LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

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.