Strike Three Novels & Stories

He raised the stick again in an attempt to strike himself. Hannah was amused by the turn of events. She raised her hand to stop him. "That's not it. I was thinking that I can let you off with a slap on the wrist. Say, three strikes on your palm should be enough." "Only three strikes?" Andrew widened his eyes in confusion. "But Mr. Sorsby had struck Malcolm more than 30 times." After all, Malcolm did look like he was in a world of pain by the time Kenneth was done. Andrew wondered if he had gone crazy after striking himself with the stick. To think that he was actually jealous that Malcolm had received a heavier punishment.

But his son’s assault was only just beginning. “Second strike” “Third strike” “Fourth strike” “Fifth strike” “Sixth strike” *Bam*

Small but solid. “Ten strikes,” he tells me. “You’re going to count them. Thank me for each one. And when we’re done, you’ll have bruises that last for days. Every time you sit down, every time you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you’ll remember that you belong to me.” I bend over the table without being told. The first strike lands with a crack that echoes through the room. "One!" I gasp. “Thank you, sir!” He waits. Lets the sting build. Then –

Even Torren had leaned forward slightly. We reset again. I went into a combination I had held back until now. Three strikes, fast, each coming from a different angle. Most people couldn’t track all three. The first two connected. The third didn’t. She read it. Somehow, she saw it coming just before I fully committed. She dropped low, rolling under the strike, and came up on my outside. Then her leg hooked behind mine. The sweep was clean. Perfect timing. My balance went. My knee touched the ground.

She staggered back against the wall, her mind flashing with images of her betrayals—running away from the wedding, the kiss, what she'd done in our bed, and the way she'd threatened me with Mom. She realized then that she hadn't just made a mistake; she was beyond redemption. "Why? I treated you so well. Why did you lie to me?" "Lie to you?" Elton scoffed. "Did I lie when you chose to cheat on Jonas? Did I force you to do any of it? You got exactly what you deserved!" "Beat him up! Hit him to death if you have to!" Morgan roared. As strikes from the baseball bat fell and Elton's screams filled the house, Tracie stood there, numb. She couldn't stop murmuring, "I'm sorry, Jonas. Please just gi

The husband I, Sienna Hart, had wanted to spend the rest of my life with, hurt both me and our son three times over the same woman. I forgave Caleb Price again and again, only to be met with his growing audacity. When he once again tried to make amends in his own way, assuming I would naturally forgive him, I had already bought plane tickets for my son, Tobey, and me to leave. … The hospital room was already filled with toys and snacks that Tobey loved, but my husband, Caleb, was still instructing people to bring in a gaming console.

I shook her hand off. "Emilia, I've given you chances. Three chances. The first time, you wanted to be impartial and gave the antidote to someone else. The second time, you wanted to be impartial and gave me the suppressant. The third time, you wanted to be impartial and kicked me out of the camp." I looked at her. "Three strikes, so we're done." She collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Dustin tried to help her, but she pushed him away.

I breathed through my nose. The cock ring was relentless and precise and I focused on his hand between my shoulder blades and the cold of the car and the smell of leather and I stayed still and I stayed quiet and it cost me more than I was going to admit out loud. Then the paddle landed. Three strikes. It was all and precise and placed with the kind of accuracy that told me he had decided exactly where they were going before he lifted his arm once. Sharp heat blooming outward from my lower back and my hips drove forward hard into the seat before I could stop them and a sound tore out of me that was absolutely not quiet.

he said, then I yelped as I felt a stinging slap on my ass. I didn’t know what all this 3-strike stuff was all about, but I was curious about where 3 strikes would land me. Was he going to be harsh like those guys in the p**n? I unfortunately didn’t have much of a big imagination to assume anything extreme, but I was enjoying the benefits of being a good boy at the moment, so I was going to behave. “Get up and put your hands on the back of the recliner,” he commanded. We shifted, and I knelt in his big easy chair, grabbing the back of it.

I stood outside the operating theater, feeling lost. My third brother, Carl, shoved me to the floor and called me a monster. He said I'd cursed them, that I was the reason for my parents' deaths. I scraped my palm on the floor, and blood oozed out. I wanted to cry from the pain but forced myself to hold it in when I looked around. The people standing around me didn't dare come near—I could see the fear and hatred in their eyes. I didn't dare make a sound. All I did was bite my lip and get to my feet. Then, I dusted my dress off and comforted myself.