LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Tawse under the Christmas Tree
by Tara Black
Kathleen and Andrew had been a couple for a little over six months and to the eyes of many who knew them it was a happy, even ideal relationship. He had landed a job in an go-ahead IT firm while she was a probationary PE teacher at the Watt Academy. The Fife secondary school served a string of coastal villages in one of which they occupied a small terrace house. For two people in their early twenties it was a success story.

And yet ... it wasn't so much a positive dissatisfaction, more a growing sense of predictability. Week in, week out, the social round of dinners among a smallish group of friends with occasional cultural events thrown in, the same arguments to and fro with the same minds running on familiar tracks. It wasn't exactly boring, but definitely not what Kathleen was moved to describe as exciting. Nor was her bed quite the place it used to be, though what they did there was fine and she was sure for many folk would be a step up from what they had settled for.

And then, just a few weeks before, she had become aware that a long-term unease with one particular subject area was turning into something more. It wasn't something that came up often because there wasn't a lot of it about - vanishingly little, in fact. From something once widespread through society, at home and school, in reformatories and prisons, corporal punishment had more or less disappeared.

So Kathleen was rarely embarrassed by any discussion of the topic amongst the liberal circles she moved in: opposition to its use was a foregone conclusion. No, the discomfort came from within herself, a tendency to discover herself at idle moments with a scene of traditional discipline beginning to play itself out in her mind. She was a fly on the wall as the errant prefect quaked while her headmistress selected a cane from a fearsome rack of such instruments.

The drama never made it beyond its initial stages for she caught herself in the act and shook such fancies out of her head. All well and good until they took a twist: now in her mind's eye she was the culprit awaiting the consequences of her misdeeds. And retribution was to come through a different instrument: the tawse, long-banished in actuality from Scottish schools.

Things reached a head one night when at four in the morning Kathleen came out of a dream. Or perhaps she still half-dreamed, for the images of the leather instrument were so vivid. They weren't of the thing being raised to strike her hand; that notion merely repelled her. No, she was in thrall to the picture of it coming down with a juicy slap across her bottom. What would that feel like? The thought brought her out in shivers and she pulled up the covers to snuggle closer into the warmth of the sleeping figure at her side.