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Manuel’s muscles undulated beneath Ellory’s hand. Ellory held his breath, but Manuel kept control of both his wolf and his tongue.
    Ellory lifted the strop and brought it down, even harder this time. Manuel whimpered, and his breath came faster.
    “ Where? ”
    “In. The. House.” Manuel ground the words out, distorted by lengthened canines and his barely controlled beast.
    “Correct.” Ellory let the strop dangle dangle and stepped closer, skin to skin. “Whose rules do you follow in this workshop?” Ellory ran his hand down Manuel’s arm, feeling the perspiration from his struggle to remain human. When threatened, Manuel’s instinct called him to shift, but he must learn. Ellory wasn’t a threat. He was simply in charge.
    Ellory slipped his hand around his lover’s waist, then lower, to find Manuel as hard as himself. He dropped the strop and set his other hand on Manel’s rear cheek. “Whose rules?” he whispered so only wolf ears would hear, following with a bare-handed smack.
    Manuel shuddered, jerking forward into Ellory’s hand against his cock. “Yours,” he choked out. “Oh, God in heaven, yours.”
    Ellory spun Manuel to face him and took his mouth hard enough to bruise. “Mine. And I’m far from done with you, pet. Far from done.”

Author Bio
     
    Taming the Wolf is both my first published work and my first spanking fiction, both of which are quite exciting. I’m a student of philosophy, linguistics, and computer science, who spends long evenings debating the ethics of human-tech biological integration with my remarkable sentient household appliances. In real life, I have a day job developing video games, and I write “steamy” steampunk adventure with my co-author Rose Hunt. I’m pretty sure this is the best life ever.
    Get a taste of our Steampunk at www.gaslightfantasy.com
    On my own, I indulge in flash fiction of any genre at www.flashinganne.com
    Got Twitter? Give a follow: @AFOdom
     

 
     
     
     
Replicated Consequences
     
    By
    Jessica E. Subject
     

 
     
    Darryl sank into his chair, form-fitted by age. With his foot, he brushed the papers and dishes on the ottoman to the floor. He winced at the crash, but had little motivation to clean it up or do anything. Stretching out his legs, he rested them atop the cleared surface and closed his eyes. Opening them meant he would see her again, dressed in her pressed and polished uniform or naked with him in bed. But the memories of Beth simply fucked with his head. She was gone forever. Nothing he said or did would ever bring her back.
    He cringed at the abrupt stabbing pain in his chest. No one said living with a broken heart was easy. He’d known the risks of dating her, but his awareness did nothing to prepare him for the agony of losing her.
    Though a military woman marrying a civilian remained a rare occurrence at Beth’s base, they’d celebrated their seventh anniversary four months ago, right before she deployed for the last time.
    A knock interrupted his memories. Darryl flicked his eyes open and stared at the door. Perspiration beaded his skin. The last time someone had knocked—most rang the doorbell—bad news had followed. Two weeks ago. And he’d holed up inside ever since, only emerging for Beth’s funeral.
    He set his feet on the floor before walking on wobbly legs toward the entrance. What dark tidings would he receive?
    Palms slick from sweat, he turned the knob. Catching sight of the two people on his stoop, he stepped back with a startled gasp. No way the people standing in front of him existed. He had to be dreaming.
    The man in full military dress gave him a quick nod. “Mr. Malloy?”
    He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Yes.”
    “I have a delivery for you.” The man touched the woman’s back, ushering her forward. “She’s all yours. Take care of her.”
    She? His? But.... Beth had died. He’d watched her body lowered into the ground, received the country’s flag. No way could his wife be