LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

It was just another Monday morning as Tom set out from home to drive the seven miles to the office, but instead of continuing on the busy main road that was his usual route, he took a left turn to post his sister's birthday card. He frowned slightly as he scanned the side roads. This part of town was unfamiliar, but he was certain there was a postbox somewhere close by. Turning into a quiet tree-lined road, he spied the red postbox and drove towards it.

He grinned as he deposited the card in the box. He had enclosed his usual cheque as a birthday gift, and wondered what mad fripperies Gwen would spend it on. Last year she had bought an exercise bike that was too big to fit into her house, so she had put it in the shed where it now resided gathering dust. The year before she had used his cheque to invest in an outrageously expensive mobile phone that had proved to be so complex to use she shoved it on a drawer and went back to using her old one. And the year before that he'd got her the African parrot she wanted, which promptly bit her finger and was returned to the shop...

So deep in thought was he that he failed to see the little girl crouching down behind a nearby hedge. It was as he turned to go back to his car that he first became aware of her. She looked up at him through big brown eyes filled with tears and her face was red and blotchy with crying.

"Hello," he said, immediately concerned.

The girl's lower lip trembled. "H-hello." She rubbed her eyes, wiping away a fresh burst of tears.

"Are you hurt?" He stepped towards her and hunkered down in front of her.

"No," she sniffed.

"Are you sure? What's wrong?" He looked at her closely and revised his opinion. She wasn't a little girl after all but an older one, maybe in her teens.

"I-I'm just upset about s-something."

"Here. Take this and have a good blow." Tom produced a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over. "That's something my mother used to say to me. It sounds rather silly, doesn't it?" he said gently, reassured when the flicker of a smile played around the corners of her mouth.

"Uh huh," she responded, and then dutifully blew her nose.

"I'm Tom. Want to tell me what you're upset about? Maybe I can help."

"I wish you could help," she said wistfully. "But you can't. I-"

"Ruth!" called an irate voice. "Where are you? Get inside."

"Oh! It's Brad. I have to go." She jumped up with a look of pure panic in her eyes, pausing to smile tremulously. "Thank you, Tom," she said, then fled, sprinting along the pavement and up a garden path that led to the front door of one of a neat pair of semi-detached town houses.

Finding Emma
If there was anything Emma feared, it was looking back on her life, years from now, and realizing that she had never really lived. For her first nineteen years, her entire life had seemed, well, ordinary. So when she met Friedrich, who courted her, showering her with gifts, and promised her a life among the elite of Europe, she was more than ready to accept. Her parents were horrified. After all, Friedrich, at forty-eight, was a year older than her father.

True love, it seemed, had blossomed on the beach during a December vacation in Bermuda. Anticipating their reaction, Emma had been evasive when talking to her parents about the guy she was seeing - for tennis, sailing, snorkeling, dinner and dancing. When they found out the truth - about Friedrich's age, that is - they forbade her to see him. She pouted for the final two days before her return to the States.

Her first act when she was safely back in the relative freedom of her college dorm was to call Friedrich, who briefly took up residence in a nearby hotel. There followed a whirlwind courtship that culminated in a springtime engagement announcement. Begrudgingly, Emma's parents accepted their daughter's unwelcome choice, and began planning an early September wedding. Interspersed throughout this period were quick get-away trips - to Acapulco, to the French Riviera, and to New York City.

Friedrich was a Swiss businessman, with industrial and real estate interests inherited from his father. Emma had no concept of the extent of his holdings when she signed the prenuptial agreement he produced just a week before the wedding. The reception, which her parents insisted on financing without Friedrich's help, was no small affair, but it paled in comparison to some of the parties she had already attended with her fiancé.

Following a honeymoon in the Greek islands, Emma's new husband took her for the first time to his home - now their home - in Switzerland. It was a large chalet, very old, overlooking the city of Zurich. While a valet unloaded the luggage from the car, Friedrich gave her a tour of the house. So many rooms, furnished with such elegance!

Emma learned, much to her surprise, that she and Friedrich would have separate bedrooms. When she queried him on the matter, he dismissed it with a reference to European customs and his restlessness at night (which she had indeed experienced). Besides, he assured her, his visits to her room would be frequent enough that she might soon start locking the door.

It wasn't until she returned for a second time to the parlor that she noticed a woman seated in a chair by the window, reading. The woman, roughly Friedrich's age and quite tall, rose to give Friedrich a warm kiss on the cheek. Only then did she turn her attention to Emma, whom she studied carefully from head to toe, before speaking, in heavily accented English.

The Bet
"You are wrong, Miss 'Know-It All'. It was Harold Robbins," Darla told April.

The discussion among the staff at the law firm of Grant and St. John was about the authorship of the book Sons and Lovers. April, a legal assistant to one of the senior partners, stated positively that the writer was D.H. Lawrence. Darla, much younger at 19, who managed all of the photocopying in the firm, insisted it wasn't.

"What do you want to bet I'm right?" Darla asked.

"I'm not going to bet you anything," April said, "because I know you won't go through with your end of the deal when you realize I've won. I've seen you refuse to honor your bets too many times."

April was a stunning, intelligent young woman with flowing auburn hair and green eyes. She got along with everyone whether she liked them or not and was considered the calm voice of reason, often settling disputes among her co-workers. Although she liked Darla, she knew the girl was spoiled and temperamental. She was famous for her bets, most of which she lost and never honored, insisting each time that she had been misunderstood or the results could not be conclusively proved. If a bet was made, April was going to see to it that this time Darla kept her end of the deal.

"I will too go through with it," Darla whined. "I promise. In front of all of these witnesses," said Darla, pointing to her co-workers. "I promise I will keep my end of the bargain if I lose. The real reason you won't bet, Miss Know-It-All, is because you know you're going to lose and when you do, everyone else will know it, too. You're just a big scaredy cat."

Darla, a petite girl with big, floppy blond curls framing her little heart-shaped face, had huge blue eyes the color of cornflowers that clearly displayed her naiveté. She did her work well, but whined or pouted when things did not go her way, which was often. She'd stamp her foot and pout, her floppy curls bouncing all over her head as she stomped around the copying room. To most of the male members of the firm, she looked absolutely adorable, but to April, she was just a spoiled little girl who needed a good spanking.

"Okay," April agreed, "if you're willing to promise that you will go through with this, I'm willing to make a bet with you. Are you sure you don't want to think about it first?"

"No!" Darla said sharply. "I don't have to think about it. There is only one book with that title and I know it was written by Harold Robbins. I'm right and you're wrong and you can't stand it."

"All right. If you are absolutely certain you want to go through with this, I'll take you on. What do you want if you win?" April asked.

Nicholas
Judge Sandra Thornley slumped into her chair, exhaled, swept her long, curly black hair behind her ears and rested her forehead in her hands as she massaged her temples. The door to her chambers opened a crack and then all the way as her pretty, young, blonde court assistant Melanie peered in. The blonde girl frowned as she saw that her boss seemed to be in some physical distress. She padded across to Judge Thornley's desk and placed a steaming mug of coffee close to the older lady. "Your morning coffee, ma'am," she prompted the judge.

Sandra raised her head and her brown eyes regarded the petite court assistant. "Thank you, Mel. Are those today's cases?" she asked, referring to the papers in Melanie's hand.

"Yes ma'am," Melanie replied politely, setting a copy in front of the judge.

Judge Thornley put on her spectacles, settled them low on her nose and scanned the neatly printed sheet in front of her.

"It's a late day, today, ma'am," Melanie advised brightly. "A short one too, we've only got one case due to start and it doesn't look like a difficult one. We need to attend a jury selection at eleven."

"Thank you, Melanie." Sandra smiled at the girl. She could be remarkably efficient when she set her mind to it. An appointment to the bench was not beyond her in the future if she wanted it badly enough. There were times however when she needed 'gentle' encouragement.

"Ma'am?" Melanie asked as Sandra picked up her coffee and commenced studying the details of the case she would be hearing later in the day.

"Yes, Mel, what is it?"

"Are you okay?"

Sandra blinked. Melanie was a perceptive girl. She had enjoyed working with her and the two of them got on well outside the courtroom despite the large disparity in their ages. "I'll be fine, dear. It's just Nicholas."

"Again?" Melanie asked, her bright green eyes narrowing as she pulled up a chair and drew it close to the judge's desk. "What has he done this time?"

Sandra Thornley sighed, she may as well tell Melanie the truth, she needed to unburden to someone.

She was a career woman and was single and childless by choice. She had never had time for either a husband or a child. However her sister had not been the same. A single mother, her sister had died after a sudden and swift illness. Her only child, an eighteen year old boy, Nicholas, had been given into Sandra's care as his closest living relative. Sandra and Nicholas had shared a good enough relationship when his mother was still alive, but since her untimely death the boy had been at best difficult. Surly, uncommunicative and only just staying on the right side of the law he was an almost constant trial to his aunt.

A Wife's Place
Caroline sat quietly as James spoke with Pastor Timothy in the church office. She knew it was not proper for her to interrupt the men as they were speaking even though the conversation was centering around her. She must wait until the questions were directed directly towards her.

Sighing softly to herself, Caroline sat staring at her fingers fumbling in her lap. In just a few minutes, James would get up and leave her alone to talk with Pastor Timothy and she was very nervous about that. The pastor had a way of making her feel very naughty even when she wasn't.

She had begged James to give her another chance. Another chance of showing him what a good wife she could be, After all, she was still very new to the role. They had only been married for a year... she still had a lot to learn.

But James was twelve years her senior and very impatient. He had told Caroline she needed discipline and the best place to start was in the church. So, he had called the church office and made an appointment for Saturday morning, and there they were, talking with Pastor Timothy about her supposed disobedience.

Much sooner then she would have liked, James leaned over and gave her a small peck on the cheek and assured her that he and the pastor were only doing only what was best for her. He then stood up and shook the pastor's hand and walked out of the office leaving poor Caroline there to face her fate alone.

"Well Caroline," Pastor Timothy sighed as he leaned back in his chair, "I'm sure you heard everything your husband was telling me just now. What do you have to say for your disobedience?"

A tear trickled down her cheek as she looked at the pastor briefly and then cast her eyes down to the carpet. "I... I try pastor. I really do. But James is very persnickety sometimes."

Pastor Timothy folded his hands in his lap and frowned. "I've known James for many years and he has always seemed very reasonable to me."

"Well... I mean..." Caroline fumbled with her words, "He gets very impatient with me sometimes. I'm still learning how -"

"That's what we're going to help you with today Caroline," the Pastor interrupted. "You are going to come home with me. I have instructed my wife Mary to help mentor you and show you the proper ways for a young wife to behave."

"But James didn't tell me I was to be gone overnight! I haven't packed anything."

"You will be wearing a simple dress which Mary will supply you with once you're at the house. You are not the first misguided young wife we have taken into our home so we have several different sized dresses hanging in the closet. She will find the proper one for you."

"Can I call James first and tell him I won't be home?" she asked anxiously.

The Girl Next Door
That 'girl-next-door look'. Chris Freeman had heard the cliché a few times. It referred to a girl with a fresh, wholesome, natural beauty who didn't require a lot of makeup or fancy clothes to make a guy's heart do flip-flops. The rising high school senior might drool over magazine centerfolds, but he knew that when he found the real-life girl of his dreams, she would have that girl-next-door look.

But the phrase didn't have personal significance until the Taylor family bought the house next door. The homes were fairly close together in the quiet suburban neighborhood, and Chris had been wondering what kind of new neighbors they might get. It was a hot summer day in early July when he noticed that the 'For Sale' sign was gone from the front yard. A few days later, a moving van backed up into the driveway and a car stopped in front of the house. It was a brand-new 1970 Oldsmobile, and Chris stepped out onto the porch for a better look. From the throaty rumble of the engine, he guessed it must have the optional 455 cubic-inch Rocket V8, and he wondered why someone would buy such a car in a drab gray color when they could have had a cool red one. A middle-aged couple stepped out of the car. The man was tall and thin, with an aloof look, and Chris felt an instant dislike for him.

Then a girl climbed out from the back of the car, and Chris's heart skipped a beat. She looked to be about his age, with sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, and a really cute face. Her jeans and tee-shirt were just snug enough to highlight the curves of her trim figure. She stopped to look around for a moment as her parents walked toward the house. Chris waved and gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile, and not a goofy grin.

"Come along, Wendy. We have lots of work to do." Mr. Taylor's voice was curt and authoritative.

"Yes sir. Coming, Dad," she replied dutifully. There was a bit of a southern drawl in her lilting voice as Wendy followed her parents toward the front door.

Wendy had been bitterly disappointed when her dad's promotion required him to relocate to an office in another state. It meant she had to leave all her friends behind and spend her senior year at a high school where she would be the new girl and not know anyone. Seeing the cute guy with the wavy brown hair waving from the porch of the house next door was the first positive thing about the move. She might be friendless as she arrived at their new home, but Wendy didn't have to stay that way. She looked over toward Chris and returned his wave with a shy smile.

Chris's heart was now pounding to make up for the beat it had skipped earlier. Wendy looked like the ultimate girl-next-door.

Just What She Deserved
Something didn't look right. Eric Sawyer scanned the walls of the dining room again. He hadn't lived in the house long enough to become intimately familiar with the furnishings, but he was sure something was missing. There! Next to the window, where the unfaded paint didn't quite match the area around it. Hadn't there been a small landscape painting there?

At age twenty-seven, Eric had recently returned to the town where he grew up to take possession of his grandfather's estate. He hadn't wanted anything to do with the old man when he was alive. He was ashamed to admit it, but his grandfather had been a crook. While managing to stay out of jail, he had skirted the law with unethical and sometimes downright illegal practices as an investment broker. In the process, he had amassed a small fortune while fleecing quite a few gullible people out of their savings.

But lavish spending and health problems had drained away nearly all his ill-gotten wealth. There was nothing left except the house, but its tasteful furnishings included a number of moderately valuable paintings. One of them seemed to have vanished. Had someone broken in and stolen it? It was common knowledge around town that the old man had collected art, so anyone could have surmised there would be valuable items in the house.

Eric went to check the inventory so he could report the theft. He would also have to summon a technician to repair the alarm system which hadn't worked correctly since he had moved in the previous month.

---oOo---
A buzzing noise roused Eric from his sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was just after two in the morning. With a rush of adrenalin, he realized that it was not the alarm clock, but the intrusion alarm that had wakened him.

The alarm system was set to 'silent'. It would notify the police, but would not sound the piercing siren that would scare an intruder away. If there was a burglar, Eric wanted him caught and sent to jail. He rose quickly, pulled on his trousers, and retrieved a shotgun from the closet before cautiously opening the bedroom door.

Silently approaching the darkened living room, Eric saw a shadowy figure. His heart was pounding as he reached for the light switch. He was scared but also angry. How dare this thief come into his house to steal his possessions!

"Freeze!" Eric shouted as light flooded the room. At the same time, he pumped the twelve-gauge shotgun to send a shell into the chamber. He wouldn't actually shoot except in self-defense, but hoped to intimidate the thief and hold him for the police.

A pair of antique sterling silver candlesticks thumped to the floor as the intruder, dressed in black and wearing a hooded ski mask, froze with hands raised.

"Turn around slowly and take off the mask!" Eric ordered.

"Don't shoot! Please!" the would-be thief begged.

The club was heaving with leather-clad and scantily-clad people engaging in deviant acts of pleasure. Little Lizbet pushed her way through the crowd, looking for Chrissie. Her friend had abandoned her to have a session with Kyle, her new play partner. Not for the first time that night, Lizbet wished she had stayed at home. She didn't know anyone here and felt insecure and ill at ease from all the predatory glances that came her way. As an unaccompanied and attractive sub, she was a target for the wolves - and they were here in abundance, salivating over her waif-like form, her pretty blonde hair and guileless big blue eyes.

"Want to play, little girl?" A guy in black leather, his jacket decorated with ropes of chain smiled at her. He held out his hand in invitation. White teeth gleamed from a tanned face.

"No. No thanks." Lizbet shook her head and turned away from him. She decided to make her way to the back of the room near the bar area, intending to sit quietly and blend into the background as she waited for Chrissie.

There were a few vacant seats adjacent to small tables. She headed for one and sat there, head down. Past experience had shown her that avoiding eye contact was a good strategy. If she did that, people usually left her alone.

But not this time.

"Pretty little girl, all alone." The guy with the chains was back. His dark eyes bored into hers, a covetous expression on his face. "Come play with me, cutie. You won't regret it, I promise you."

"No. I don't want to."

"No?" A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. "Then I'll have to change your mind." He came closer and reached out to touch her shoulder.

"No!" Her voice came out as a strangled squeak. "Go away. Please."

"You heard the lady. Clear off, Zak."

Zak stared at the newcomer for a moment, then shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, and moved away.

Lizbet looked up into a pair of inquisitive brown eyes filled with warmth. They belonged to a man in his early forties, a man with a kind face. His hair was dark with the first flecks of grey at the temples. He smiled at her. It wasn't an oily smile like Zak had, it was a nice smile, unthreatening and benevolent.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

"Mind if I sit here?" He indicated the vacant chair opposite Lizbet.

"Ok."

He sat down. "Take no notice of Zak. He pounces on all of the newbies. I haven't seen you here before. Your first visit?"

"Yes," she said shyly.

"Then welcome to Club Excess. I'm Daniel."

"Thanks. I'm Lizbet."

"Are you here alone?"

"No. I came with a girlfriend - Chrissie. We usually go to Demon's Dungeon, but she wanted to come here tonight because it's her new play partner's favourite club. She persuaded me to tag along with her."

"And now she's abandoned you, huh?"

"Yep."