LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

It appeared to be a normal Saturday morning in the Phi Gamma Beta sorority house. Girls were lounging around in their night dresses and pajamas, some were dressed in their street clothes and at least two of the girls were awaiting their turn in the bathroom. Girls sipped coffee and tea or munched on toast, some talked softly, and others were reading or studying. It looked like any ordinary Saturday morning, but it was far from normal.

Phi Gamma Beta, or PGB as it was commonly known, had a relationship with the fraternity of Phi Sigma Tau. The two organisations were fairly close and in many ways mirror images of each other. Every Friday night during school semesters all the girls of PGB were gathered together in the house's common room, and paddled by the senior sisters and the housemother; an elegant, softly spoken black lady called Stevie, the same thing happened to the boys of PSM in their common room, although the girls had been told that the boys were paddled considerably harder than their female counterparts.

Some of Phi Sigma Tau's 'big brothers' (seniors responsible for the first year students in the fraternity) such as Scott Carter regularly visited the PGB house and some of the PGB 'big sisters'; Shauna and Naomi often hung out at the PSM house. This particular year Howard, the housemaster of Phi Sigma Tau, and Stevie had decided to reactivate a long dormant tradition. It was a slight variation on the old 'hell week' concept. The first year boys from PSM would be hosted for a week at the PGB house and would have to do the girls work and be subject to regular discipline at the hands of the sisters, especially their first year counterparts. Due to the lateness of the school year there would not be time for Phi Gamma Beta's four first years to return the favour.

The four girls concerned had mixed feelings regarding the experience they were about to undergo. Amy Mathieson was a shy, petite redhead who was regarded as the sorority's resident angel and a second generation sister (both her mother and older sister had been Phi Gamma Beta sisters). She was a gentle girl who was rarely spanked, aside from the regular Friday night paddlings, and had no real desire to hand out discipline to anyone else. She knew the PSM boys and thought most of them were nice, so did not want to jeopardise any budding friendships by walloping the backside of one of them and being regarded as a 'bitch' from that point on. Because the tradition had been so long dormant, none of the current sisters knew how it worked and Stevie refused to do any more than hint at what may happen. The rumour was that each first year would be assigned a boy and they were to take on a mentoring/mistress type role with that boy. Amy sighed and tried to read her novel, but after she had attempted to read the same page fifteen times and been unable to get past the second paragraph, gave up.

Shelly Brooks stomped on the brake and spun the wheel to the right, whipping the black Corolla into the driveway of the quaint three bedroom town house that was her college home away from home. She glanced again at her watch. 'Damn, I'm really going to be cutting it close,' she thought.

She was supposed to drive home for a weekend with her mom and maternal grandma at her grandma's place in the country. Unfortunately, a quick question for her economics professor after class turned into a twenty minute dissertation on post cold-war financial paradigms. Now she was going to be rushed packing.

She sent her athletic five-eight frame up the steps two at a time and opened the door. 'At least my clothes will be done in the washer,' she thought.' I should just have time to dry them and get packed and still get on the road by 3:00.'

She threw her purse on the kitchen table and ducked into the adjoining utility room. Sure enough, the load she'd started just before leaving for her class was done washing. She yanked the dryer door open intent on transferring the wet load from the washer only to be confronted by a solid wall of clothing. Her jaw muscles immediately tightened. They were Cheyenne's of course. "This is it, I'm going to kill her," she said, staring daggers at the jammed dryer.

She briefly considered yanking them out and leaving them on the counter, but she knew Cheyenne should be home any minute and she wanted to confront her with the overloaded machine.

'I'll give her ten minutes before I pry them out of there myself and when she does get here, I am so going to tan her chubby little Texas butt for her. I don't care if I am late getting on the road.'

Cheyenne would not have been her first choice for a roommate. They didn't have much in common. Shelly was a tall, athletic, brunette New Englander and most of the time at least, she was a sober, responsible young woman. Cheyenne was a short and curvy, green eyed, redhead from Lubbock, Texas. She played saxophone in the marching band and, most of time, she was overly boisterous, sloppy and scatter brained.

It was Shelly's cross country team-mate, Linda LaRue who had brought them together. Linda's father rented the three bedroom townhouse for her on the understanding that she find two friends willing to share the rent.

Linda had already invited her friend Cheyenne. When she asked Shelly if she wanted to be the third she jumped at the chance to get out of the dorms.

Things went fine at first. After a week or two Shelly was aware that Cheyenne was a bit of a slob and could be a bit lazy about her household chores, but Linda was the maternal type and she routinely picked up after Cheyenne and sometimes even did her chores.

Unfortunately, after a few months, Linda shacked up with her boyfriend.

Jill's Birthday
Susan Brooks sat on her comfortable family-room sofa, her legs curled up beneath her, enjoying the latest issue of Home and Garden. A calming cup of chamomile tea sat steaming on the end table near her elbow. Once she'd finished the first of the articles she'd earmarked earlier, she set the magazine down, stretched and sighed contentedly, basking in the quiet before taking another sip of tea. Although she still felt the occasional twinge of anxiety when contemplating her impending empty nest, she had to admit that she was enjoying the peace and tranquility facilitated by a rare evening with the house to herself.

Most of the day, it had seemed as if she were living in a lunatic asylum. Her husband, Bill Sr. was scrambling to pack for yet another business trip and, as was usually the case, he couldn't find a half dozen vital items. She'd been compelled to locate most of them for him, all the while thinking how much it was like trying to pack a small boy off to camp.

Bill Jr. was also packing for a hiking trip with several of his buddies; their last big adventure before leaving for their first year of college. And then, of course, there was her oldest child, Shelly. She and her friend, Katie, were underfoot, primping for their big night out in celebration of Jill Tucci's twenty-first birthday. Jill was the youngest member of her daughter's little triumvirate, but not by much. The girls' birthdays were roughly a month apart; Shelly's in June, Katie's in July, and Jill's in August.

She had spent much of the day mediating the usual petty disputes between Shelly and Bill and even a rare spat between Shelly and Katie concerning their wardrobe for the evening. Both girls had been tom-boys when growing up and still were at heart. Occasions where they were required to wear girl clothes and make-up seemed to always cause them considerable anxiety. It was, in fact, the more girly Jill, who usually advised them in such matters, but she was spending the day shopping with her mother and no doubt giving her mother's gold card a serious workout.

She had to smile thinking back on the girls' argument. When it became apparent that her peace making efforts were yielding little, she had coolly asked Shelly if they needed to continue the discussion down the hall in the master bedroom. The look on both girls' faces was priceless.

Shelly knew that, at her own request, she was still very much eligible for a sound spanking across her mother's lap. That unusual arrangement had come about as a result of her daughter's life long, and until recent history, secret fascination with corporal punishment and her all too overt hatred of being grounded. Susan Brooks had no such authority over Katie, of course, but her daughter's life-long chum had been treated to the experience once in recent history.

No Nonsense Mother-in-Law
The officer turned to the woman walking across the street. "I have him for an open container, Mrs. Henderson. I originally stopped him for failure to yield. I wouldn't be able to turn the other cheek if I had another deputy riding with me. I'm sure you understand."

Gail Henderson nodded. Walking behind her was her daughter, Layne. In the car was Layne's husband, Rick Travis. They had been married five months, and already Rick was starting to pick up his old bad habits. Drinking being one of them, and impromptu gambling was another. He made bets on anything and, although they lived with Layne's parents, he would lose money neither he nor Layne could afford to lose.

"As an attorney, I know you don't like having to turn the other cheek, Ed. I really appreciate the break though. I'll have Layne drive his car home. Ricky, you're going to ride with me, and I want to have a word with you alone."

Rick puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. "All right, Mom."

He was annoyed at times that she always called him Ricky, but knew better than to start an argument. Layne would often take her side, but he understood that more than half the time she was in the right.

Gail worked as an attorney and a partner with her husband's law firm. Morgan-Gail & Associates was probably the best in three counties. Gail was shrewd and very competent in the courtroom. She made it clear with her clients from the moment she was on a case she would not tolerate lies and half-truths. She was able to get as many innocent clients acquitted as she was able to get put away.

The officer explained to Gail that if he hadn't pulled him over for failure to yield, someone else might have. At that point with another deputy, it would have been a totally different story, especially with an open container and a DUI involved. He knew the vehicle and he knew Rick, which was pretty embarrassing to both Layne and her mother. Rick stepped out of the car more embarrassed than anything. In the past month he had spent more money on betting the races and other state lotteries than shopping with Layne.

Layne stepped in front of him. "I can't believe you, Rick. You said you were through with all this crap. How are we going to make a go of our marriage if you continue doing this? When the hell are you going to grow up?"

"I'm sorry, babe. This is the last time. This time I mean it. No more drinking and no more gambling."

"I love you, Rick, but I won't put up with this too much longer. I want to have a happy marriage, and not one where either one of us has to worry whether the other is going to get home alive. Get in the car and wait for Mom. I'll follow behind. Don't argue with her either. You already know you won't win."

Susan Brooks gripped the wheel tighter as she peered down the darkened stretch of unfamiliar New England highway, alert for the turnoff the GPS said was coming up. The digital clock on the dash of the Mercedes showed 1:00 AM. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been up, let alone on the road, this late at night nor could she remember the last time she'd been this anxious. Why do these things always seem to happen when Bill's out of town on business?

She'd just been dropping off into a sound sleep when the frantic call had come from Shelly. Her car had been stolen; she and her friends Katie and Jill were at the hospital in Mayfield. The cell phone kept dropping out making it maddeningly hard to get the full story. Shelly had stressed that they were okay, but they needed her to come pick them up. She only hoped she'd understood the address correctly.

Mayfield, she thought, shaking her head. What on earth are they doing in Mayfield? When the girls had departed for the evening, she'd understood their plan was to attend a concert in Cedar Springs. Mayfield was twenty miles further down the road. The town was best known for a small university, more famous for its hard partying student body than for any academic merits. She'd heard a news report on the radio about some girls who were drugged at an illegal party, a Rave the announcer had called it, in some warehouse there. Surely they couldn't have been mixed up in that.

The GPS prompted two more turns in short order and she saw the hospital. Her heart skipped a beat as she noted the numerous police and emergency vehicles in front, many with their lights still flashing. There seemed to be a mob of people at the door. She even saw a local TV news crew setting up for a broadcast.

Dear lord, she thought as she parked the car, what's happening here? She practically ran to the emergency entrance. The scene was even more frantic inside. There were a number of college aged kids milling about, frantic parents rushing around searching for their own children, uniformed police trying to keep order.

"Mom, over here." She heard Shelly's familiar voice call. She turned and saw all three girls standing by the wall. She rushed over and grabbed Shelly, holding her daughter tightly to her chest. "Shelly, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mom," she said. Susan Brooks released Shelly and turned to Katie and Jill taking each girl in an arm and holding them to her. "Are you girls okay?" she asked.

"We're all fine, Mrs. B," Katie assured her.

Her worst fears finally subsiding, she stood back and gave them all a good looking over. She found herself somewhat taken aback at the black leather miniskirt and tight red halter top on Shelly. The others were dressed in similar racy fashion. The petite, red headed Jill was encased in a tight little black dress and the taller, more buxom, blond Katie was sporting skin tight jeans and a cropped tee shirt.

Black Widow
"So what was wrong with this one, Angela? Let me guess ... he doesn't like Chinese food? Or maybe he wears too much blue?"

Christina couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice when it came to discussing her older sister's dating habits. The reality was that Angela never got far enough with a potential suitor to know his food or clothing preferences. Twice widowed by age 40, Angela was having limited success in meeting Mr Right. Afraid of opening up herself to disappointment and heartbreak again, she saw everyone as Mr Wrong.

"No, Chris, nothing like that. This guy was moving too quickly for me. He wanted to ..." she paused for a breath, "... to talk on the phone. It was just too soon, I think." Actually, there were other factors involved, but Angela wasn't ready to discuss those with anyone.

Christina sighed in frustration. At the rate her overly-cautious sister was going, she was never going to find another man. Despite the online dating site Angela had hesitantly tried on her own, she was having a hard time progressing from the virtual world to the real one.

"Too soon? Too soon? And how long were you chatting online with this one? One month? Two? It's normal to want to talk on the phone if you like someone. And then, oh my God, here's a shocker - perhaps even meet them in person! It's called DATING!" the younger sister snapped.

Christina knew she sounded harsh, but it was beyond frustrating to see a desirable and beautiful woman like her sister remain alone, doing nothing to change things for the better. It was as if Angela's adventurous spirit had died along with her last husband.

"I'm going to hang up if you continue to be so nasty, Chris. You'll never understand. You've been lucky in love - you have a husband and kids. All I've ever had is bad luck," Angela sniffled in despair.

"So maybe that means you're finally due for some good luck," her sister suggested, trying her best to sound convincing. "And maybe you should stop wearing black all the time. What kind of message does that send, Angie?"

"And why shouldn't I wear black? I'm a Black Widow and always will be, Chris. No guy is ever going to want to date me, let alone marry me. Not when the results will be fatal for him," Angela said dramatically.

Christina tried to control her frustration. "No one's going to die from dating or marrying you. In fact, any guy would be lucky to have you, but you have to put yourself out there to find him, Angie. What happened to Tim was an unfortunate accident, and it's been over a year since Michael ..."

"Bad things always happen in three's," Angela reminded her.

"Oh for God's sake, that's superstitious nonsense, Angela," Christina said in exasperation. "Stop talking like that, and stop calling yourself a Black Widow. No wonder you scare off potential boyfriends!"