LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Amy Mathieson lay face down on her bed and sobbed. She put one hand back behind her and gently rubbed the livid, dark purple weals that criss-crossed her cherry red bottom and upper thighs. Weals like that could only be left by one thing and that was vicious application of a whippy green switch.

Amy was a freshman member of the college's most exclusive sorority, Phi Gamma Beta. Her mother and her older sister had both been eminent members of the same sorority. A position in Phi Gamma Beta was hotly sought after and even given some of the organisation's eccentricities every girl on campus wanted to be a PGB girl. The sorority's current members included the girl most likely to be college valedictorian, Denise, the volleyball captain, Naomi, the cheer leading captain, Shauna and the dramatic society's leading actress, Nicole. Many of the graduates went on to become famous and successful. The sisterhood's current housemother, an elegant, softly spoken, black lady called Stevie, put it down to the application of strict discipline within the house, including the Friday night paddling sessions that every member was expected to endure.

Amy was the sorority's 'pet'. She was an intelligent, pretty, polite girl with a sunny disposition and all the sisters loved her. All but one. It was customary in the sorority to assign the freshmen a big sister, a senior who was prepared to care for her and guide her in the ways of the sisterhood and the college itself. Part of that care included administering physical discipline when necessary. This year as there were only three freshmen admitted to the sorority and four seniors or 'big sisters' as they were also known currently in residence one girl had had to forego the privilege of having a 'little sister' assigned to her. That senior had been the curly haired brunette Denise. She intended to be the school valedictorian and felt that the more time she had to devote to her studies the better. This year the three new girls had received the following assignments. The tall, chestnut haired rebel Jessica had been given into the care of the petite blonde cheerleader Shauna. The strawberry blonde, boarding school girl Emma had drawn the strict, busty redhead Nicole and flame haired, good girl Amy had been chosen by the tall, athletic, raven haired Naomi.

Amy loved Naomi and she could not imagine getting a better mentor. Whilst all the girls were subject to discipline over the knees or under the paddles of their 'big sisters' or Stevie the only paddlings Amy ever seemed to get were the weekly paddling sessions that everyone received. Jessica's rebellious nature seemed to get her regular trips over the knees of Shauna and Stevie. Emma, whilst she did not do a lot wrong, had found that Nicole was a hard task mistress and was spanked for far more than she actually deserved. Naomi would, and had, spanked Amy if it was needed, but it rarely was.

Emma sat on the front porch in her rocker pensively reflecting on the events of the past year, where a simple trip to the bank to pick up her passport led to her witnessing Manuel Mercado shoot innocent people. She had been whisked away into Witness Protection, but what started out to be the worst day of her life, led her to Travis, the love her life.

Travis was assigned to protect her, and that was not an easy job because she had not been very cooperative. Fleeing Mercado and his men was traumatizing, and little did she know that the experience would shape her future life in a particular direction – because now she was married to Travis and living on this fabulous ranch. Travis had even managed to bring her horse, Honey, to the ranch as a surprise.

Months had passed since Manuel Mercado was re-captured and sent to a hospital for the criminally insane. This time, everyone prayed he wouldn't be able to buy his way out. Slowly, their lives returned to normal. Emma rode Honey every day. Travis had relaxed his rule about her not riding alone and it was so exciting to ride through their property. There was a lovely lake not too far from the house and it was one of her favorite places. She loved sitting under the huge oak tree, looking out at the lake. Usually she brought a light lunch and her journal.

Her writing seemed to be so much more productive down at the lake. She would even go swimming when it was an especially hot day and she was sure Travis was working and wouldn't have time to join her. Swimming by herself was one rule that Travis didn't realize she frequently broke. Swimming alone was forbidden and if she was caught, would most certainly result in a good fanny warming

Travis had been very reluctant to put her over his knee since the 'out of control' paddling. He felt guilty for paddling her so hard, especially after he saw her bruised butt. Although she forgave him, he still carried around some guilt. That guilt, coupled with her trying really hard to be good, had meant she hadn't received a spanking in months. She considered herself a very lucky girl!

That luck abruptly ended one very hot summer day while she was having a long, relaxing swim in the lake. The water was so cool and refreshing that she stayed in longer than she had planned. She knew there was a possibility Travis would finish up early that afternoon because, after breakfast when he saw her packing up various foods and her journal, he asked if she was going to the lake and said he'd try to join her later. Time just got away from her. The water was so cool and refreshing she didn't even see Travis ride up. Suddenly, she heard him bellowing at her.

"Get out of that water immediately, Emma," he yelled.

The Talk
Pajama clad, Shelly Brooks crept quietly on bare feet into the den of her parents' house and turned on the computer. It was 1:00 AM. The rest of the family had retired for the night three hours earlier and were now sound asleep. At least she fervently hoped they were sound asleep.

A 19 year old sophomore at the state university, she was currently home visiting her family over a long holiday weekend. They were glad to have her back, even if only for a few days, for Shelly was, in most respects, a parent's dream. She had been an honor student in high school as well as a star athlete, both in volleyball and on the cross-country team. Her talents were ultimately rewarded with a scholarship to the state university where, now in her second year, she continued to excel both athletically and academically.

She was pretty too, five foot eight with long chestnut brown hair and blue eyes, and the firm solid body of an athlete. Yes, she knew her parents couldn't be more proud of her.

Of course, that made her even more self-conscious about her little early morning raid on the family computer. She just knew if they found out about her strange personal proclivities they would die, and yet she yearned to talk to someone about it, especially her mother with whom she had readily shared all of her other secrets, even the sex stuff.

Her mother had always been understanding, open minded and non-judgmental during their talks, but she feared that this strange fixation with spanking would just be too weird for her parent's suburban, upper middle-class sensibilities.

As the computer booted, each little sound it made seemed thunderous to her. She was seized by the irrational fear that someone would hear and come to investigate. Of course that would be no big deal at this point. She could just plead insomnia and say she was going to play games or e-mail a friend until she got sleepy. Soon though, she would be committed. Once she was into her favorite spanking story sites a sudden interruption could prove very embarrassing.

She let the computer boot fully then accessed the internet. At this point she stopped and went back into the hall just to make sure the others were all still sound asleep. Satisfied, she slipped back into the den and logged on to her favorite site.

The next two hours were spent devouring one story after another. She even printed a few that she really liked so she could read them again in the security of her room. Yawning, she looked at the clock and was shocked to see that the display now read 3:00 AM.

Oh shit, how did it get so late? she thought. She shut down the computer and returned to her room. Soon she was fast asleep.

Shelly's slumbers were ultimately interrupted by the sound of her mother calling for her younger brother.

"Bill! Bill Brooks, are you in this house?"

Amy looked around at the confused scene around her and sighed. She had rarely felt so alone in her entire life. The pretty, petite eighteen year old was at her first day of college. She had always done well at high school and at least there she knew where she was. This sunny late summer day she had no idea. She was supposed to report to her sorority house of Phi Gamma Beta to sign up as a pledge and begin her orientation, but at the moment all she could see were students rushing to and from buildings in a confused mêlée. She set her suitcases down on the pavement and consulted a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. It was meant to be a map of the campus, but at the moment it may as well have been written in Chinese for all the sense she could make of it. She was meant to be at the sorority house by ten am sharp. Her older sister and her mother, who had both been members of Phi Gamma Beta had advised her that discipline in the sisterhood was strict and any infraction of the rules, including tardiness, was punished severely. Amy looked at her watch : five minutes to ten. She felt like bursting into tears. For all she knew the house could be on the other side of the campus. She was going to be the first pledge in history that was expelled before even making it to the sorority house.

There was nothing else for it. She had to ask someone. She screwed up all her courage and walked a few paces to a tall, tanned, attractive, athletically built dark haired girl a few years her senior in conversation with a friend. "Excuse me?" Amy interrupted their conversation politely.

The girl stopped talking to her friend and looked down at the nervous freshman. "Yes?" she inquired.

"I'm looking for the Phi Gamma Beta sorority house. Is it nearby?"

"Phi Gamma Beta? Are you a new pledge?" the girl asked, a smile playing across her full lips.

"Amy. Amy Mathieson and yes, I am."

The girl's bewitching green eyes sparkled, she lifted one finely muscled golden arm and pointed languidly at a large, double storied house just across the manicured green lawn and said "That's Phi Gamma Beta, honey and if you're a new pledge you had better get a move on or they'll boot your pretty little behind right out. Registration closes at ten sharp."

"Thank you," Amy said, whirling to pick up her cases.

"You're welcome and from now on you had better call me ma'am, sweetie, because I'm one of your big sisters, that is providing you can get over there in the next three minutes."

Amy felt a blush creeping up her freckled cheeks "Yes ma'am," she snapped over her shoulder, picking up her cases and hustling as fast as they would allow her. She squealed as her new 'big sister' calmly took a step towards her and planted a firm swat on her firm, round little bottom.

Beth arrived home early and dumped her bag on the kitchen table. The sound of soft music emanating from somewhere upstairs made her smile. Joe always listened to music when he worked; it helped him to concentrate and gave him added inspiration to write his novel. Taking a bottle of chilled white wine from the fridge, she grabbed a couple of glasses and made her way upstairs, intent on surprising him.

She did. Their bedroom door was ajar and she kicked it fully open with her foot.

"Surprise!" She burst into the room, her face wreathed with smiles.

Joe was lounging naked on the bed, his head cushioned by the satin-covered pillows. He looked like a Greek God with his dark blonde hair curling into the nape of his neck, and his honed body stretched out invitingly. His eyes opened, flashing sparks of blue. He was obviously startled.

"Beth! Bloody hell! What are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly. Sorry - were you asleep? I didn't mean to wake you."

Beth deposited the wine and glasses on the bedside table and bent to give her boyfriend a kiss. "This novel writing must be very taxing if it makes you take a nap in the middle of the afternoon. Still, now that I'm here, I may as well join you and wear you out properly."

Beth grinned and began unbuttoning her blouse, but her fingers stilled as she saw the look on his face. He had paled beneath his tan, and was looking extremely agitated.

"Joe? What's wrong?"

"Beth. I - we ... Oh God, I'm sorry, Beth."

"Sorry? Whatever for?" Her euphoria faded.

Outside, the sun hid behind a cloud, casting dappled shadows in the room. And then the bathroom door opened and a naked woman walked out, her skin still damp from the shower, her golden hair cascading in damp tendrils over her pert breasts. She entered the room and involuntarily clapped a hand over her mouth when she caught sight of Beth.

Beth looked at Jane. The two of them had been best friends since junior school. Jane stared back. She lowered her hand, and her pouty pink lips curved into the semblance of an ironic smile. She made no attempt to cover herself. Beth reeled in disbelief. Jane and Joe? How could they? She staggered backwards and looked once more at Joe. His guilt was evident by his hangdog expression. He held out his hands. It was a strange gesture, almost an entreaty.

"I'm sorry, Beth," he repeated.

"Well - she had to find out sooner or later," quipped Jane. She moved languidly over to the dressing table and picked up a brush, and began smoothing down her damp curls. It was Beth's hairbrush, on Beth's dressing table, in Beth's bedroom - and it was readily apparent that Jane had been shagging Beth's boyfriend. "These things happen, Beth. It's nothing personal."

Nothing personal? The words echoed hollowly. Beth felt physically sick.

Arrival
I arrived at the DeMarcco mansion in late August. Summer was already fading into fall as winter comes early in such a northern province. I found the castle cold and dark and foreboding, despite the presence of the Master, who was young and handsome and extremely wealthy. He and his pretty bride were renowned for their lavish parties and generosity, and anyone in the country, including the Duke of Kennington, was always pleased to receive an invitation.

I viewed my change of employers as a tremendous advancement, for a recommendation by the DeMarcco's would secure me a position anywhere I wanted. I felt eminently grateful to dear Molly Wells for recommending me, our childhood disagreements forgotten and forgiven with this single generous gesture. Had I known the true nature of her generosity, however, I would have rewarded her face with a slap from my palm.

On just the third day in my new position I had the opportunity to witness for myself the situation I had instilled myself into. It was a cold, blustery morning, with a touch of fog settling over the hills. I had started a fire in the kitchen before dawn and was helping the cook prepare the breakfast when I heard a shriek of pain and horribly angry voice shouting.

I glanced at the cook but she continued her work unabated, and I looked nervously behind me as the sounds came closer. The door burst open and to my surprise it was the Mistress herself who entered, her sleeping garments covered with a thick robe, cruelly dragging a weeping, red-faced girl by the earlobe. I recognized the girl as one of the chambermaids, Mary, by name. She was rather vapid and dense, if I recalled her correctly, and smitten with one of the groomsmen.

The Mistress strode angrily into the kitchen and ordered the cook to fetch "the strap and be quick about it!" The cook obeyed instantly, heading across the room, while the pitiful girl began to wail and beg for mercy.

"Shut your mouth you lazy whore!" scolded the petite lady, her black eyes flashing brightly with arrogance and fury. "How dare you enter your Mistress' quarters without knocking!"

"But I did knock, Ma'am," sobbed the girl. "I knocked three times, and loudly, too, you must 'ave 'eard!"

"The impertinence!" screamed the Mistress, her mouth shaping into a snarl that distorted her graceful lips into something quite repulsive. "How dare you call me a liar! You shall get the cane for that! Cook! Bring me the cane instead of the strap! This sorry thing needs a taste of real discipline."

The cook obeyed, replacing the just removed strap back on its hook and returning with a long, white, crock-handled cane, slightly bent from years of use. I watched, petrified with terror, as the cook handed this terrible instrument of punishment to the furious lady who took it in her hands with a look of relish that frightened me beyond motion or thought.

Atonement
The Denver train pulled in with a screech of iron on iron that jangled the nerves of every cowpoke in town and might even have roused one or two of the residents on Boot Hill. Then with a judder and a hiss it came to a full stop in a great cloud of steam.

In the old days people used to come for miles to greet the train, but that was back in the '70s after the War Between the States. Nowadays few people paid it any attention.

Rachel Bedford had been just a girl back then, not that she would have been allowed to run with the other kids. Her parents thought that such behaviour was too undignified for a daughter of theirs. Well she didn't feel so dignified now, and not so very much older, she had come to realise.

At 25 she had come home, to whatever was left of it anyway. The porter dropped her trunk onto the rough wooden platform and extended his hand for a tip. After a glance at the trunk, perhaps her only worldly goods now, Rachel forced a smile, gave him one of the last coins in her purse and stepped onto the station.

"Oh my God," someone cursed, "she's back."

Rachel cringed. She had entertained a fantasy that she could re-enter the town unnoticed, but the town was too small for that. Two women threw her a look of scorn and whispers passed between them as they hurried away as if from the devil.

"Rachel Bedford is back," someone behind her took up the cry of the first voice and soon loud-hushed voices and the clatter of chatter, serenaded her as she considered what to do next.

"Best leave that there Mrs Bedford," a kindly voice said. It was old Mr Martin, the station keeper. "Leastways until you know what you want done with it. I'll send it along."

She nodded uncomfortably, especially at the implication that she might not be welcome at the ranch. She heaved a sigh that threatened to become a sob, which she hastily suppressed.

"Your husband is over at the saloon," Martin said casually. Then he added quickly, "The Lucky Strike, I mean."

The Lucky Strike was the more respectable of the town’s two bars; the other being for ranch hands, single men and widowers. Was the comment meant to be significant? What if it was? Rachel nodded and forced another nervous smile.

"I guess that's where I'm heading then," she said in a quiet voice to no one in particular.

---oOo---
Over at the Lucky Strike word reached John Bedford without anyone daring to approach him. The news had spread like a prairie fire and the streets were buzzing with it. One or two men at tables near him offered up pitying looks, but most just wore polite masks of curiosity.

I should never have married a woman more than half my age. The thought was a familiar one by now, an old friend he greeted every day.

Deal-Maker
NOVEMBER 1982.

The tableau I was witnessing was clearly not without a certain sense of fascination to me, my best friend Bonnie seated on her living room sofa with her boyfriend Rupert bent over her left knee while her right leg was pressing down across the backs of his thighs and her left hand was pinning his upturned right wrist to the small of his back. Equally intriguing was the fact that the stocky, black-haired young man was wearing only three clothing items, all of them white in color - a pair of thick athletic socks, a cotton t-shirt and an athletic supporter, the bands of which neatly framed his meaty, muscular and fully exposed posterior.

Bonnie, whom her close friends sometimes called 'Flip-Flop' or 'Flippy,' was known for being a good-hearted and caring young woman, and that she dearly loved Rupert was an unchallenged truth - yet in her right hand she tightly gripped the handle of a sturdy, flat-backed maple hairbrush, and in her eyes glinted an iron resolve to employ it with extreme prejudice right where it would sting her lover most effectively.

It was my time to speak, I realized. "All right, Bonnie and Rupert, you've both accepted that I will be the arbiter of this bare-bottomed spanking and its outcome, and I promise to be a fair and impartial judge. I've known your girlfriend longer and better than I've known you, Rupe, but I hope that you'll trust me not to be biased anyway."

He wasn't in much of a position to object at that point, his body partially restrained by Bonnie with his naked butt cheeks pointed at the ceiling, but he wouldn't have anyway. "Yes, Bets, I know you're trustworthy."

Before continuing, I couldn't help smirk at the childish sight he presented, like a naughty little boy about to be spanked good and soundly by his strict, no-nonsense mother. "You've been unhappy with the spankings that Flippy here has been giving you, even since she agreed to use a hairbrush rather than just her open hand, claiming that they're 'half-assed' and pretty much half-hearted, because she won't paddle your bare behind long enough or hard enough to make it hurt as much as you want it to... Is that a full and accurate summary of your complaint?"

"That's right, ma'am," he responded.

"You don't have to call me - well, never mind, I'm in judicial authority here so I suppose that 'ma'am' is acceptable." My gaze met that of my long-time girlfriend. "On the other hand, Bonnie, you never wanted to spank Rupert at all and first did so only reluctantly in order to please him. You believed that physically hurting someone you loved was wrong, even if he desired it, so you admit to not hitting his naked fanny all that hard - either with the palm of your hand or later with the hairbrush that you're holding right now."

She nodded ruefully. "It stung my hand more than it did his hiney when I tried just slapping his bare bottom. I wanted to give it up, then but Rupe said that my using this hairbrush would provide an 'equalizer' so that the butt-smacking would hurt him a lot more and me not at all."

Slave Training

Sharid, my dear friend,

This is the slave I told you about. She is now yours, but she knows nothing of that as yet. She thinks she is simply delivering a letter to you.

She is disobedient and lazy, she does few of her assigned tasks, and those badly. She is rude and outspoken, with none of the proper respect a slave must show. She even refuses to share my bed and give me the comforts a slave should offer freely to her master.

I'm too ill and weak to train this girl as she should be. I know your strict reputation and trust that you will deal firmly with this disgraceful creature, I hope you can teach her to obey and punish her as much as she deserves.

Many thanks for the new slave, and I'm sorry it's such an unequal trade - I know that the one you're sending me will be trained to your usual exceptional standards, and this one is so lazy, wilful and disobedient. Your methods will be sorely tested with her.

Good luck my friend,

Masri.

Sharid finished reading the letter and surveyed the messenger. Instead of kneeling quietly, head bowed, while she waited, as any respectful slave delivering her owner's message would know to do, this girl was standing in the centre of the room and turning to study the tapestries and rich furnishings around her. Sharid waited until she turned back to face him. Even then she didn't drop her eyes in modest humility or even look abashed, as a decent slave should do. No, this girl met his gaze without any proper, respectful behaviour at all.

This was the large main room of the house; tapestries decorated the walls, bright rugs covered part of the patterned tile floor. At one end of the room were low couches, and piles of silk and satin cushions in rich colours. At the other end was a dining area, a large low table surrounded by seating cushions. Doors all along one side of the room opened out onto a courtyard, the sound of the waterfall there masking the street noised from outside. All of the main rooms opened onto the courtyard, there would be a section at the back of the house for the slaves. The house of a rich man, even wealthier than Masri. But not one she'd want to work for.

"Is there any reply?"

To dare to address him at all, and to do so without any of the proper terms of 'respected sir' or 'this worthless slave needs to know'... to speak to him at all, and in that way - Sharid ground his teeth as he tried to maintain self-control. Yes, this one needed some long and painful lessons in the behaviour and obedience of a well-trained slave. Masri's long illness had robbed him of the strength he needed to tame that wilful attitude. Luckily, Sharid had all the vigour Masri lacked. As this creature would soon discover.

"Erica, are you alone in the house? Is it true your friends have gone out for the evening and won't be coming back till late?"

"Yes Miss Judith."

"Very well then. You say one of your friends plays a lot of table tennis. Can you get hold of one of her bats?"

"Please, Miss Judith, is this necessary?"

"Indeed it is. Now go and do as I tell you. Got it? Good. You say you are in the kitchen? So, down with your jeans. Go on, do as I tell you, and now your knickers, and bend over the table."

"Have you told Mr. Alex about this?"

"No."

"Will you be telling him?"

"I shall if you don't stop whining and bend over the table. Erica, for heaven's sake, let's get this thing over and done with. He will be home soon and you surely don't want him to hear me giving commands like this over the phone, now do you?"

"But I'm nearly twenty one."

"So you are - but that is no excuse, on your own admission, for slacking off. We have an agreement remember, you and I between us. We always have had. You are very welcome to stay at our house, we love having you to stay but Alexander has always insisted it's a condition that you work hard and show results to match. Erica, are you still there? Erica, I don't hear you."

"Ok, I'm over the table but promise you won't tell a soul."

"I promise. Ready? Is your bottom quite bare? Good. Now give yourself one hard smack on each side. No, that doesn't sound like a hard smack to me. Try again, both sides. I know only too well what a proper smack should sound like."

"Ow!"

"Better. Now give yourself another four. Slowly. I will count them for you. I want to hear each one a real sound. One... two... three... four... Yes, well done, I can hear you gasp."

"But Miss Judith, this thing really stings."

"Is that so? Then it is doing you good. We must persevere."

"It's the right side of my bum. It's really sore."

"You mean to say you gave each of those four smacks on the same side of your bottom? Silly girl! Well then, there is some catching up to be done. Four on the left side, go on now, slowly, I'm listening. That's only two and nowhere hard enough. Start again, good, two more to go. Yes, that's better, much better. Are you still across the table? So tell me, what is this punishment for?"

"Going out too often and letting my marks slip. I'm sorry."

"I know you are sorry. Neither of us, Alex or myself, are wanting to stop you enjoying yourself but you have to remember why you are at university. Do you want to spend all your vacations with your father in that little place in France, however nice it may be in summer? You know how distracted he can be."

Spanish Discipline
Hello folks: remember me, Judith of the unsmacked bottom, Judith who was always moaning on about how she couldn't get her husband to spank her? Well, I have some heart-warming news for you. Here I am, sitting in a plane on the way back to England and I don't know about my heart but my bottom sure is cooling down after yesterday's warming and believe me, I'm feeling great, on top of the world. Yippee!!!

O.K., now settle down Judith, stop squirming around in your seat and attracting the curious sidelong glances of the guy sitting next to you. It's not easy to sit still on an aching bum particularly after the attention mine received (and it certainly got the full treatment!) But now wait for it, this is the big secret I'm going to let you in on... the guy who warmed my backside was not my darling husband, no, but goodness what a whipping master I had there! Wow! Oh naughty, naughty Judith and in case you're wondering what happened afterwards and are asking yourselves 'did we'? Well yes, we did; we had wonderful, wonderful rip-roaring sex such as I haven't enjoyed in years and I'm bursting to tell someone about it.

As if this wasn't enough, three weeks before, I got to play the role of Madame (remember her?) and gave a darn good spanking, several in fact, to a young lady who was sorely in need of them and you can bet your last dollar on how much I enjoyed myself... such a sweet little bottom and so well deserved!

Anyway, to begin at the beginning. The Easter school holidays were approaching and I had arranged through Sandrine for my two teenaged children to stay with a French family outside Paris in order to improve their knowledge of the language. I badly wanted them to be as fluent as I was but progress was slow and what better than to dump them for a month in a French- and nothing-but-French-speaking situation?

Then it turned out that my husband would be away for days at a time at some conference or other during the same period and I was facing the prospect of being on my own for most of the Easter vacation when Petra phoned for one of our little chats. You remember Petra, my flatmate in Paris, she who had been horrified (justifiably so) at my tiger pants? Well, ever since I left Paris we had stayed in touch and she even acted as bridesmaid at my wedding. A year after that, she herself had got married to a doctor from Barcelona who was working in Paris (I had introduced her to Sandrine and Xavier and this guy happened to be working at the same hospital as Xavier which is how it all came together, small world!) and they had gone back to live in Barcelona. Unfortunately for Petra, the marriage didn't work out but luckily she collected a fair sum of money from the divorce and with the proceeds bought herself a flat in the coastal town of Sitges, about half an hour on the train from Barcelona.

Delicate Negotiations
Sometimes lawsuits can be settled out of court in more creative ways than the court system itself ever envisaged. There are cases when a monetary settlement just doesn't cover the damages.

After the news bulletins, newsreaders like to add a little personal comment as they sign off, to stamp their personality on the show. Of course these ad libs are always very carefully scripted. Josie liked to stamp her personality everywhere she could, she packed a great deal of ambition into her slender 5'8" frame. At 25 years of age, the attractive blonde was already one of the station's top newsreaders. She was also the despair of the legal department, as she often ignored the carefully checked words of wisdom scripted for her and substituted her own comments, blissfully unaware of the legal complications she could cause.

She became aware of these complications with a shock when she was sued by four irate businessmen who had featured in a trailer for a current affairs item to be featured on the station the next day about the exploitation of workers in local companies. Josie's parting comment after the trailer (for a report she had not bothered to preview) had made it clear they were the "... most blatant cases I have ever seen. Men like that should be banned from ever being in positions of power."

Unfortunately for Josie, the businessmen she mentioned were not only completely innocent, they featured in the item because they had set up an association to encourage better behaviour towards workers. Her careless comments damaged their businesses and the bad publicity cost them all several contracts. They also faced protests from women's groups, pickets outside their offices, strikes by employees, even the resignations of some employees who couldn't face working in such hostile environments, and the inconvenience of hiring and training more staff. The station had to use a great deal of valuable air time to clear their names.

Naturally, they sued. Not the station, which was litigation-proofed by those teams of lawyers, but Josie personally.

The station was not amused. Because the comments were unscripted Josie was liable, not the station, and she had very little defence. And the station's on-air efforts to clear up the mess had already cost it a lot of valuable time and credibility. Even with the help the station was prepared to give her she faced the horrible prospect of being found liable in court, bankruptcy, and the even worse spectre of more bad publicity, ruining her career.

Then, just as the case hit the headlines, there was a settlement offer. The businessmen involved knew that a long-drawn-out court case wouldn't do them or their companies any good, and they also knew that Josie didn't have nearly enough money to properly compensate them for their losses. They wanted a more satisfying revenge. More personal. As humiliating for the arrogant little newsreader as her words had been for them.

They wanted to spank her.

Josie was appalled, but her lawyer saw a number of interesting possibilities.

It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning. She needed to get her passport out of her safety deposit box. It would take only a minute, and then she could finish her shopping. She was in luck; there was even a parking place.

"Yes, I have identification and my key," she said to the bank clerk. She followed the clerk, got her safety deposit box and went into the little room to open the box.

Oh my God, what was going on? Were those bullets? She had to hide. Why did she have to peek out and see him shoot those people? He saw her! Just when she thought she was dead, the police crashed into the bank.

There was a lot of chaos and suddenly everything went black. She fell to the floor. The next thing she remembered was someone saying, "The paramedics are coming. Try not to move. You'll be okay." She couldn't stop shaking. Why had she gone to the bank? Then she closed her eyes.

Where was she? Who were these men? She had to get out of there. Her mind raced. She was terrified.

"Settle down. You're safe. You're in the hospital and no one's going to hurt you," said the police officer. "The FBI and marshals will be here within the hour. They're in command of the situation. Now just lay back and rest. What's your name?"

She whispered, "Emma Green, my name's Emma Green."

"Miss Green, this is Travis Grant, the marshal from Witness Protection. We're working with him and the FBI to catch Manuel Mercado. He was the man who shot the people in the bank," said the police officer.

Emma looked up into beautiful, brown eyes. They belonged to an enormous man.

"Miss Green, I'm Travis Grant, and I'm here to keep you safe," he said.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Emma Green, and I want to get out of here and go home. Where is the doctor? I want to be discharged now!"

Just then, the doctor came in. "Miss Green," he said, "you're okay. You were in shock, but everything looks okay now. You'll need to rest for the next few days, but then you can resume your normal activities."

"Great, thank you, doctor. Now will you all get out of here so I can get dressed? I need to go home and take a long, hot bubble bath."

"Miss Green," Travis spoke up.

"Please call me Emma."

"Okay. Emma, you can get dressed, but you can't go home," Travis said as he stared at her.

"Of course I can go home," she snapped.

"No, you can't! You're going into Witness Protection immediately. We'll be leaving here and going to a safe house. You're in grave danger. Mercado's men are looking for you. You witnessed him shoot two people. He's one of the biggest crime bosses in Boston. We've been trying to arrest him for years, but could never get anything on him that would stand up in court. Now we have something that will send him to prison for the rest of his life," he told her grimly.

Judith Adulescens
Well, hello there. It's four o'clock on a Saturday morning, dark outside and I'm lying in bed listening to the snores of the great hulk beside me, the man in my life I am pleased to call my husband. He did his conjugal duty again last night; as a matter of fact he always starts to get horny by the weekend and usually manages it Friday or Saturday night. It doesn't last long and when he's delivered his pleasure he snuffles in my ear "Judith" (my name's Judith), "I love you so much," turns on his side away from me and in a few minutes he's asleep. Well I ask you! And I do try, really I try very hard for some excitement. I'm cabin girl on board this pirate ship, and I'm bent over a cannon having my bare backside whaled with a rope's end on the orders of the pirate chief who is stunningly handsome and whom I secretly adore and will do anything to attract his attention even if it means I'm stiff and sore for days. Or I'm in the great cabin of a sailing ship (funny how the sea stimulates imagination) and the dashing young captain has me across his knee, skirt up, knickers down, whilst his strong hand imparts some discipline into the poor bottom of this rebellious young lady found as a stowaway three days out on a long voyage. Of course, he and I will fall madly in love several spanking sessions later. Or I'm lying across the saddle bow of a cowboy in the Wild West and very uncomfortable it is, but nothing like as uncomfortable as when we arrive back at the ranch and he takes off his thick leather belt because naughty little me has been unfaithful to him and now I'm in for the thrashing of a lifetime... You get the drift.

"Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass, Well now that's done and I'm glad it's over." I had to learn these words years ago, I'll tell you why later but they always come back to me at times like this and I've long since learnt to appreciate the real feeling of sadness behind them. And you know, I shouldn't be sad. All my friends, or at least the acquaintances who double up as my friends, would be astonished if they knew I had anything to be sad about. Married to a successful husband, two lovely young children doing well at school, lovely home in a lovely area, taking a responsible part in a respectable community, parent teachers association, citizens' advice bureau, you name it, been there, done that, one perfectly predictable day after another and a husband who loves me. Oh yes he does, honestly, I know he does. It's just that I wish he wouldn't be so achingly, so bone crushingly, dull.

Take last night for example when he's working me up to an orgasm, or thinks he is.

Lonesome Oak Ranch
Lisa Davis was driving down the bumpy dirt road wondering why she had agreed to this. She had grown up on a hard scrapple ranch much like the Lonesome Oak. When she left she vowed she would never look back.

Until she was five years old she didn't even realize they were poor. Her momma and daddy loved her, her sister and each other. There was always a lot of singing and hugging and kissing going on in their little house. She never felt the lack of anything. But that changed in the fall of the year she turned five, the year she started school. That was when she found out she was poor, not just poor but dirt poor. The other kids taunted her out of style clothes, her worn down shoes and even her lunch bucket and the contents therein. She hated school and by the time she reached the fourth grade she didn't want to go anymore. She started getting into scrapes and then she and Amanda Bennett had a hair pulling contest at recess and ended up in the principal's office. Her momma and daddy had to come to the school and have a conference with Ms. Snelling. After that conference Ms. Snelling took an interest in Lisa. She actually became her champion and instilled in her the love of reading.

Ms. Snelling was the reason Lisa had excelled in school. She went on to win scholarships, first to university and then law school. She passed the bar on her first try and subsequently got a job with a prestigious law firm, where she climbed the career ladder to reach the rank of junior partner. She commanded a six figure salary, owned several pieces of real estate, drove a Lexus and was lonely as hell.

Oh, she had many acquaintances and plenty of invitations to social events but since her best friend Jan had married and moved across the country there was no one she could call at a moment's notice to grab a cup of coffee or catch a movie. She missed the closeness. There was no man in her life right now - there hadn't been one since law school. She had dates but no one she would miss if they never called again.

As she continued driving, the car suddenly lurched and swerved to the side of the road. She edged the vehicle further to the side of the road and got out. Immediately she saw the problem. Her right rear tire was destroyed. The drainage ditch running alongside the road was filled with water from the recent thunderstorm. There was no way she was going to be able to replace the tire. She tried her cell phone but there wasn't any service this far out. Her only hope was that someone would be coming along that could lend a hand. If someone didn't come by within the next half hour, she would begin walking. The ranch house could not be that much further as she had already come more than two miles.

Chelsea sighed and slipped her fingers beneath her sunglasses and rubbed at her now closed eyes until a myriad of coloured spots danced in the self-imposed darkness. She had been reading for a college essay all morning and she was bored.

In front of her was a tuft of grass and she plucked at a strand and wound it around one finger. Beyond that was the cliff's edge and a more or less sheer drop to the sea, but she had to lift her head and crane her neck to see it.

"I'm bored," she said, lazily stretching out her long, tanned legs.

"Uh-huh," her friend Candida said distantly, as she turned another page of her own book.

Then Candida did a double-take and scornfully glanced up at Chelsea, who was making a moustache with her shaggy blonde locks by trapping her hair between her nose and an exaggerated pout.

"If the boys could see you now." Candida sighed, "The cutest girl in school... If I only had half your looks."

"Oh, I don't know, you turn enough heads," Chelsea said pointedly as she dropped the hair and idly turned back a corner of the page on her book. "I wish I had your brown eyes instead of boring blue."

"Boys don't look at a girl's eyes," Candida snorted, running her eyes over the ample hump formed by Chelsea's bottom under the thin cotton dress.

Chelsea dipped her chin and pulled out the front of her dress to examine her cleavage. "You don't do so badly there either," Chelsea said, looking back and forth to compare her bust with her friend's.

"I was thinking more of the other end," Candida said ruefully.

"Oh come on, your small round buns are high and tight. I just have a big behind." Chelsea switched her view to the one over her shoulder.

It was true that Candida's best asset was more easily obscured by her clothes, a subtlety lost on most boys, but it wasn't always so well hidden. Then Chelsea remembered something and a smile played about her lips.

"Quite a few boys were keen on your tail last summer," she said carefully, her mouth struggling with a smirk. "You know, at the barbecue when you went for a swim rather than watch the sausages on the..."

"Yes well..." Candida cut her off with a blush.

"I mean once your mom had done spanking your bare bottom in front of everyone, the boys were all rather keen," Chelsea persisted, "especially when you were made to stand in the corner of the yard for most of the afternoon."

"Chelsea," Candida snapped, punching Chelsea's arm.

Chelsea rolled over, laughing, and took in the great expanse of sky above them and the huge rolling white clouds against the blue.

Candida glowered at the unseen words on the pages in front of her and fought against the blush that refused to die. She had never been so humiliated, although barely anyone gave it a thought now.

Weaving its way through the downtown Las Angeles traffic, soft jazz coming from the front of the black sedan and low arguing coming from the back, a black Lincoln Town Car deftly carried its passengers to its first destination. A stop just a few blocks off the famous Hollywood Strip. A drop-off arranged the night before... and still being argued in the early morning.

"Jason, you don't have to walk me in. Besides, if you don't hurry you'll miss your plane." As the Tri-Star Luxury Car Services sedan slid to a stop in front of Valerie (Val to her friends) Howard's LA apartment, the frowning blonde once again checked her watch. It showed 5:10am. "Seriously, if you wait any longer you could hit traffic on the 405."

Stretching his legs as best he could in the confines of the sedan, the big man sitting next to her shook his head and pointed to his arguing girlfriend's building as the driver opened her door. "I'll worry about traffic baby girl. You worry about getting upstairs."

Pink lips closed in a hard line Val stepped out of the car and purposefully quick-stepped ahead of her bemused guy. She loves the man but damn it he can be pushy! Rushing into her building, the leggy blonde quickly worked the lock on her apartment door and stepped in with a toss of her purse and a slam of the hollow core door. Stalking over to the refrigerator, she grabbed a bottle of orange juice and slammed the door closed. Turning, she leaned against the still shaking fridge and waited for her mountain of a boyfriend.

And waited.

When the big man didn't appear, Val rubbed her face in frustration and set the juice down. Why was she so mad? Her evening with Jason had been wonderful, the perfect send off for his trip to the new Chicago office. Val had made her special pasta in Jason's expansive West Hills kitchen. Fresh tomatoes, basil and jumbo shrimp tossed with garlic and oil sizzled while the big man packed upstairs. After dinner they had shared a very fine central valley Grenache and puffed Cuban tobacco from a red-bellied glass hookah hidden under the stairs.

"The hookah's a gift from a glass artist I know up in Santa Barbara," Jason told Val as he showed her how to draw up the sweet smoke with minimal inhale. "Don't ask how I get the leaf and for God's sake don't tell my good buddy River about any of it. I don't need another hour lecture from the granola-boy."

Later they had danced by the pool. As the midnight winds picked up Jason had peeled off her clothes, covering every inch of newly bared skin with kisses, and warmed her naked body with passion until neither had the strength to make it up stairs. Early in the morning Val had awakened to warm sunshine bathing her naked back as she lay curled up next to her man in the oversized lounger under the veranda.

Miss Spankintosh
"Good morning, class. My name is Miss Macintosh... and I spank."

So started the new school year for Section A of the twelfth grade at Elmcrest High School.

Lynn Macintosh had 26 students that morning - all of whom had been hoping to get the other twelfth-grade teacher. All of them knew the reputation of the teacher called 'Miss Spankintosh' behind her back.

Fifty-two eyes were now fixed on the tall, slim 27-year-old teacher who knew she had their complete attention. She was wearing what she thought of as an "authority outfit"; she wore it that day to help set the tone she wanted. She had on a black skirt and a short-sleeve white pleated blouse that fastened at the neck. With her hair back in a bun, she was an imposing sight who could intimidate twelfth graders even if she had never uttered the word "spanking".

"We have a lot to talk about this morning," she said, "but you already have heard the most important things you have to know - who I am and what I do.

"If you don't already know it, for the last three years I have given more spankings than any other teacher in the school. It's your last year in this school. I'm sure you think spankings should be for the little kids, not twelfth graders. Well, I don't agree. I've seen too many kids of your age who think they're the big kids who can get away with anything just because they're the oldest in the school. As far as I'm concerned, I think twelfth graders need strict punishment even more than the younger students.

"Whether this class gets the most spankings again this year isn't up to me - it's completely up to you. If you all behave, there will be no spankings. But if you misbehave, there will be plenty of spankings. I will take any of you - boy or girl - to the spanking room, and you will get a bare-bottom spanking with this." (She opened her desk drawer, pulled out a small wooden paddle, and dropped it on her desk for maximum effect).

"Some of you may have parents that think you're too old to get spanked now. That may be true at your house, but that does not matter here. I decide if you're too old to get spanked in this classroom, and I've decided - you're not too old to get spanked in this class.

"And that is in effect right now. Last year, I had to spank someone on the second day of school. And if one of you gives me a reason to spank you today, I will do it.

"Now... let's talk about what we're going to learn this year, and what I expect from you."

In the room next door, 25 relieved twelfth graders were meeting their new teacher, 23-year-old Josh Waters, who was starting his first day as a teacher. Josh had mixed emotions about teaching the twelfth grade - he had received a Masters in History earlier that year, and really had aspirations to teach college-level history.

Susan's hand rested on Jeff's bare butt cheeks. She waited with him over her lap until he quit crying so she could begin her questions. Her hand on his butt showed Susan had control and it was not lost on Jeff. He took advantage of the respite to review how he got into this situation. He had been looking for a place to live and had run across her ad for a room and board situation. When he interviewed, Susan explained he had to obey the rules or his bare bottom would be over her knee.

Susan did not need the money, but having a male in the house would provide security in an improving but poorer neighbourhood. Moving in, he placed boxes on the stairs to speed up the moving in process as he had a date with a group of friends to see a movie. Susan asked him twice to remove the boxes as they posed a danger to her and her adult daughter, Cybil, but Jeff chose to set up the stereo in his room.

He was finishing setting up his stereo when he heard Cybil's scream and he rushed to the stairwell to find she had almost fallen down the last six stairs. Cybil's scream also brought Susan, her mother, to the stairwell. Finding Cybil was all right, Susan asked why Jeff had not removed his boxes. Jeff stated he would remove them now and had started toward the first box when he felt Susan grab his upper arm.

Susan again asked why he had not moved the boxes. Jeff admitted rather then doing as she had asked he had set up his stereo. He admitted breaking the rules by not obeying her instructions. Susan started pulling him toward the parlour where she would spank him, something that had not happened to him for nearly a decade. He dragged his feet, barely putting one in front of the other as he walked. Now that being over her knee was real, he was not sure he wanted to go through with it.

Jeff moved into the house because he needed discipline in his life, but thought he was too good to get a spanking. He thought just the idea of a spanking would make him toe the line, and now here he was, about to be spanked on his very first day, and it would be on his bare bottom by an older lady he hardly knew.

Getting tired of his dragging feet, Susan turned to face Jeff and told him he would walk properly or move his stuff out immediately. Susan was taking a chance. She had interviewed ten men and only Jeff was suitable, but he could only stay if he submitted to her discipline. She gave him ten seconds to make up his mind.

Ten seconds seem like a long time but were short to Jeff. He said nothing until Susan stated he was to pack his things and move out. He froze and said he would cooperate; he did not want to move.

Gambling is a bad habit. More than a bad habit. More like a vice. He got that now. It shouldn't have had to come to this, his reddened ass hanging out for anyone to see, for him to get it through his head. Or maybe it did have to come to this for him to see the light.

---oOo---
Steve always thought he was pretty good at picking the winners of football games. He had played a little ball in high school, though if truth be told, as the third string wide receiver on a team which ran the ball 80% of the time, he didn't really play in high school - mostly, he sat on the bench and watched others play. It wouldn't be much of an exaggeration to say that the only difference between him and someone watching in the stands was that he had a better seat.

Still though, he was on the team, so he felt he knew more about football than the average fan. His first foray into gambling was also in high school. One of his classmates was running those football betting sheets which were popular in the 1970s and 1980s. All the college and pro games were listed, along with the point spread on each game. All Steve had to do was to pick the winners of at least 4 games against the point spread without any losses. The minimum bet was $10.00 for the sheet, and the odds were 4 to 1, so if he won all 4 games, he made $40.00. Not bad for a HS student back in those days.

He played those sheets and won three weeks in a row, making $120.00. From that point on, he always thought his betting acumen was, in his own words, "better than most" ... pun definitely intended.

He played through the years, mostly when he was still single. He usually bet pro football games, though occasionally he would foray into the World Series, or the odd college basketball game during March Madness. He lost more than he won, but not by too much; by his own estimate, most of his losses were not because he chose badly, but because of some uncommon event in the game. "If only he hadn't fumbled on that drive," he complained. "We would have won if he hadn't thrown that last minute interception. If he hadn't gotten hurt on the second play of the game, I know we would have won that game," he lamented. Typical of most gamblers, the fault was never his; it was some unseen force which turned the hand of fate against him.

Once Steve got married to Jennifer, his gambling habit fell by the wayside. Money was an issue, as it is with many newlyweds - plus Jennifer knew he gambled, and made it clear she didn't like it. So for the most part he stopped gambling, though he occasionally managed to get in on part of the action when a friend would bet on a game.

Greg ducked his head as he came out of the low door of his cottage - one of a row of brightly painted, red-roofed fisherman's cottages that nestled shoulder to shoulder, flanked from the northern gales by the lofty crag above. From a distance the cottages appeared to tumble down the steep cliff side to the seafront below.

The late afternoon September sun shone on the sweep of golden sand and glinted on fossil-filled pools. He never tired of wandering along the tide line of the bay, especially off-season when the tourists had fled from the blustery north Yorkshire winds to find warmer climes down south.

It was low tide, and the beach was deserted save for the gulls as they wheeled through the sky and skimmed the surface of the sea to bob comically on the eddying waves.

He set off along the mile-wide bay, a fossil-seeker's paradise. Had any woman been watching, she would have found him an arresting figure, tall - 6ft 4 - darkly handsome, chocolate brown eyes with a sensuous glint, and a smile to set pulses racing and just the right amount of stubble to be sexy. Today he looked particularly striking as he wore white Chinos and a white shirt, for no other reason than all his remaining clothes were dirty and he hadn't got around to washing them.

Head down, his unruly dark thatch of hair topped with a baseball cap, he walked on the damp sand, leaving a trail of solitary footprints in his wake. Anything of interest or possible use found its way into the big canvas bag on his shoulder. One of his more satisfying finds on a previous occasion had been a large rubber-soled gents slipper. He had pounced on it, cleaned it up, and dried it out on the top of his wood burning stove, and as a joke tested its stinginess on the bottom of a former girlfriend (she was not impressed, and voluntarily moved from current to former girlfriend status). There were no such finds today, and the canvas bag began to fill with an assortment of unusual shells, ammonites, and a curiously shaped piece of driftwood.

It had been raining heavily earlier, and the force of the downpour on the shale and clay land had caused the cliffs to crumble a little, revealing more fossils. He prized them out of the rock carefully with a rock hammer and pocket knife, and added them to his growing collection.

Moving further down past brimming rock pools, he noticed something at the waters edge and set off towards it, thinking it might be more driftwood. But as he drew closer it became apparent that the driftwood was in fact a figure crouching down in the shallows. She was hugging herself, rubbing her arms as though she were cold. Indeed, at this time of year if she stayed in the water for much longer she would more than likely get hypothermia.

"You ok?" He moved closer.

"She couldn't even wait for tomorrow's paper," my husband muttered as he hung up the telephone receiver.

"The new rankings are online already, sweetheart," I informed him patiently. "You knew this was coming, ever since Saturday you've been whining about it."

"It's not really fair," he protested sullenly. "Carolina's still ranked higher than Duke and the Tar Heels lost to Virginia Tech, which had already beaten the Blue Devils, but I'm somehow the one who's going to... who has to..."

I chuckled. "Bare your bouncy bubble-butt for Brittie to blister... Is that what you're trying to say, honeybun? Something like that?"

Paul's facial cheeks pinkened at my childish but accurate alliteration. "How did I end up agreeing to a bet like this one anyway?"

I struggled to stifle a grin, knowing that Brittany and I had maneuvered him into accepting that standing wager by appealing to his masculine ego and his loyalty to his alma mater's basketball team.

"However it happened, darling, it's now a done deal. Your team was knocked out of the top spot in the poll so now you have to pay off Brittie - or at least your naked fanny has to." I couldn't help smirking at his little-boy apprehension.

My spouse's normally handsome features were twisted by a discontented frown. "It was actually a ridiculous bet to make, I don't see why it should be considered-"

"Don't go there, Paul," I interrupted him sharply. "Welshing on a freely agreed-to wager, that would be considered a serious disciplinary offense - by both Brittany and myself." My voice became pedantically pointed. "Right now you're facing a playful bet payoff which will sting you most thoroughly, I'm quite certain. But trying to avoid that would result in a major-league punitive spanking session courtesy of each of us, and in my case that would mean a 'reminder' hairbrush walloping as well."

He gulped anxiously. "You know I wouldn't do anything like that, honey, I was just thinking out loud..."

I stood up and gazed intently into his pale blue eyes, facing upward due to his ten-inch height advantage over me.

"That's gratifying to hear, sweetie, because I know how much Brittany trusts and admires you, and that you'd never want to jeopardize those feelings that she has."

He nodded pensively, conceding my point. "No, of course I wouldn't."

Smiling warmly, I stepped forward and gave Paul a tight hug which he returned. "That's my good, trustworthy husband... who'll soon be sporting a sore seat that's shining brightly," I giggled while still holding him. "That will be fun to see, honeybun, even though I love you dearly."

He snorted softly as I broke our embrace. "Voyeurism! You'll enjoy it, that's for sure."

"And you won't?" I demanded breezily.

"Not entirely," he replied. "At least not at the surface level anyway."

"This isn't going to be true punishment," I reminded him. "You're at least halfway looking forward to it, I can tell that, even though Brittie will probably get plenty of tears from you before she's finished."

Big Sister
Jeff pulled up to the small townhouse, stopped the car and sat back to look at the place for a few minutes. It was his, it was really his. He had owned the place since the day he outbid everyone else at the auction and signed the papers, but now settlement was over and he was moving in. Now it really was his place. He sighed happily, then popped the boot and climbed out of the car. He picked up one of the sealed boxes, heaved it onto his shoulder and started to carry it inside. As he walked up the low steps he felt the full weight of the carton and wondered what on earth he had packed in it to make it that heavy. He was trying to balance the carton on his shoulder and fumble around for the keys to the door all at once. With alarm he felt the carton slide back on his shoulder and began to stagger backwards.

"Whoa!" came a bright female voice behind him and he felt a steadying hand on the carton; he righted himself and dropped his keys.

"You might want to put the box down before you try that again," Jeff's unseen saviour advised.

"Thanks," a blushing Jeff muttered as he put his other hand on the carton and gently lowered it onto the porch, then turned to look down into a pair of sparkling, bright green eyes.

"Hi," said the owner of the eyes, thrusting her hand at Jeff. "I'm Bobbi, we're neighbours."

"We are?" Jeff answered rather stupidly as he took the slim, out-thrust hand.

"Uh huh," the girl replied. "I live there," and she jerked a thumb at the adjoining townhouse. "I saw you at the auction, but didn't get a chance to introduce myself."

"Oh great, thanks, nice to meet you. I'm Jeff."

"Hi Jeff," Bobbi smiled.

Jeff stared at his pretty new neighbour. She was a petite girl. Jeff was not tall, but Bobbi only came to his chin, which put her at about 5'1". She was slender, but there was strength in her small body, she had a lovely even tan and a cloud of golden hair floated around her perfectly formed face.

"Would you like me to open the door while you bring that inside?" Bobbi asked kindly.

"Oh yes, thanks."

Jeff bent to pick the carton up again and Bobbi stood there, regarding him with some amusement.

"Jeff," she prompted.

"Yeah," Jeff grunted as he lifted the carton.

"I need the keys."

"Oh yeah," Jeff said, cursing his social awkwardness inwardly, put the carton down again and picked up and handed the keys to Bobbi.

"Thanks," the girl said and calmly opened the door.

As Jeff followed the pert bottom, encased in tight faded blue jeans, he began to think that buying the townhouse was one of the best moves he had ever made.

Jeff put his carton down inside and Bobbi asked, "How many more of those have you got?"

Good Girl - Bad Girl
Sometimes too much of a good thing is really NOT a good thing at all.

Take Mother Nature for instance. She can be far too generous at times. Height for example: a certain amount of height is a good thing, but it's not easy being the tallest kid in school when you're barely ten years old, and a girl. Then there's hair. Long and luxuriant is fantastic... but not when it's also wildly fluffy and mouse-coloured. Intelligence is a blessed gift, but being fiercely intelligent, and skipped several grades, and still being smarter than the rest of your class who are now two years, or more, older than you and being beaten flat by a little kid; that's a very mixed blessing. And when a girl's figure starts developing, well, bouncy isn't always best.

But Nature also keeps things in balance, by adding eyesight so poor that it needs glasses like the bottom of coke bottles; buck teeth and years of braces and acne; and, as the cherry on the top, a name like Myrtle.

Myrtle wasn't on track to enjoy her school years.

The one ray of sunshine and sanity was Dudley. Dudley was also a grade-skipper, he was intelligent and young and weedy and a natural victim for the entrenched bullying that's regarded as 'just a natural part of growing up' by everyone who hasn't been the designated target. He was also, from an early age, perfectly sure of his sexual orientation. Being very gay, and outrageously out, in school isn't a survival factor. But Dudley was also viciously wasp-tongued when necessary, able to slice fiercely into every insecurity and lay bare the deepest fears of any bully who wanted to start name calling. And if a verbal barrage wasn't enough protection, Myrtle would step in; she was a state champion in Tae Kwan Do (her parents' attempt to 'bring her out of herself'. Not naming her 'Myrtle' would have been a better choice.)

Dudley and Myrtle, two kids whose parents should never have been allowed to name a family pet, let alone a child. Dudley and Myrtle, two misfits who stuck together. It made school survivable.

After school they both went to university and studied law. They shared a small, cheap, tatty apartment which Dudley and his friends redecorated and refurbished. Dudley had a wonderful social life and still managed to get through his exams. Myrtle studied hard and did two degrees at once, passing both with honours.

When they moved into the post-university world, they shared an increasingly upmarket series of apartments and houses. They enjoyed house sharing. Old friends know you better than anyone. They nag better, too.

"Mattie, you have to go. He's our boss, and an invitation from him is like an order from anyone else."

"Nobody will notice if I'm missing. They never notice when I'm there."

"And whose fault is that? I keep telling you, I can make sure they'll notice you."

"I don't WANT to be noticed."

"This place stinks."

"No it doesn't. That's just the cattle."

"You said we'd have a fun time. Smelling stinking cows is NOT my idea of fun."

Tammy sighed. "Amanda, it's a rodeo. Just relax and you'll enjoy it."

Amanda wrinkled her nose and huffed, "Relax? This place is hot and crowded and smelly. Half the people here look like extras from Deliverance, and this seat is grossly uncomfortable!" She wriggled around a little more, her tight skirt riding up even higher on her thighs.

Tammy was beginning to think this visit was a mistake. They'd been best friends all through school, until Mandy's - no, AMANDA'S parents split up and her mother took her across the country to find a better life in the bright lights of city living. Now fun-loving Mandy had become expensively groomed and sophisticated Amanda, and so far, nothing in her old home town compared to the wonderful life she had in the big city.

Tammy loved her small town, she loved watching the rodeo, and she especially loved watching one particular rodeo rider. Her eyes scanned the pens at the end of the arena, searching for those blue eyes, and that blonde hair, bright against his tanned skin.

The calf roping had just finished - they'd arrived late; it took Amanda quite a while to get her hair and make-up just right. Tammy had brushed her short, curly black hair and wiggled into her newest jeans. Amanda had spent an eternity fussing over her long blonde hair and deciding which of her designer outfits was suitable for a rodeo.

The barrel races didn't hold Amanda's attention for long. She muttered something about how rough it all was - Tammy didn't tell her that she often took part, she didn't want another diatribe on how coarse and unladylike country women were compared to those smoothly attractive creatures who lived in the city and took more trouble with their appearance.

"OH! Who are THEY?" Tammy looked at Amanda. She was staring open-mouthed at the far end of the arena.

Tammy glanced towards the group of men preparing for the bull riding. And there he was! She took a deep breath to steady her voice. "That's the cowboys who'll be on next. For the bull riding." He looked so wonderful, those tight jeans moulded to his gorgeous buns and strong thighs, and his shirt stretching across that wonderful broad chest... breathe, girl, breathe.

"They're GORGEOUS!" At last the two girls were in full agreement. They both focussed on the main attractions for a few moments, in silent adoration. "Can't we get closer?" All of a sudden the heady aroma of cow didn't seem to be bothering Amanda. She was already up and working her way along the stands towards the far end. Tammy grabbed at her, then followed quickly. She never went down to the rail there, like the cute girls who flirted with the men. What was the point? Why would he look at her when there were so many others trying to attract him?

Camlin kept her eyes closed. If they didn't know she was awake she might hear something useful.

The taste of failure and betrayal was bitter. Oh yes, she'd hear something useful, and she'd miraculously escape from the shackles, make her way unscathed through the Citadel, past the guards teeming through every corridor, escape under the noses of her deadliest enemies, out into a city full of people who'd line up for the chance to kill her on sight. And then just a few hundred miles of open plain with no cover and no way to travel, up to a mountain range with rock faces so sheer and jagged that they seemed to shred the sky. And then she'd be almost safe.

No, if she managed to escape the restraints her only chance of escape was to find the nearest guard and run onto his sword.

She lay still, hating them. Hating the ones who'd betrayed her like this. Men with no honour. What could you expect from false-king Tor and his foul brother?

Arbrec, Prince of the Realm, glanced at the still figure strapped to the bench. He studied her for a moment, then turned to his brother. "She's been out for too long. They must have given her too much."

King Tor shook his head. "She's been awake for the last ten minutes."

Camlin opened her eyes to glare at her enemies. Both brothers were tall and broad, making the cell seem even smaller as they loomed over her. Thick blonde hair glittered golden in the dancing light of the torches on the walls. Armour gleamed coldly - and two pairs of dark blue eyes even colder. Her own eyes were the same deep midnight blue, glittering almost black with hatred now. "I came to you under the flag of truce. You have no honour."

"We guaranteed your safety. And you're quite safe here, nobody can get to you." Tor waved a careless hand at the cold stone of the dungeon walls. His lips curled in a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"My people will know you've broken your word. No treaty will ever be made with you, no other ruler will ever trust you. By killing me you've destroyed this kingdom, and your dynasty."

Tor reached out touched her hair, running a long strand through his fingers. "It's like black silk, isn't it. Lovely. And, my dear little viper, we're not going to kill you."

Camlin tossed her head, trying to evade his touch. "Keeping me prisoner will amount to the same thing. I came here in good faith to negotiate - you gave me your word on the Blood. A sacred oath."

Arbrec's laugh was forced and angry. "Why would we negotiate with a rebel?"

"My troops hold the northern passes, without those trade routes overland you're totally dependent on the sea. On Kathlian ships. And Kathlia is a dangerous neighbour for a weakened country. You have to negotiate with me or there'll be a Kathlian flag flying over the Citadel before next harvest."