Party Lines Read online

  Party Lines

  By Fiona Wilde

  ©2010 by Fiona Wilde and Blushing Books

  Copyright © 2010 by Blushing Books® and Fiona Wilde

  All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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  Wilde, Fiona

  Party Lines

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-60968-417-4

  Cover Design: ABCD Graphics

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  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

  Chapter One

  Lindsay Martin breathed took a deep breath and concentrated on keeping her cool as Ronald Sharp launched into his tirade.

  “The truth is, Ted,” Sharp said, addressing Touchpoint host Theodore Beck, “Miss Martin’s defense of her candidate won’t play among the hard-working people of this state. A multi-millionaire masquerading as someone who understands the travails of the middle class will be seen just for what she is – a phony who will say anything to get elected.

  “In fact, Ted, if Miss Martin here is honest then she’ll tell the voters tonight that Clara Faircloth’s father made the fortune she inherited by selling out the very workers who made the family so wealthy.” He smirked. “Wasn’t Faircloth Industries the lifeline of Frankinville before your father sold the factory for parts, leaving scores of hardworking people out of a job?”

  Ronald Sharp was looking at her occasionally as she spoke, and he smiled. Lindsay braced herself. She knew what that smile meant. The rival campaign manager was closing in for the kill. Or what he thought was the kill. But she was ready for him.

  “Well, Mr. Sharp. Since we’re revisiting the so-called sins of the fathers, let’s look at your candidate’s family for a moment. I do believe that the sale of Faircloth Industries was precipitated by the senior Bradford Hopkins using his political office to condemn the land surrounding Faircloth Industries, thus prohibiting the expansion and eventually forcing the sale.

  She pulled out a piece of paper. “I think this previously unreleased memo between your candidate’s father and the head of the former head of the Army Corps of Engineers, a man who was later tried and convicted for corruption. The plot was well documented, something I’m sure Hopkins would have done if he’d known his oldest son would eventually seek the office he’d held for so long.”

  Now she was smiling, and her rival’s face – to her satisfaction – was a mixture of shock and outrage.

  “Let me see that,” he said as he reached for the paper she was now handing to Ted Beck. But it was too late. Beck was practically salivating as he snatched the paper from her hand, and Roland Sharp’s expression faded morphed into one of disbelief. They both knew the contents would be the lead story on tomorrow’s news.

  “Well if this wasn’t a rousing exchange, I don’t know what is.” Beck was laughing as the music cued the end of his program. “But take heart, friends. This story isn’t over. Tomorrow night we’ll revisit this issue and these new and explosive charges leveled by the Faircloth campaign. Until then, Goodnight All!”

  Ron Sharp stood and pulled his microphone off. “That was a dirty trick, Lindsay!”

  “Yeah, but I got you back,” she replied.

  “I meant what you did was dirty.” Ron Sharp was sputtering now, and even the cameramen were stopping to stare. Even though he was only 44, Sharp had gotten the reputation for being one of the best and most unflappable campaign managers in the southeast. He was ruthless, and undeterred by calls for civility. “Win at any cost” was his motto, and for the past eight years it had worked. Five conservative politicians were ensconced in their positions, thanks to him. But it was the senatorial campaign of Bradford Hopkins which promised to vault him into the national spotlight.

  Now, to be bested by this petite former librarian working on her first campaign…it was a bit more than he could take, especially since her revelations had given him a dose of his own medicine - medicine he wasn’t used to taking.

  “Where the hell did you get that?” he asked. “Or was that just a bluff dreamed up in your starry-eyed liberal little head. Because I swear to God…if it was…”

  “Research.” Lindsay picked up her briefcase, opened it, and handed Sharp a copy of the memos. “It was no bluff. It was good, old-fashioned research.” Now it was her turn to smirk. “Maybe if you did your homework you’d have found out the same things I did before you made an ass of yourself, Ron.”

  He looked at the paper, as if reluctant to take it from her, but she persisted. “Here. Take it,” she said. “I don’t mind. The truth will out. I’m sure of it, and I’m sure the voters will be able to tell the difference between a candidate raised by a self-made millionaire and one raised by a millionaire whose sense of entitlement to power has been adopted by his son.”

  Ron snatched the paper from her hand and glared down at her.

  “Steady, now,” Lindsay told herself. She wasn’t easily intimidated, but having this 6’5” man glowering down at her with such a stormy expression rattled her nerves a bit. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look up at him, to gaze directly into those deep gray eyes.

  Ronald Sharp didn’t even look at the paper, which he instead shook in her face.

  “Don’t think this is over,” he said. “I don’t like being blind-sided, especially by some little political upstart. I bet you think you’re really clever, don’t you? But don’t think that this stunt will deter Hopkins from doing what’s right for the voters of this state. Don’t think it for a moment.”

  “Going to concede is he?” Lindsay allowed herself to effect an innocent look that juxtaposed the flawlessly planned counterpunch she’d just delivered.

  “Not a chance,” he said as he stormed away. “Hopkins is in this to win.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Which he will.”

  It was only after he’d rounded the corner that she allowed the vestiges of bravery to fall away. Lindsay wanted to sit down, but the cameramen and even Ted Beck were watching from the shadows and she knew her reaction – even now, mattered. Her every move was a reflection on Clara Faircloth, a decent woman who’d trusted her to run a campaign when she could have afforded anyone else.

  So despite the fact that her hands and legs were starting to shake, Lindsay nodded and smiled at everyone as she went past.

  Only later, in the car, did she put her head on the wheel and breathe deeply until some of the stress waned from her body. Beside her on the seat her cell phone was ringing, and she could see that it was her boss, calling no doubt, to praise her carefully crafted performance on the show.

  Lindsay decided to wait until she got back to the hotel to call Clara back. She was looking forward to hearing the older woman’s words of praise. She meant a lot to Lindsay. Clara Faircloth was a true role model, and represented everything Lindsay wished she could be.

  Lindsay had always followed politics, and had worked on just about every liberal campaign tha
t would have her as a volunteer. She had no idea her organizational skills had even attracted attention until she’d gotten a call from Clara Faircloth herself requesting a meeting.

  She could hardly believe it when the savvy and respected business owner had told her she was running for Senate and didn’t want her campaign handled by another predicable insider.

  “I want someone who is trustworthy,” Faircloth had said. “I want someone outside the political machine but with enough knowledge of its inner workings to be ready for anything. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but people are saying good things about you. Very good things. I want you for my campaign manager, Miss Martin. Will you do it?”

  Lindsay had hardly been able to form a “yes,” and even now could hardly remember accepting the position. But she had and had handled the campaign brilliantly. And after going head to head with Ron Sharp tonight she knew this was her calling. And she also knew that infuriated the man who was now her chief nemesis on the campaign trail.

  Right away he’d treated her almost dismissively, and with a certain condescension designed to shake her confidence. Ron Sharp exuded confidence, arrogance, an undeniable aura of dominance. And in that lay a veritable minefield. For the one thing that Lindsay knew about herself – the one thing that she was sure would have shocked and disappointed the other progressives on her team – was that she had one flaw that made her extremely vulnerable to a man like Ron Sharp.

  Lindsay Martin was a submissive. She always had been, and strong men like Ron Sharp were her worst fear not because she couldn’t battle with them, but because she had to force herself to do it. As a submissive, her natural inclination was to demure, to acquiesce.

  It had always seemed unfair to her to be saddled with such a defect. After all, she had brains, education and skills to make her a naturally take-charge type of person. And Lindsay enjoyed organizing people and events, fighting for a common cause. But the larger part wanted to be taken, molded and directed. The larger part of her wanted to be molded, even as she was molding public opinion.

  Now, sitting in the car reveling in her victory over Ron Sharp, she wondered if he’d sensed her innate submissiveness in her. Perhaps that was why he’d so brazenly tried to spring his attack on Clara’s character. Not that it mattered. Even if he had, then it had played to Lindsay’s advantage. Besides, her loyalties were to social change. Not to her own needs. She just had to remember that.

  ***

  “It was probably just a lucky break.” Bradford Hopkins stood looking out of the hotel window, watching the city lights twinkle below. Behind him, Ron Sharp was pacing, and everyone else had cleared the room. Sharp’s appearance on Touchpoint had been a disaster and everyone knew the campaign would be distracted the following day by all the damage control that would need to be done.

  Any other campaign manager would have gotten a dressing down, but not Ron Sharp. Hopkins and everyone else knew that no one could make him feel any worse than he did, and the he would find a way to recover. But Ron had something else to worry about. Lindsay Martin.

  When the Faircloth campaign had hired her, Hopkins camp had erupted into what could only be described as a celebration. For weeks it had been rumored that she would run, and would pump millions into hiring a high-profile manager on board. When she’d chosen an unknown librarian and part-time liberal activist they couldn’t believe their good fortune.

  But Lindsay Martin had proved to have a knack for managing campaign. When Sharp hit, she hit back with well-worded ads and interviews. Despite the fact that she was about his age, she looked younger. And her girl-next-door attractiveness and good nature endeared her to men and women alike. She was an effective representative for her candidate, and as the campaign intensified, the missteps the Hopkins campaign expected never came.

  “No, it’s more than a lucky break.” Ron Sharp shook his head. “I’m beginning to think this little gal Clara Faircloth hired is going to be a real problem for us. She’s countering us on every front, and the media is cutting her slack because she’s an unknown. They’re as impressed with her as they are with Clara. And that’s bad for us because it’s making them softer on the Faircloth campaign in general.

  This of course, wasn’t entirely true. But there was some truth in it. While Lindsay had fielded her share of tough questions, her personal charm and air of quiet confidence seemed to disarm editorial boards and television personalities. Ron Sharp, well known for his aggressive nature, wasn’t warranted the same kid-glove treatment.

  “So what are you going to do?” Hopkins asked the question with a tone that suggested he expected his campaign manager to do something.

  “I tell you what I’d like to do,” he said. “I’d like to put her across my lap and blister her ass for pulling a stunt like that. It was way out of line. I just punched her candidate and what does she do? She hits us back with a brick. Totally unfair.”

  Hopkins laughed. “Well, I don’t thinking spanking the opposing campaign’s manager is allowable.”

  Ron returned the laugh, but privately he was thinking that was exactly what he’d like to do. Lindsay Martin was way too full of herself, and there was only one way to deal with women like that.

  Ron knew that because he’d done it before. There was a reason he was a dyed-in-the-wool conservative; it was because he truly believed the values he espoused, and only supported candidates who advanced the views he felt were in danger of becoming extinct. And among those views was a return to more traditional roles for men and women.

  Ron Sharp hated liberalism, especially the way it manifested itself through the feminist movement. He blamed it for his divorce, and the divorce of many of his friends and colleagues.

  He reflected back to his own failed relationship with Tina. They’d married right out of college and it seemed to be a perfect union – two Young Republicans from well-appointed families. After a honeymoon in Costa Rica, they’d settled into a tudor-style house on an oak-lined street in a good neighborhood.

  The plan was for Tina to keep house while he worked as an attorney. Both wanted to start a family as soon as possible, and eleven months after the wedding Tina gave birth to their son Brian.

  But staying at home wasn’t enough for Tina, who grew bored with what she termed inane playground talk. Soon she was talking about going back to school for her masters degree in architecture and getting a job that would put the skills she had learned to use.

  “But you’ve got plenty to do here," Ron had objected in what had become their first really big argument. “Just wait until Brian is in school.”

  Tina had not been willing to wait, and had told him so. He had objected and they’d argued in low shouts for fear of waking their sleeping son upstairs. But the argument and escalated, and when Tina threw a lamp at her husband it had seemed perfectly natural to him to pick her up, haul her to the sofa and pull her across his lap.

  She’d struggled and shrieked as he’d pulled down the sweatpants she was wearing, and cursed him when the panties quickly followed. But Ron was resolute in what he had to do. He would be master in his own home, and no woman was going to throw anything at him.

  He raised his hand and began to spank her, watching in near fascination as the white globes of his wife’s bottom quickly turned red under his punishing hand. But for Tina, the punishment held no fascination. Within moments her curses had turned to cries as her husband gave her the first thorough spanking she’d had since childhood.

  “You will not defy me, young lady,” Ron had said as he alternated blistering spanks first on one cheek then the other. For Tina’s part, the spanking held no fascination for her, only pain and humiliation. But afterwards, there was an unexpected benefit for both of them.

  As Ron held his crying wife, gently admonishing her to remember her place, she’d begun to kiss him, first softly then earnestly. And what had begun as a fight ended with a night of tender lovemaking and are renewed agreement from Tina to put aside talk of a career and concentrate on keepi
ng their home, at least until Brian was older.

  For his part, the spanking reinforced Ron’s notion that only a man willing to take charge in his family could take charge in his life. As the years went by, he continued to lead, both in and out of the home.

  But as his career advanced and he moved into the realm of political campaigning, his job took him away from Tina, who quickly felt neglected and turned to her girlfriends for companionship. Those girlfriends often had ideas that were contrary to the values she and Ron held, and when she went to work after Brian entered school, Tina underwent changes that her husband knew spankings could not reverse.

  They divorced a year later, over Ron’s heated objections and he still blamed liberal influences for turning his sweet, submissive wife into someone he no longer recognized. But he didn’t hold himself completely blameless. He knew that if he’d been available to guide Tina, he could have shielded her from the influences that had destroyed their family and left him a part-time father to his son.

  But what was done was done, and Ron knew there was no use ruminating over past mistakes. What mattered at this moment was the current situation, which included a different kind of female who insisted on thinking above her station.

  Ron’s inner eye filled with the vision of Lindsay Martin’s face. She was a pretty thing, he had to admit that, with her sleek, brunette hair and big brown eyes that gave her something of a waif-like look. Like most women, she capitalized on her looks. And it was serving her well. But that was only because most people – and a lot of men – were shallow.

  Even he had to admit he’d underestimated her. But that was about to change. If he weren’t careful, Clara Faircloth would edge ahead in the polls and had him and his candidate their first political defeat. Right now, they were neck and neck, but in the morning he was sure the replays of Touchpoint would give Faircloth an edge. And with the election just months off he could not afford to allow her any momentum.