LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Chapter 1
"Oh my God! Woman, you don't just burn your bridges, you blow up the road as well." Laughing at both the unfolding story and the young woman gracing her San Francisco bedroom, Kylee handed her best friend since grade school a second glass of Pinot Noir and took a seat on the cushioned bench at the end of the bed. "I mean, no kidding; all his stuff out the window?"

Accepting the offered glass of ruby comfort, Valerie leaned back against the oak headboard of Kylee's bed, taking a deep sip. "Shirts, pants, you name it, right out the window."

Shaking her head, Kylee took her own swig of Napa Valley red and leaned forward to rest her arm on the blue silk of her favorite bedspread. "OK, Val, we've had our wine and you've had your cry. Now spill."

Setting her glass down on the nightstand, Val ran her hands through her hair. 'Hair straight as a stalk of Idaho wheat and just as blonde,' her mom liked to say. A complete opposite of Kylee's almost blue-black curls, courtesy a heritage consisting of both Greek and Portuguese. The girls had met at a Seattle, Washington, neighborhood pool their third-grade summer, one light-skinned and slathered in sunscreen, and the other already well-browned by the early July sun. Val had offered to share her kickboard with Kylee, and a lifelong friendship was born. As they got older, they found they shared a lot of common interests. Sports, fashion, and to their parents shared headaches, boys. Luckily for Val and Kylee, their tastes in the male gender ran in two different directions. Kylee always went for the loud, athletic types. Val preferred the quieter debate and chess club boys.

"Come on, Val, you're stalling. I want to hear every detail, including how you got away clean."

"What do you mean, got away clean?"

Shrugging, Kylee swirled her wine a little and looked up at her friend. "You know, got away. I mean, let's face it, Ming the Merciless isn't exactly your usual type."

Taking up her glass again, Val frowned down the bed at her friend. "What do you mean my type? And don't call him Ming."

"I mean, unlike the last two milksops you dated, he didn't strike me as the kind of man who would respond to his clothes flying through the air with just a shrug and a tear. And while we're on the subject, why not Ming? I like Ming. It fits him better than Jason."

Val had to partially agree with her best friend. Her last few boyfriends were indeed milksops. First, it had been a bartender/actor she met during her early years as a special events organizer in LA. It had been her first big break, assisting the more seasoned employees with a Tropical Expressions venue for the latest celebrity-endorsed rum. A combination of too much caffeine and too little sleep had robbed Val of her usual calm.

The Intern
Mary Louise Rossington stood at the front of the Lanark Island Ferry craning her neck for her first glimpse of what was to be her home for the year. She still could not believe her luck that out of who knows how many thousand applicants she had been picked as this year's intern for the prestigious Lanark Island Herald.

Only a week before she had found out that she had been on a shortlist of five with a Stanford girl, a woman from Princeton and two Harvard graduates who had majored in Journalism. As a girl who had never left Iowa, she knew she was a make-weight candidate and had already settled for wondering how to best exploit the fact that she had even been shortlisted for her resume.

The Lanark Island Herald was a small newspaper serving an island community of at best a few hundred people clinging to an old fashioned way of life off the Massachusetts coast. It employed only two people and came out only once a week, so when she had told her non-journalist friends about it they had not understood the significance of the honour. Even her parents had urged her to apply for one of the big city newspapers for her internship.

"But Mom you don't understand, it was the first newspaper in the US that had a women editor," she had tried to explain.

"Oh Mary, that was ancient history, no one cares now. Don't you know all that ultra-feminist stuff is so 1980s?"

"But Mom, that isn't it; the publisher owns half the press on the East Coast. Sure, the Herald is run just for history's sake, but every Lanark intern since the year dot has gone on to big things. They say if you complete an internship with the Herald then you are in the 'family' and half the women editors in the country started out on the LIH."

Mary hugged herself in disbelief. She doubted her folks got it, but she did. Not that everything was clear cut; there had been some strange stories and legends about Lanark Island. They said that not everyone took to island life and one in five girls did not stick the year out. That's why the application and interview process had been so strange, she supposed.

There had been over 1000 multiple choice questions in the attitude survey and she had had to write three essays on literature comparatives, including one on the Story of O as compared with Justine. That had been fun, but she had thought at one point after she submitted her efforts that she should have taken a stronger traditional feminist line.

Then there had been the interview. The woman who interviewed her was a fashion editor in New York. She had taken Mary out to dinner and asked her about her home life.

"Were you ever spanked at home?" The question had been thrown out between the soup and the main course.

"Eh... well yes sure," Mary had blustered.

"Call me silly names would you?" Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack! "Take your hand away!" Smack, Smack! "I said take your hand away!" Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack!

"Now, what was it you said about me?" Smack, Smack! "Louder!" Smack, Smack!

Wishful thinking, Bill, wishful thinking: you who has never had the privilege of chastising a female bottom in your life. If only!

All right, I admit. I was fed up, angry, hurt, brassed off, pissed off! Sorry about the language but now you know how I was feeling. I don't usually swear, being too much the gentleman or so I like to think, and I tell you my gentlemanly tolerances had just been stretched to the limit. Well I ask you. How would any man feel who had just been called a conceited male chauvinist pig on his own boat by a woman who I doubt even knew which part of the boat was the bow, which was the stern, what was port, what was starboard - in other words didn't know her arse from her elbow? All right, no more swearing, I promise. That trollop needs a bloomin' good hiding I repeated to myself. (I had told her so just before she swept into the fo'c'sle slamming the cabin door on me). For a moment I toyed again with the vision of her across my knees and me whaling into her bare backside with a slipper. It helped to calm me down. Dream on: she was a solicitor and would have had me in court if I so much as dared lay a finger on her. Let me explain. I will go back to the beginning. Bear with me.

Call me a carpenter by trade, or better still furniture restorer. My father had struggled to put me through a good education hoping I would turn into something special. What a waste! I hated boarding school life, not even my best friend would have called me a scholar and I got away from the place and from home at the first opportunity. I did have one saving grace however. I had always been good with my hands and badly wanted to work with them so I trained as a carpenter and became fascinated working with different types of wood, and from these early stages began taking on work renovating antique furniture. I settled in a little town on the south coast, a prosperous part of England where lots of homes in the vicinity just seemed to have that old piece of furniture that needed touching up, so I opened a little workshop and began to make a reasonably comfortable living. Oh and I drifted in and out of marriage and by the time I'm speaking of I'm getting uncomfortably close to forty, no family and becoming resigned to life as a single gent.

Not quite true to say I was single, for I had a beautiful lady as the love of my life.

The day dawned bright and clear, at odds with the dark-clad figure who moved furtively between the trees. He moved swiftly yet cautiously over the grass, intent on keeping his presence secret, taking care not to step on any dry twigs and attract unwanted attention. He manoeuvred himself into a position where he had an uninterrupted view of the Armstrong ranch, and as he settled down to wait, his face darkened as malice and anger took hold.

It was only a matter of time before they stepped out, as he knew they would. He had quickly discovered their habit of a brief early morning stroll followed by ten minutes or so sitting beneath the cypress tree. His eyes narrowed with resentment as he watched them, the big handsome Texan and his girlfriend. He dismissed the man, and let his gaze drink in the sight of the woman. Even at this early hour, without makeup, dressed in a pair of frayed jeans and a pale yellow shirt, she looked stunning. Her waist length hair was the colour of a raven's wing, black with a faint almost blue sheen that sparkled in the sunlight.

Slipping the camera out of the case he carried over his shoulder, he adjusted the lens and took a few shots, capturing her lithe movements and the joy on her face.

"Bitch," he muttered, "I'll have you soon, you bitch."

---oOo---
Rose and Hank sat with their backs against the trunk of a massive cypress tree, the bright early morning sunshine casting shards of dancing dappled light through the canopy of branches with their clusters of feathery needles. The air was still, with the promise of a fine day ahead.

"I never used to be a morning person until I met you," mused Rose as she watched the interplay of light and shadow overhead. She turned and grinned at Hank. He had lowered his Stetson to cover his face. "Hey - are you asleep?"

"Asleep? No way." A strong firm hand reached up to replace the hat back on top of his head. He grinned at her. "Early morning is the best time of day. It's no time to waste sleeping."

"I'm still getting used to it," Rose yawned. Adjusting her position, she leaned forward and sat with her arms resting on her knees, gazing ahead at the Armstrong ranch. "Your home is beautiful," she said softly.

"Our home," he corrected, lightly brushing her lips with his own.

"You told me it was restored and extended in the 1980's, but when was it first built?"

"My great great grandpa built it back in 1882. It's been in the family ever since. We'll raise our kids here, you and I," he said, with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

Rose extended her left hand, splaying her fingers. The diamonds set into her engagement ring sparkled, and the beautiful emerald stone in the centre of the ring caught the light and shimmered.

"I've only been engaged for three months, and now I'm getting married. I can hardly believe it."

THE APOTHECARY'S DAUGHTER: is a sexy and satisfying spanking romance with a fairy-tale quality, telling the story of the apothecary's daughter, Yasmina, and her ordeal at the hands of her wicked step-mother. This results in a public whipping and harsh treatment in jail. But Yasmina avoids a death sentence by escaping and is subsequently befriended by kindly old Alys who teaches her that spankings need not be cruel, but erotic and enjoyable - a fact reinforced by the enigmatic Tristan, whose destiny is inexplicably linked with Yasmina's.

THE CASTLE: Beth is shocked when she finds her boyfriend has been cheating on her with her best friend. Distraught, she drives off and heads north where she gets hopelessly lost and runs out of petrol. She’s picked up by a rustic and very old-fashioned family in a horse and cart, and they give her shelter for the night in a castle. Alerted by a sharp noise in the night, Beth peeks through a crack in the wall, and learns of the spanking proclivities of her hosts. Beth wakes in the morning to find other people milling around this strange place. A procession emerges, led by Milo - a huge man with chains around his wrist. Attached to the chains are naked women; they are led to a platform in front of the crowd, where they are strapped. Enraged, Beth throws a rock at Milo. Big mistake! She is hauled on to the platform herself. The situation looks bleak, but Milo's retribution is interrupted by the appearance of Lord Ingram. The command is given to clean Beth up and bring her to him. Once in his room she reluctantly obeys his commands to lift her gown, but when he fondles her she slaps him. Outraged, he announces her death sentence and has her dispatched to the dungeon. But a castle guard named Rolaund is sympathetic to the victims of the cruel regime at the castle of the sadistic Lord Ingram ...

THE DREAMER: Single, wealthy and attractive, Alice enjoys all the benefits of a nice lifestyle. But she is not content as there is something missing from her life, something that has eluded her, something that she can only glimpse in her dreams. Her recurring dream is of a house in the woods, and a mysterious figure waiting for her there. One day, acting on impulse, Alice gets in her car and drives north, convinced that by doing so, she will somehow unravel the meaning of her dream. As she explores the quaint alleyways of York she finds herself in a narrow passageway which leads her to a curio shop full of treasures and esoteric objects. Venturing inside she meets the enigmatic proprietor who sells her a very special box. Back at home she opens the box, and finds the key to a new life of passion and discipline at the hands of the man she was destined to meet.

THE GREEN MAN: is who ... or what Laura discovers when she journeys to Oak Lodge, her house in the country, and revisits her secret place; for deep in the heart of the wood is a clearing where there stands an ancient oak. The sun and dappled shadows play tricks as she imagines she sees a face in the leaves, but the face is as real as the man who leaps down from the tree to entrance her, and spank her and birch her, and couple with her beneath the oak. A few weeks later Laura returns to the village for the May Day celebrations, where there is a giant effigy of Jack In The Green, embodying the vibrant spirit of the wild wood. She meets Adam, and the two have a whirlwind romance. There is only one thing missing from the relationship, and even when Laura plucks up the courage to ask Adam to give her the spankings she craves, he does so in a half hearted fashion - until the pair go together to Laura's secret place, where something both strange, erotic and deeply satisfying takes place.

THE WOODSMAN: is an atmospheric and sensuous story set in two different time periods. Alysha disobeys her stepfather's warning and ventures into the wild woods where she encounters the Woodsman, a fierce, commanding man who is a part of the ethereal landscape. Alysha is irresistibly drawn to him, and as events unfurl we see her indignation mingle with wishful submission. He knows her secret and deepest needs... he spanks and straps and birches her as the prelude to a long education under his guidance. Five hundred years later, Alice, holidaying in an English country cottage, encounters a fierce, commanding man to whom she is irresistibly drawn...

When I met my husband in 1949, he was in the army. I first saw him checking the train times at Grand Central Station. I was 21 and he looked like a man of the world straight off the cover of Life magazine. I sidled up to him and pretended to be also checking my train when he spoke.

"Excuse me Ma'am, you don't happen to know where I can get a train to Vicksburg, Louisiana?" he asked me in a wonderful Southern accent.

I blushed not knowing what to say, my sophisticated New York City girl persona deserting me.

"Hey that's kind of cute. I thought all you Yankees had a smart mouth."

I don't remember my reply, but I certainly forgot my shyness and gave him a mouthful. He just laughed and said that was the New Yorkers he knew and loved. Ten minutes later, we were drinking coffee and ten days later, we were engaged.

His name was George Baines. He was a sergeant in the heavy infantry, whatever that was. He called me Lizzie right from the get go. Although I had always been Elizabeth and hated the diminutive Lizzie, coming from him I didn't mind.

Under normal circumstances, I would have gone to meet his folks and we would have had a long engagement. But things did not work out like that. Being in the army, he was always being called away, so in the eight months between meeting him and marrying him we were together less than 30 days, then the Korean War broke out.

I had originally come to New York from Boston to study business and secretarial studies; I guess I never got around to going back. It was not that I particularly took to big cities, but I had no close family of my own, so there was nothing to go back for. My mother had divorced my father when I was eight and I had stayed with dad and I had all but lost touch with her. I had gone to live with a great aunt when the Second World War began as my father had been called up. Even then, my mother showed no interest. So when he did not come back from somewhere called Sainte-Mère-Église in France I was pretty much on my own.

We had originally planned to spend a long holiday with his folks in Louisiana during the summer of 1950 but the threat of war that June had thrown our plans into disarray.

Having lost my father in the last war, I was devastated by the prospect of another. When George failed to turn up for his leave I telephoned every number I had for him and his friends. After one hysterical tantrum on the phone to, as it turned out, the wrong section at his base, I finally received a call from him.

He was not amused. He said if I was going to be a good Army wife then I had to get used to him going away and not calling for days, or even weeks.

June's Surprise
The party was in full swing. The music blared; the drink flowed. June Robbins was having a ball! She'd drunk enough wine to make her tipsy, and was dancing energetically with a young man she'd met about twenty minutes previously. Her dress, which had started the evening quite respectably, had somehow slipped, giving her partner more than just her pretty face to look at. When the dance ended, he hugged her and gave her behind a friendly squeeze, sliding the dress up a little more than was strictly necessary.

She giggled, almost lost her balance, and was caught from behind by two strong hands. Her husband Martin turned her to face him. "Don't you think it's time to go, June?"

She blinked. "Oh, don't be a bore, Martin. Just fetch me another drink, will you?"

Martin shook his head. "No. You've had more than enough," he said firmly.

A sulky look crossed her face. "Well," she said defiantly, "if you won't do it, I'll find someone who will." And she stalked off, somewhat unsteadily.

Two hours later, Martin half-carried his by now extremely drunken wife to a waiting taxi. Only the promise of a very large tip persuaded the driver to let her in the car at all.

Once home, he undressed her and put her to bed, then lay awake worrying about what the hell he was going to do with her.

---oOo---
"June, wake up." Martin was shaking her shoulder. "June, we're meeting Paul and Maggie at the tennis club in an hour. Mixed doubles. Remember?"

June opened her eyes - very slowly. "Oh God! My head - close the curtains, Martin." She rolled over and buried her head in the pillows. "I can't go - I'm sick." Her voice was muffled.

"You're not sick, you're hungover," said Martin. "Now, are you getting up?"

She half turned and sat up gingerly, holding her head. "I really can't. Make up some excuse for me."

"I spend half my life making up excuses for you and your behaviour," said Martin angrily. "Suit yourself. I'm going out!"

---oOo---
Paul and Maggie greeted Martin warmly when he arrived at the club. They were an attractive couple in their early thirties, a little older than he and June.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid -" began Martin. "No, I won't lie for her." He took a deep breath. "June's so hellishly hungover, she couldn't even see a ball, let alone hit it."

"Yes, well," said Paul tactfully. "She did seem to be having a good time last night."

Martin gave a short, humourless laugh. "Oh yes, a great time! Drinking herself unconscious, flirting with anything in trousers, letting every Tom, Dick and Harry grope her!" He looked despairingly at the older couple. "Look, I like a drink and a bit of fun as well as the next person, but ..."

"But this happens all the time, is that it, Martin?" asked Maggie gently.

He nodded. "I'm at my wits' end. I just don't know what to do."

Discipline with Love
A New Computer
Joanna stood facing the wall of the bedroom, her mind spinning with confused emotions. Some time soon, Graeme would come through the door, and she would be faced with the biggest decision of her life - to accept and stay - or to refuse and go. She leant her forehead against the cool pine panelling, and thought over the events which had led her to this pass.


"Damn!" said Joanna Rutherford, as the screwdriver slipped again and jabbed into her thigh. 'Easy Home-Assembly' it had said on the box. Yeah, right, she thought. Easy if you had a degree in engineering or something. Not so easy if the most constructive thing you'd ever done was build a little square house out of Lego bricks! Why hadn't she just accepted her brother-in-law's offer to come over and do this for her? Pride - that's why. She was a mature, independent twenty-eight year old woman, and she would do this herself!

And do it she did. Two hours and much cursing later she stood back and proudly surveyed the new computer-desk. True, she had a couple of bits left over, but she was pretty sure they weren't important, and the desk seemed steady enough. Tomorrow the computer would arrive, and the prospect filled her with a child-like excitement. She had saved long and hard for this. Steadfastly turning her back on the tempting interest free credit offers, she had gone each week to the building society and deposited her money, denying herself many of life's little luxuries in the process. But it was worth it.

Joanna was even more sure of that the following evening as she looked at the brand new equipment all nicely set up on the brand new desk. Tentatively, she set up her first Internet account.

---oOo---
She was brought back to the present by the sound of Graeme moving around in the living room. Was he really going to punish her as he had said? Could she - would she - submit? Did she want this? That question would have been so easy to answer a year ago, with an unequivocal 'Yes'. But now that the moment had come, she just didn't know any more. Just one year since the night she had typed 'that word' into the Search Engine.

---oOo---
Over the next few weeks Joanna became more confident and competent with her computer skills. She learned that cutting and pasting had nothing to do with scissors; that Spam wasn't just that revolting pink meat that came in a tin, and that wallpaper was more than the flowery stuff that decorated her bedroom. The Net was a source of wonder to her. Information on her favourite rock stars and authors, recipes, hints and tips on everything from gardening to gynaecology - all this at her fingertips. She loved it.

Then came the night she allowed herself to think of something which had always fascinated her - something she kept hidden, knowing it to be strange - even perverted.

Special Forces Love
Isabelle Ricci is 25 years old, alone in this world, and starting anew. She had inherited her parent's vast fortune when she lost them a year ago in a horrible car accident. So now she has no family, and because she always kept her own company, she had no friends either.

She had left Chicago and decided to start a new life in Miami. She loved the ocean and the heat. She had endured her last winter of snow and ice. Because money wasn’t a problem, she was going to start a new business making designer cards. Hopefully the rich people here would like her designs, and she'd be a real success.

It was just getting dark and Belle had finished eating at her favorite Cuban restaurant. She wasn't paying attention because she was texting one of her possible suppliers. She had wandered into a bad neighborhood and still wasn't paying attention to where she was going.

---oOo---
On the same street, in the same bad neighborhood, were Jaxon and his Special Forces team, Clint and Jake. They were in the middle of a black ops mission to take down two of the top Columbian drug cartels. Just as everything started going down, Belle walked right into the middle of it. Because they were using silencers she never saw the men fire and take down several of their competition, but the team did.

"Jax, do you see her?" Clint asked. "Can you get to her?"

"Yeah, I think so," he replied running at her. He scooped her over his shoulder and kept running until he got to his black SUV. He opened the driver's door, threw her inside, started the vehicle and sped away before he even noticed his passenger.

Belle was screaming at him. "What the fuck! Who the fuck are you? Let me out of here you asshole. Do you hear me?"

"You have one minute to calm down and listen to me and clean up your language," he snapped at her.

"Let me the fuck out of here. I want out now!!!" she screamed at him trying to open the car door.

"Stop it immediately, young lady," he snapped again. "I'm trying to save you."

"Fuck you are!! You're a pervert who's trying to fucking kidnap me!" she screamed.

"Okay, that's it. Sorry, but I have to do this," he snapped at her as he reached over, grabbed her by the shoulder and applied pressure to her neck. It was a technique he learned in Special Forces training and he was all too familiar with how it worked. Suddenly, she slumped in the seat. He knew she'd be out for a while.

"Clint, are you there?" Jaxon asked.

"I'm here Jax. The mission's over and it was a partial success," he replied knowing his team leader was not going to be happy.

"Partial success? What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, Manuel and his men took out Jose and most of his men, but they saw the girl. I'm sure they thought she saw them too, so three of them went after you, and we weren't able to catch them. You guys are in danger," Clint said.

Welcome to Birchwood Castle
Sitting In the back of her father's big Rover, as it roared over the bleak landscape that is Salisbury Plain, Lucinda reflected upon her situation. The smell of the leather upholstery, and the coarseness of her new school uniform, together with the motion of the car made her feel rather nauseous; or was it just the thought of what was to come? She felt really belittled, dressed in her knee length maroon skirt, crisp white blouse, tie and blazer with the School crest sewn onto the breast pocket. And it didn't stop there either; she even had to wear regulation navy blue knickers and white socks. It was just last week, on the day of her 18th birthday that this bombshell had been dropped upon her.

"Lucinda," Mr Adams had announced, "your mother and I have decided to send you to finishing school. You are an intelligent girl, but you've wasted your years at school so far, and I'm not having any daughter of mine going into the world so obviously unprepared as you are."

Never had she felt such disappointment as when those words were spoken. She had thought her schooldays were over, that soon she would be going to balls, meeting young men and generally having fun. But no, it's back to school and no ordinary school either. Three weeks ago her father had been to the school alone, to arrange her education there himself and only on her birthday last week, when it was all confirmed, was she informed. The thought of it filled her with dread. She had been to no less than 4 different schools since the age of eleven and had under-achieved at all of them.

Although she didn't lack intelligence, Lucinda was by nature a mischievous girl, always in trouble for one thing or another. She paid little attention to her studies, always of the opinion she'd marry a rich husband who would keep her happy for the rest of her life. She thought the days of school dinners, uniforms and discipline were behind her, but from the preparations she'd been through in the last week, it seemed like this would be worse than ever. She had three different uniforms packed in her trunk, as well as her gym and sports kit; what was that all about? Thoughts of previous schools came to mind. All the times she'd been shouted at, made to stay behind and write lines, the times she'd been spanked, slippered, strapped and even caned in front of the whole class. She slipped her hands under her bottom involuntarily at the thought, but she also felt that nice sexy sensation in her groin that she always felt, after her bottom was punished.

"Surely I won't get that here," she thought to herself, "after all, I'm 18, far too old to be bending over for a thrashing."

She looked out of the car window and watched the barren Wiltshire landscape flashing by.

At this time of year the surrounding mountains still carried snow but the mists had yet to clear and Lord Collden could not yet see the village in the valley below.

Today was the day of the first Manorial Court of the year, held as it was on the spring equinox. There would be many petty disputes for him to resolve as his people jostled in a Finding Year to make the most of their positions.

Yet as usual it was not all boundary disputes and breaches of contract that must be dealt with. There were men to be fined and assigned to public service for breaches of the peace and other offences. There were women to be whipped at the pillory. It was ever the same.

This court would be no different, except that this year of all years there was to be a ruling that touched his house.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," he said, knowing who knocked.

The door opened to admit Megan, his housekeeper, a dour woman only a little younger than himself. She had come to his service on the death of her husband, a loyal servant if a little taciturn.

"Will you come to the court today?" he asked her.

"If I may my lord," she said.

"It is not too late to excuse your daughter. I could deal with it in private, as is my right, or leave her to you," he said without turning as he buttoned his best coat.

"She is not strictly of this house, as was her choice when she chose to remain with my sister. She walked her path of mischief, also her choice. Let her be judged as the other girl will be judged." Megan spoke softly but with iron.

"So be it," Lord Collden said with finality. "Oh Megan - those books - please return them to the library."

"Of course, my lord. Not that I see much point, as the Library is scarce worthy of the name," Megan sniffed, speaking freely as she dared.

"I have taken steps to acquire someone to address that particular matter," he replied. "An outsider."

"It is a Finding Year my lord, so why not?" If Megan sensed any further import to the possible arrival of an outsider, she made no comment.

"When she arrives you are to say nothing," Lord Collden said. The edge to his voice was hard. "And see that no one else speaks out of turn."

"As you wish my lord."

A she, is it? Megan smiled to herself.

---oOo---
Rowan stared disconsolately out of the window of her tenth floor flat, watching the remnants of the rain trickle down the windowpane, while below an endless twisting snake of London traffic belched exhaust fumes into the humid air. But beyond the traffic to the west, sitting astride a sandy ridge, lay Hampstead Heath. The oasis of green space beckoned invitingly. Rowan put on her coat and left the flat.

A Brain Storm
AHB Enterprises was a grandiose name for a company that was essentially a slum lord. Anthony H. Barone, or "Fat Tony" as everyone knew him (though none called him that to his face) had inherited a string of rental properties upon the death of his father. Fat Tony had idled his way through college on a football scholarship. He put no effort into his classes and the fact that the college he attended was better known as a "basketball school" was all you really needed to know about its football team and its players. Upon graduation (some suggested he didn't really graduate, rather the football program made sure he got his degree so they could free up his scholarship), Fat Tony took a job as a minor functionary with a small loan company. He maintained his job through a series of shrewdly pointed fingers that sloughed off his mistakes on his co-workers.

Then his father died and left him all these rental properties. There was little to do as Tony adopted his father's strategy of "hands off maintenance", effectively forcing the tenants to repair anything necessary themselves. His only real job was to collect the rent and it was something that Fat Tony was good at. No ... he was ruthless. The very day the law allowed him to lock out tenants, he would change locks and secure the properties. If the tenant wanted the contents, they would have to pay the rent current and post an additional security deposit ... or they forfeited the contents to the landlord.

Fat Tony would put any seized contents up for sale, first through classified ads, then through liquidators, and the rest he would create fictitious renters at one of his storage facilities. There, he would sell off the contents of a "seized storage unit" and liquidate the worthless left-over property for much more money than it was worth ... because bidders could only view the contents from outside the storage unit and guess at what might be included. Tony actually got quite good at making supposedly "abandoned" storage units look quite enticing. In all ... Fat Tony had quite the tidy income and considerable assets, run down though they were.

But this week, Fat Tony had an unusual set of circumstances that he was now forced to consider. One of the run down retail strip centers he owned was suddenly entirely vacant. It wasn't very large, only about 10,000 square feet of space and it had recently only had two tenants. A small furniture dealer occupied a little more than 8,000 square feet of the center and a videographer had the remaining 2,000 square feet. Both had gone delinquent at the same time, and Tony locked out both tenants. He stood by his iron fisted policy and refused access without payment and soon had possession of the entire retail center and all of the contents left by the former tenants.

The furniture store included a series of walls that would make no sense other than to serve as partitions for the various furniture pieces displayed.

"Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live - ashes to ashes, dust to dust - in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." Mere fragments of the burial service penetrated Henry Fairfax's consciousness as he watched the coffin of his elder brother lowered into the gaping earth. But he was no longer just Henry Fairfax. Since George's death only four days previously, he had been Henry Fairfax, Earl of Connington. He allowed the damp soil to trickle through his fingers into the open grave, then abruptly turned on his heel, pausing only long enough to take the arm of his distraught mother, and lead her back to the house. Though he could not see Cecily's face, shrouded as it was in her black veils, he was acutely aware of her speculative gaze.

Back at the house, he mechanically accepted the condolences of friends and neighbours, and tried to comfort the weeping Dowager Lady Fairfax, almost prostrate with grief over the passing of her first-born son. "Poor, dear George," she crooned. "So young - such a good boy."

Henry gritted his teeth. Her Ladyship, of course had not been made fully aware of the circumstances surrounding the death. It would have destroyed her completely to know that her beloved George had died in a drunken tavern brawl - indeed, most of the details of his life, let alone his death, had been kept from his doting mother. Her heart, already broken, would have failed absolutely had she been told of the drinking and the gambling and the women of ill-repute. Henry patted her helplessly on the shoulder, then called for her maid to attend her. Having seen her safely escorted to her room, he excused himself and sought the sanctuary of the study - his study now.

George - big brother George ... how had he felt about him? He downed a brandy, and tried to sort out his feelings for the departed Earl. Had he loved him? Yes - he supposed he had. As children they had played together, fought together, got into mischief together. They had climbed trees, constructed boats, taunted their tutors, and generally enjoyed as carefree a boyhood as their position had allowed. But later, as they had grown up, the four year age difference had begun to make itself felt. George had gone away to university, and then on to his tour of Europe, and had come back a different person. No longer had wanted to hunt or fish or play cricket with his little brother - his interests now were in frequenting the low taverns, and in the women who haunted them.

Henry sighed, remembering his own disappointment when George had returned so changed. He had spent his evenings out of the house, coming home drunk and ill-tempered in the early hours of the morning. Rising at noon, he had moped around, snarling at the staff until it was time to return to the 'pleasures' of the town.

Foreword
The Russell Corner is an exploration of erotic discipline. At its core is love and the unconditional love of various submissive women for their dominants. Women are very much at the heart of the story. Indeed the only man to be more than cursorily treated is the nominal hero.

Richard Russell is a patriarch who loves his wife and daughters and genuinely values his friend and faithful secretary, while his secretary can only envy the severe punishment he hands out to his two eldest daughters at his office. It is her obsession with the corner in his office that gives the story its name.

But the true narrative of the story is carried by Catherine Raven and her relationship with her stepdaughter Eleanor. Although she secretly yearns for the submission of her former married life, widowhood has forced her into the role of dominant. She is on a mission to complete her late husband's will to mould Eleanor into her father's worthy successor.

Eleanor herself is an intelligent, independent woman who clearly need not submit to her stepmother's tyranny, but at heart must because it is the only way that she can address her submissive needs. Again it is really love and a desire to gain Catherine's respect that motivates her scheming.

For most of the women in the story it is necessary to pretend to be reluctant submissives, even to themselves, or else their world will be exposed as a game and come crashing down.

The story is set around Easter 1990. This removes it in time while still allowing it a contemporary feel. This not only serves to provide it with sense of unreality but is a world before mobile phones and the Internet, which could otherwise inhibit the plot.

The plot itself is not a detailed one. It often merely serves as a hook on which to hang various punishment scenarios. But more importantly it allows for characters to be developed through an exploration of their motivations.

The Russell Corner stands as a metaphor for each of the submissives in the story and their quest to be loved and protected for the price of submission.

Dr David Roman, Hampstead, London, 2009


Breakfast at Tiffany's
Annie sat quietly at the Blake household breakfast table and nibbled at her toast. Mr Blake had already left for work and Amy was stomping around the next room in a foul mood as usual.

"Is there something wrong with your breakfast?" Mrs Blake asked.

"No, everything is fine," she replied unconvincingly.

"I don't think her mum is very happy that she stayed over last night," Tiffany added helpfully.

"Nonsense. It was far too late for you to get home by the time you arrived here last night, you had to stay," Mrs Blake said.

"I think that's the trouble," Tiffany replied.

"Mother says she will speak to me about it tonight." Annie spoke in a voice close to a whisper while biting her lower lip.

"You may rise and dress." Lord Anthony Barrington turned abruptly away from the figure ignominiously stretched over his desk, and stood looking out over the wide expanse of lawns and shrubbery visible from the west window. He waited until the sounds told him that the girl was now presentable, and swung round again to face her. In his hand he still held the heavy leather strap he had used to mark her smooth bottom.

She stood quietly, awaiting his instructions, hands folded demurely over the white apron.

Somehow unsettled by her very silence and passivity, Lord Anthony cleared his throat. "Well, Catherine, I hope you have learned something from this."

Their eyes locked. "Yes, Sir," she replied calmly. "I have learned that you do not approve of housemaids who read Shakespeare."

A muscle clenched in his jaw, and he started towards her. "You do not help yourself with insolence, girl!" he snapped. And yet, he mused, there had been no insolence in her tone ... she had merely stated the facts as she perceived them. He checked his annoyance and spoke quietly. "You were not punished for your taste in reading material, Catherine, but for the theft of a book."

"Indeed, Sir?" The ghost of a smile played about her lips. "I removed the volume from the library, it's true, but since it never left the house, I fail to see ..."

"Enough!" Lord Anthony cut her off sharply, angry with himself for allowing this chit of a girl to get under his skin. "You removed it without permission. In many households you would have been dismissed and turned out without a character. Consider yourself fortunate that I chose to discipline you myself. Now, go about your duties, girl."

With only the briefest of hesitations, the housemaid curtsied and left the study.

Anthony replaced the strap in the desk drawer. Crossing to the sideboard, he unlocked the tantalus, and with hands which were not quite steady, poured himself a generous helping of fine malt.

"Damn it!" he muttered to himself. What was it about that girl which set his nerves on edge? She wasn't beautiful ... certainly not like that luscious little Margie who worked in the kitchens, or the rosy-cheeked Becky from the dairy. But that, he supposed, was the whole point. Catherine was no more like the rest of the servants than a swan was like a flock of starlings. It was more than beauty ... it was a quiet elegance, a poise he had never before encountered in one of her class.

When he had offered her the choice of instant dismissal or a strapping at his hands, she had not reacted with shock or tearful pleas as he had expected. Instead, she had appeared to consider her options thoughtfully, then had matter-of-factly accepted the latter. Her expression had not changed when the strap had been produced, nor had she baulked at laying herself across the desk. There had been no nervous twitch as he had lifted her skirt and bared her, and no sound or movement as the leather had raised ten livid welts on her white skin. Afterwards, she had stood, dry-eyed and apparently unmoved.

INTRODUCING THE DOMINANT MAN: Susan Briggs, aka Lavinia De Courselle, is a writer of erotic fiction. She lives in a secluded cottage on the edge of the countryside, and one day opens the door to a tall dark and intensely dominant stranger. He berates her, blames her for his wife leaving him for a dominant lifestyle man after reading one of her books, and then takes his revenge by spanking her bare bottom. This has the effect of injecting a whole new dynamic into her prose - she has a potential best seller within her grasp!

BAD UNCLE DENIS: Christine, an impoverished recovering drug addict, moves in with her uncle-in-law. While supporting and caring for her, Denis admits that he will spank her when she misbehaves. On one occasion, Christine comes home drunk, and this earns her six of the best with the cane - and a surprising confession from Uncle Denis. This in turn, leads to the beginnings of a whole new relationship.

THE BOX: This is a sweet story about an old man, his greedy offspring keen to ingratiate themselves for any inheritance. It transpires that his grown granddaughter Natasha is quite fond of spanking games - she certainly has the bottom for it! But will she get any money her Grandad might leave, or will his fortune go the cat sanctuary? Or perhaps she stands to inherit something infinitely more precious.

DANCING CAN WAIT: A moderately handicapped school girl feels left out of normal activities because the Principal refuses to paddle her. She tells a somewhat bemused teacher that she deserves to be paddled as she has been repeatedly late for school. Forcing her father to authorize 'equal treatment' she gets the paddling she deserves and feels less different due to her disability. Her changed status even earns her respect from her peers - and Troy in particular.

ELIZA: Elderly Len has very vivid dreams, recently featuring the most attractive Eliza who is noticeably more elegant than the young girls in the day care centre. Eliza is in serious need of severe discipline, which despite his lack of mobility he finds he is able to administer. These dreams are definitely much more satisfying than those with which his nights used to be filled!

THE FAIRY SPANKMOTHER GOES TO UNIVERSITY: The fairy spankmother's next mission is a difficult one. Her target is a feminist lecturer at the university, who is far too cynical for her own good. It takes some magic but the deed is done, just payment to collect now!

FOUND OUT: Elaine arrives home to discover her lover Kirsty whom she considers her partner, seated in the living room with her husband John. Not realising that each was aware of the other's existence, she is even more surprised to discover that they have a joint punishment planned for her. She is instructed to change into her sexy nightie and soon discovers just how severe the punishment will be!

I MUST NOT MESS AROUND WITH LAURA HAMPTON: Susan returns home to another caning after once again succumbing to her friend Laura's influence. The punishment is completed with a reward.

IFFY MIFFY: It seemed easy enough, at the time of making the appointment, to find the location of the sexy Welsh Dominatrix, Miss Jones. The pervy traveller eventually arrives and checks in, and eagerly awaits the first session of the evening. But he is in for a big surprise - and it involves a selection of Welsh vegetables!

JAN'S MAKEUNDER: Carole walking out on him when she finds out he's a spanko, hits Alan very hard. Jan, a Lesbian friend, has a plan to help him get back his life, and make him into the Top he aspires to be. Alan meets Jan's partner, Liz and proves he can handle various instruments. A Spanking party is next and at the end Alan is a new, confident Dom. He is curious as to why these women have done all this to help him, and the answers are somewhat surprising.

OLD-FASHIONED WAYS: Ken Wilkinson considers himself fortunate to be winding down his banking career in the quiet coastal resort of Seahaven. Even the business's only excitement, a case involving the Fraud Squad, turns out to be a domestic matter dealt with inside the family - with the aid of a slipper. When the same offender is brought to Ken as a potential employee, he and his staff have their strategy worked out! Old-fashioned banking is certainly not boring.

SINGAPORE STING: Rachel, a flight attendant, has an overnight stop in Singapore. Unfortunately her medications breach local laws and she has to submit to a bare bottomed caning in room 348 from an excise officer for importing drugs with intent to supply. But is everything as straightforward as it appears on the surface ...?

THY ROD AND STAFF: Katrina is a girl in serious need of direction and through meeting 'Sir' at a munch, has found her way. This older man proves to be her 'Good Shepherd' and his rod and staff more than comforts her as she turns from a scruffy girl to a composed and self-assured woman.

TROUBLE AT T'MILL: Shirley is going to line-dancing classes - or so she tells her husband. In fact, she's attending a fetish club where things go horribly wrong when she tells prospective spanker what to do in no uncertain terms. Unfortunately, she fails to realise who he is, and things get nasty when she does. But she isn't the only one keeping a secret!

WENDY, WENDY: Kath is shocked when Wendy, who she had bullied mercilessly at school, joins the company she works for. She has to talk to Wendy about it and even offers to let Wendy cane her. Wendy takes her up on the offer and gives Kath the most severe caning she has ever had. She shows pictures to her husband, Nathan, who is very interested and has a question to ask his wife - the very same question Kath asks her Dom.

Rose nodded and smiled cheerily at a departing customer and began clearing the vacated table, piling plates and cups and saucers onto a tray. She wasn't sure what prompted her to look up, but when she did so, she found herself staring into the the bluest pair of eyes she had ever seen. Their owner was certainly worth looking at. He had a rugged and tanned face crowned with a thatch of dark hair that had the first faint flecks of grey at the temples. As she stared at the handsome stranger, his face broke out into a huge grin. It was, she thought later, one of those defining moments in life - an augury of something momentous about to happen.

She responded, involuntarily returning the smile, but then had the awful thought that maybe he wasn't smiling at her at all. Maybe he was communicating with one of the other customers. Feeling foolish, she turned and looked behind her, but the only diners visible from that particular window were sitting with their backs to the window. So - he was smiling at her after all! It made her feel good, but the feeling was fleeting because when she faced the window once more, he had gone. A pang of intense disappointment shot through her, which was irrational since she had never set eyes on the man before.

With a little sigh, she carried on clearing until she was interrupted a few moments later by someone scraping a chair out from beneath the adjacent table. Rose turned, to find she was indeed the object of that roguish smile. The blue eyes twinkled, and the the little laughter lines surrounding them crinkled in a delightful way.

"Hey - can I get a cup of coffee please?" His voice was deep and faintly growly, and he spoke with an American accent

"Of course." She tried to hide her surprise and the rush of pleasure. "What sort would you like? We have Cappuccino, Latte, Americano ..."

"Yes, that's what I'll have - Americano. And maybe a donut or two? You Brits do great donuts."

"Well, I think you may be in luck - there were two left when I last looked. I'll bring them over," she smiled.

At the counter, Cindy stared in open admiration. "Who is THAT?! What a gorgeous hunk of a man!"

"He is rather, isn't he," agreed Rose. "He wants donuts."

"Then donuts is what he shall have!" said Cindy. And before Rose had time to blink, Cindy had grabbed the remaining donuts, flung them on a plate, and sprinted across the café to his table. "Here you go," she smiled. "I hope you enjoy them. Is there anything else I can get you? Anything special you need?" she asked, hopefully.

He shook his head and then appeared to change his mind. "Mmmn - this is real good," he said as he demolished half the donut in one bite. "There is something, if you wouldn't mind?"