane veering towards earth--

"Ma'am, wake up."

--she gasped in a breath, forcing her eyes to blink--to open, she realized.

"Ma'am, you're safe. You're in protective custody. No one can get to you."

She blinked and tried to place her surroundings. She was in a room with all white walls, a bedroom that was trying to be comfortable, but was too clinical for its own good. She peered down at the sweats she wore--not hers--and climbed out of bed. Ignoring the man, she walked to the curtains.

When she touched them, they were the soft of faux suede: thick and warm. She rubbed her hand on them for comfort while trying to sort out her dream from the trauma of yesterday. She parted the curtains.

"There's no window," he said.

She walked to the other curtains. No window again.

"Ma'am? Would you like some breakfast? We have someone here to help you with your..." he cleared his throat "...your transition."

She turned to look at the man. Typical government neat freak. Suit perfectly tailored and perfectly pressed. Eyes bright and blue, hair reminiscent of military butch, but grown out enough to appear almost normal. She frowned at him.

"Transition," she repeated. What transition? "Why can't I remember coming here?"

"You were in shock. The doctor gave you something to help you relax."

She eyed the bedroom door. Would he let her go out? She looked back at him.

"It's completely furnished. You should be comfortable."

Comfortable? She turned the doorknob and shoved the door open. It opened into a large, open room. A living room, dining room and kitchen all in one great area. The furniture was clean and functional. She went straight to the curtains only to find, once again, that there were no windows.

"This is insane." She reminded herself to breathe. "This is not reality." She turned a circle, taking in the high, concrete ceiling. "This is not happening."

The circle made her dizzy. Things went a little fuzzy, like when she was young and she'd turn the TV to those UHF channels which wiggled blacks and whites and grays. She shut her eyes, hoping that when she opened them things would go back to normal.

"There's no windows."

"Ma'am, you have to breathe. You're not breathing."

Sounded good to her, but the UHF channel was getting fuzzier and fuzzier. She could feel, rather than see, him striding over and pushing her into a chair. With his hand on her neck, he pushed her head between her legs. She sucked in a breath.

"I need to get out of here." She said it as clear as she could, in her no-nonsense nurse voice. She remembered to smile. "I need fresh air."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, it's best if--"

She shoved his hand off her shoulder and stood up, fighting the return of dizziness at her sudden change in position. When things cleared, she pushed at him again. "I need out!" She was surprised at the sound of her voice as it screeched high with panic. "Get me out of here!"

"We're coming out," he said to no one. She noticed he touched a sort of walkie-talkie fastened to his belt. "I know," he said. "I know," again. "I know." He looked at her. "One minute."

She went straight for the door, barely holding in the panic. Tried it, but it didn't move. It was big, reinforced steel, the kind of doorway that made you grunt just to open it. She pounded her fists on it, but it was so thick it barely made a sound.

He strode over, pushed on the keypad, and the door swung open.

She lurched out into a long hallway, and into another government man. "Who are you, now?" she said, annoyed and not at all interested in who he was. She looked to the left and the right, trying to figure out which way would lead outside.

"It's cold," the first man said. "Would you like a windbreaker?"

She glanced at the jacket in his hand and shook her head. She chose left. There were no windows here, either. Just a long hallway and she felt like running. She walked faster, almost jogging.

"Slow down, ma'am."

She kept going straight for the double doors at the end of the hallway, crashing through them into another hallway. To the left there was another set of double doors, this time windowed. She ran.

"Ma'am!" she heard.

She sprinted.

She burst into the doors, bouncing off of them and landing on the floor when they didn't open for her. She jumped up and jiggled at the door handles until people surrounded her, both inside and outside.

"Let me out!" she heard herself screeching, crazy-sounding. It made her all the more angry because they'd brought her to this; they'd locked her up and they'd made her sound like a crazy woman.

She heard the doors unlatch, and she slammed one open and burst into the sunshine. She turned two circles and finally looked up at the sun, as if it alone could orient her, the sun she'd seen every day of her life, the one familiar thing in this world that was suddenly topsy-turvy and out of control.

The sight of the sun was so comforting, so reassuring that she didn't even close her eyes. Bright pain shot through them, giving her an instant headache, but she didn't look away. If this one thing, this one familiar thing stayed the same, then it was something she could latch on to, something to keep her steadied.

A woman crept up behind the first man, and she instantly knew she was a medic. The woman had a syringe safely palmed and hidden, but ready to use at a second's opportunity.

"I swear to God if you stick me with that thing, I'll--"

The woman stopped her approach and looked surprised that she'd been caught.

"I'm a nurse," she explained to the woman. Jenny took another step away, just to be safe.

"Tea," suggested the first man. "Why don't we get some tea at the Starbucks down the street?"

He sounded reasonable and calm. She didn't trust reasonable and calm; in fact, she didn't trust anyone. Anything. Watching someone you'd been friendly with for over a year try to blow up a hospital--four hospitals, actually--could have that effect. Unlike in her dream, she hadn't known what was going on when it happened.

"Ma'am," he said again.

"Would you stop calling me that?" she snapped.

She surveyed the street and saw Starbucks. Not caring if the first man followed or not, she started walking towards it.

"Ms. Williams," he called.

She stopped and whirled around. "Oh, for crying out loud. Call me Jenny."

He had an aw-shucks air about him as he grinned. "My name's Mitch Adams." He stuck out his hand.

She frowned at it. "I'm late for work," she said, noticing his watch.

"Ms. Williams--"

"Jenny!" she corrected again.

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