LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

June put down her brush and stared at the painting. "Hmmm, not bad, June. Not bad at all." She took a few steps back and critically appraised her work. It looked even better from a distance. Pleased with her efforts, she absent-mindedly reached up to secure an escaped tendril of long golden hair from her face, daubing a streak of indigo on her nose in the process. She smiled. The painting was almost complete and needed just a touch more colour on the dramatic skyline. She picked up her brush, ignoring the loud intrusive ring of the doorbell, and began to mix paint on her palette.

The ringing persisted. With an exasperated sigh she put down her brush and made her way downstairs. Some moron must be standing with their finger on the bell. The top portion of the front door was bevelled glass and through it she could see the outline of someone's head and shoulders. If it was yet another salesman cold calling, he would soon be sent on his way for interrupting her work. She flung open the door, green eyes blazing.

"Hello, June." He smiled at her through a pair of vibrantly blue eyes, taking in her dishevelled appearance at a glance. Her golden hair was secured on the top of her head in a plastic clip, with escaped strands framing her face. She was wearing a snug fitting denim skirt and a paint-splattered blue smock over a black sweater. On her feet were a pair of canvas shoes, both daubed with blobs of paint. "You have a paint smudge on your nose."

"Oh. It's you." She bristled and reached up to rub the smudge away but only succeeded in making it wider, much to the undisguised amusement of the visitor. The insufferable man had the gall to grin at her. One brow arched in that infuriating way he had. It didn't matter that she thought of herself as a confident, poised, 24-year-old woman - he somehow made her feel like a gauche teenager on the defensive.

"Obviously. It's damned cold out here on the doorstep. Are you going to invite me in?"

"No. I'm busy." She gave him one of her best glares and then stood aside as he barged past her and stepped into the hallway. He was already making himself at home by removing his jacket and hanging it on the coat stand at the bottom of the stairs. She fumed inwardly. What an irritating pig of a man.

The irritating pig of a man flashed a gleaming smile. "How's your dad?"

"He wasn't very good yesterday, but isn't too bad today. He's taking a nap. You probably woke him by ringing the doorbell," she said accusingly.

"Oh well, he did ask me to call round at 2pm."

"He's expecting you? He never mentioned it. What does he want to see you for?"

"Yes he's expecting me. I'll go up shall I?" the visitor said, making his way upstairs without bothering to wait for a response and deftly sidestepping her other question.

The Whippings of Miss Elizabeth Caldwell
Listed below are just a few of the rules for women teachers in the year 1915:

- You are not to keep company with men.

- You must be home between 7:00 PM and 6:00 AM unless attending a school function.

- You may not loiter downtown in the ice-cream store.

- You may not ride in a carriage or automobile with any man unless it is your father or brother.

- You may not dress in bright colors.

There are several other rules that applied to the women teachers but they don't apply to this story. They are all interesting, especially since they didn't apply to the male teachers!

---oOo---
"Miss Elizabeth Caldwell you have been found guilty by the school board of Glenview of breaking five rules in your teaching contract and are hereby sentenced to a whipping this Saturday at noon in the old school house. The punishment will be carried out by Mr. James A. Parker, head of the School Board. Do you have anything to say for yourself, young woman?" Judge Harris asked as he looked down at the pretty little schoolmarm standing in front of him.

Elizabeth shook her head. "No Sir."

Frowning, the judge continued, "Well then, you are remanded into your Uncle's custody until your sentence has been carried out on Saturday, Miss Caldwell."

She could still hardly believe this was all happening. All she had done was to accompany Carson Hooper to that little ice cream shop in his new automobile. There they had shared delightful conversation as well as an ice cream sundae together. The next thing she knew she had been brought up on five different charges of breaking her teacher's contract. The whole thing was ludicrous!

But the worst thing of all was the fact that she was to spend the rest of the week with her Uncle Luther. He was her father's older brother and a stickler for the rules. Elizabeth hardly ever even saw her Uncle and his family as they lived out on a farm miles away from Glenview. She herself lived in a small room in the back of Tom Willowby's Boarding House right there in town.

Her Uncle was none too thrilled about housing his niece for the week either. He let her know that right from the beginning. While they were driving back to his farm after the hearing, he'd told her she wasn't just going to be just sitting around doing nothing while she was staying with them. Elizabeth had assured her Uncle that she was a hard worker and had no intention of just sitting around.

He'd also told her she wasn't allowed to see the young man that had gotten her in this mess she was in. She had argued with him a little on this matter but after being threatened with her Uncle's belt, decided to let the matter drop for the time being. The rest of the ride was fairly quiet.

The Recruiters
You wouldn't think that much good could come from a broken clothes dryer. For Donna and me, however, it was one of the best things ever to happen to us. Call it serendipity, if you will, but it was because of our broken appliance that we met Katy.

When I arrived home late that Thursday, Donna was not in a good mood. That's an understatement.

"Here - grab a couple of these," she said, pointing to a few large plastic garbage bags, "We're going to the Laundromat." Not exactly your welcome-home-after-long-day-at-work kiss. A grumpy Donna explained as we loaded up the car how she discovered the non-functional dryer. When she went to transfer a load of laundry from the washer, the previous load was still sopping-wet. Since we were down to so few clean clothes, she continued to run loads through the washer, storing the clean-but-wet clothes in the garbage bags.

"We'll grab some Chinese or something while we're there," she said as we finished piling the bags in the trunk of the car.

The Laundromat was mobbed. Had people nothing better to do? We were fortunate to find even one dryer available, and that was due only to some good timing, as an older Indian woman was just then finishing with it.

We had barely started the first load when Donna poked me in the side, then pointed unobtrusively. When my eyes followed her pointing finger, my jaw dropped. Oh - my - gawd! The backside of the petite woman leaning over to reach inside one of the washing machines across the way was simply marvelous. I'd never tell Donna this, but it was even better than hers. The legs of her shorts, almost as if she had felt someone watching. Her face was no disappointment - cherubic, with upturned nose and framed by tight blonde curls. Definitely worth a go. Donna looked at me quizzically. I nodded.

I made myself busy, first counting quarters, then untying the garbage bags, only to re-tie them again, all the while watching Donna out of the corner of my eye. She walked down to the change machine, inserted a few dollars for some change, and then headed back. Just as she reached Miss Perfect Bottom's machine, she stumbled, and with an 'oops' dropped her handful of quarters onto the floor. I smiled as our quarry immediately squatted to help retrieve the scattered coins. By the time they had been recovered, the hook was set. No one is better at this than Donna.

I had commandeered a second dryer and was folding the first load of clothes when Donna made her way back to me. Although I had kept watch while Donna worked her magic, it was too far away for me to hear what they had been saying, what with all the machines running and all.

"So?"

"Let's see - her name's Katy, new in town, just starting her studies at the university for a master's in art history, recent nasty break-up with her boyfriend."

Chapter One - Perfecting the Machine, Maybe

Dr Arthur James was one of the leading theoretical physicists in the world, and yet at times he felt like a harried father. His partner was Dr Selena Gomey, and she was the cause of both his success and distress.

She'd lured him to her lab with talk of her teleportation invention. What she'd neglected to tell him was that it wasn't perfected. Anything sent through the machine tended to get... well, sort of torn apart and slapped back together. The two had worked together for months on the project, but when progress had not been made in a timely fashion, Selena decided to cut corners. In the last six months, she'd sent dozens of items through without running any simulations. Each time, she learned more, but each time she damaged the machine.

She didn't care. Her only interest was in perfecting her invention. Arthur was losing his patience with her.

"Selena, you really must stop these haphazard tests," he scolded. "Every time you run one, you set us back a month."

"Shut up, Art," she spat. "I think I've worked out what went wrong last time."

"You've said that the last three times," he replied calmly, counting to ten in his head. "For God's sake, just take it slow."

Selena moved to her desk. It not only had her computer and papers, but several of her favorite toys. As she fiddled with them, Art had to grin. God, she could be such a child. He thought of her as the classic stereotype brilliant scientist, and the two of them were a study in contrast. She could design a machine to split atoms, but she'd lose her car keys in her own purse. Where he was tall and powerfully built, she was petite and waif-like. Her height and size were inversely proportional to her intellect. When they went out, on those rare occasions when they took a break, she was routinely carded at the clubs, despite being almost thirty.

His computer beeped. Loath as he was to take his attention away from work, he saw that an email had come in, and he recognized who had sent it. Oh, it could not be good news. He punched a few keys and viewed the message. Yeah, he was right, it was very, very bad news. Chewing his lip, he began pacing about the room.

Selena noticed his distress and put down her Transformer toy. "Art, I sense something is amiss. Care to share?"

"Yes, I do," he growled, and stopped in his tracks. "It seems we're in a bit of a jam."

She laughed. "Oh, that is rich! Okay, I'll bite, what's up?"

"It would appear that some of our less scrupulous rivals have figured out where we are. Well, to be exact, they know we're here in LA, and they're looking for us. You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you, Selena?"

She swallowed hard, put down her toy, and took a step back. "Ah no. Why do you ask?"

Family Values
"I don't see why you shouldn't bring your friends over as planned honey. After all it's not your fault." Dana broke off from applying her lipstick for a moment and glanced at her youngest daughter, Dakota, who was standing in the corner.

Freya followed the direction of her mother's look. Darn the little brat she thought, feeling not the least sympathy for her sister's shiny red bottom.

"Can't you just send her to her room?" Freya asked pleadingly.

"You know the house rules honey," Dana said casually, putting the final touches to her make-up. "How do I look?"

"You look just great Mom," Freya said unenthusiastically.

"No I don't do I?" Dana grinned as she checked herself out in the mirror. "I don't look a day over 30."

She didn't as well Freya thought.

"Well 41 anyway, Mom," she said.

Dana leaned over and gave Freya a swat on her behind. It was an old joke with them.

"So are you having the girls over while I'm out?" Dana continued.

Dakota began to pray. She begged fervently to the god of the north wall of their house that Freya wouldn't be so cruel.

"I had better not," Freya sighed.

"Your call. See you later girls." Dana snatched up her keys from the kitchen top. "And Dakota dear. You are to stay there until 9.30 and then straight to bed. I really hope I don't hear that you did anything different."

"You little brat," Freya sneered at her sister bitterly after her mother had gone. "I mean smoking in Main Street? What a dork."

"I didn't know Mom would be out shopping did I?" Dakota's tone was sullen and half-hearted.

"I have a good mind to go ahead with my plans," Freya countered.

It wasn't that she had any sympathy per se, Freya thought. But there was an unspoken agreement between the girls. No friends over when one of them was in jug. After all even though Freya was 20 now, next time it could very well be her in the corner.

The 18-year-old in the corner didn't respond. One word from Freya and her life could become a living hell in oh so many ways. Not least, she could claim Dakota broke out of the corner ahead of time. And there was still the girls' night in.

Once before, when they had been younger, Freya had sent Dakota to her room so she could have a boyfriend over. Even though her sister had another hour and a half corner time to serve. Mom had come home early.

Boyfriend was still there when the spanking commenced and the next two nights had been a bitch for both sisters. No. A postponement was the only safe thing to do.


Dana looked at her watch, just time to finish her evening shopping. Then with one final look at the house she drove off.

Dana always kept a nonchalant air around the subject of spanking in front of her girls, but as she drove away, she was fully aware of Freya's dilemma.

Ms. Dominique Thorn
How've you been, Janey? Me? I just love my new job. Everyone's so laid back. No one seems to mind if you come in a bit late, and if you just have to leave a bit early, it's okay. The work isn't that hard, and you just get it done when you get it done.

My boss? That's old Mr. Whiffle. 'Whiffs,' everyone calls him. He's a sweetie. Kind of quiet. He just stays in his office or heads over to the factory. Cece says he's more comfortable around the machinery than with people. So we kind of get to do our own thing.

Cece? Oh, she's the girl in the next cubicle. She kind of shows me the ropes. Whenever she's off the phone, that is. She's always talking to her boyfriend, or her mom, or somebody. Nah, no one ever hassles you about stuff like that - phone calls, or being on the 'net.' They must understand that morale is important.

Speaking of morale, there are a couple of cute guys from sales who are always hanging around the water cooler. Cece says one of them, named Josh, kind of likes me. She may be right, because he always seems to find excuses to drop by our end of the office.

Listen, I gotta go. They're having some sort of party down in the lunchroom. Cece says someone reached a six-month anniversary or something. Bye, Janey. I'll catch you some other time.

---oOo---
Oh, hi, Janey! Sorry I haven't called. I've been kind of busy lately. No, its okay, I can talk. Not much happening here today. Oh - there is one thing. The buzz around the office is that ol' Whiffs is hiring an office manager. Apparently he has someone all picked out, too. This was after he had a hissy-fit yesterday about productivity in the office. I was a bit worried, but Cece tells me not to be. Supposedly this happens two or three times a year. He actually did hire an office manager once - someone who was supposed to enforce rules and stuff - but she only lasted a few months.

I'll probably have to be careful for a while until this all blows over, so I shouldn't talk long. I'll call you soon so you can fill me in on things, and I can tell you about me and Josh. Got to go now. Bye.

---oOo---
Sorry to call so late, but I can't talk at work anymore, and Josh and I went out afterwards. He wanted to comfort me because I didn't have such a great day. Why? Well, our new office manager started today. Let me just say that I hope she doesn't last half as long as that last one they had. She called the whole office staff together for a meeting. Said things were going to change around here... or else. To tell you the truth, she's a little scary. Her voice is scary. Even her name is scary - Dominique Thorne.

Jill planned to spend Thanksgiving weekend at a ski lodge instead of the usual jaunt to her parent's house. She just didn't know how to tell her mother. I'm a grown woman, it shouldn't be this hard, she thought to herself. It's not that she didn't love her parents and siblings and their families, she did. She was a sucker for her nieces and nephews, it was just that she couldn't stand the thought of spending another holiday with her family asking about the details of her life - when all they really wanted to know about was her love life, or lack of it.

Ever since Jill had broken her engagement over four years ago to that two-timing Billy Mitchell, her mom was all over her like white on rice, saying that she wasn't getting any younger. To be honest, Jill was a little jealous. She was the oldest of three girls and her two siblings were already married with children of their own.

Her sister Jan had married her college sweetheart, Mark Stewart. They were a stereotypical American family. Mark was a junior partner in a law firm and Jan was a stay at home mom. They had a house in the suburbs, three children - a boy James and twin girls, Beth and Jane, and a dog and a cat. Jan was the matchmaker and always had some associate of Mark's she wanted Jill to meet. Every once in a while, Jill would give in and accept a date with Jan's latest find and so far it hadn't turned out well. Luckily for Jill, Jan had recently backed off the quest to fix her up with someone.

Her other sister, Jackie, was married to Matthew J. Caldwell III. Matt was the CFO of Caldwell Industries, his family's firm. They lived in a massive house in Naperville with their son Matthew J. Caldwell IV (Matty) and their daughter Stacey. According to the plan Jackie had laid out for her life, she would have another child sometime next year and heaven forbid if anything went against plan. They too had a dog, cat, horses, and lord knows what else. Jackie was so straight she squeaked, and Matt's family was as uptight and straight laced as they came. Jackie fit right in with the Caldwell's and not so well with Jill who was a free thinker and inevitably got into a heated discussion with Matt about the injustice of some situation. He would go off in a huff, and Jackie would be upset with her sister for arguing with him.

Everyone would be at Jill's parents for Thanksgiving and her presence was expected. She just wasn't up to it this year. She wanted to do something different. And besides, she would have to face all of them again at Christmas.

Jill had procrastinated long enough and decided she couldn't wait any longer to call her mother. She picked up the phone and dialed. Mom was a force of nature and would not take the news that one of her chicks would not be around for Thanksgiving without a fight.

Lies, Damn Lies and Delinquents

by by Anthony Alba
"I'm not sure," Sandra Davidson muttered uncertainly as she weighed the options before her. "Shouldn't I have my solicitor here before I do any deals with you?"

"You're a convicted delinquent," Alison Cooper pointed out smoothly and with no small amount of satisfaction. "You are not entitled to legal advice. If you're not interested there are others I can speak to." To emphasise the point she deliberately closed her legal pad and started gathering her things as if to leave the interview room.

"No, wait," Sandra said quickly. "I just want a moment or two to think about it."

"I don't have all day," Alison told her.

In truth she did not mind a few more minutes to study the change that had come over Sandra. The last time they had seen each other, Sandra had looked every inch the successful up and coming accountant in her sharp business suit. Even in the dock she had possessed a certain dignity. Now the childish school uniform she wore stripped her of any inherent gravitas she might have once had and made her look like she was seventeen instead of her actual twenty-five years of age. And the way she had flinched when the guard escorting her in had casually patted her on the bottom had been very telling.

When Alison had first shown up Sandra had been naturally bitter and resentful towards her. Alison was part of the prosecution team that was responsible for sending her here. When she had been assigned the case Alison had been over the moon. Involvement on such a high profile case had the potential to be a real shot in the arm for her career.

And then just when she was flying high everything had threatened to come crashing down. Reviewing some documents Alison discovered evidence that suggested Sandra's role in the fraud had been a lot more minor that everyone thought. Such exculpatory evidence should have been handed over to the defence team, but Alison faced a dilemma.

The real movers and shakers were protected by the 'old boys' network'. They were never going to face serious prison time but the newspapers were demanding someone be held accountable. If she were the one to point out the evidence that saw Sandra get a slap on the wrist instead of a heftier sentence the Crown Prosecution Service would blame her for derailing their grand crusade against white collar crime.

Her ultimate boss, Sir Hugh Tanner, had summed it up nicely once. "I'm the sort to sometimes shoot the messenger. It sends a message."

In the end Alison had found it remarkably easy to put self-interest ahead of justice or the rules of prosecutorial ethics. The damning document went to the shredder and the defence were none the wiser.

Sandra had been convicted and like a fish on the hook Alison now wanted to reel her in. Her involvement might have been minor but she still knew names, dates and all sorts of juicy confidential damming information.

It was the mid-sixties, and on a Wednesday afternoon in October a few chance happenings occurred, setting into train an unforgettable series of events.

In the previous summer holidays, the science block at Ashfield Ladies Grammar had burnt down due to an electrical fault.

This was a disaster for the school, but for the financially stretched Ambrosia County Council who had been considering rationalising the secondary schools, each very generously endowed with land, it was a not to be missed opportunity. The short-term solution was to make Ashfield Ladies and the Lord Devenish boy's GS (founded 1651) a co-educational grammar. The two head-teachers remained at their schools, but the other staff were redrafted to ensure a mix of male and female teachers. There was enough room to accommodate the first three forms in the main block of the girls school, and use the boys school for the O and A level streams, which would release a lot of land to sell to developers.

This was greeted with delight by the pupils and also the bean-counters at County Hall but initially with horror by both sets of governors, particularly those of the old established and extremely traditional boys' grammar. The horror was shared by most of the older masters and mistresses who viewed teaching mixed classes with massive apprehension and in some cases downright disgust. However two senior members of staff who very privately approved were Jane Somerton and Richard Manners, the acting joint deputy-heads at the mixed upper grammar. They had previously been heads of the two sixth forms and had both benefited by the previous extremely conservative incumbents taking slightly early retirement in disgust at the new arrangements. The head teachers had been made aware the new arrangements were to their considerable advantage by the award of a substantial salary increase and a generous bonus when the land was sold. Similarly the governors were awarded positions on various committees of the great and good, which allowed them to draw generous expenses. The matter was therefore a fait-accompli, in the traditional manner of British politics.

Amongst the pupils were four upper-sixth formers Jessica Richards, Carol Ashton, Jimmy Anderson and Matt Johnson. They all lived in the outlying village of Littlehurst and had grown up together. Amazingly they were all born within a couple of weeks of each other in September and early October and each claimed to be their parents' best ever post-war Christmas presents. They had all just reached eighteen and felt far too mature for the disciplinary strictures of an old-fashioned grammar school, and considered themselves as highly superior to the younger students.

Every Wednesday after games they missed their usual 4.15 bus home and as a result went into town to kill time before catching the 5.35 home. Since entering the upper sixth with no uniform rules they often went to the trendy coffee bar called The Pomme d'Or, where like many of their age they drank coffee, chatted and flirted, played pinball and table football, and listened to the jukebox, whiling away the time until the bus left.