LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

It was a typical Monday morning in the post office, with the usual queue of people who poured through the door at opening time, each intent on pursuing their individual errands. As they waited in line, most chatted to others in the queue; in a small village, everyone knows everyone else's business.

Or at least that is the perception.

If they had known that their efficient new flame-haired postmistress was sitting behind the counter resting her feet on the cane-striped buttocks of a naked man, they would have had a conversation topic to keep tongues wagging for a decade.

But they didn't know. And as they collected their pensions, bought stamps and chocolate bars, stationery and birthday cards and elastic bands, they were oblivious to the presence of Manfred.

Safely hidden, crouching on hands and knees on the floor, he was in his element. Once a month, by tacit agreement, the postmistress gave him a good thrashing. He wanted it. He needed it. He loved it. And if he had been an especially good boy, he was allowed to serve as a foot stool for Mistress Vanessa to rest her feet on.

Of course, if his naked presence were ever discovered he would be mortified and likely die on the spot of shame and embarrassment. Quite possibly the fear of what could go wrong added to the enjoyment of being thus humiliated. It was a real turn on, and his dick twitched in agreement.

People came and went, and the postmistress operated with timely efficiency as she dealt with the requirements of each person at the counter. She was methodical and business like, polite without being over familiar. On first glance, she was somewhat formidable. Her age was difficult to discern; she could be anything between 25 and 50 years of age, with her red hair pulled back tightly from her angular face devoid of any shred of make-up. There were no escaped curling tendrils or wispy bits of hair to feather against her cheeks and soften the rather severe look. She wore black framed glasses, which gave her a certain intellectual gravitas. Her cheek bones were high and well-defined and her lips were wide and full. Her large almond-shaped eyes were clear blue, and even without mascara or eye liner to accentuate their shape and depth, possessed an almost hypnotic quality.

Half way in the queue, Rick Marshall couldn't take his eyes off her. She was magnificent. She had such a commanding presence he was attracted to it like a moth to a candle flame.

As though sensing she was under scrutiny, she glanced up and made eye contact with him. He found himself caught up in that blue-eyed gaze, feeling like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an approaching vehicle. He blushed, suddenly feeling guilty of some grave misdemeanour.

When it was his turn at the counter, he handed over an envelope containing a birthday card for his sister in Australia. "I'd like to send that Air Mail please."