LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Chapter One - Chance Encounter
It was a hot summer afternoon on the road that paralleled the Agua Fria River in central Arizona. It was 1873, not quite long enough to have forgotten the terrors and hatreds of the Civil War, and though Arizona was quite distant from the bloody battlefields, emotions still fostered sudden and violent outbursts that seemed quite unpredictable. Not that such outbursts would bother the cowboy on that road today, slowly meandering his way to the town of Gillette.

Even when he stopped in a town for more than a week, those who got to know the cowboy never really knew him; most were afraid of the man who exuded a palpable energy that was immediately noticed by livestock, horses and dogs. When he was around, animals were suddenly skittish and other humans would attribute that activity to the likely presence of a coyote or bobcat. But the animals knew something that people eventually got around to deciding on their own: stay clear of this cowboy.

Truth to tell, no one could ever claim that the man started a fight or any trouble at all. He was soft spoken, but his words hit like an iron fist beneath a soft leather glove: they were neat and polite, but the punch would break your jaw. One immediately sensed his confidence, though the cowboy never advertised it.

Oh, he got into his fair share of scrapes, and as his presence on the road this day would attest, he was always the one who walked away unharmed. Though he strove to avoid confrontation, conflict seemed to find him. He never backed away; that was for the other guy, and the man that was foolish enough not to turn around and leave more often than not ended up face down and dead in the dirt.

The cowboy knew the Agua Fria River was close by the road ... just off to his left as indicated by the sycamore trees that hugged the river bank. Sycamores could not live very far from water, and in this part of the west, water was sometimes hard to come by. It was an axiom of survival in Arizona: know where the water is or you'll likely end up dead.

The breeze shifted slightly and his horse sensed the sweet smell of the river and turned his head to the left. "OK, partner," the cowboy said to his horse. "Let's get a drink and take a break." With a touch of his knee, his horse responded and headed off the road towards the river. At the edge of the bank, the cowboy dismounted and took the saddle off his horse then led it down to the river. For a few long minutes his horse drank, and the cowboy knelt at the edge of the river to wash his face then dip his head down to slurp up some cool draughts of water for himself. He also took the time to refill his canteen.

Jodie Browning felt every bit the crisp professional as she crossed the office to greet the headmaster of the Dunbar Reformatory. Although only 25, she was already a rising star at her University, and in her stylish worsted wool blue suit, dressed the part.

"I'd like to thank you for taking the time to meet with me today, Sir," she said, shaking the headmaster's hand. "I've been having a bit of trouble with my Doctorial dissertation, and my department chair seems to think that you might be of some assistance."

"Yes, I spoke with him this morning," the headmaster said, sinking back comfortably into his large leather chair. "Have a seat, Miss Browning."

Jodie sat down on the chair opposite the headmaster. Unlike the headmaster's comfortable perch Jodie's chair was hard and wooden and Jodie fidgeted a bit to find a comfortable position.

"Your chairman told me that you were one of his most promising Doctorial candidates," the headmaster said, looking Jodie up and down. "But he didn't mention what an attractive young woman you are. And so sharply dressed! I am impressed."

"Thank you, Sir," Jodie said, squirming slightly under the headmaster's appraising gaze. "In fact, my doctorial degree is why I'm here. My graduate dissertation is on corporal punishment, but as you know, there aren't many schools that still practice it, and so I was hoping..."

"Yes, your advisor faxed me a copy of your outline draft today. A rather weak start, if you don't mind my saying so. Your conclusions totally lack empirical data and seem to be largely based on your opinions."

"Well, yes, but it's just a rough draft. My advisor thought that if I spent the summer semester here, gathering data, that I would write a paper that would do the subject proud."

"I'm sure you could. Have you ever experienced the strap or the cane?"

Jodie bit her lip and squirmed in her chair, stunned by the casual bluntness of the headmaster's query. "No, Sir, I haven't. I was always... a good girl. I never got into trouble."

"I see. And yet judging from your paper you're obviously curious about the subject."

"Yes, I think my lack of experience is why I'm so fascinated by it. We always want what we can't have. I always wondered what it would be like, but my school didn't believe in it, and it's too late now. Of course, even though I'm too old for a proper school punishment, I still enjoy reading about it."

"No wonder your paper is so thin. Reading a book is a poor substitute for first-hand experience."

Jodie watched nervously as the headmaster opened a large cabinet behind his desk to reveal a daunting arsenal of canes, tawses, and straps. Jodie watched bug-eyed, mouth agape, as the headmaster removed a wicked looking cane from its hook and swished it through the air.

When Kathy Anderton discovered dating as a young teenager she also discovered just how eager teenage boys were to have sex. As she was the daughter of a young single mother, that scared her and she began to wonder why a girl had to be so willing to get her knickers off just to keep a boyfriend.

One day Ellis, her boyfriend said, "Well I really like you Kathy but if you're not prepared to...."

She felt resentful. "Well I really like you Ellis but if that's how you feel..."

Ellis had a brief moment of randy hope before Kathy walked off waving goodbye. Unsure what to do about dating any other boy, she moaned about it to Kelly, a nice girl she often sat next to in class.

"Why do I have to have sex just to go out with him? I just don't want to. I don't feel ready."

Her friend replied quietly, "I'm not allowed to date boys on their own. My parents don't think I'm old enough and my church discourages it. Why don't you come to my church? There are loads of kids our age and we all have a good time."

The church was a friendly charismatic Anglican church with a great many families and a policy about dating - don't date, go out in groups. Kathy happily fell in with this enjoying the company of boys in a mixed group and feeling happier and unpressured. She wasn't really a believer but she was accepted just as she was. Her mum was happy about it and Kathy enjoyed the various youth activities.

Kathy's mum wasn't in fact unmarried. She had gone touring North America during a gap year and at just eighteen had met, married and fallen pregnant to a young American man. Kathy was six months old when the responsibility of being a husband and father had sent him scurrying for the hills never to be seen again. Kathy's mum had fled back to England to a family that promptly disowned her. Their view was she had married a foreigner in a foreign country without their permission; she had made her bed and must now lie on it. Knocked down but not destroyed she set to and worked hard to build a life for herself and her daughter. In spite of having no qualifications beyond A-level she managed to work her way up to quite a well-paid job, bought a flat and although she had to be careful with money, managed a reasonable life for the two of them.

Was Kathy a perfect daughter? She was, as all daughters are, a mixture of adorable and a pain. Sometimes they had screaming rows. Sometimes Kathy was grounded. Sometimes they laughed and talked together without any barriers. A normal relationship. Kathy's mum, Annie, was relieved that Kathy was wary of a sexual relationship with boys.

Chapter 1: Mrs. Robinson
November 8, 1998.

Nearing the end of a long Friday at the Wychwood Academy, my secretary Janice pops her head in my office door. "Mrs. Robinson is here to see you, Sir."

Damn! Normally, I wouldn't forget an appointment with a parent. But I've been preoccupied putting the finishing touches on this evening's speech to the Eastern Counties Headmaster's Association. As the youngest private-school Head in the region, I was honoured to be asked to give the after-dinner speech to our Association's annual meeting. I've been working hard on it for weeks. Now, as I polish the final draft, I've completely forgotten about the appointment I had arranged with Mrs. Robinson after suspending her son for a week. "Tell her I'll be with her shortly, Janice. Then bring me Tim Robinson's file."

My efficient secretary has it on my desk in a minute. I leaf through the thick folder littered with Misconduct Reports, familiarizing myself once again with the wretched details. Anticipating yet another parent whining about the school's unjust treatment of her poor misunderstood child, I note that there is plenty of misbehaviour here that would have warranted the boy's suspension a month ago.

Tim Robinson, frankly, is a pain in the ass. I've no idea what's going on at home, but the boy strikes me as a good kid, spoiled rotten by wealthy parents. I would speculate that they compensate for their failure to give him enough attention by buying him all the latest high-tech gadgetry. When Madame Poli, his French teacher, caught him chatting with his girlfriend on his cell phone, she made him come to the front of the class and converse aloud with her in French. Timothy didn't appreciate being embarrassed in that way, so he turned on his heel and stomped out.

From the classroom to the office, it's the same story. The boy refuses to obey the school's rules or accept our discipline for flaunting them. He exudes a sullen arrogance that makes him toxic in a school where students normally evince a cheerful attitude and a modicum of respect for authority. When he was sent down to see me on Wednesday, I told him to sit on the bench outside my office to give him time to reflect on his behaviour. After a couple of minutes, Tim had the gall to open my door and say, "Can you see me now, Sir? You don't look real busy, and I've been cooling my heels out here for ages." That's when I invited him into my office while calling home to set up an appointment with his mother.

---oOo---
"Alright Janice. Show Mrs. Robinson in now."

A moment later, she appears in my office doorway. "Doctor Hill, I presume?"

"Yes," I smile, looking up from my desk.

"Margaret Anne Robinson reporting to the Headmaster's office. Am I in big trouble, Sir?" she laughs, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

Chapter 1: Blue Collar Fantasies
I was working out at the gym with my best friend Marcie. We were checking out the guys lifting weights, when I asked her about the new man in her life.

She told me her boyfriend, Daryl, was studying yoga with a Zen master. "He's got me doing breathing exercises and chakra merging. It's an incredible high," she gushed, describing the elevated state of consciousness they achieve when making love. Apparently, once he's in her, he barely moves and they can go on like that for hours! I believe the correct name for this is coitus reservatus. Marcie called it "Tantric bliss".

"Different strokes for different folks," I shrugged, unable to share her enthusiasm. "Call me a Western vulgarian, but all that Eastern stuff about spirituality and elevated states of consciousness doesn't really light my fire."

"No?"

"Nah."

"What does?"

"I like my sex down and dirty, shameful and salacious. Or should I say 'liked'," I groaned. "Seems like such a long time ago."

"Don't worry, Andrea. You're gonna meet a guy soon who does that down-and-dirty stuff you crave."

"Me? No way."

"Mark my words!"

"What am I doing to find him? I don't even have a search strategy for Gawd's sake. Nope, I'm afraid I've grown cynical about true love in my old age."

"That's a natural reaction to your divorce. How old are you?"

"Thirty."

"Lots of time. You'll get over it."

I shrugged, unconvinced.

"Now tell me - I'm dying to know - what do you mean by shameful and salacious? What's that all about?"

"My lips are sealed."

"Why?"

"Too embarrassing - way too embarrassing."

But it's where this story begins, dear reader, so I'll have to tell you. Thank goodness I don't need to do so in person - I'd never stop blushing!

---oOo---
I've always had a 'thing' for blue-collar roughnecks. Go figure. An upper class Jewish-American Princess, Harvard graduate, gets all hot and bothered imagining herself being ravished by a denim-clad dude with a high-school education and a crucifix on his chest! I used to have the hots for a Polish guy who was my auto mechanic. He had washboard abs, a barrel chest, huge hands, and an accent so thick you could cut it with a knife. Every time he fixed my Porsche, I'd imagine him lifting me up by the waist with his greasy paws, plunking me down on the hood and having his way with me.

Can you guess what happened when I hired Rosie - the Italian Stallion - to renovate my house? I prowled his workplace - my kitchen - like a tigress in heat, purring my appreciation for his carpentry skills while ogling his sleekly muscled body. When I tell you the lengths I went to entice him, you're gonna think I'm a tramp!

California Territory, 1850

Sarah woke with a start as the first light of day shone in her eyes, and could hardly believe that she had slept at all the night before, because her excitement level when she went to bed had made her feel the way Christmas Eve did when she was a kid. The excitement remained - for today she would be leaving on a big adventure!

For the past year she had lived in a remote mining settlement in the California gold fields, but this morning she would be leaving for San Francisco, and from the tales she had heard, there wasn't any place in the California Territory as exciting as the city that served as the entry point for the countless prospectors looking to make their fortunes.

As she got out of bed, she realized that her bottom was still sore from the spanking Caleb Masters had given her the night before. At 25 years old, Caleb was only six years her senior, and she had been annoyed that he'd had the gall to spank her after dinner. She knew that she had deserved to be spanked, but gosh darn it, didn't Caleb realize she was a woman now and shouldn't be treated like she was a naughty child anymore?

---oOo---
Sarah's Aunt Alma and Uncle Walter had raised her after her parents died when she was young, and they had spoiled her since they didn't have any children of their own. Her uncle ran a store selling mining supplies in the settlement where she lived, and he'd had the foresight to set up a second store in San Francisco after the Gold Rush started in '48. He was a savvy businessman and realized that the folks supplying the hordes of people searching for gold were likely to make out a lot better than most of the prospectors pouring into the Territory.

Since her aunt and uncle didn't have any other heirs, they groomed her to take over the family business someday and needed her to help in the San Francisco store where they now made the bulk of their profit. Caleb was the son of her uncle's partner and would be accompanying her on her trip to the big city. He had already worked in San Francisco for the past year, and from listening to him talk at dinner the night before, she realized he was so much worldlier than he was when he left the year before.

Sarah had known Caleb for as long as she could remember, and she'd been sweet on him ever since she became aware of boys. During dinner, his talk about the big plans he had for the future only increased her desire for him to have similar feelings about her. Unfortunately, based upon what happened after dinner, it seemed like he still considered her to be a naughty child rather than the grown woman she believed she was.

Paula ran as fast and as hard as she could through the woods. Her lungs burned, the muscles of her tiny legs ached, and she could hear the blood pounding in her ears. She was almost there. She could see the prize right in front of her. The flag was there on the other side of a small clearing, waiting for her to grab it. A hundred feet, ninety feet, eighty, and there was still no sign of him. Was she going to make it this time, was she going to get it, was victory finally hers?

"Ah-ha, my proud beauty, not so fast," came Bruce's voice from beside her.

Paula's head whipped around. Somehow, in a manner than defied logic, Bruce had materialized out of thin air. Sheesh! Did he swing in here on a vine like Tarzan or something? She squealed and threw up her hands in a mix of protest and defense. "What? Nooo, no you can't catch me! I'm almost to the flag," she whined.

Bruce scooped her up in his arms. At six-eight and built like a linebacker, he could easily do it. Of course, given Paula's tiny frame (she wasn't even close to four-eight) just about anyone could do that to her.

"Sorry, little girl, but 'almost' is only good with horseshoes and hand grenades," he chuckled, heading for a nearby tree stump.

Well, looks like I'm going to get it; it's just that the 'it' won't be the one I was hoping for.

Bruce sat, Paula went across his lap, and she did indeed get it. He held her tight, his large left hand pressing down on her petite back, and then his firm right hand began to spank her khaki-clad bottom.

"Ouch ow! Daddy, please! Mercy! Ouch," she wailed.

He laughed, and kept right on spanking, his arm like a metronome. "Oh no, little one, you know the rules of the hunt: you fail to capture the flag, you get spanked."

Yeah, she knew. This was one of their favorite ageplay games. They did it about once a week, now that the weather was nice. That was the thing about Virginia, summers were gorgeous. So anytime Bruce and/or she were in the mood, it was out into the woods that surrounded their home, and he would hide a nice little state flag somewhere. If she found it before he caught her, she got a special treat of her choice - a day at work without him nagging her to relax, dinner at her favorite restaurant, and so on.

Ah, but if he caught her? Well, she got spanked. Of course, as she got off on that, it was still sort of a reward. So it was a win-win situation, although he seemed to enjoy it an awful lot more than she did as he gloated about it all during the spanking.

Lilly stared down the seemingly never-ending highway ahead of her wondering how she had got herself into this situation. She always did things without completely thinking through her idea. After her parents passed in a car accident, she'd started dating a guy to fill up the void in her life, unsure whether it was love or loneliness that formed the basis of their relationship. It all seemed fine at first, but after a year or so all the excitement and joy seemed to fade. What happened to falling in love forever and till death do us part? No one seemed to stay together these days anyway, so maybe it was worth giving marriage a shot with someone who you could just deal with as opposed to someone you truly loved.

As she glanced at the clock on the dashboard, she noticed it had been over an hour since she had seen road signs for any sort of life. She realized it would have been smarter not to drive across country in the middle of the fierce July heat, but it was necessary to get out of the relationship. Her actions were based on that moment when she realized she couldn't deal with it anymore and there just might be a possibility of something better out there - somewhere. For the past three months, she had contemplated whether or not to be honest and tell Nathan how she really felt. But it really wasn't anything that was his fault that caused the rift between them. Granted, there were little things like occasionally chewing with his mouth open and little phrases he used that would grate on her nerves, but he didn't do these things intentionally and really shouldn't be blamed. It truly was the fact that they just weren't close anymore. Morning and night they passed each other lifelessly, saying 'Goodnight' and 'Have a good day'. That was the extent of the excitement in their relationship, whereas she wanted someone who would sweep her off her feet, take care of her, protect her, and cherish her. She sighed, thinking maybe she had watched too many Disney movies as a child - they had painted a picture in her mind of the ideal man and the ideal relationship, and real life bore no comparison. Damn you, Disney.

Sweating from the July heat, Lilly reached for the small cooler she had packed to pull out a bottle of water. "Damn!" she cursed, realizing all the bottles were empty, and began worrying about how much this trip was going to cost. Even though Nathan said he would pay the last month's rent of their lease, she still had plenty of credit card bills to pay, not to mention car insurance and a cell phone bill. She had always told herself she would take the credit cards out of her purse and keep paying a little over the amount due every month and eventually they would be fully paid; however, they never left her purse as there was always a range of tempting shoes or clothes on offer - and if she didn't buy them right then, she would never see them again.

Chapter One: The Final Spanking
A tearful Stacy winced and grimaced as she mounted the stairs to her room, every movement antagonizing the raw, ruined flesh of her buttocks. She was keenly aware she was naked, and even more keenly aware that her butt was the color of a fire engine and as hot as a grill on the fourth of July.

She also knew that the whole world - well, the entire Collins household, at least - were getting a fine view of those aforementioned crimson cheeks as the broad staircase was along one side of the great room with the thirty-foot ceiling. Stacy's father was an architect and the elegant glass staircase he'd designed was a key feature, but unfortunately it did nothing to hide the young lady's nudity, nor did the glass balcony she had to walk along next.

Stacy finally reached the privacy of the corridor and a few steps down arrived at her room. She gratefully slipped inside, firmly closing the door behind her, and flung herself on her bed - face down, of course - for a long self-pitying sob. When her tears were gone she got to her knees and grabbed some tissues from the box by her bed and noisily blew her nose and dried her eyes and face.

This was not an unfamiliar situation for Stacy Collins. For as far back in her eighteen years as she could remember, she'd been subject to her parents' strict discipline. They were spankers and believed in old-fashioned values like hard work and children obeying their parents. Stacy thought such things were a bit ridiculous in this day and age. Who spanked any more? Wasn't it outlawed? If it wasn't, it sure ought to be, she thought miserably.

Of course, it had been entirely her fault. It always was. Her parents were very clear about the rules. Stacy knew when she stayed out past curfew it would mean a spanking, but somehow at midnight, hanging with Richard and Darla and the gang, it had seemed like a distant and far-fetched possibility. She also had to admit she'd been a little buzzed. It was a good thing her parents hadn't known she'd been drinking or her butt wouldn't have any skin left.

That thought reminded her to check on the condition of said anatomy. With a groan at the pain the movement caused, Stacy walked over to the full-length mirror at her closet and looked at herself. She was pleased with what she saw. She was no Jennifer Aniston, her favorite star, but she wasn't bad looking. She was on the tall side at five-nine, and sturdily built. Not fat at all, for she was on the basketball team and an active athlete, but she was certainly solid. Her breasts were large and required a sports bra when she exercised, and they tended to embarrass her, since they made her feminine sex so obvious.

Megan's nose was six inches from the carpet. Had she wanted, she could have been proud of the cleaning job she had done on the coffee stain, the spot on the carpet right under her nose. She even had the faint smell of the cleaning fluid in her nostrils. She could also have been proud of the high quality garter belt and knickers that she always wore, for Megan, a cautious woman, was mindful of the time she might have to visit the doctor for an examination, or worse suddenly find herself in hospital being undressed by nurses. That was why two neatly laundered and pressed nighties were wrapped up ready in a parcel and stored away, just in case an overnight or longer stay would be needed. Her pride demanded nothing less.

At present however, these considerations were not in the forefront of her mind. She was having her bottom smacked for the first time in her life. Incredibly, unbelievably, she was being held down across a man's knees, her skirt raised and with only those expensive knickers for protection her bottom was being seriously, properly, repeatedly, spanked. But how could she have let it happen?

Despite early summer, the breeze off the north sea in that small coastal town had been chilly and Megan with her friend and playmate Eve had taken refuge in a local teashop: two respectable ladies, both over the hump of middle age, both widowed, Megan by three years and Eve, well, she walked out on her husband years ago and now presumed dead. Megan was relating a tale of woe. Since Gerald's death and her grown-up children flown the nest she had fulfilled a life-long ambition and begun learning to play the flute and was doing well at it. True, she had started playing whilst still at school but work and marriage had intervened and it was only in the last two years that she was able to find time to practice in earnest. Then her present teacher, Mrs. Witherspoon had suddenly announced she was departing the area leaving Megan without even the luxury of a piano accompanist. What was she to do?

"It's so boring playing on your own," she wailed and Eve had clucked in sympathy.

"Can I be of any help?" said a male voice from the neighbouring table. They were both too polite to say a word and ignored him. The voice however persisted. "I couldn't help overhearing your problem. Forgive me for butting in. I've had some experience of accompanying, I'm staying here for a few weeks so if you want to make use of me, feel free to do so."

This time they did both look at him. He was about their age or older perhaps, greying hair, ordinary looking, neat grey suit, and that's all there was to see: ordinary, and of course respectable, which is what really mattered.

"Say yes," whispered Eve.

"Shut up!"

Thermo
My name is Thermo and for a decade I have served the great Queen of the Amazons, Antianara ... an amazing feat as most men captured by the Amazons are used at the whims of the Amazons and discarded within the month. There have been a few men such as myself, but very, very few in Amazon history. I have been charged by my Queen Antianara to record old tales that have been handed down aurally, to make an official record of these legends so that they may endure in history. My Queen has discovered that I am more educated than most men she has met and will use my knowledge to create a written record of the legends of the Amazons.

The Amazon kingdom is rumored to exist in many places, but none of the rumored locations are correct. I would tell you why, but I do not wish to compromise its location. Amazon society is a closed society - you don't just wander in and become a citizen any more than you would wander into Sparta and suddenly become a Spartan. Simply, you have to be born an Amazon, and you have to be a woman. The Amazon society is entirely female, but more on that later.

How I came to be a slave of the Amazon nation may help in understanding some of what the Amazons are and what the Amazon society is. I grew up on a farm in Macedonia as a child but was fortunate to have been noticed by a very learned philosopher. Though I never attended any organized school, this philosopher taught me many things of our world. In particular, he taught me to read and write as well as how to understand the world around me. He introduced me to the concept of philosophy. This, of course, was very unusual.

I moved from the farm and began a career as a shop keeper. The Mathematics I was taught by my mentor served me well and I was developing a profitable business selling goods to local farmers when a company of Amazon warriors attacked our village. These women were fierce warriors and the handful of farmers and old men in the village did not stand a chance. Five men were kidnapped from the village and I was one.

The five of us were kept tightly bound and we were escorted for days before reaching a large encampment of Amazons. We were kept under strict observation and did not spend a moment without at least one of these fierce women gazing at our lot. They terrified me, but I have to be honest and admit that I found them all very attractive.

Our captors and their cohort were athletic and vigorous women in the prime of life. I had witnessed their fighting skills and originally thought they may have been Spartan women, but we quickly learned differently. Over the week that we were held at the encampment, several other companies of these women warriors joined the camp, each with five or six male captives.