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A Modern Education
Rosalyn Beauchamp carefully placed one foot in front of the other as her stylish high heels clacked their way down the parquet floor. This gave her a sashaying gait that coupled with her expensive skirt suit made her feel like a model on a catwalk. Judging from the glances of the older boys and masters alike she guessed she also looked the part, and the expression that lightly touched her lips was bordering on smug. At 40 you still have it, she thought, her smile now barely contained by her full pouting lips.

To avoid meeting any male gaze she kept her eyes and nose turned upwards in a gesture of aloofness as if eye-contact might break the spell and give her away as a fraud. It was a posture that drew her glance to the high school windows that were set too far from the ground to see out of. This and the airy wide corridor added to the feeling that the school was turned inwards and remained an elite haven from the world. And so it should be, Rosalyn thought, her step-daughter's school fees certainly cost her enough.

She smelt the old wood and polish, a scent to take her back to her own school days and a building much like this one. The only difference was that her alma mater had no boys. Catherine must be having a high old time, Rosalyn thought, and that was the trouble.

She was just pondering this as she arrived at Catherine's housemaster's study door. Rosalyn's tummy did tumbles as memories came flooding back, and her bottom twitched against the fabric of her D&G pencil skirt. Unconsciously, she fussed with her auburn red hair as if to be certain that it did not reach her collar, but catching herself she pressed her tongue to her cheek and remembered her business.

The door was cold and hard to her knuckles and she still couldn't quite suppress the apprehension of old, perhaps with good reason.

She was admitted by a handsome rugger type pushing 50. His smile was genuine and for once she made an effort to remember his name, as if being bonkable rendered him more significant than being the mere guardian of Catherine's education.

Peter, she thought, her mind in a scrabble. "Mr Trent," she managed, but saying it a shade too quickly.

"Mrs Beauchamp," he said warmly as he ushered her in.

"I hope you don't mind me calling in, I know it isn't really done." She made a grimace. "But I gather our Catherine has been rather troublesome."

Peter Trent pulled a chair from the desk and gestured her to sit. His smile became relaxed and he made a dismissive gesture. "No more so than any other spirited 18-year-old about to leave us," he chuckled. "When faced with their final term these eager young people do tend to jump the gun when it comes to obeying the rules and imagine themselves immune."

Happy that she had scored a window seat in the crowded airliner, Bonnie Ballard enjoyed the view. As always, she was amazed at the immensity of Texas. No stranger to Texas, she was even familiar with her specific destination. She would be visiting the Grant ranch, owned by Joseph Grant. Joseph was a close friend of her family and had been a figure in Bonnie's life since she was a baby. But this trip would be different from her previous stays at the ranch, which essentially had been family vacations - different in a very life-changing way. The fact that this was the first time she had ever traveled alone would have been sufficient to make this trip an adventure she would remember for the rest of her life. But merely traveling alone was a small thing compared to what was about to happen to her.

Over the next two weeks, Bonnie would be visiting the Grant ranch as a prospective wife for Joseph Grant himself, a man old enough to be her father! She had been told that she must get to know Joseph's two present wives, learn to love them and to not be jealous of them. Should she marry Joseph, they would become her 'sister wives'. Also this would be her chance to get to know Joseph in a very different way than she had ever known any man before. It would be a sort of courtship, a way to determine if she and Joseph were meant for each other.

Inexperienced in matters of courtship and sexuality, Bonnie was aware that she had much to learn, and she correctly suspected that Joseph was just the man to teach her. For the last few weeks she had fantasized a lot about this trip and about Joseph. What would it be like? She had been told that she would spend much time alone with Joseph. While together, they would be doing... what? The very thought put butterflies in her stomach. And, oh yes ... before leaving she had been told one other small detail: during those two weeks she would be spanked - spanked at least twice! At that thought, Bonnie surreptitiously scrunched her young bottom in her airline seat.

To her slight discomfort, a youngish man occupied the seat next to her and wasn't quite hiding his interest. He saw a shapely young woman with long straight golden hair whom he correctly guessed to be about eighteen years old. Her face was still so fresh with youth that he didn't even notice her lack of makeup. However her modest long dress, of a traditional design, made her stand out from the crowd.

Finally he could contain himself no longer. "Um, Miss? Do you mind if I ask? Do you happen to be a Quaker?"

"No, not a Quaker. I'm from a conservative branch of the Mormon faith." She had answered politely, but slightly distantly, not encouraging further conversation. Bonnie wasn't on the market for new male companionship.

A Satisfactory Tale featuring Miss MacBride
It was all rather mysterious. A few months ago Miss MacBride had applied for the post of English mistress at a shabby but genteel boys' preparatory school. There were three other applicants, all older than she was. She had gathered that the post involved not only teaching English but a great deal of pastoral care. In effect, if selected, she would be an assistant housemistress to Mr Parry who ran one of the four houses at the school. As far as experience went she had only two years teaching at a boys' preparatory school although for a year and a half she had been engaged as a tutor for two mischievous young boys. Neither of them had been very keen on hard work to begin with but after the judicious and regular application of a light school cane to their bare bottoms they found that they possessed a great deal of enthusiasm for hard work after all. Miss MacBride was an extremely competent young woman but she felt just a little nervous as she entered the headmaster's study.

The headmaster, Mr Deverell, a short plump man with ears that stuck out at a peculiar angle, conducted the interview and she quickly formed a strong impression that he was a snob of the very worst kind. He had made an off the cuff remark about how unfortunate it was that in order to make ends meet the school had to accept boys whose fathers were in 'trade'. As if it were a disease that one caught from mixing with one's social inferiors. It had made the small fine hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention and before she could stop herself, she found herself speaking as if she were admonishing a small boy for a lapse in his table manners.

"There is nothing at all wrong with being in trade, as you call it, headmaster. My father was a bus driver for thirty-five years before he retired."

She imagined that her eyes were flashing as if she were a spirited heroine in a romantic novel. She was so unbelievably angry that she could have happily reached over and boxed his rather oversized ears. Of course the headmaster had held up his hands with a pained expression on his face. He had apologised profusely but she had known then with utter certainty that she had no chance of getting the job. So it had proved, a brief letter expressing regret that she had not gained the appointment duly arrived. Then six weeks later an urgent telephone call from the headmaster himself. Apparently, he had been very impressed with her at the interview: would she be immediately available still to take up the post as the school had been let down very badly indeed.

She couldn't help speculate about just how the school had been let down but as she had no offers of employment there was only one possible answer she could give.

Chapter 1
Tyler Hampton waited as the security guard posted at the gate to her rambling Hollywood home allowed the studio limousine to take her to the front door of the large stone house. She breathed a sigh of relief at being home after the last day of filming for her newest work. Now she was going into seclusion for two weeks for a badly needed retreat so that she could reflect on her still young career and perhaps address some unfinished business of a unique nature.

She had been a top-tier actress for some time, and had found it ironic that after she had found fame and fortune it was as difficult for her to get time away from the chaos of Hollywood as when she was a struggling unknown needing to work hard every day. The fact that she was finally going to have a clandestine vacation was almost surreal to her.

After filming the last love scene in a bedroom setting on the studio grounds, she asked that her driver leave her safely inside the stretch vehicle, hidden behind the darkened windows with the doors locked, while he went inside the fast food establishment and picked up her evening meal. As far as she was concerned, her vacation was officially on.

As she began her time off, her mind was reeling from an onslaught of emotions, excitement and anxieties. To top it all off, her libido was on a rampage. It would have been sufficient for her to simply know that she was going to have a quiet evening in seclusion to enjoy a personal marathon session of watching edits of nearly every spanking that had ever taken place in a western movie or television show.

If that had not been enough, the late afternoon love scene that concluded the filming of the R-rated suspense-filled movie had an enhanced sense of realism in comparison to others she had done. During the scene she had worn just a flesh colored thong, and her co-star was wearing a male version of the same. He also happened to be the newest cinema hunk, and during the filming of the scenes she was driven by distraction (and nearly to climax) by the fact that she was distinctly and constantly in contact with the evidence that he was also finding the action more than a little stimulating.

She had filmed several such scenes, though none quite so steamy as that one. She could certainly not quite fathom how she could experience such arousal with cameras operating and a crew present as she writhed and pressed downward on her co-star's midsection. She also knew that at least one camera was positioned behind her as she enthusiastically did so in order that some flash glimpses of her now legendary bare backside could be inserted in the final production.

She also knew that the release of the film would set off another argument in the entertainment media over whether there was a distinct difference between some R-rated films and those getting an NC-17 rating.

Curfew, Panties and Lies
The Curfew

Leaning against the front door, Ali waved a last goodbye to Alex as he pulled his little red bug out of the drive and puttered silently down the street. She loved that little car. The fact that it was smaller than most of her friends' cars only made it more endearing to her. And of course she had no car to compare it to because there was no way her parents would ever buy her one. They were so archaic.

After watching Alex completely disappearing down the block, Ali started shuffling through her purse to find her house key. Of course, as usual she found it lying at the bottom. Pulling it out, she carefully slid it into the lock, trying not to make any noise that might wake her parents or little sister. The last thing she wanted was to confront any of them.

Opening the door noiselessly, Ali stepped inside and locked it behind her. So far so good. No lights were on in the living room to indicate that anyone was still up. She knew if her parents heard her coming in they would be all over her for being past her curfew. They always were. Her parents were stricter then most parents. It seemed her friends were always able to do things she couldn't.

Tiptoeing to the staircase, she put her foot on the bottom step just as she saw a light snap on in the room behind her.

Turning her head slowly, Ali saw her father sitting in his lounge chair staring at her with a fury that only he could display.

"Crap," she muttered under her breath as she turned around.

"Young lady, do you know what time it is?" Mr. Nichols asked in a low voice.

She did know the time unfortunately. She was an hour late but it hadn't really been her fault that she was late. No one else had a twelve o'clock curfew and it was too embarrassing to make Alex bring her home before everyone else. She'd rather die first.

"I asked you a question, Alison, and I expect an answer," he snapped after several moments of silence had passed.

Swallowing hard, Ali decided to play the innocent as she choked out, "A few minutes after twelve?"

Mr. Nichols pursed his lips together tightly as he continued staring at his daughter for several long seconds.

"Try again," he snarled, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Daddy, I'm sorry I'm a little late," Ali apologized, walking slowly towards the living room. "We had to go to a later movie because the earlier one was sold out and..."

"Come in here and sit down, Alison," Mrs. Nichols interrupted.

"Momma?!" Ali cried in surprise. "I didn't know you were here too."

"You know your mother can't sleep until all you girls are in for the night," Mr. Nichols replied angrily.

Chapter One
"I see you wore the appropriate outfit, young lady," Chase whispered into Priscilla's ear as he slowly circled around the elegant and beautiful lady who stood before him.

"Yes sir," Priscilla responded in a soft, nervous voice. She was a tall, red-headed, fair-skinned, green-eyed woman in her late forties. And yet here she stood in the middle of her living room floor dressed up like a young schoolgirl in a white blouse and plaid skirt, her hair in pigtails tied up with pink ribbons.

"Good girls always do as they are told," Chase said while gently tugging on one of her pigtails.

Chase Fredericks stood tall at six foot two. He wore a black tee shirt so tight the muscles of his abs could be seen through it; not that he was trying to hide them. He kept his dark hair short. His light blue eyes gave his face a certain kind of softness, yet his chiseled jaw said otherwise. He possessed what some might call movie star looks. In fact, it was those looks that inspired him to leave his small Midwestern town to pursue his dreams of fame and fortune in Hollywood. While some minor success had come his way, fame and fortune still eluded him.

"I want to be a good girl sir," Priscilla said with a little more confidence in her ability to play the role of the young schoolgirl.

"I know you do. Unfortunately, you've been a very, very naughty little girl lately, and naughty girls have to be punished."

"Please sir, I promise I'll be a good little girl from now on."

"I'm tired of your promises," he said in a stern, strict voice that sent a chill down her spine. "I've given you enough opportunities to behave yourself young lady, but you continue to disrupt my classroom with your bratty behavior. It's now time for me to put this delinquent behavior of yours to rest."

Chase grabbed her by the wrist, leading her over to the white leather sofa that was placed against one wall of the magnificently decorated room. She followed him obediently. For someone who was new to the world of spanking and role play, Priscilla behaved like she had done this many times before. And she had done it before many times in her fantasies, but this would be the first time in her life that Priscilla Burke was spanked for real.

Chase took a seat on the sofa before slowly guiding her over his knee. Her heart began to race as the moment was finally at hand: she was going to get the spanking she had always dreamed about. The anticipation was getting to be too much for her. She had waited until she was almost fifty-years-old to work up the nerve to find a man to give her the spanking she so deeply craved, and the last few seconds waiting for it to happen was killing her.

Chapter One
Gwyneth reclined on the couch, her head on a pillow, and her hand buried deep in a bag of cookies. Nick droned on about something, but she didn't pay much attention. It had to do with money and some bad press she'd gotten recently, which meant it wasn't important. After all, there was no such thing as bad press.

Why couldn't he ever figure that out?

"Gwen, are you listening to me?" he snapped.

"No," she said simply and rolled her head toward him.

He sighed and shook his head. "Gwyneth Elaine Parson, this is serious!"

"Yeah-yeah, I know, you want me to review my latest damage report and the cost. Who the fuck cares?"

"You should, you little twit," he said, rising from his desk and waving the pages at her. "Look at this: damage to the hotel, damage to your car - your new car - the neighbor's hedge and front porch, and then there's that tiny 'incident' at the mall."

"Nick, the little bitch wouldn't leave me alone."

"She was a fan, Gwen, was being the operative word, and all she wanted was a picture. Not only did you smash her phone, but you pushed her into a fountain, and did it in full view of the media. The video has already gone viral."

She perked up, sitting up straight on the sofa. "Really? How many hits has it gotten?"

"Gwen, this is serious!"

"Oh, what of it? Shit, toss some money at her like everyone else and she'll be happy."

"You don't have that much money."

She rolled over, bit another cookie, and opened another teen fan magazine to look for articles about herself. "Please, I've got more than enough money to buy anyone I want, and I'll have even more once my new album comes out."

Nick rubbed his temples and grunted. "Yeah, right, the new album. And, just where are you on the songs for that?"

"It's a... a work in progress, Nick. Chill out, I'll be ready by the time we head to the studio next month."

"Week," he said simply.

"Huh?"

"Next week, Gwen, we're scheduled to lay down the tracks in seven days. So, how far along are you in writing them?"

She swallowed hard. "They're... coming along. I need to... stretch my legs."

She got up, tugged her snug little hot pants down as much as she could, which wasn't much, and sauntered off to her suite. Gwen really loved her house. Not only was it decked out just the way she wanted, but it truly was hers and hers alone. Years ago, when she was a child star on that silly TV show that she couldn't even remember the title of now, she'd essentially bought her freedom from her parents.

It had only cost her a house and two cars for them, and they didn't even want fancy cars.

"Take off your clothes."

Emily blinked. "What? Um ... you don't mean all of them?"

"I do. All of them. Every stitch."

Emily visibly squirmed. She pulled her best cute little girl face and batted her eyelashes, a tactic that so often worked ... but not this time. Leo merely stared impassively as he waited for her to obey, the only sign of emotion a warning predatory gleam in his blue eyes. Slightly narrowed now, they fixed intently on her. She knew that look so well. When he was in 'strict daddy' mode he wouldn't be dissuaded from his purpose no matter how hard she tried to deflect him, and she knew full well his purpose right now was to spank her naughty bottom. In an attempt to delay the inevitable, she tried another tactic.

"Sorry," she said contritely. Sir. He expects to be called Sir at times like this. "I'm very sorry, Sir."

Leo shook his head. "It's no good being sorry after the event. You shouldn't have misbehaved to start with, and telling lies about it has only served to prolong your punishment," he said sternly, reaching for the little red leather paddle on the table.

"But Daddy," she pleaded, "it was all a misunderstanding."

"That's what you said last time ... and the time before."

"Oh." She pouted. Crap.

"So stop prevaricating and do as you're told. Strip."

Emily sighed. Doing as she was told wasn't something she was particularly good at. And she hated it when she had to strip for a spanking - it was so much more fun when Leo undressed her. But fun wasn't within reach right now. She had been a bad girl and now it was time to face the consequences. Catching sight of the paddle, she gulped. It was only small, but it was very hard and stingy. She knew then that she would be eating her dinner standing up. Pulling a wry face, she began fiddling with the buttons on her blouse. Off it came, followed by her bra and skirt. There was a slight hesitation, then she slid her panties down over her chubby bottom and creamy thighs, and stood before him naked. Though he had regularly seen her naked, she felt heat rising to her cheeks, her embarrassment manifesting in a sudden blush. She shuffled her feet awkwardly, stared down at her toes then began fidgeting with her fingers. Feeling the power of his gaze burning into her, she looked up.

Their eyes met in a perfect harmony of submissive green and dominant blue, then Leo glanced meaningfully at the pile of discarded clothes on the floor by Emily's feet. Meeting her gaze again, he raised an eyebrow. Knowing what was expected of her, Emily bent to pick up her clothes, folded them neatly, and set them on a chair. She watched nervously as Leo pulled out a straight-backed chair and sat down on it.

Diary of an Aristobrat
"Owww!" mewed Elizabeth Winslow Jones, ruefully rubbing her aristocratic bottom as she climbed the spiral staircase of the great house. "From now on, I'd better mind my tongue when speaking with strangers!" The blond beauty made her way along the upper hallway to her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her, taking care not to slam it lest she be called back for an encore by her parents who were visiting with the new neighbours in the drawing room directly beneath her.

Approaching the dressing table, she turned her back to the huge vanity mirror and carefully eased her cream coloured jodhpurs and matching bikini knickers down over her voluptuous hips. Out popped as scarlet a pair of seat cheeks as ever you've seen! With pants around her thighs, she waddled over to the closet, rummaged around in the mess on the back shelf, and came up with a small electric fan. Setting it down on the chair before the vanity, she turned it on and stuck her glowing posterior a few inches away from the grille. "Aaaaahhhh, that's better!" she sighed, as the wind swirled over hill and dale.

Peering over her shoulder in the mirror, fascinated by the inflamed flesh, she skimmed her finger tips back and forth over the seething mounds. Mother's right hand had painted the entire surface a sunset pink, and father's strap had stained the twin summits a darker shade of crimson. "Golly! What a sight for sore eyes," she muttered. "Daddy really laid it on!" After a session with the Rear Admiral - as the tawse was called in the Winslow household - Elizabeth's bottom needed more relief than the fan could offer, so she reached for her second aid, a jar of Estée Lauder's finest moisturizing cream. The lotion was called a face cream; given the price, it was evidently meant to be used sparingly on a woman's smaller pair of cheeks. Defying convention, Elizabeth daubed great gobs of the stuff all over her big cheeks, gently rubbing it into the scalded flesh. Then she thrust them back before the fan. "Ooooohhh, what a relief!" she shivered, as goosebumps arose on the glistening flesh.

They say time is the healer of life's hurts, and that was certainly the case with Elizabeth's bottom. In half an hour, the searing sting had subsided to a faint, itchy throb. But instead of putting the ordeal out of mind, Elizabeth's impulse was to write it all down. So she slipped her diary from its hiding place beneath the mattress. The little red book with her name embossed in fancy gold script on the cover already contained two vivid accounts of spankings she had received in the past year, one from her mother and the other from the headmistress of her finishing school.

The real reason she dwelt on these expiation rituals lay well beyond the twenty-year-old's consciousness, but the way she explained it to herself appealed to a theatrical sense of her own self-importance.

Chapter 1 - The Contest
The first slaves were led out, stripped naked for the ordeal ahead, trembling and nervous. Aliera watched, tense, from her cushioned seat above the arena, shaded by coloured silks and screened by fine gauze curtains. Her future would be decided today.

Down in the arena the women were urged into a line by the guards, then a roar went up from the crowd as the candidates strode out into the bright sunshine. Aliera leaned forward to catch a glimpse of Kevan; there he was, so handsome, his hair golden in the sunlight. Kevan who whispered sweet words to her, who kissed her hand, who promised he'd be the one chosen for her ceremony. He just had to win today.

The men lined up, stripped to the waist, flexing muscles and limbering up for the trials. Aliera counted twenty, the best of the best, every man sure he'd be the one. The huge form of a town blacksmith; a wiry miner from the mountains, one of those ageless little old men who are stronger than they look; soldiers of fortune trying for their big chance; solid burghers from the town; a few priests, hard-eyed and dedicated; half a dozen young lords, patrician and superior; two wild-eyed tribesmen from the plains. And Goran, the Commander of the Palace Guard. Aliera shivered. Goran, so arrogant, so sure of himself, always there whenever she wanted to do anything with his, "The Princess is mistaken, she will not be doing this today... My lady, this is not how a Princess behaves... I am sure His Majesty would not approve." His dark eyes sweeping over her without the awe and respect she received from the rest of the palace staff. Arrogant pig! He looked so huge and uncouth beside her lovely Kevan.

It began. Each of the contestants reached for a slave, then dragged her towards a line of seats. The men sat down, depositing their reluctant assistants over their knees. Twenty pale rumps pointed to the sky.

Twenty hands raised, waited for the signal. Whimpers from the miserable slaves sounded loud in the sudden silence. The High Priestess, Tiarna, stepped forward and looked down into the arena. At her gesture a gong sounded and twenty hands descended. The spanking began.

Aliera watched, knowing that the winner of the contest would soon be spanking her the same way. She noticed several different techniques: some hit slow and hard, some fast and light, some concentrated several strokes on one spot before moving to another, some seemed to strike at random following no pattern at all. Yelps, squeals and wails rose louder as twenty bottoms reddened. Legs kicked, hands beat on the ground. The sounds of determined slapping went on. The sand ran through the timer. Aliera began to suspect that ten minutes could seem like quite a long time.

Aliera wriggled on her cushioned seat. She had never been spanked, never felt an angry touch.

Charley in Charge
Charley knew he would be in charge the minute he came up behind his wife, Charlene, in the kitchen and put his hand under her sweater to rub her tummy. He knew he was in charge as Charlene leaned back into his embrace and turned her head so he could kiss her long slender neck.

He stayed in charge as he gently lifted the sweater over her head and unclasped the bra that held her breasts in place. His feelings of being in total control of the situation increased as he reached down and undid the button on her jeans, sliding the zipper downward. She increased his feelings of being the boss by turning toward him and placing her hands around the back of her neck, showing she would not fight the removal of all of her clothing.

She furthered his feelings about being in total control of his woman by willingly allowing him to carry her to the bedroom and place her in the position he desired. After his tongue outlined her breasts, lower thighs and everything in-between, she needed no further play to increase her desire for him.

His entry was slow and deliberate, something he knew she would like and he continued that slow action for the first few minutes, even though at times he wanted to speed things up. To show his control, he would pretend to pull out entirely, making her ask, almost beg to keep him going. There was not a chance in hell he would actually withdraw.

He kept going until she shivered and shook three times in response to his efforts, and then sped up considerably as he sought to satisfy his own urges. His actions were all his to decide how and when things would happen in the bedroom, and she followed every lead he gave. When they finally separated, she snuggled close to him and gave a happy sigh. Things were just perfect between the two of them.

Charlene knew Charley liked the feeling of being in control and because he always looked after her desires first, went along with him. She just had to smile when he got up to go to the bathroom and she saw the paddle marks still showing across his butt cheeks from two days previous.

Charley was in complete control of the bedroom activity and she was a willing submissive. His control, though, in their household only extended to those hours each week that they spent making love. The rest of the time, Charlene was in control and Charley knew it. He not only knew it, but he loved it.

She recalled the scene two days ago when he had failed to show respect for her mother. He argued that her mom was interfering too much in the household and should mind her own business. Charlene put up with his ranting for a few hours and then picked up her cell phone to talk to her mom.

Muriel and the Pig
He looked up from the newspaper. He recognised that wheedling tone. She wanted something.

"Yes?"

She flashed him a big smile. "Can we have a pig?"

"A what?"

"A pig." She smiled again and came over to perch on his lap. "I really, really want a pig." She nuzzled his neck.

"Well you can't have one."

"But Jim - I haven't even told you about them yet. These aren't just ordinary pigs - they're miniature pigs - really tiny and so cute! You'd love them."

"No I wouldn't. I don't like pigs - except in bacon sandwiches."

"Don't be mean, Jim. It would be good if we could get two - then they'd be company for each other when we're out at work."

"Muriel, there will be no pigs in this house! Imagine it - dirty smelly things pooping all over the place!"

"That's where you are wrong - pigs are very clean animals. They use a litter tray. If we can't have two, I suppose I'd have to settle for just the one."

"I said no and I mean no."

"But I've done all the research. Hear me out Jim, these miniature pigs are the size of a tea cup. And even at two years when fully grown, they are only fourteen inches high - just perfect for the house. Come on Jimmy-poo's, say yes."

"NO," glowered Jim. "And don't call me Jimmy-poo's."

---oOo---
Muriel wasn't the sort to give up without a fight. She fixed dinner - Jim's favourite, and served it with a bottle of claret she'd been saving for a special occasion. She drank very little herself, and sneakily refilled Jim's glass when he wasn't looking.

"That was lovely," said Jim as he put down his knife and fork. "What's for dessert?"

"Something extra special." She straddled his lap. "Me. And I'm not wearing any knickers," she whispered seductively in his ear.

"You decadent wench!" said Jim approvingly. "Let me see for myself." He pulled her into a standing position and flipped up her skirt. Her large round bottom beamed invitingly. "Oh - bare bottom - my favourite." His hand began to itch to spank those delectable curves.

"Mmm," said Muriel, giving her bottom a tantalising little wiggle - I thought maybe we could play spanky games?"

"Yeah? I thought you weren't interested in all that." His eyes gleamed in anticipation.

"I'm sure you can convince me," said Muriel, bending right over and sticking out her arse, giving him a full uncensored view.

"Come here."

She stood before him and pouted coquettishly, and then draped herself over his lap. "I'm just showing my appreciation."

"Eh?"

"My appreciation - because you said I could have a pig."

"I didn't say that!"

"You did!

"I did? No I didn't!"

"Yes you did."

"Did I?" Jim was bemused. "I can't remember saying that."

Five Years Later
by Anthony Alba
"It's not changed a bit," James remarked with some surprise as he gazed around the old classroom.

"It has only been five years," his guide for the day, Julia Styles, remarked.

James nodded slowly. He was not sure what he had expected coming back to his old school. It might only have been five years since he was a student here but in those years he had gone on to college, got his degree. He'd even done a stint as a trainee teacher at Kings Landing Secondary. And then fate had brought him back full circle to start here as the new geography teacher.

He had been nervous about coming back. Last night he had tossed and turned well into the small hours before finally managing some sleep. He was not sure what he had expected but Willow Wood School was just how he remembered it. It was still looking for the extension that had been first requested long before he had been a first year. The games pitch was still too soggy when it rained. Even old Hughes the caretaker was still pottering around.

For the moment the halls and corridors were quiet. Term began tomorrow and come nine o'clock the place would be full of the hustle and bustle of children coming and going: first years, lost and confused and trying to make sense of their new timetables and find this room or that; friends meeting up after the summer break; and the upper sixth form would be lording over everyone, or at least trying to now that they had finally reached the top of the student food chain.

Suddenly he began to frown. The layout of the school had not changed. He had taken Maths in this very room. Looking around he could see the desk where he had liked to sit near the front. He turned to Julia, puzzled now.

"I thought this was your room?"

Julia smiled and it lit up her face just the way he recalled. "You remembered. I was wondering if you would."

James felt a flush of colour creep into his cheeks. As if anyone would forget Miss Julia Styles. He could still recall the first day she had appeared in class. It had been her first assignment not that anyone would have known it by the sure way she took charge of the class. She had an air about her, a steely confidence in her stance. She had surveyed her class with a quiet authority and they had all fallen into a respectful silence without having to be told to be quiet.

Back then he had been a tad shocked that someone who looked so young could be a teacher. There had been girls in the class who had looked older than Miss Styles. With shoulder length ash blond hair and pale blue eyes she looked drop dead gorgeous, like a model or film star, or so his younger self had thought.

Possessed
by Sam Stewart
Twins, Sue and Jill Harris, had a bond that could not be broken, a bond that gave them an almost telepathic connection; this was a bond that would transcend death itself. In appearance, the girls were identical but their personalities were strikingly different. Jill was adventurous, exciting, outgoing, a risk taker. Sue was quiet, studious and cautious.

True love came first to Sue. While Jill was out enjoying the wild life, Sue was studying at university and there she met John, the man who would become the love of her life. John was caring and thoughtful, a perfect match for Sue. Within days they were going steady, within weeks they were inseparable, and shortly after graduation they were married.

It was good that Sue had met her soul mate because he was there to comfort her when at only 22 years old Jill was tragically killed in a car accident. Sue was, of course, distraught at the loss of her sister and she knew she should feel, as twins do, that a piece of her soul had been ripped away. But somehow, she felt that Jill was still around, watching her and looking after her. The feeling surprised her. It contradicted her sense of reason. But Sue's confusion was nothing compared to that of Jill, who now found herself wandering through Sue and John's house, invisible, silent and ghostly.

The bond that had been so strong between the girls in life now bound them together in death. Jill found she could sense her sister's feelings and could surround her in comforting thoughts and emotions. But the biggest surprise of all came one day by accident when she found she could not only influence her sister, she could take over her body completely. To Jill it felt as though she was momentarily alive again. For Sue it felt only as though she had briefly become a little adventurous and performed some surprising and ill-considered action. She reasoned that it must be happening because she missed her sister so much, with her zany schemes and carefree appetite for life.

Jill loved her sister far too much to take advantage of this extraordinary power. She only wanted to do what was best for Sue. But there were times when she knew her sister's actions were just too cautious and the temptation to give her a little push in the right direction was just irresistible.

Jill knew that Sue and John were deeply in love, but she could see that John was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with Sue's reluctance to try anything adventurous in the bedroom. Jill feared that this was a problem that could eventually wreck her sister's happiness. She knew she was going to have to take matters into her own hands and sprinkle a little pepper into the couple's bland love life.

One night, when Sue was working late, John took the opportunity to enjoy a little private time on the internet.

Chapter 1 - Lusting for Leather
The crisp dried detritus of leaves and twigs crackled invitingly beneath Stephanie's feet as she trod the thickness of the forest floor. It was pleasantly cool here - a welcome dappled shade from the earlier blistering heat of the day. Emerging into a small glade, she walked over a thick carpet of soft grass decorated here and there with moss-strewn rocks. The air was sweet, enlivened by birdsong.

The light was beautiful at this time of day, with the late afternoon sun spinning a magical web of amber through the surrounding trees. She paused and tilted her face upwards, eyes closed, feeling the fading golden warmth of the sun and listening to the sounds of small woodland creatures scurrying in the undergrowth.

These walks usually brought her a sense of quiet contentment; but today was different. Why? She mused, burrowing into the secret places of her mind, and realised that there was something missing from her life. But what? She was happy in her work, had plenty of money, a nice house, good friends and a string of ardent admirers. So what was it, this elusive thing, and how could she possibly find it if she didn't know what it was?

So deep was she in her thoughts that the first drops of rain passed by without notice. When she suddenly realised her clothes were damp and small rivulets of water were trickling down her face, she paused and looked around her. The light had changed and dimmed, and the earlier clear blue skies had vanished as the grey rain clouds descended. A wind sprang up from the west, making the tree branches sway.

Sighing, she turned and rejoined the woodland path, shivering a little now as the sky had darkened considerably. The splats of rain fell hard and fast and the wind chilled her to the bone. Now the heavens truly opened, releasing a torrent of water. Stephanie quickened her pace, cursing at her lack of foresight to check the weather forecast before setting out, or at least to have worn suitable clothing. Her waterlogged open-toed sandals squelched with every step, and her toes were icy cold.

The whole atmosphere of the wood had changed. What had been light and welcoming was now ominously dark and threatening. Water pooled beneath her feet as she waded through mud and teeming water. The rain bounced down from a leaden sky, obscuring her vision. In the distance could be heard the first low rumble of thunder. In her haste to get home, she half-walked and half-ran the last half mile. Once out of the wood, her progress was a little quicker. Puffing and panting and completely drenched, her feet sploshed through the giant puddles rapidly accumulating on the pavement. Her house was in sight. Almost home.

A sleek black car purred softly to a halt close to her front gate. The driver switched off the headlamps and windscreen wipers, opened the door, and stepped out into the teeming rain.

I had just moved to a new college for an advanced degree, and since my funds were limited I gratefully leapt at a job as a graduate research assistant. My first meeting with Dr. White was slightly embarrassing since I was ten minutes late. My flimsy excuse was that her office was deep in a maze of storage rooms in one of the outlying buildings, and it took forever to find the stairway to the sub-basement. As I was nervously trying to justify my tardiness she held up a hand to silence me.

"No need to explain, young man. Consider this your first challenge and you succeeded. Most people don't even know this floor exists. I found this space a few years ago and while I keep a small office in the department for student problems, this is where I do my most interesting work and the remote location suits me just fine. It took some doing to get it the way I want it but it was worth it, don't you think?"

I had to agree with her. After the trip through the dark and dingy hallways it was an oasis. It was actually a suite of sorts with beautiful wood paneling and marvelous oak furniture throughout. The front room had a nice desk, a couch for waiting visitors and a door leading to a storage closet. The main office was a true marvel. The desk was massive and had a large easy chair. Along one wall was a sofa that dwarfed the rest of the furniture. Not only was it long enough for a basketball player to stretch out and not hang off either end, but it was wider than any similar piece I had ever seen. If you sat on it and rested against the back, your knees would not reach the edge. It could easily be a very comfortable bed and I wondered how many times Dr. White had spent the night here. A door off to one side opened into a small lavatory complete with a shower. I was impressed. It was more like what you would expect for the president of a large company. The only thing missing was a penthouse view.

As I sat there in awe of my surroundings, she reviewed my application and asked me a few questions. There were the expected inquiries regarding my previous studies and experience but there were a few that surprised me. Was I married? (No); did I have a steady girlfriend? (Sadly, No again); did I work out on a regular basis? (Yes); and the one that really got me asked if I was a heterosexual. For a moment I wondered if she was planning on making a pass at me. I guess I should describe Dr. White at this point. She was in her late forties and attractive in an older woman sort of way. Not my idea of a dream date, but if I had to make love to her as part of the job it wouldn't be too great a sacrifice.

Fantasies
Emma visited the Ladies' before leaving the dinner dance. There in the privacy of a cubicle she removed her knickers and squeezed them into her small clutch bag. Tom met her in the foyer and as they walked to the taxi she whispered, "I haven't got any knickers on."

Tom was as predictable as most men and she knew that would excite him; once they were in the front door he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her. Unless their babysitter Melissa was still downstairs, he'd probably have her there in the hall on that beautiful rug in the centre. Emma found that very exciting and an added frisson was the possibility that Melissa might hear them come in and come to the top of the stairs. Emma imagined the girl standing at the top of the stairs looking down and seeing her with her dress right up, her legs spread wide and Tom rutting away like some stallion.

She knew it was fantasy but delicious fantasy; the chances of Melissa hearing them, or coming out of her room if she did, were slim. Melissa was hyper alert to the children but oblivious to all else as she engaged in her Internet socialisation. What were they going to do when the girl went off to university? She was already eighteen and the children adored her; she would be hard to replace.

Emma felt Tom's hands on her and she reached out to him. Yes, he was hard already, a large solid bulge in his trousers that promised much for her. She giggled and Tom squeezed her breast gently. She went back to her fantasies. There was more to her fantasy than just that, it extended into something that made Emma tingle all over and always added to their sex life, even though Tom had no idea what she was fantasising about. Melissa would come to the top of the stairs and for a minute or two watch their love making then she would return to her room. Tom would finish up and then stomp up the stairs (followed by her) and tell Melissa off for standing watching. Then yanking down those short, skimpy pyjama bottoms the girl wore whenever she stayed over, place her across his knee before spanking her bare bottom hard. Emma would protest that he mustn't do it but he would take no notice.

Emma had never seen Melissa's bare bottom, but based on her general figure and attractiveness imagined it to be have a beautiful smooth skin-texture and to be round, shapely and firm. In her fantasy, Tom would finish spanking the sobbing apologetic girl and then, turning to his wife, march her off to the bedroom for a spanking because she had tried to stop him exercising his manly rights as head of the household. She knew it was all nonsense of course, but that fantasy and others of a similar nature made her feel extremely randy.

Ryan
Kimberley Kennedy accepted payment from Clarkstown's Spank Shop's most recent satisfied customer and watched the still sniffling client mince his way out of the shop, his hand tightly held by his mother. The adolescent receptionist smiled to herself and then sent a nervous young lady into her mother's parlour, where Gabrielle Kennedy no doubt had a blistering spanking waiting for the unfortunate girl.

---oOo---
The blonde girl entered the details of the recent punishment into her meticulously kept spreadsheets and kept one ear listening to the muffled sounds of smacking and howling coming from the room Gabrielle occupied and similar noises emanating from the shop's owner, 'Aunty' Andrea Mahoney, and had the other on the conversation that three of the ladies in the shop's waiting room were engaged in.

All three were known to Kimberley. Her family were long time residents of Clarkstown, and very little happened in the community that she and her mother did not know about.

The recently married Millicent Campbell was here to see Andrea. Kimberley did the books so she knew that the young bride was going to have her bottom smacked by the experienced and accomplished disciplinarian, but she didn't press for details, as it wouldn't be the first time she had taken a trip over Andrea's knees for being too inquisitive. Desiree Price was the mother of the young man over Andrea's lap at present, and twenty-two year old Misty Kendall was having her situpon warmed by Gabrielle while her mother Fiona waited to escort her no doubt distraught daughter home again.

"More tea, ladies?" Kimberley asked brightly.

"No thank you, Kimberley," Millicent said in a weak voice, she was obviously rather nervous about her upcoming appointment with Andrea.

"I will, Kimmy," Fiona said brightly, holding her empty cup up.

"As Tony's likely to be a while," Desiree murmured. "I'd like a freshen up too, dear."

Kimberley nodded, and as she got up to fill the orders asked the women, "Can you please keep an eye on the two in the corners and if they try anything let me know and I'll reheat them."

---oOo---
When Kimberley returned with fresh hot tea for Fiona and Desiree the three ladies were talking in hushed voices. "They were taken right off the line, Desiree?" Fiona asked the buxom brunette.

Desiree accepted a cup of tea and nodded.

"Mine, too," Millicent said glumly. "Not every pair, but two of them definitely went missing."

"That's extraordinary," Fiona marvelled, sipping her tea gently.

Kimberley sighed as she returned to her desk. She knew what the three women were discussing. Not a lot happened in the sleepy hamlet of Clarkstown ordinarily, but of late a curious phenomenon had taken place. Underwear, ladies underwear to be precise, had been disappearing from clotheslines all over the town. Even from the line of the wealthy and aristocratic Veronica Dixon-Thompson, who lived on a fenced property out of town itself.

Introduction
In the summer of 2011 a curious scene was conceived: a dark tale of a young ambitious woman and an old man who knew more about her and her world than he would ever let on. Romance screamed from the shadows, but our hero had yet to make an appearance, so who were these people now taking on a life of their own? Somehow directly or indirectly, the fate of a world hung in the balance. The spell of Magic had begun to weave its way into the author's mind.

Perhaps fittingly for such a perilous story, for a while it might not have been written at all. And even if it had been it may have gone the way of many such mercurial shorts and become a 'here today, gone tomorrow' disposable curio on a page. However, the author had long entertained the idea of a romance between a sinister young mage and his beautiful apprentice, but had been unable to put any depth into the characters or find a convincing storyline.

Then the author saw how an ambitious and powerful man might be distracted by love and a power-seeking woman by an older mysterious man. Of course social conventions, stalking demons, stern instructors and war might intervene first. But could love triumph?

So armed with one scene and a romantic concept, the author began to research and develop a backstory for an extensive new world with its own rules of magic, cities and cultures. The result might be described as the Wizard of Earthsea meets 50 Shades of Grey, but more than that, it encompasses not only demons and dragons, but a drawn out world with its own lore and customs where young apprentices wrestle with their newfound power and a hidden desire to surrender it.

Originally, the story was intended to focus almost entirely upon the noble Katrin De Lacy and her master, Arlon Fear, the young magus assigned to teach her on the path of knowledge and to becoming a mage herself. But it soon became apparent that the other characters would not easily roll over. So in addition to Katrin and Fear, personalities such as Tabitha with her love-hate-love relationships with anyone who would spank her; Amber Sage, the sexually ambiguous wise young student teacher and witch; and above all the mysterious and uncompromising wizard Dniester who had first inspired this tale, began to show that they would not be so easily vanquished.

It is an epic adventure amounting to over 200,000 words and set over several years. So for the reader it is quite an investment and for those looking for a routine spanking romance, then this plot and characterisation-heavy story may not be for you.

But along the way the adventure combines sex and spanking, love and betrayal as well as wars, quests and demonic possession. Of course not everything and everyone are what they seem in this exploration of power and transformation.

A Certain Kind of Girl
The door said 'Housefellow' and it was open. Helen had this open door policy so we felt free to come in and talk. She's a grad student, Helen is, and cute and athletic, and I was a little in awe of her, even before I heard the rumors. That's why I was lurking just outside her door. Because of the rumors, and I was afraid they weren't true, or she would turn me down, but I was also afraid that she'd say 'yes.' Finally I just couldn't stand the indecision any more, and knocked on her door jam. She looked up and put her book down. Some Latin poet or something.

"Cathy. Hi. Is there something I can do for you? Come on in and sit down."

I came in, feeling little and embarrassed. I did not sit down. I felt like looking down and mumbling, but I forced myself to look at Helen. She was so pretty and so nice but didn't take shit from anybody. Reminded me of someone from my past, I think.

"I heard these rumors," I said, and yeah, I felt about as lame as that just sounded.

Helen waved her hand and went, "So? It's a dorm full of girls. Gossip is what they do. What do you expect?"

Did I want it to be false so my heart would calm back down, or did I really want it to be true? I was all bent out of shape about it, that's for sure. "Um, you know those two brats, Jill and Lisa? The rumor is they've stopped being a pain in the butt because they're getting one. The rumor is you spank them."

Helen shrugged, serene. "Which, even if it were true, would be something private, and absolutely none of your business."

I'd already asked both the brats, and they'd denied it, but when they did, Jill blushed and Lisa squirmed, and that kind of gave me hope. "I'm not trying to get them in trouble, Helen, and I'm not trying to get you in trouble either. I need to know for personal reasons."

"Well," Helen said. She sighed. "Speaking hypothetically ..."

Oh. Sure. Give her an out. "Yeah?"

"Well, all right. Let's say hypothetically that there's a certain kind of girl who needs discipline in her life and if she doesn't get it from a trusted person in authority, she'd have to get it from her boyfriend, and she fears that might risk getting pregnant and dropping out of school, or at least getting all messed up emotionally. Then maybe you could see how someone in authority could see her way clear to bend the rules, because there'd be more good than harm?"

Helen was saying it was true. I felt this heady mix of fear and joy. "Well, while we're speaking hypothetically, what if I've known that's what I've needed for quite a while. Could you see yourself clear to discipline me, too?"

My name is Carla. I was raised by parents who were strong believers in corporal punishment. It's fair to say that I was spanked on a fairly regular basis and usually by my mother. Many a time I was over her lap while she applied the business end of a wooden spoon to my rear end. Of course, they were delivered to my bare bottom and she was very thorough. There was no such thing as a few swats and then being sent to my room.

That hard object would have connected many, many times by the time she considered the spanking over. However, as bad as they were, the ones I really feared were from Dad. I hated it when she would say the dreaded words, "We'll see what your father has to say about this when he gets home."

She may have thought it was a cute euphemism for saying that I was in for another spanking later that evening, but I never saw the humor in it, and as I said, it was going to be a second spanking for the same offense. I was usually over her lap when she let me know the spanking she was about to give me was not going to clear the slate. Rather, it was just the beginning of my penance, and she never felt it necessary to go easy on me just because I was due for an extra long and very painful session with Dad that evening.

If anything, I think she would spank me harder so I would be exceptionally well prepared for the first kiss of the brush on my backside. That was his choice as the most effective implement. He would use my own well loved and very expensive hairbrush.

I got it as a present when I was very young and at first I was thrilled. It felt so grown up to brush my hair with it. However, it wasn't long before I found out it had other functions, and no matter how mature I thought I was, it could reduce me to a little girl getting a well earned spanking when it was wielded by Dad.

I still have it, and it feels so luxurious as it runs through my hair, but to this day I can't pick it up without remembering how many times it was in other hands and being used very effectively for its other purpose. I also have to chuckle when I think of yet a third method of utilizing my old friend, but I'll get to that later.

It wasn't only at home that my bottom and I would be on the receiving end of an attitude adjustment conference. I quite often stayed at my Aunt Joan's house when my parents went out of town. She wasn't really related, but was an old friend of the family and I always enjoyed myself when we visited her.

Chapter One
Dr. Lauren Bancroft drove into Carsonville on a Tuesday afternoon in mid-September. Overwhelmed with the beauty surrounding her, she knew she would be at home here. Carsonville, Montana was as picturesque a town as one could ever expect to see. She felt as if she was driving onto a movie set back in Los Angeles instead of her new home. Main Street boasted a general store, a small Mom and Pop Grocery store, a café, an old-fashioned looking drug store, nothing like Walgreen's or CVS, the local bank, and a post office. Driving further down Main Street she saw the town hall, the Fire Department, a local grain and feed store and at the end stood a white church with a tall steeple. Following directions on her GPS, she turned at the only light in town onto Madison Avenue. She drove past a Laundromat, the sheriff's office and found what she was looking for - a square of buildings marked Medical Center. There were four wooden structures surrounding a courtyard. One housed a dentist, a veterinarian office, an emergency clinic and next to that her new office. Dr. Dedham's sign still hung above the door. There was a sign in the window that announced Dr. Lauren Bancroft, the new town doctor, would be arriving soon and until then call 406 555 4468 for emergencies only. She smiled to herself.

Lauren was born and raised in a small town outside of Ketchum, Idaho. Her dad was a pharmacist and her mom taught high school science. So it didn't come as a surprise when, at seven years old, Lauren announced that when she grew up she wanted to be a doctor. She remained steadfast in that wish and started researching the best colleges when she was only a high school junior. She received a partial scholarship to UCLA and then went on to David Geffen UCLA Medical School. She had completed an internship and residency at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center before she joined a private practice where she became one of fifty other doctors. She hated it. There was no time to actually get to know a patient - you knew the chart and nothing else. It wasn't why she went into medicine, but it paid down some of the debt hanging over her head so she toiled there until the death of her parents freed her. If she had her druthers, she would rather have had her parents for a few more years, but a helicopter crash during a tour of the Grand Canyon shattered that possibility.

At thirty-five and debt free, she'd began looking for a better place to live and practice the kind of medicine she'd dreamed of while watching Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman as a young girl. She'd been leafing through the New England Journal of Medicine when an ad had caught her eye. Carsonville was looking for a town doctor.

Though he did not let it show on his face, Carmine D'Addio was both amused and fascinated by the internal struggle of the young lady who stood before him. Compared to his powerful build and his 6' 3" frame, the young lady was quite small. There was an age difference as well. The young woman was half as old as the 48 year old Carmine, but her appearance and demeanor suggested she was but a young schoolgirl.

The girl/woman stood before Carmine, fidgeting and unable to look up at him as her right index finger played nervously with one of her two pony tails. The short skirt she wore was loosely cut and rippled with the girl's nervousness. A casual observer would think Carmine was the girl's father and the girl was nervously agitated about her situation. The relationship was far different, but the anxiety was real, and that anxiety was a delicious morsel for the powerful Carmine.

The woman standing before him like an errant schoolgirl before the Principal was indeed quite anxious. She was now considering his earlier question and what she did, and how she replied, could very well shape her entire future. Truth to tell, it could just as easily determine the length of her future.

The woman who seemed the young school girl was June Robinson and despite her youthful appearance and demeanor she was a robust young adult woman who possessed a college degree and held an important government job. It was her job, and the incredible opportunity it offered, that had led June to this moment with Carmine D'Addio. Her mind tossed her situation about as her heart flip-flopped with the same agonizing question. Her brain told her to find a graceful way to back out of the situation, but her heart, for several disparate reasons, urged her to take the leap.

"Well, June," said Carmine patiently, "I asked you a question and expect an answer." His face was a mask of seriousness, the tenor of his voice firm, insistent, yet wholly without malice. His eyes did sparkle with a mischievousness that belied his amusement only to the closest observer. When words would not come to her lips, the big man sighed. "Let me help you find the answer that you know lies within you," he said kindly. "I asked you to call me Daddy, did I not?"

She nodded and then looked up and barely uttered the word, "Yes."

"But you can't bring yourself to call me Daddy, even though I asked you."

"It feels funny," she said, instantly knowing it was a lame excuse.

"I don't know why it would feel funny, June Bug," he said, watching her cringe as he used the nickname he had so recently given her. When he first said it, he noticed that it bothered her and suspected he knew why it did, so he continued to use it. "Daddy is just a play on my last name, 'D'Addio' ... everyone calls me Daddy," he rationalized for her.

Bright, beautiful, and brilliant, the Headmaster's new wife, Alexis, blew into the venerable old girl's school like the proverbial breath of fresh air.

Everything about Alexis seemed revolutionary. The Headmaster was in his sixties, and seemed to be a bit doddering to some, although those in the know realized that was merely a role he played to no small advantage. Alexis, in contrast, was much younger, although her elegance, confidence and style made her the match for any of the old codgers who taught at the school.

The venerable old institution had a reputation for being able to reform young women aged 18 - 22 into entirely respectable young ladies. However, in her mind it was the reformatory that needed reforming.

In Alexis's busy day, time was never wasted. On her very first night Alexis broke tradition by dining with the Headmaster and the other teachers at the front of the dining hall, looking very smart in her red dress and pearls. Say what you want, she and the Head were very much in love, and some of the old hens scowled to see the Silver Fox laughing like a teenager as his wife playfully spoon fed him a bit of his soup.

In a school built on tradition and routine, her vibrant presence and ringing laugh brought the cavernous and stuffy old dining hall to life. However, the biggest shock was yet to come. Unable to feign interest in Mr. Jeffries's endless lecture on the evils of taxing inherited fortunes, Alexis stood up, walked across the room, and with total aplomb sat down and joined the students at one of the long wooden tables.

The faculty was speechless. Alexis was not, and chatted amicably with the stunned students, asking them about their day, moving from table to table every few minutes, and even shaking hands.

"It's like she's running for bloody Parliament!" Professor Fertwell complained.

"And beating all of us, I'd say," Mrs. Jones added wryly.

By long standing tradition, only the teachers talked and the girls dined in silence. However, with Alexis leading the conversation, soon the whole room was awash with girlish chatter, much to the consternation of the school's old guard. In truth, the acoustics in the old hall did not lend themselves to conversation, and the noise quickly became deafening. The Headmaster pounded his mug on the table several times to warn the girls to "talk in low voices" lest the echoes bring the venerable old hall's ceiling down on their heads. But much to the dismay of the hide bound traditionalists sitting around him, the Headmaster did not object to his wife's outrage, or prevent Mr. Newman or Mrs. Jones from joining her at the student tables.

And so it was that Alexis effortlessly flicked the centuries old ban against the students talking during meals into the dustbin.

The food was next on her list, for Alexis discovered that eating with the girls meant eating their food, and the pasty porridge they were given each night was a far cry from the yummy entrees and vegetables the staff enjoyed.

Chapter One
Mariah sashayed up the low stone steps of the restaurant. She grinned, not having to look around to know that every man within sight of her was drooling, and their women were shooting daggers at her with their eyes. Southwest Florida was quite warm, even in October, and that was yet another excuse for her to go with her slinkiest dress.

She opened her little clutch purse, diamond-studded (of course), and pulled out a tiny mister of the latest Chanel fragrance. Actually, that wasn't quite true; the bottle was beyond merely their latest creation, it wasn't yet available to the public. Amazing what a little judicious application of good old fashioned bribery can achieve. She also had to chuckle to think about the inverse relationship between the size of the bottle and its price. The stuff cost a mint! A little spritz to her neck, more to her left wrist, which she rubbed against her right, and she was ready.

"Table for one," she said to the host.

"I... y-yes, Miss. I mean, it'll be about ten minutes," he stammered. "Would you care to wait in the lounge?"

She looked where he was gesturing. It was a fine place: marble bar top, mahogany paneling and glass shelves full of some truly top of the line liquor.

"That'll be fine," he replied with a smile.

She gave her name, got a pager, and headed into the lounge. Yeah, between her looks and intoxicating aroma, she had him under her spell. She almost needed a step-stool to park her firm little ass on the high leather seat, but she made it.

"Well, well-well, as I live and breathe heavily, it's the 'Powerful Pixie'," a familiar voice said.

Mariah spun to her right and gasped. "Chris? Holy shit, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I live here, ever since my company went belly-up. You?"

"Vacation," she said, licking her lips.

Okay, it wasn't entirely true, but she wasn't about to tell a former rival her personal business. He sat next to her. Given his height, he easily slid down to the seat, and turned to the bartender.

"The lady will have a Cosmo, straight up, Grey Goose Citron, and make it a double."

She grinned. "You never forget. So, you here with anyone?"

"You mean am I seeing anyone?"

"Why, I have no idea what you're talking about, sir. Your personal life is of no interest to me!" She rotated her stool so as to give him a great profile view, which accentuated her breasts, stuck her nose in the air, and did the classic humph.

He smirked and held out her drink to her. "You never change, Mariah. Attitude that can cut steel and a figure that can melt it."

"Thank you for noticing," she replied, turning and taking the glass.

Chapter 1
April Langthorpe looked sorrowfully round the dark, squalid dungeon and weighed up her dire predicament. The cold cobbled floor was damp and slippery. Even after three days, she still could not get used to the awful smells that percolated though the slimy stone walls. Traces of bodily fluids were evident amidst the green oozing slime and the timeless graffiti scored into the old Yorkshire stone.

"Oh what is to become of me?" she mused woefully.

Dressed only in a dirty grey dress, she dreaded what she must look like after three days of squalor. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was matted and lacklustre. Her skin itched all over from the dirt and infestation she'd had to endure. Her dirty face was streaked with the tracks of her salty tears, which had flowed freely and often during her incarceration. The condemned woman began to look back on her life and analyse the events that had led up to this latest and most drastic of fixes.

The eldest of nine children, April had led a hard life from the outset. She never really had a childhood at all, having spent most of her adolescent years looking after her brothers and sisters, helping work in the fields or scrub the family house clean and do never-ending laundry. A clever girl, she had an uncanny knack of predicting the future, and being left handed too, was viewed with suspicion by her peers and other members of the village community. But she worked hard and never complained, always doing her best to look clean and attractive. However, because of the local gossip mongers, and her huge workload of chores, April found it hard to mix with others of her own age group, and was relatively old when she eventually met a boy who had time for her.

Alex was also a hard working lad, and after a short courtship, the pair of them were married, and managed to get a small tenancy on the edge of the village, where they kept chickens, goats, and sheep. For the first time in her life April felt happy, building a home and tending her animals, while Alex worked as a woodsman in the nearby forests. Her happiness was soon to be compounded when she realised she was pregnant, and the pair made preparations for the forthcoming birth.

Alas, tragedy struck poor April. Her child was stillborn, and two days later Alex was struck by lightning while at work in the woods. He died instantly. The news of these events spurred further speculation among the superstitious villagers, and April became isolated in her cottage on the edge of the little settlement. Nevertheless, being clever and industrious, the young widow quickly overcame her grief and managed to become self-sufficient with her animals and garden.

The next year was a black one in the history of the village. Crops failed and chickens refused to lay.