LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Sarah of the CSA
"CSA call center. How may I help you?"

It had been a long day at the Central Spanking Administration headquarters, but the calls kept coming.

"Yes, ma'am... I see... uh-huh... I understand how you feel... oh, you're absolutely right... yes. And may I have your address please? Ok... ok... ok." he replied, typing continuously. "Got it. Yes, ma'am, we'll be sending an agent right out. It's up to you, ma'am, whether you want to be there. Yes, soon. I understand completely."

Sighing heavily, the dispatcher hung up the phone. "So, Charlie," he asked his partner, "who we got available in Zone 23?"

"Just a sec - pulling it up. Uh, is it a juvie?"

"Nope - Class III. Definitely a Class III."

"You're not going to believe this - only Agent available in 23 is Palmer."

"You're kidding, right? We can't send Palmer on a Class III."

"No, I'm not kidding. And why can't we? She's been here two years. Two. She's got to step up some time."

"Damned budget cuts. I knew something like this was going to happen. You call her then. I want no part of this."

Charlie dialed. The phone rang... and rang... and then a pick-up. "Hello, Palm-... uh, hello? Hello?" The line had gone dead. He tried the number again, but this time there was no answer. Now what?

The other dispatcher motioned to him. "Palmer on #2 for you, via a land line."

"Stein here. Yes, Palmer. What the hell happened? Your cell phone... in the toilet? Oh, great. Now listen here, I have a Class III for you. Yes, you heard right - a Class III. Now pay attention, I'll give you the specifics." Charlie slowly read the details of the complaint off the screen. "You'll be going to..." Click. Charlie leaned back and sighed, shaking his head.

"Palmer for you again, Charlie, on #4."

Recovering his composure, he spoke clearly and deliberately, "The address is..."

---oOo---
Sarah was almost giddy from excitement. Her first Class III assignment - solo! For a year and a half now, following training, she had been stuck handling juveniles and 'assisting' other agents on other cases. It had been so frustrating when her boss, just two days earlier, had said it would probably be yet another few months before she'd get even any Class II cases on her own. And now, here she was with a Class III! Someone must have finally recognized her skills and told ol' walrus-face to quit holding her back

Finishing dressing, she checked herself out in the full-length mirror behind her closet door: black business suit (the standard CSA uniform), high-heeled pumps (to raise her up to just under 6' - physical presence was important), and the final touch - dark glasses (not exactly an agency requirement, but how she loved the look!).

Michael and Polly
Andrea Mahony pushed her shopping trolley down the aisles, and browsed the items for sale, before placing them in the trolley. Clarkstown was not a big place, although it did have at least three supermarkets. The one Andrea was in was not the biggest, but it was her preferred place to shop. Working during the week and wanting her Saturday mornings free for tennis meant that the tall, willowy woman with the lustrous mane of chestnut hair did her grocery shopping on Friday evening, so she was appreciative for the extended trading hours on that night. Although the supermarket's owner, Mr Simms, could be a little abrupt, Andrea got on well enough with the man, and as he was one of her clients she found shopping at his establishment a rather pleasant experience.

Andrea owned and ran the town's most unique business, The Spank Shop, and Simms regularly sent his children to her for discipline, and some of his junior staff made the occasional journey to have their bottoms reddened over Andrea's lap for various infringements. This ensured that they were always polite to her, and sometimes she was even given discounts on purchases.

Andrea was trying to decide which brand of biscuits to choose when she became uncomfortably aware that someone was watching her. There was a man to her left, staring at her. It was a rather disconcerting feeling, and she started to wonder if she had a smudge of dirt on her face or something. Out of the corner of her eye she tried to get a good look at her observer without being obvious about it. He was dressed in a business suit and tie, his hair was short and neat, average height and build, he also had a shopping trolley.

Andrea was about to turn and confront him when he spoke. "Andrea? It is Andrea, isn't it?"

Her emerald eyes flashing, Andrea answered coldly, "Yes, it is. Who am I speaking to?"

The man looked a little surprised, and now that Andrea could look at him properly there was something familiar about his face.

"It's Michael," he said softly, his face colouring in embarrassment. "Michael Wilson."

Andrea's eyes went wide, and now it was her turn to blush. "Mickey Wilson! Oh my goodness, sweetheart, you're all grown up. You must have been about fourteen the last time I saw you."

"Fifteen," the business suited man corrected her.

"What are you doing here in Clarkstown?"

"We just moved here."

"We?"

"My wife and I. Polly."

"Polly Thatcher? You married Polly Thatcher?"

Michael nodded happily.

"I should have known! The two of you were thick as thieves. Michael, I would love to stop and chat," Andrea said, indicating her partially full trolley, "but I've got to get my shopping finished. Would you like to meet in the coffee shop nearby in about half and hour?"

When her cousin, Erin Bilsborrow, went to stay with her maternal aunt in the United States, Jessica was jealous. In fact she was always somewhat jealous of Erin. Erin's dad had done extremely well in business and was well off but her dad, although he had done alright, was nowhere near as well off. True they had a nice four-bedroomed detached house in a quiet cul-de-sac but compared to Erin's house with its huge garden and view over the moors, it was nothing. Jessica's dad had been a lorry driver but had quickly realised that driving was no life and had moved into training others to drive. He and a partner had a small company training HGV and PSV drivers and it did OK.

Erin was extremely clever and had been sent to an extremely expensive private school for girls. Jessica wasn't particularly clever and her dad hadn't been able to afford private school so she went to the local comprehensive which was a good school but since it wasn't as selective and couldn't push the way Erin's school could, didn't get such outstanding results.

Erin was exceptionally good at sport whereas Jessica was only mediocre - sure she made it to the school netball team but was never going to be the star player. She couldn't ride a horse at all unlike Erin or play the piano half as well or play tennis like her.

Jessica was sick to death of hearing how wonderful Erin was, especially as they were of much the same age, and indeed were only three weeks apart in age. It affected her behaviour and when she became a teenager she became rather difficult; her work was erratic and... Oh blow it I shall be blunt - she was a pain in the derriere.

So by the time Erin was storming through her "A" levels, getting grades that would make a genius green with envy, Jessica was only just coming out of her difficult phase. Her grades were clearly not going to be great and she was not going to make it to any university worth attending. After discussion, it was decided that Jessica would go to the local college which did run a few degree courses and take a degree in computer science as that was the one subject she did work at.

All this made the name of Erin Bilsborrow stink in Jessica's nostrils because she simply could not compete with her, except in one respect: she was as pretty and attractive as Erin. The silly thing was Erin seemed unaware of Jessica's jealousy; she was always friendly and cheerful with her and when they were together Jessica warmed to her cousin and simply stopped being jealous.

When Erin went to the US she asked Jessica if they could keep in regular contact via Skype and of course Jessica (warming as usual in her company) agreed.

Present Day

Smack!

"Oww!"

Smack! Smack!

"Oww!"

Smack!

"Oww! Okay! Okay, I promise I won't go near the mine again!"

"Well, a few more with this paddle should get my point across."

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Oww!!"

He loosened his grip on her and she quickly jumped off his lap and frantically rubbed her very sore bottom. There were tears running down her cheeks.

He felt bad when he saw the tears as he stood up from his seat on the side of their bed. He stepped towards her and took her in his arms, and whispered, "I'm sorry I had to do that, but you have to learn to listen to me. I'm only trying to keep you safe. I would die if something happened to you."

"I know," she sniffled. "It's just that after I read your great grandmother's diary, I just know that there is gold in that mine. She was certain of it."

"Enough, Rebecca!"

She knew him well enough to know that when he called her Rebecca, it was time to retreat. She would investigate her theories later when her best friend Mattie came over.

"Okay Honey, I'm sorry. I know you only want to keep me safe. I'd better go and check with Nora and see if I can help her with dinner. Jake and Mattie will be here in a few hours and thanks to you I won't be able to sit comfortably!" She pouted as she stomped her foot.

"Do you need a lesson in manners, young lady?"

"No, no, I'm sorry. It's just that my bottom hurts!"

He chuckled and gave her a kiss on her forehead. "Then behave!"

---oOo---
God, Joseph loved his feisty wife. She was a handful at barely 5 feet tall, with curly brown hair and green eyes that flashed when she was mad. She had such an imagination. He had heard all the stories about gold in that abandoned mine as he was growing up, but no one had ever found any, and after the cave-in several years ago he had it closed and condemned. She had no business anywhere near that mine. There were plenty of places for her to ride on the ranch. It was the largest spread in the County.

He was very proud of all the work he had done to make it one of the most successful cattle ranches in the state. He had several thousand head of cattle and a dozen men working for him. He had turned the ranch into something his grandfather would have loved.


Several Years Ago

Joseph was a big man, way over 6 feet tall. He was very fit and had a kind heart. But when he said something there was no arguing with him. He and Rebecca had been married for several years and they were very happy. They were well suited, as his grandfather would have said.

Semi-Seriously Yours
It all began as a high-spirited reunion with a long-lost friend...

Julia Simpson blew into town a week ago and rang me from the airport. Working as a flight attendant, she had an eight-hour stopover in Boston. I was excited to hear her voice. I hadn't seen Julia since we were college roommates five years ago so I invited her over for lunch. We sat out on our back patio on a fine spring day and dug into cheese omelettes and fresh strawberries while catching up on each other's lives. To mark the occasion, I pinched a bottle of New Zealand's finest Sauvignon Blanc from Alex's wine cellar. He's a generous guy; he'd want us to celebrate! Mind you, the girl-talk that flowed along with the wine was nothing to celebrate. But by the time Alex and I sat down to dinner that evening, Ms. Simpson was airborne en route to San Fran and the Boston Blabbermouth was tight-lipped about our little chat. What Alex didn't know won't hurt him, or me. Right? Oh sure.

My visit with Julia began innocently enough. She waxed eloquent about exotic locales she'd visited as an air hostess, then gave me her take on living in California. But the conversation really took flight when she began to rhapsodize about Richard, the new man in her life, burbling on (and on) about his "poetic soul" and "wildly inventive" love-making. She showed me the gold necklace he'd given her on Valentine's Day, taking it off and passing it across the table so I could read the naughty love-message he'd inscribed in the locket. Julia was utterly besotted! I wondered aloud what it would take to bring her back down to earth. She sobered slightly and confessed that they'd had their very first run-in last weekend.

Turns out they'd gone to a party on Saturday evening and bumped into his old girlfriend. Taken aback, Richard introduced Julia to Jackie before departing to fetch them both drinks. In an awkward attempt to make conversation, Julia had asked the red-haired beauty where they'd met. Jackie's response was so glowing and nostalgic that Julia felt her stomach churn. The only things Richard had told her about this prior relationship was that Jackie had ended it and it had taken him several months to get over her. Julia felt threatened. She feared that if Jackie changed her mind and decided to lure him back, Richard might fall for her all over again. So when he returned, she decided to burn their bridges for good by inviting his old flame to dish the dirt on him. "Tell me dear, given your feelings for Richard, I can't understand why you broke up with him. I mean, did he leave his smelly socks under your bed? Did he fart out loud at your dinner parties?"

"I could rub chilli powder in places you wouldn't believe. It would blow your mind, baby. I promise you, sex with me would never be the same twice."

Frankie Fairchild cleared her throat and backed away from the desk a little. "Well that's all very enlightening, Mr Collins but-"

Kenny Collins leaned over the desk and drawled disconcertingly, "My tongue should be registered as a lethal weapon!"

Frankie closed the file in front of her with a decisive snap. "I think you have misunderstood my advertisement completely, Mr Collins. I am not looking for a gigolo or some perverted, wild affair."

"The advert said you were looking for someone broad minded and flexible. That's me, little lady."

"The advert said I was looking for a temporary husband," Frankie clarified. "Someone who is flexible enough to fit into my busy lifestyle and broad minded enough to accept that it is purely a business arrangement. I don't believe that is you at all, Mr Collins." Frankie rose up to her full height of five foot, four inches - in heels - and offered her hand politely. "So I'll bid you good afternoon."

Kenny ignored her hand and rubbed his crotch suggestively instead. "You're throwing away the chance to turn a business arrangement into a pleasure cruise, baby."

A look of mild revulsion crossed Frankie's elfin features. "Somehow I'll live with it," she announced dryly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr Collins, I have a conference call I have to take in five minutes so I need you to leave."

Kenny shrugged. "Your loss." He turned and swaggered from the office with a confidence Frankie couldn't help but admire. She waited until the office door had shut before sinking back into her chair and rubbing her temples wearily.

"I assume I'm still not hearing wedding bells."

Frankie looked up and grimaced as Lucy, her plump assistant, walked in. "Oh, Lucy, it's hopeless. I'm never going to find a husband in time at this rate. I thought advertising for one would be the easy answer but so far all I seem to have attracted are perverts and weirdos."

Lucy chuckled sympathetically. "I can't believe you're advertising for a husband at all. Look at you. You're smart, successful and gorgeous. You'd have men queuing round the block if you spent less time working and a bit more time socialising."

Frankie tilted her dark head. Her hairstyle framed her cornflower blue eyes and emphasised her dainty features. "I'm not a party animal, Lucy. You know that, and besides, love is a complication I can well do without. Mr Fenton only promoted me to the position of Market Research Analyst three months ago. I didn't spend four years collecting data only to take my eye off the ball now I've finally made it to analyst. I simply don't have time for a relationship."

Dr Simon Dale glanced at his watch again and frowned. The new temp should have arrived half an hour ago. "Where the hell is she?" he muttered.

As if on cue, the door flew open and a dishevelled elfin-faced diminutive figure barged in, tufts of blonde hair sticking out in all directions like a birds nest, hurriedly applied eye make-up smudged ... and surely that couldn't be a washing care label on the outside of her sweater? It was. The silly woman was wearing it inside out. Simon folded his arms and appraised the late arrival coolly.

"Miss Peters I presume?"

"Um. Yes. That's me. Lucy. Lucy Peters. I-"

"You're late."

"Ah. Yes. I didn't mean to be late on my first day, but my alarm clock didn't go off, or if it did, I didn't hear it. I was up during the night, you see, and I hardly got any sleep at all. The burglar alarm on the house across the street kept going off. They've gone away for two weeks on some Caribbean cruise and-"

Simon threw up his hands and interrupted her tirade. "Spare me your excuses, please. This is not a good start. I have clinic in ten minutes and there won't be sufficient time now to show you how to go on."

"Sorry, sorry. Let me get my notebook." She rummaged through her shoulder bag. "Notebook, notebook ... it's in here somewhere." She pulled out a crumpled wad of tissues, a half eaten bar of chocolate, car keys and a packet of sweets. Her face brightened at this discovery. "Oh, I forgot I had these. I just love jelly teddy bears. The red ones are my favourite. "Would you like one?" She held out the packet.

"No I would not." He glared and pointed to the printer. "Take a couple of sheets of paper from there. I assume you have a pen?"

"Pen. Yes. Pen. Where are you, pen? It's hiding..." She began to scrabble frantically again in her bag.

Simon rolled his eyes. My God. They've sent me a lunatic. "Tell you what - here, take my pen." He handed it over and placed it in her small hand. "Now go and sit down. We don't have much time."

"Right." She scampered over to the desk and sat in the big leather chair, her feet dangling several inches from the floor. Her big liquid brown eyes gazed up at him reverently. He was something, this doctor. Mid forties, silver grey hair with dark roots, dark brows above intelligent hazel eyes, a generously proportioned mouth and firm jaw. Oh my God, she thought. He's sex on legs. She tried very hard not to stare at the rest of him. She needed to concentrate. Get a grip, Lucy. Focus, she told herself.

Simon put one hand to his head. He suddenly felt an almighty headache coming on.

Choices
The Honourable Lucy Beverage looked at the various pieces of paper laid out on the antique Queen Anne table. Each sheet scattered carelessly next to the envelope that had brought them to her door; each as careless as the choices she had made and had yet to make.

Her slender elegant fingers plucked unconsciously at her Gucci silk top as her clear brown eyes peered down her correctly proportioned elegant nose at the documents from beneath an immaculate chestnut fringe.

Lucy was tall for a woman, with an outer appearance of unruffled calm, but inside she felt sick and more lost than she had felt in all of her 32 years.

She was in hock for almost a million pounds and so far her attempts to pay off her debts by writing cheques she could not honour had led to a £10,000 fine and the prospect of 18 months in prison. She shuddered. The very thought of gaol time for her was as bad as the inevitable bankruptcy that would follow.

For a long moment, her life throbbed in and out of focus and an alien emotion flooded her soul. Somewhere in the back of her mind Edith Piaf was singing and Lucy shut her down with an ironic laugh. She suppressed a sob, feeling like a little girl who had scraped her knee and wanted to run to Daddy. But some bridges in life could not be rebuilt, she was in tune with Edith on that one.

The plane ticket her cousin had sent looked like an easy option, but then what? She would still be bankrupt with a prison term hanging over her. She wasn't sure what additional penalties there were for fleeing justice on a forged passport, but she suspected that it might be even more severe than her current fate.

That left her with one other option. She picked up the letter and reread it.

"The Cornwall Institute has considered your situation and is prepared to offer you a place at their alternative punishment centre."

There were very few details in writing, but at an earlier interview she had been told that the alternative on offer included corporal punishment. She had laughed in their face and flat walked out on them. However, one other fact now came back to her. As part of the 'treatment' as they had called it, all her debts would be paid with a low interest long-term loan and any amnesty would include not paying any fines.

"Sometimes money talks," she whispered.

---oOo---
Meanwhile in a seedier part of town, Patsy Kenwood could not believe her luck.

"The Cornwall Institute has considered your situation and is prepared to offer you a place at their alternative punishment centre," she read aloud, adding: "That's those spanking and caning freaks."

Some sort of religious nutters, she didn't wonder. But what the hell, it had to be better than three years inside, even if they did want her to attend some old-fashioned training centre and whack her bum a few times.

A Deliciously Humiliating Experience

by by Lucy Appleby
"So, Olivia - are you doing anything nice this weekend?"

Olivia flushed at the close proximity of her boss as he leant casually against the edge of her desk.

"I haven't got anything important planned, Mr Carville," she lied, fervently wishing he would ask her out for a drink, or a meal, or ... She smiled a wistful little half smile and daydreamed of writhing naked beneath him in a tangle of limbs.

"Shame. See you on Monday then," he said, smiled and left the room.

Olivia pursed her lips in disappointment. Still, she did have something important planned. Something very important indeed. At the thought of it, her breathing quickened and her imagination went into overdrive. She hurried home, impatiently navigating the Friday rush hour traffic. All she would need for the weekend's activities had been prepared in advance and all she had left to do was to arrange a few freshly laundered items in her suitcase.

After a quick sandwich and a cup of coffee, Olivia indulged herself with a soak in the tub, luxuriating in the scented water and frothy bubbles. Afterwards, suitably relaxed and perfumed, she dressed, picked up her case, and left the house. She was more than ready for the two hour drive to Epicurus.

It was good to get out of the hustle and bustle of the crowded city. As the car sped on, devouring the miles, the landscape began to change. She drove steadily north, through open moorland dotted white with sheep. The roads narrowed and snaked, twisting, dipping and rising, melding with the contours of the land. High up on the moors, clothed in a spreading mantle of purple heather, she allowed herself to think about her forthcoming adventure with Epicurus.

Plucking up courage to make the booking had taken almost six months, but once she had committed and paid the fee, Olivia became feverishly eager to participate in her first Epicurus experience. The organisation itself was located so far away from her home and work life that she felt she could really let go and bring her fantasy to life. And if the first taste proved to be all she had hoped for, there would be other encounters to look forward to in the future.

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, Olivia began looking for a suitable place to park up and change. Ten miles further and she would reach her destination, and the instructions clearly indicated that she should arrive suitably attired.

Pulling into a lay-by, Olivia retrieved her suitcase and took out her uniform - a short grey box-pleated skirt, white blouse, maroon cardigan, white socks, and black Mary-Jane shoes. With trembling fingers, she slipped out of the clothes she was wearing and put on the school uniform. All that remained was to tie her long honey-blonde hair back in a sleek ponytail. This accomplished, she took a deep breath and drove the last few miles of her journey.

Alfred had served the Simpson family for two generations, but he felt unsettled this morning because Victoria was home from college. He loved her dearly despite her legendary temper. He knew no-one would ever accuse him of being overly sentimental, but he sighed when he remembered her birth and then the horrible scene afterward. She had been a beautiful bright little girl who treated him more like an adoring uncle than a servant. Now grown up, Victoria was still a lovely person, but he suspected something troubled her. He found himself making excuses for her. Perhaps if her mother had lived, the girl would now have a softer edge. Boys had come and gone over the years, but only her father could handle her. Jack Simpson handled his daughter the way he handled his prize mares and stallions; he directed them with a firm hand.

---oOo---
Victoria took one last look in the mirror before heading downstairs to the dining room. She probably should wear jeans because that would make the ride back to school more comfortable. Still, some part of her insisted she wear this particular skirt along with the one frilly pair of panties she owned.

She looked at the paper from the car dealer and then stuffed it in her blouse pocket. Victoria had always been analytical; her grades reflected her ability to think systematically through problems and logically solve them. She had gone over several scenarios, and none of them ended the way she wanted. Why had she made the decision when Dad would insist she had broken his 'contract' with her? He'd be furious. Instinctively she had softened her appearance by selecting that skirt. She had loosened her hair so it fell to her shoulders, even though she rarely wore it that way anymore because it took too much time to manage. She thought about how her Dad would react. It scared her but at the same time it excited part of her. It had been so long, so very long since he had really lost his temper. She saw her cheeks flush in the mirror as she remembered. Well, she knew she couldn't avoid this confrontation because it was time to go.

The CEO of Simpson Industries loved his daughter more than anything else in his world. Where others saw an untamable wildcat, he saw a sweet, generous girl who had stepped into her mother's role while only a teenager. She now served as his hostess when he entertained. He thought about the men who came by during the summer when she was home from the university and shook his head. She was like a thoroughbred that was badly mismatched with the plow horses she had brought home. Much to Victoria's credit, these men never lasted. Someday she would take over the company, but no time soon he hoped.

Mr. Simpson knew that Victoria shared his temper as well as his light brown hair and very blue eyes.