LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Lucy's Story
Several years ago, I was taken from an orphanage by Madame Natalina, made her ward and put to her service. She was, in many ways, a kindly woman, but was an even greater stickler for discipline than the women at the orphanage. She added the tawse and the cane to the birch as her instruments of correction, and my bottom was frequently subjected to the application of all three.

I will here give you a typical example of the kind of day on which I was severely chastised and its aftermath.

Sunday was my Mistress's favoured day for administering corporal punishment. She would announce on Saturday evening that I was to be punished on the following day. This meant that I would spend the night in abject terror, feeling my poor bottom and imagining what would soon be happening to it. I often touched myself to give myself some comfort, although this was a 'two-edged sword' as I would have to confess it to my Mistress, and receive further severe punishment as a result.

I would arise early and put on my working uniform - a blue checkered dress, black stockings, and tight white knickers - and do my household tasks, which included lighting the fire, cleaning the toilet and bathroom, dusting, and finally, after changing into my maid's uniform, making my Mistress her early morning cup of tea.

I would then repair to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. My Mistress would then appear, birch rod in hand (which I had made the previous day) and make me bend over the kitchen sink, filled with icy cold water in which I immersed my hands. She would then raise my dress, pull down my knickers and apply the rod in swingeing fashion to my bare buttocks.

The extreme contrast between the cold in my hands and the spreading warmth in my loins was a salutary experience. She would usually give me about forty strokes in several separate applications. In the meantime, I had to keep my skirt up and my knickers down so that she could see the effect of her ministrations, and so that I would be immediately available for more. It was often almost more than I could cope with, as I had to have breakfast on the table at a specified time.

Then - and this was almost the worst part - clothed in my uniform, she would take me to church where, with my burning bottom sitting on a hard pew, I would have to sing pretty little hymns and listen to long, boring sermons, all the while being very aware of the pain that was to come.

---oOo---
To continue my doleful story, the preparation for the inevitable was in itself a dreadful experience.

First, I had to get the place of my punishment ready. I would place three cushions - one on top of a stool placed at the end of the bed; one on the bed rail to receive my tummy and one on the bed itself to bury my face in as my Mistress could not bear to hear me howl or shed tears, both of which were always forthcoming in plenty.