Saturday, 27 August 2016

Saturday, August 27, 2016 -

The Spanking Digest: Issue 8

a journal of spanking fiction
by LSF Publications
Published: Aug 3, 2016
Words: 25,211
Category: general
Orientation: M/F
Click HERE for further details and purchase options.
Do You Make Exceptions, Sir?
by Colin Daniels

Natalia felt the butterflies growing in the pit of her tummy as she wandered the halls towards the office. All around her girls wandered in different directions. They paid her no attention. School was out, and their laughter and wide smiles only served to darken the young woman's mood. She forced herself to keep going, even though a voice from the back of her mind tried to impose reason. Was she still sane?

She forced herself towards the school secretary's office. She almost faltered, almost spun on her heel and out to safety. But she had no choice in the matter, not really.


Mrs Witherspoon was not particularly surprised to see Natalia in the office. After all, as school captain she often had to visit Principal Skinner. It was not even that unusual when Natalia said it was a 'private matter'. She shrugged, picked up her bag, and prepared to leave. It was Friday afternoon and she had no intention of staying late today.

She knocked, slipped her head into Mr Skinner's office, and told him Natalia was waiting. He looked a little surprised, but pleasantly so. Natalia seemed a little preoccupied, almost worried. Surely she wasn't in some kind of trouble.


"Principal Skinner will be with you in a moment. Say, are you okay, Natalia?" Mrs Witherspoon asked in a concerned tone.

The girl seemed to snap out of her inner thoughts and looked up with a warm smile. "I'm fine, thanks. Just preoccupied. Have a good weekend."

Mrs Witherspoon smiled. She was such a lovely girl, and so pretty too. To think she'd wondered whether Natalia might be in some kind of trouble. She bade Natalia goodnight and slipped from the office, closing the door behind her.

Principal Skinner led the senior girls' captain into his office. He was a little surprised to see her here unannounced, particularly with the unreadable expression on her face. He offered her a seat, trying desperately not to let his eyes linger too long on her figure as she did so.

For Natalia was an exquisite beauty. She had only turned eighteen years of age that fall, but her figure was full, with a woman's curves. However, it was her hair that made her stand out: long golden locks that flowed in a wavy fashion down her back. He sighed to himself as he sat down; it would not be quite the same next year without her.

"Well Natalia, you're not smiling today for a change. What seems to be the problem?"

Natalia paused slightly, as if carefully considering what to say. In fact, she had practised every word of what she was about to say several times, but her mind was blank. Her heart raced. Principal Skinner sensed her unnatural nerves and waited silently.

"Sir, do you remember those girls that were caught smoking last month?" she asked.

Thursday, 25 August 2016

Thursday, August 25, 2016 -

A Real Man for Ruth

a mail order bride romance
by Susan Thomas
Published: Aug 2, 2016
Words: 30,386
Category: western, romance, historical
Orientation: M/F
Click HERE for further details and purchase options.
Chapter 1

I didn't cry at the funeral of my parents although I know that's what is expected. Folk wanted me to be the frail, grief-stricken daughter who couldn't cope, but I wasn't going to put on a show for them. My grief was deep and hurt in ways I never thought possible, but it was my grief and not for public display. I cannot recall anything at all about the service; I know it happened, but what the Rev. Cornflower actually said must have passed me by. Afterwards I accepted the condolences of the many mourners, but who or what they said is also gone.

Mrs Bancroft, our kindly neighbour, had organised refreshments but I tasted nothing. I was aware of the expectations: a young woman was expected to faint or at least to require support; I did not. The malicious, of which every town has a few, whispered unpleasant comments, but I cared nothing. I was locked in my own private grief and coming to terms with the simple fact that I was all alone in the world.

Two days later I went to see our solicitor, Mr Jarndyne. He patronisingly assumed I would be selling the gunsmiths business. In fact, I was perfectly capable of taking on the business. There was no gun in the shop I couldn't handle or repair, and that was without the help of Old Phil, the sole employee. However, although the business was profitable, father's debts had piled up. Paying the interest on his various debts was crippling and made it imperative to sell up now while a good price might be had and before the debts escalated. If I sold both the business and our small house, I could clear the debts and have a sum of money that would help me make a new start. If only father had allowed me to run the business side, then all might have been well. Guns were his passion, but he was no better a businessman than he had been a farmer. His stubborn pride had prevented him seeking any help with either.

Much to his surprise, I refused Mr Jarndyne's help in selling the business, but I knew he wouldn't drive a hard bargain. Mr Flathers, the rather dour Yorkshireman I sold it to, expressed surprise at just how hard a bargain I did drive.

"Lass," he said bluntly, "thou's put me through mangle... tis a pretty mangle with silk lined rollers, but a mangle nonetheless."

With the proceeds of the sale (and the sale of the house) the debts were paid. When all was done I had a good nest egg to help me re-start my life. I took a room with Mrs Bancroft and considered my options. They were not good. To earn a respectable living is hard for a woman. I could become a teacher in a National school or one of the new Board schools but it wasn't an attractive prospect.

Monday, 22 August 2016

Monday, August 22, 2016 -

The Debt Collector

spanking the arrears away
by Jack Crawford
Published: Aug 2, 2016
Words: 30,573
Category: general
Orientation: M/F
Click HERE for further details and purchase options.
Chapter 1

It has always amazed me how certain jobs are looked down upon by those not performing those jobs. Why consider janitorial work as menial or demeaning? It involves labor that has to be done by someone, and those janitors I've run across who do excellent work are those who take pride in what they do. And what about lawyers? There is a running joke that tells you what most people think about that profession: 'What do you call a hundred dead lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start.'

But, when you have real trouble involving the justice or legal system, the first person you call is a lawyer. It's a good thing the one you call isn't dead at the bottom of the ocean, right? Dentists get a bad rap, too. But think about what their job is like... up close and personal in people's mouths that they don't really know. Hey, it may be a little uncomfortable to have a tooth filled, but how would you like to wake up every day to the prospect of meeting a bunch of people who don't want to see you? As a good dentist, you do your duty, put your hands in their mouths and hope you don't get bitten.

I'm reminded, also, of the CBS television network public service announcement about the importance of a prostate exam. You don't like the humiliation of bending over for a finger probe, but what about the doctor? Do you think he really went all those years to medical school and being an intern just so he could stick his finger up your backside?

Consider, now, the plight of the lowly debt collector. He is the last person you want to hear from if you're having trouble paying your bills. Oh, it was all sunshine and daffodils with the lending institution when you wanted money from them... but when they want it back, the debtor considers any communication with the lender as being a sure sign of the apocalypse. This is especially true when the debt is secured by, say, your car or your home.

Forget that you wouldn't even have that car or house without the lender, but how dare they ask to be repaid... especially when it is often so inconvenient to repay that debt. Don't those people have any sympathy for the poor working person who has all sorts of other financial demands being made of them?

Then again, as a debt collector, do you know how many times I've heard, 'You can't get blood from a stone'? Do you think these debtors have any idea about the big picture, in economic terms, or even the smaller picture such as my insignificant existence as a debt collector? It's a rhetorical question, but just in case you missed it, the answer is no.

Tuesday, 16 August 2016

Tuesday, August 16, 2016 -


... and other spanking tales
by Philip Kemp
Published: Aug 1, 2016
Words: 24,495
Category: general
Orientation: M/F
Click HERE for further details and purchase options.

I was 18 when I got my first proper job - in the lingerie department at Pearson's, the biggest clothing store in town. It wasn't, to be honest, entirely through my own merits. Hugh Pearson, who owned the store, was an old friend of my dad's - in fact they'd been in the army together during the war. I knew his daughter Marion, too - she'd been a few years ahead of me at school. So when I finished school and was looking for work, Dad had a word with Hugh - and there I was, with a real proper job that paid all of £22 a week. Doesn't sound like much these days, I know - but this was back in 1963, when money went a whole lot further than it does today. I was still living at home, too - so after I'd given Mum £8 a week towards my keep, I found I still had plenty to spend on whatever I liked.

Maybe that was the cause of my downfall. Pretty soon I got into the habit of thinking I could have anything I wanted. So in the run-up to Christmas that year I was spending quite freely - on stuff for myself, my family and friends. Until, with Christmas still a week away, I suddenly found I'd run out of funds, four days before pay-day. Luckily I'd bought all my presents, so I thought I could manage for a bit. And then - temptation struck.

Temptation was a beautiful pair of panties of emerald-green silk - French culottes, and designed by Givenchy too, so as you can imagine they didn't come cheap. They weren't even in Pearson's either, but in the A La Mode store down the street. The moment I saw them I wanted them with an uncontrollable longing, especially since they were just my size. But they only had one pair left in stock, and with Christmas coming up and customers spending freely, I was pretty sure someone would snap them up.

Of course, I could probably have got an advance on my wages. That would have been the sensible thing to do. Mrs Jenkins, the head of department, was a warm, friendly woman and very approachable, and I'm sure she'd have agreed without any hesitation. But I thought she might ask what I wanted it for - and stupidly, I felt I'd appear 'shallow', wanting money for something so frivolous as a pair of French silk panties. Looking back now at my teenage self, I can see what an idiot I was being. But at the time, I made the fatal choice.

So one day just before lunchtime, when I was sure nobody was looking, I slipped some money out of the till. I told myself that I was just borrowing it, and that come pay-day I'd pay it back. Then as soon as it was my lunch hour I shot off to A La Mode, praying that my silken joy hadn't been sold.

Saturday, 13 August 2016

Saturday, August 13, 2016 -

Taming Tracy

a contemporary western romance
by Jocelyn Cross
Published: Jul 30, 2016
Words: 30,687
Category: western, romance
Orientation: M/F
Click HERE for further details and purchase options.

Honoria Van der Biek pushed a stray dark curl from her brow as she sat quietly on the passenger side of the front seat of the cowboy's pickup truck. The two of them had enjoyed an evening of food and wine (beer for him) and pleasant conversation in each other's company. It had become a sort of ritual for the two of them over the past several months: every two or three weeks they would get together and make the long drive into town from the depths of the isolated valley deep in the Colorado Mountains.

The cowboy, Mark Reston, had a ranch that was near the State addiction rehab facility; 'near' being a relative term in this remote part of Colorado. As the chief administrator of the facility, it was impractical for Honoria to socialize with her employees... which was fortunate really because most of those employees were less than desirable dinner partners. Shortly after she had taken over at the rehab facility, there had been an attempted escape. The escapee had tried resting in the Mark Reston's barn but was discovered. When Honoria showed up to collect her 'client', she and the cowboy had hit it off immediately. She found him attractive, sexy and dominant; he lived alone and they didn't work together: what wasn't to like?

They went to dinner a few nights after that and through the course of dinner conversation, her need for what became something of a ritual had been established. Right now Honoria sat quietly in the pickup truck with the cowboy, knowing what the rest of the evening held in store. She was frightened. She was thrilled. She was a ball of emotions.

Mark was driving them back to his ranch where Honoria had left her car. No trace of emotion showed on his face, though he was always amused at the change she underwent the moment she got into the truck on the drive back. Almost unstoppably chatty during dinner, she was silent as a stone in the truck.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye and marveled at how her conservative attire hid one damned alluring female form beneath. He should know: he'd seen her undressed more than once. He also appreciated the concern and apprehension that was building beneath that quiet surface as they both knew what was coming next. When they got back to his ranch house, she would be subjected to something that was very primal ... something that she desperately needed on a regular basis ... and though she might initially complain or plead, it was something she knew deep within that she could not survive without.

Mark parked his truck next to the ranch house and turned to his quiet dinner partner. "Go on in and get ready," he said in his deep bass voice. "You know what to do."

Honoria looked at him with pleading, watery eyes, but she said nothing.