Home Page    Log in / register    Newsletter    Authors

Search by Title, Author or words


Shopping Cart

No Cart Open


Books showing a sign means books can be sent direct to your Kindle from our download pages or Member Library -
if your Kindle has the Personal Document Service feature! Other eReader formats (epub, etc) are also available.



Josie (Elizabeth Southwater)

Josie by Elizabeth Southwater


Add To Cart

More By This Author

Read reviews further down this page

    • Average 2.5 from 2 ratings

Sir Martin, in his lovely big car, picks up a drenched young Josie in a rainstorm to find her babbling about the sexy raincoat she covets but can't afford. Sir Martin sees a way.

Artist Hugo orders quiet little shopgirl Carol to come to his house with him, take off her clothes, and become his housegirl. She has never known how to say no. These gentle bondage and discipline love stories are both touching and arousing, and told as only Elizabeth Southwater can tell them!

Product type: EBook    Published by: bdsmbooks    Published: 9 / 2010

No. words: 35800

Style: Bondage/BDSM and Romance, Spanking and Bondage

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


He picked her up in the middle of a violent thunderstorm at about twelve-thirty on a late July afternoon – in the middle of a UK summer. In Feltham, which is a dreary and fairly pointless outer-suburb of London notable for the constant noise-spill from the adjacent London Airport. The morning had started bright, sunny and warm – there’d been clear blue skies and daytime temperatures in the upper thirties for a week but on this particular morning, by eleven or so, the sky had clouded-over completely and was mostly dark-grey: by twelve it was raining steadily and vertically at about two-inches an hour, complete with oversized hail, multiple CLIK-BANNNNGGGGGG lightning and thunder, random gusts of 40 knot wind - and lights coming on all over the place because the dark purply-grey cloud-cover was making it more like late evening than the middle of the day. He picked her up because he’d seen her standing alone at a poorly-protected bus-stop in the hammering rain, sheltering as best she could under a silly little yellow umbrella and had also seen the truck ahead of him quite deliberately swerve through a big pool of standing water close to her, making her vanish completely in the resultant swathe of spray… Her umbrella turned itself inside out and took off across the road by itself – only to be swatted by traffic coming in the opposite direction and turned into some sort of big, crumpled, yellow daddy-long-legs and then to be serially flattened, terminated, by half a dozen other vehicles. While she just stood there at the roadside, drenched.
‘Bastard’ he said aloud of the truck-driver. Stopping his car by her, he reached across to the passenger-side door and opened it wide…
“GET IN THE CAR” he shouted, above the traffic noise and the rain noise and the Armageddon-sound of one of the city-sized Airbus-things climbing away, invisible above the thunder clouds.
She hesitated of course, as all good girls should when invited into a stranger’s car – or boat or plane or tent or bed, but she was wet and shivering and the bus-stop was of the sort that looked as if you’d need a calendar rather than a timetable to check when the next bus was due… She hesitated, even shook her head - but half-heartedly….

So she got into the car, saying variously ‘Thank you” and “I’m sorry” and “I’m m-making everything w-wet aren’t I?”
“Just shut the door – it keeps the rain out” he said. “Name’s Martin Carver. Quite harmless…. You are?”
“Josie. Josie Tate…”
He decided that Josie Tate, despite being generally wet and bedraggled, was rather good to look at and extremely young – he thought about eighteen, which is extremely young if you’re fifty-one – as was Martin Carver at the time. She was wearing a thin, unlined nylon anorak, clearly soaked through, over a darkly-wet shortish skirt or dress and sodden low-heeled shoes…No signs of any sort of bosom – tits – but then the anorak-thing was loose and wet and oversized so it wasn’t possible to tell…
“Usually go out in rainstorms without a raincoat do you? I saw what happened to your umbrella…”
She had wet, dark copper-red and slightly matted hair and cornflower-blue eyes – which he thought a startlingly agreeable combination. “…You’re soaked. Catch your death…Where’re you going?”
‘Shopping f-for a m-mac.. A raincoat”
‘Romance at las’, he thought. ‘I do a knight-in-shining-armour-coming-to-the-rescue bit, give her a seat in an Aston Martin, offer to take her anywhere, flash the platinum Rolex to establish my credentials, act avuncular and therefore harmless and what does she do? Wants to go to a damn supermarket or something – to buy a raincoat!’
“There’s that big Home ‘n Wear place a mile up the road. Drop you there shall I?”
“I was g-going to T-Town – London…”
Better. You can come to London with me….
“You’d have done better to go by train…”
“The 196 single-decker b-bus goes all the way and stops almost outside the s-shop – it’s off Ox-Oxford Street…”
Ogod, a maiden-in-distress alright, but a sensible and practical maiden-in-distress…Just my luck
“Then I shall take you there – I live in Mayfair… ” he said, decidedly pleased at the prospect of a journey of over an hour with a very agreeable – though wet – young, red-haired female passenger. During an hour or so of being driven, deliberately quickly, in a very expensive and very, very quick car, she might become more relaxed… Seducible…
“….Where’s the shop did you say?”
“Just off Ox-Oxford S-street. It’s a riding-shop…H-horse riding th-things…”
He couldn’t make out why she was stammering quite so much – not a ‘speech-impediment’ stammer but a nerves-stammer… It was almost as if she was scared-stiff, as if she expected to be grabbed or assaulted at any moment… ….
“OK” he said, starting the car, blipping the throttle in order to impress with a moment of the Aston’s angered-tiger rumble - and for a moment not thinking about what she’d said but thinking about ways and means to get her into or on to a bed…
“Th-this is l-lovely car” she said, “What is it?”
“An Aston-Martin…”
So stop talking – I’m trying to work out how to get you into bed… So you’re going to a riding shop…. Horses and things… Not a pony-girl are you? That would be very nice… Never had anything to do with a pony-girl – in the flesh as it were…. But pony-girls don’t buy ‘riding-macs’ do they?
“So you’re going to a ‘riding-shop’ to buy a raincoat? Of course - where else, I ask myself? Or do you actually ride…?’
“I just w-want a proper riding-mac”
‘Riding-mac’ he thought, ‘As in heavy, belted, probably oatmeal-coloured, double-texture, rubber-lined – red rubber lined - deliciously odorous classical riding-mac. Skirted, with little rubber straps to go round the legs to prevent it blowing up when riding the horse or pony or whatever. She’d be very tasty, buckled-up in a heavy, classic, red-rubber-lined riding-mac. Josie whatever-her-name-is buckled-up in a heavy, classic, red-rubber-lined riding-mac and nothing else, lying on a bed in his flat…. Or buckled-up in a heavy, classic, red-rubber-lined riding-mac and wearing tall, shiny black rubber riding-boots and nothing else – lying on a bed in the flat… Not riding-boots but tall, crotch-high, unlined shiny black rubber boots, leg-fitting rubber boots from the shop in Soho. Lying on the bed in the flat with her shiny black rubber boots spread wide and the room filled with the sour-sweet inviting, arousing aroma of body-warmed rubber…. A red-haired young girl in a riding mac and boots and nothing else…. Nicely strapped down – gagged only if necessary…’
Thinking all that, with the associated mental video-clips, whilst driving in heavy traffic in a thunderstorm took about 2.5 seconds, after which, concentrating fiercely on driving, he said
“Oh, you mean a c-classical riding mac. ‘Double-texture’ or whatever it is. Rub-rubber lined… That sort of thing. My word yes, jolly expensive. Cost the earth… Cost you a couple of hundred….Why one of th-those…?”
He glanced at her face quickly and she was in the middle of some sort of hot-looking blush – agreeable to watch but what on earth had prompted it? A pink tide seemed to flow slowly down from her hairline to her chin and on downwards, causing him to lose his driving-concentration for another moment while he wondered if the blush flowed on and down over her tits……
“I just want one. Al-always w-wanted one, always…..” She hung her words up for a moment, then started again, as if she was coming back from another room... “…they’re s-sexy aren’t they…? No, s-sexual… I just – I just w-want to wear one, feel it on me…. Do they really c-cost as m-much as that? How do you know? I can’t afford anything like that…”
‘Josie sweetheart’ said his mind, ‘you shall have the very best red-rubber-lined heaviest-double-texture classical riding-mac I – we - can find and you shall have the tallest, shiniest unlined black rubber boots we can find… And then you can come with me to my place and try them on properly, just your mac and your boots of course. I wonder if I should buy a riding crop too? Just in case she’s not too keen on being shafted in a rubber mac and rubber boots and needs encouragement….’
But then the increasingly loud and throaty grumbling of the Aston made him realize he was trying to get Josie Tate to London much too quickly…. ‘Cool it’ he said to himself, it’s not going to happen, you’re letting your imagination get the better of you. You’re fantasizing…’
“Do y-you think they’re s-sexy?” she asked, as in ‘do you think we’ll have rain tomorrow…’ “Riding macs I mean…”.
“Sexy? Depends on the – er –wearer. Suit you down to the ground…” Say it... “A really good, traditional double-texture rubber-lined riding-mac - …”
“The – the k-kind with a red r-rubber lining are s-supposed to b-be nicest….m-more s-sexy” she said matter-of-factly, but stammering. “But they’re much m-much too expensive…”
Hold it right there… Young women like you – well spoken – young women like you don’t say things like that to male strangers… Especially scared young women alone in a car with a large male stranger…..
“I suppose you’d have to have the tall black rubber riding-boots as well” he suggested. “To complete the – er – outfit…?
“B-brown” she said, “not black… B-brown w-would be n-nice…Do you think I’d look s-sexy in things like that?”
This is one very odd young woman…. She’s not on the game – or if she is this is her first day at it – and I’m her first…. No, she’s not on the game…. What’s with the rubber-lined-riding-mac and the ‘sexy’ and the ‘do you think I’d look sexy in things like that?’ then? Scared-stiff and stammering – as if she’s forcing herself to say such things. Saying them out of some kind of bravado, as if she thinks she has to…
He turned his head and looked at her, testing: she was staring straight ahead through the windscreen – scared stiff.
“I imagine you’d look very sexy indeed in things like that. Even sexual – rather than just sexy…” At which her pale face went very nicely pink and she startled him completely by looking quickly down at the knees of her still-damp dress-thing and saying, almost without drawing breath
“I can only afford a cheap mac - I don’t really need riding b-boots I suppose – I don’t have a horse or anything - I’ve got some green wellies – Wellingtons, they’ll have to do…” At which point she lifted her face, but only to stare blankly out through the windscreen:
“...not sure I’ll be brave enough to actually go out in a riding m-mac – in town on foot I mean - in fact I ought to stop fantasizing about being all s-sexy in a riding-mac because… Because it’s – because it’s completely irresponsible“. She said ‘completely irresponsible’ as if there was no worse form of crime… She was silent for a minute or two before turning to him…
“So you see, I think you’d better put me down in Richmond or Twickenham where I can get a train back home, because I need my head examined: I don’t need a riding-mac, I cannot afford a riding-mac, there are other things I do need and can afford – or just about afford - and I have to grow-up and stop f-fantasizing, don’t I? I’m sorry, you’ve been very kind to a very silly person….” She was looking down at her knees again, still scared-stiff – and he was sure she looked about to cry….
‘Fantasising? Fantasising about what for crissake?


Very good, up to her usual standard. 4 out of 5

Riding macs never had red rubber linings. They just had a small lining over the shoulder region. First story pedantic rest worse. 1 out of 5

Author Information

Elizabeth Southwater has published over 30 excellent books of bdsm fiction ranging from spanking to severe bondage and sadism. She specializes in strong characterization, witty dialogue and internal dialogue and vivid description of foreign lands. Most of her books are short-story collections but a few are novels.


Publisher Information

Now defunct as a publisher

 Contact Us    Terms and Conditions    Protection Policy    Privacy Policy    Refund Policy   

This Site Owned By Fiction4All - Copyright Ó 2013