LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Black Jack, Douglas County, Kansas. 1865.

He was invading her dreams again. She couldn't discern all his features clearly; she never could, but she knew it was him by his overwhelming presence: it was a magnetic force that drew her into a deep sleep where her mind was free to wander and explore the dreamscape.

She was dressed in red, wearing an elaborate regency gown of deep cranberry, with a corset so tight she could scarcely breathe, and a full skirt supported by a cane-sided hoop beneath the layers of silk and lace. There was orchestral music playing in the grand house behind her and she glanced back through the wide open French doors to see people dancing and socialising. But his silent call and the darkness lured her down the wide stone steps and through the rose garden. Her dainty slippered feet skipped lightly over neat lawns, past the orange trees towards the pagoda nestled in the corner of the beautifully landscaped garden.

He stood in the darkened shadows: silent, still, and dressed in black. Despite his size he remained almost invisible, but she knew he was there. It wasn't just his voice in her head that drew her, it was the sheer power of his will. She was compelled to obey his summons.

"Hello, Master." There was a nervous tremor in her voice. She could hear it as she stood in the centre of the trellised gazebo, her hands clasped in front of her, head bowed.

He stepped forward, put one cold finger beneath her chin and lifted her gaze. "You were flirting with Viscount Graziani again." Colour tinged her high cheekbones. He saw everything. He knew everything. Dry amusement quirked his lips. "Was it your intention to thwart me, my love, or make me jealous?"

Her embarrassment deepened. "Neither, sir. I was just being polite. The Viscount insisted I partner him for the first waltz."

Eyes of the deepest indigo blue with an almost purple ring around the iris studied her beautiful face so intently she felt as though he were actually looking into her soul. "You've had three dances with him this evening, my little butterfly. Not to mention the coquettish smiles aimed at him from behind your fan."

She pouted prettily. "I'm surprised you even noticed."

He chuckled, revealing startlingly white teeth. "Ah, now I understand. You are cross with me for having been absent these last few days." His finger brushed her pale cheek. "I had business to attend to, sweet one. I did explain that to you. Besides," he tapped her nose, "you know full well I don't need to be standing beside you to know exactly what you're up to."

"Well that's fine for you, but I am not blessed with your insights! I've missed you."

His amusement faded. "Nothing about me or my existence is blessed," he stated bitterly.

Her grey eyes widened warily. He was such an indomitable force, every inch of him as dangerous as it was alluring.

A Very Naughty 'Schoolgirl'
Having pulled her raincoat close around herself while approaching the imposing house up the front walk from her car, once she reached the stoop, Skye paused to remove it, fold it carefully, and tuck it under one arm before ringing the door bell. She then awaited a response, standing there in pigtails, white blouse, knee socks, and a red plaid skirt that barely reached mid-thigh.

A distant voice from inside called out, "Come on in, it's unlocked."

Skye pushed open the heavy wooden door, stepping into a large foyer. A magnificent staircase arose from the slate floor, turning twice around a brass chandelier before reaching the second floor. At the far end of the foyer, a figure stood silhouetted in a doorway.

"Mr. Harper?" she inquired.

"That would be me. Hurry up, girl. I don't have all evening." He gestured for her to follow him into a room off the foyer. "Your envelope is there on the table," he said matter-of-factly as he entered what proved to be a walnut-paneled library. "Close the door."

Skye quickly checked the contents of the envelope, which she stuffed into her purse, before following his instruction and pulling the door shut.

As she trailed this Mr. Harper into the room, she sized him up - a bit over six foot, muscular, perhaps forty years old, clearly used to being in charge, and rather handsome. No, make that exceedingly handsome, with dark hair, clear blue eyes, and a strong chin.

"You'll learn to follow my commands more promptly, Miss Jones. And, you were late."

"The directions were rather confusing, I got lost."

"The correct response, young lady, would be 'I'm sorry, Sir.' You get confused easily, do you?"

"No, sir, not usually. And I am sorry."

"I don't like waiting. We'll be getting started momentarily, but first, let's have a look at you."

He took her coat and purse, which he set on the table, before circling her slowly. "Um-hm. Rather sloppy, I must say - pigtails uneven, socks uneven, shirt unpressed, tie askew. I hope you don't attend school dressed this way."

"I'm sorry, sir - I was running late."

"A re-occurring theme, it would appear. Don't worry - that's something I will deal with shortly, as well as your appearance."

Skye had been through many such scenes, but for some reason, his remarks sent a chill up her spine.

"Did you finish the assignment I gave you?"

"Er, no sir." This had seemed like an obvious way to start things off. Now, though, she wished she had brought along at least something to give him.

"It seems, Miss Jones," he began, "that I will need to show you just how serious I am about all this." He pulled a straight-back chair from along the wall into the center of the room. "You may 'assume the position' over this chair... unless, of course, you find that too confusing."

Kimberley & Andrea
Kimberley Kennedy slipped inside the door of the Spank Shop and let it close behind her. She shivered, it was a cool morning and she needed to warm up. She immediately set to laying a fire in the reception area's fireplace, and had soon kindled a cheery little blaze. Coffee was her next thought; she needed a nice hot cup of coffee before she checked the morning schedule and settled into her working day.

The blonde eighteen-year-old was just about to go through to the shop's kitchen, when she thought about her employer, Andrea Mahony. Ordinarily the chestnut-haired beauty would have poked her head out of her parlour, asked Kimberley how she was, and for a copy of the morning schedule so she knew what to expect for the next few hours. However, this chilly morning there had been neither hide nor hair of the Spank Shop's elegant proprietress. Kimberley decided to check the parlour, and see if Miss Andrea wanted coffee.

"Enter," a tired voice came from behind the door at Kimberley's gentle knock.

Andrea was slumped in her armchair by the fire, she was still in her nightgown, and looked decidedly worse for wear. She was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her normally vibrant wavy hair was limp and unwashed. Kimberley was, to be frank, shocked. It was unlike her sophisticated employer to be unwashed and undressed, even at this time of the morning, on a working day.

"Are you all right ma'am?" the teenager asked, the concern in her voice mirrored in her cornflower blue eyes.

Andrea nodded weakly. "Yes, dear. I just had a rather heavy night."

Kimberley frowned, and then she remembered that her employer had had a night out with friends planned for the previous evening. "Too much to eat?" she inquired impishly.

Andrea sighed, and her green eyes flashed quickly. "Drink, darling."

"You're hungover?" Kimberley asked.

Andrea nodded gently.

"Maybe Mum and I should handle things today," the girl suggested.

"Do you mind?"

Kimberley shrugged. "Mum will probably make a comment or two, and I'll have to do some creative booking, but I think we can manage, Miss."

"You're an angel, Kim," Andrea said gratefully, then asked. "Is my car in the driveway?"

"Yes," Kimberley replied with another frown.

"Oh thank goodness!" Andrea exclaimed. "I thought I may have left it at the restaurant."

"You drove home?" Kimberley asked, her eyebrows climbing into her hair.

Andrea nodded again, and closed her eyes briefly.

"And you were drunk?"

"I had enjoyed a few drinks with friends, young lady," Andrea replied in a tone that held more than a hint of reprimand.

Kimberley's lips compressed into a tight line, but she held her initial response back, instead suggesting, "Why don't you go upstairs and get into bed. I'll bring you up some tea and toast."

"Oh Kimberley!" Andrea exclaimed, rising slowly.

My name is Henry Talbot and here I am, standing in the corner, hands behind my head and my bottom on fire. I'm supposed to be reflecting on why I was punished, but I find myself thinking about what transpired in my life the last five years to bring me here. It would be best described as before and after Barbara.

Five years ago, I was not the man I am today. Not even close. I graduated from high school three months after my sixteenth birthday with a grade point average of 4.0. My best claim to fame was that I would write term papers for anyone willing to pay my price. This was probably the only thing that kept me from being bullied because at five foot seven and 140 pounds, even some of the girls had more physical prowess. So off to college I went, two years younger than the rest of the freshmen. I found the academic requirements as easy as they were in high school, and after two years I was only one year away from earning a degree in chemical engineering. That's when I met Barbara.

She was well known on campus as the starting center of a women's basketball team that routinely qualified for the NCAA tournament. At six feet four inches tall she was the only one on the team that could dunk the ball. She also competed on the track team as a cross-country runner, usually finishing ahead of some of the men. Beside her athletic skills, she was often on the dean's list for her scholastic achievements as a computer sciences major. She was also one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen. Her body was well toned without being too muscular and her movements were so graceful, I thought she could have been a ballet dancer. Her blonde hair came almost to her shoulders and blue eyes gave her a Nordic look. She is one of those women pretty enough that she didn't need make-up.

I came from an upper middle class family and had no siblings. My parents were both professionals, my mother an accountant and my father a lawyer. Neither believed in corporal punishment and I gave them no reason to change their minds as I was a very level-headed child, more interested in my school work than getting into any mischief. I can't remember even one time that I was struck by either one of my parents for any reason.

I had won an academic scholarship and, as a reward, they had rented an apartment for me that I shared with another engineering student, Josh Harrington. Josh and I could be described as lab geeks or even nerds, though he did like to party a little too much for my tastes, but that's how I met Barbara.

"Wait till you see this," he exclaimed as he rushed into our apartment one Friday after classes.

Ruby and Jade Get a Spanking
For over a year Lacey Hunter and Jimmy Stalks had been searching for the girls, with precious few leads. Oh, they'd had a call now and then from someone who'd said they'd seen them in a local mall, or sitting in a restaurant somewhere eating a burger, but when the detectives went to check it out, it was always a wild goose chase. Those girls were two tricky chicks!

Ruby Cochineal and Jade Greenly - or simply Ruby and Jade as they were better known by the media - had been on the lam since last May when they helped their boyfriends, Alex McNabb and Max Ripley, knock over a few local convenient stores. Since then, the robbing just seemed to get bigger and worse. Now the girls' parents were concerned about the safety of their daughters and desperately wanted them brought home.

Someone had apprised Mr. Cochineal that Hunter and Stalks would go to the ends of the earth to find who they were sent to locate. That's when the two sets of parents had called the duo to take the case. Hunter and Stalks had their own detective agency that kept them extremely busy. Unfortunately, this case was keeping them extra busy. It had been over a year now and they were still searching. They were determined to find the girls... dead or alive. Hopefully, alive!

Finally they had a break: a tip from a reliable source had told them that the girls might be in Rayville, Texas. Stalks and Hunter were on their way back to the office to meet with the parents at that very moment, to decide their next step.

Carmine and Scarlet Cochineal were already sitting in the outer office waiting when the two detectives walked in.

"Mr. and Mrs. Cochineal," Stalks acknowledged extending his hand in greeting.

"Stalks," Mr. Cochineal nodded, taking his hand.

"Are the Greenly's comin'?" Stalks asked as he opened the door leading into the office. "We may have some news for ya."

"We're here Stalks," Mr. Greenly called excitedly walking in behind his wife. "You said you've found them?"

Hunter rolled her eyes as she made sure there were places for everyone to sit. The office was small. The rent for one these spaces was horrendous. She and Stalks had opted for one of the smaller units seeing that they were hardly ever there in the first place, usually just for meetings such as the one they were having now.

"Nah," Stalks replied but didn't let the question dampen his spirits. They had worked too hard and long for that. "But we've got a very reliable source that says the girls might be in Reyville."

The two couples greeted each other and sat down. They were all eager to hear what Stalks had to say.

Stalks leaned on the side of his desk and crossed his arms as he looked from one hopeful face to the next. "Hunter and I are on our way to Reyville when we're done here."

Chapter 1
Ophelia Open stood in the hallway for the longest time. It smelled of wet newspaper and sawdust and the yellowing walls looked like they had not seen a lick of paint in years. The building was one of those New York brick affairs that had been grand enough back in 1896, but in the last 60 or so years had fallen on hard times. It wasn't exactly the kind of place that her ex-husband would usually have done business, but then when it came to Richard Open, nothing was exactly usual.

Ophelia eyed the battered wooden door and the chipped gold letters on the frosted glass. William Wendell Wentworth, Private Justice Adjustment Incorporated, it read. What by the stars was Justice Adjustment, private or otherwise? What kind of job was that? But she knew. She knew Richard. She had tried to tell Sophie that, but the foolish kid had gone on the lam.

"Listen, it is far better to just go and get this over with. Richard will find us in the end, he always does. Then it will be much worse," she had told her sister the day before.

"You're crazy, you just gonna let him spank you?" Sophie had gaped at her. "Didn't you have enough of that crap when you married the guy?"

"That was between us, and anyway I usually had it coming. Well almost always actually. I wasn't a saint you know," Ophelia countered.

"Yeah, well I am over twenty-one now and no-one is gonna spank me," Sophie spat back.

Sometimes her little sister could be such a brat.

"Listen hon," Ophelia remonstrated, "we played our hand and we lost. Sure it was a good idea of yours to stiff Richard on a couple of deals and make some extra dough, but I should have known he would get wise to us. Now let's just take our licks and call it quits."

"We were only getting what was due," Sophie had wailed.

Ophelia hadn't pointed out that Sophie had been owed nothing by Richard. In fact, given that his money had put her through college, she should have more respect.

"Richard has been more than generous with us. I had nothing when I married him and now I have an apartment and more than I could earn as an allowance. Admit it kid, we just got greedy," she had said.

"Yeah well I still ain't gonna let him spank me, so I am going to skip town for a while, it is you he wants to settle with, he'll soon get bored and forget about me," Sophie had sneered.

That had been only yesterday at the station. Ophelia hadn't even asked where Sophie's train was headed, but Richard would find out, stupid kid.

The tattered door hadn't gone away during her remembrances and still stood stark and hard to accuse her.

Christina grinned at the sight before her, a veritable meat market of succulent male flesh. Everywhere she looked there was the most delectable of men. Oh yeah, she needed this vacation. After yet another failed relationship, she just needed to get away. Her friends had thought her a little bonkers for zipping off by herself. Who goes on a cruise alone? Now, if it had been a singles' cruise that they could understand, but this wasn't, which was precisely why she'd gone on it. Here she could just relax, admire the 'slabs of beef', and if she felt like taking a taste, she could. If not, there was no pressure. It was what she needed. Oscar, her now-ex-boyfriend had been like all the rest: a boy. What was it about guys her age? They seemed one step removed from high school and about as mature as a twelve-year-old. Granted, at twenty-three she was no pillar of development, but at least she was over the whole bathroom humor and binge drinking of college.

So she just stretched out on a lounge chair by the pool, got well-greased up, and chilled out with a good book. The ship headed out into the Atlantic. She didn't even care what its first destination was or when they'd get there. Right now, her goal was a simple one: dangle her 'bait' and see if she got a nibble. If not, she didn't care. If she did, well, she'd see about a nice hook-up. If the guy looked halfway decent, why not? After all, it wasn't like she'd ever see him again. Lying there, reading (well, pretending to read), her eyes darted about. Oh yeah, plenty of the gents were checking her out. At under five feet, Christina had a firm build, golden blonde hair, and a bust line that made men drool.

Today she'd gone with her conservative bikini, meaning it actually covered her curvy ass and kept the twins from escaping. She'd learned that it was best to tease the men little by little. Give them a small sample to start, and then truly torment them with her body. It was working to perfection. She could see the eyes sliding up and down her supple frame, the men shifting in their seats as the blood rushed 'south of the border', and the women frowning. One guy did surprise her though. He took one look, turned away, and buried his face in his iPad.

Must be gay.

Later, as the sun approached the horizon, Christina sauntered on back to her cabin to change for dinner. She'd done good. Read two pages of her book, gotten hit on by ten guys, and only had to blow off three. By tomorrow, she'd be well on her way to her first hook up. For now, she was famished, and she quickly slipped into her basic khaki slacks and a nice blouse.

Boston, 1870.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth Jane Mayfield, you answer me right now, young lady, or I swear I'll take my hairbrush to your behind."

Libby sighed and stood up from the rug in front of the drawing room fire. She wasn't really hiding... more avoiding her mother. Chester, her mother's toy poodle, opened one lazy eye to see why he was no longer being stroked. "Sorry boy." She smiled softly, revealing straight white teeth. "But your mistress beckons me."

"Elizabeth, where are you?"

Her mother's tone was growing ever more impatient and Libby rushed out into the grand hallway before she really did earn herself a spanking. "I'm here, Mother."

The elegant Grace Mayfield descended the wide sweeping staircase, her turbulent expression at odds with her serene posture. "For goodness sake, look at you," she announced as her eyes critically took in Libby's grey woollen dress. "Doctor Kenton will be here in ten minutes and you look like a servant girl. Why aren't you wearing your blue velvet dress? I had Emily lay it out for you this morning."

After her morning bath, Libby had seen the heavy blue gown laid on the bed but had ignored it in favour of a soft woollen one. "This one is more comfortable," she replied honestly.

Grace Mayfield, even in her mid forties, was still an attractive woman. She had good bone structure, bright cornflower blue eyes and natural elegance. Unfortunately disapproval was now marring her beauty. "Comfortable?" her mother all but spat. "A lady never secured a marriage proposal by being comfortable. Now go upstairs and change at once." Libby shuddered at the very idea of being married to Doctor Arthur Kenton. Grace's frown melted into an encouraging smile. "I do believe he intends to pop the question this afternoon." Her frown returned. "But not if you are dressed like some scruffy little ragamuffin. And for heaven's sake, do something with your hair."

Self consciously, Libby twirled a strand of long blonde hair around her finger. She had inherited her mother's beauty but remained sweetly oblivious to it. "Mother, I'm not going to marry Doctor Kenton. I have told you this already. So whatever I'm wearing or whether or not he proposes, really doesn't matter."

Angry colour suffused Grace's high cheekbones. "And I have told you, young lady, that you'll do as I tell you and accept the good Doctor's proposal. The man is rich and a prominent member of Boston's high society. You will not get a better offer."

"But he's over fifty years old and he smells of tobacco and moth balls."

Grace shrugged. "His age is of little consequence. What is important is his ability to keep this household financially secure. You know how we are fixed since your father died. There is barely enough money left to pay the staff. If you do not marry well, we will be destitute before the year's end. Doctor Kenton comes from a premier family, he is a perfect catch."

Early one morning in May, Luke jogged along the stretch of golden sand close to the sea shore. He never tired of this part of the bay. The sun shone brightly, gold rays illuminating the sweep of sand and glinting on fossil-filled pools, bringing the promise of a glorious day. It was low tide, and at this hour the beach was deserted save for an old man and his dog, and a few noisy gulls comically bobbing up and down on the eddying waves.

Had any woman been watching, she would have found him a striking figure: tall - 6ft 4 - darkly handsome with the first flecks of silver grey gracing his temples, expressive chocolate-brown eyes with a deeply sensuous glint, and a physique that belied his forty years. His body was taut and muscular, with broad shoulders, powerful arms and steel thighs bronzed by the sun. He upped his pace, breaking into a run, moving effortlessly at speed with the grace of a jaguar. It was a good way to start the day. Invigorating. He loved it.

He ran for half a mile, his running shoes leaving indentations in the wet sand, slowing down slightly as he approached the curve of the bay. There was a little girl up ahead, splashing in the shallows, her dark hair worn in two short pig tails tied with pink ribbon. Her white shorts were stained with sand and sea water, and she wore a pink top the same shade as her hair ribbons. She appeared to be digging in the wet sand with a bright yellow spade, a matching yellow plastic bucket by her side.

Molly was having a wonderful time, even though the sea water was so cold it made her teeth chatter. She was digging for pretty shells, and had filled half her bucket with them. She added another cockle shell to her collection and shivered again. Turning round, she reached for her sweater - but it wasn't there, and neither were her sandals. Frowning, she got to her feet, looking to the left and the right, but there was no sign of them anywhere. She shivered again, glanced out to sea, and saw one pink sandal floating on the waves maybe eight metres away.

"Oh crap!" she muttered. They were her very best pair of designer sandals and she didn't want to lose them. Maybe the other one was out there too. She waded into the water, which soon covered her knees, then her thighs, and then reached her waist, little waves sloshing at her belly. Gasping with cold as the icy water bit into her bones, she struggled onwards, but it seemed the further she waded out, the further away the sandal became.

Molly could barely swim but she was determined to get that sandal. Submerging herself up to her chin, she launched forward in a parody of a dog paddle, sending sprays of water high into the air, most of which returned to land on her face.

Chapter 1 - The Hairdresser
Shallara lay back in the salon chair, relaxing as Ariella massaged her damp scalp. She had been letting Ariella do her hair for years now, and had developed a close friendship, one that bordered on the intimate. Sensuous, soft fingertips rhythmically massaged her hairline, moving ever so slowly down to her temples. Exotic oriental music played quietly in the background, and she felt herself drifting deeper and deeper. The wild flower scents from the shampoos seemed to overcome her senses: feminine, sensual and exotic.

She barely noticed that Ariella's voice seemed to be changing. The idle chatter had been replaced by something more focused, more directed. She felt voices in her head leading her through a maze of passages and arches, until she emerged into a sunny courtyard. Somewhere, deep inside, as she continued to drift off, she heard Ariella's gentle voice urging her to, "Sleep for me now."

The private courtyard was surrounded on all sides by a sandy-colored, flat-roofed building. Large arches and deep, shady verandas looked out onto the harsh sunlit area. A crystal clear pool dominated the center of the courtyard, with nubile women playfully splashing each other as they frolicked under the blazing sun. The eunuch leading Shallara was huge. He had baggy, white linen knee-length pantaloons, and a broad, red cloth sash crossed his chest, covering his pendulous male breasts, before wrapping around his huge waist. A red turban sat on his head; it had a large, red gem clip holding it together. He led Shallara to a padded table lying in the shade of exotic broad-leafed palms, and gently pressed her down and onto her back.

Her dream became even more sensual and erotic as she felt herself being prepared for her first night in the harem. Girls wearing bright silk skirts and tops massaged her, rubbing oils and lotions into her silky skin. Her nails were cleaned, polished and buffed; exfoliate was applied to her arms and legs, and vigorously rubbed off. Her skin felt clean and alive. Her hands and feet tingled, and a deep warmth suffused her breasts. Shallara felt her thighs being gently eased apart, and offering no resistance, she felt a cool, aromatic cream being applied to her pubis before the hair was gently scraped away; she knew that this was the way of the Sultan's harem.

But all too soon, it was over. Shallara seemed to snap back to reality as Ariella moved her chair upright, and began to blow dry her hair. Ariella's bubbly chatter had started again, and Shallara struggled to retain fragments of her dream as it started to fade rapidly into the past. Uncomfortable, she squirmed in the chair as she tried to reposition her skirt which seemed to have ridden too high up her thighs.

All too soon, Shallara had bid Ariella farewell, and arrived back in her apartment. She needed to use the bathroom, her panties were damp and gave off a telling, musty odor.

Abominable Mother-In-Law
Bradley Carter admired his reflection in the mirror. A tall, broad-shouldered, handsome man, grinned back at him, white teeth contrasting with tanned skin. "You've got it made, mate," he told himself.

It was true. Since he had married Emily Graf he had elevated his accommodation from a grubby one bedroom bachelor pad in an insalubrious area of the city, to a spacious four-bedroom detached house in the 'Millionaire Belt' to the west of the city. The house was luxury personified with landscaped gardens, a double garage, and an outdoor swimming pool. Emily had cleared his overdraft and other debts, opened up a joint current account, and provided him with a platinum credit card. Consequently, the new house was rapidly filling up with his latest acquisitions - designer suits and shoes, state-of-the-art home cinema, hi-fi, billiard table and two new electric guitars (why buy one when you can have two?). In the garage was a gleaming Lancia sports car and a set of golf clubs to go with his expensive annual membership to the local club. Yes, life was good. And it was all thanks to Emily.

At 25, Emily was seven years younger than he. She was an intelligent, bookish girl who was petite, shy, and sweet natured. She wasn't remotely pretty, but what the hell did that matter when she was filthy rich? She also adored him. Not so his mother-in-law, Gretchen.

At the thought of his mother-in-law, Bradley frowned. That woman was the one single blot on his ever expanding horizon. Gretchen and her parents emigrated from their native Germany in the 1960's as Gretchen's father had secured a high-ranking government job. He was surpassed in salary by Gretchen's mother who as a qualified barrister, earned considerable amounts of money. Gretchen followed her mother into the legal profession and owned a thriving law firm - the same firm that employed Emily as a solicitor. The Graf family were wealthy beyond measure.

Bradley had met Emily's parents early on in his relationship with their daughter, and he knew at once that they had hoped for someone better for their only daughter. His future father-in-law, Otto, had asked some searching questions concerning Bradley's financial affairs and career prospects. Unfortunately, Bradley lied in his responses - a fact that was easily spotted by Gretchen Graf.

Gretchen was a statuesque woman with blonde hair and cool grey eyes. Those eyes darkened to hard slate when she looked at him.

"So, Bradley - you are an accountant? That is a very noble profession. When did you qualify?"

"Oh, um ... last year," said Bradley.

"And where did you study?"

"Cambridge," lied Bradley.

"I see. Which college?"

"Erm ... do you know, Mrs Graf - I can't quite remember. This wine has quite a kick to it, doesn't it?" He gulped down a few more mouthfuls and tried not to panic.

Alex wasn't known for being punctual, but this afternoon he made sure he was at the gym five minutes early. Today was the last day of tryouts, which meant he had to make damn sure he was on top of his game. For the millionth time, he cursed himself for procrastinating this long; now that time was running out, he was dangerously low on options... and the ones that were left didn't exactly play to his strengths. Sadly, aside from hiking and bike-riding, he wasn't too much of an athlete. He just hoped to god that he was enough of one to make the team.

The nineteen-year-old college freshman had gotten himself into a bit of a pickle. Due to his impressive grades and exemplary citizenship in high school, the institution was willing to waive 75% of his tuition... on two conditions. The first was that he maintain a Grade Point Average of 3.5 or higher - no problem. The second was that he participate in at least two official extracurricular clubs or activities per semester, one of which had to be a competitive, intramural event. This shouldn't have been a problem either, had he not listened to the drunken frat boys who assured him that there were always plenty of open slots and that he shouldn't hurry.

"Alex?" A female voice came from behind him. "Hi!"

Alex turned to see Jill striding up to the gym. Jill's was a very distinctive appearance. She was the tallest woman Alex had ever met, her 6'2" frame giving her four inches over himself, along with almost everyone else. Hell, she was probably one of the tallest people he had met. With her blue eyes and long, platinum blonde hair, Alex thought she looked like a Valkyrie out of some Norse opera. The first thing he had said to her, when they'd met in Classics last week, was, "Hello, I'm Alex. You're really tall." Jill had blushed and shaken her head at him, but she didn't seem to take it in a bad way. She had continued sitting next to him, and usually provided conversation on the way out of the building.

"Oh, hey there!" Alex replied as she came up to the door. "Here for paddling tryouts?"

She shook her head. "I'm already on the team. It's, like, my favorite sport."

She smiled broadly. Jill had this wide, full-cheeked grin and freckled girlish face that looked almost out of place on her stature. Alex smiled back.

"I used to be pretty good back in middle school," he said, recalling his sea-kayak trips around Puget Sound, "but... uh... it has kinda been awhile."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure you'll do fine." She sounded like she meant it, which honestly confused Alex a bit; his arms were not exactly bulging. "You want to work together?"

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Together? They don't have the new people together for tryouts?"

Grandmother's Bed
What a house it was! Nooks and chimneys, brick, wood and tile, rambling up and along, part Stuart, bits of the eighteenth century, bits of the nineteenth century, a house to love and cherish, and it was all hers. Yes it was all her house. Only twenty three years old and the proud owner of a house to die for. No money mind, no dosh, no spondulas, no ackers, shekels, shillings, groats and a credit limit of just a couple of grand. But who cares when they own a house like that.

Grandmother had left the house to her only grandchild. Her children didn't need the money, they were all smug, self-satisfied and successful, pompous, opinionated and overbearing. She certainly wasn't going to leave her house to that lot, but Sally was a lovely girl, head screwed firmly on and very loving. She had known that Sally had no money, but she trusted the girl would find a way to keep the house going for Sally loved the house as well as her grandmother.

One caveat though, one warning was carefully written down in her neat, beautifully precise script, written in violet ink with the fountain pen her father had given her so many years ago. It read, "Sally, I really cannot explain my reasons, but I place a stricture on your ownership of the house. Under no circumstances must you sleep on the bed in the Blue Room."

The Blue Room was in the oldest part of the house; it was large with a subtly sloping floor and polished oak floorboards far wider than anything modern would possess. The walls were the original and painted in the most gentle of egg-blue. The small latticed window was only a short distance above the ground because the room below was partly set into the rising ground. It was a beautiful room, a room that took the breath away, a room to linger in, inviting vases of flowers, open windows and the buzzing of bees on a summer day.

Against one wall and facing the window was a huge bed. It was an oak four-poster with an enclosed roof to it with blue grey curtains and a pelmet for the three sides. The backboard went right up to the roof of the bed, and was richly carved as were the front posts. The whole thing spoke of history: of deflowering and affairs; of deaths and births; whispered secrets and servants eavesdropping; conspiracies and kings. In short, it was a bed inextricably linked to the house for there was no way it could ever leave through the small window or even the door. It must have been made for, and in, this very room, or at least its final assembly stages.

Sally was utterly bewildered by this stricture, and at a loss as to why there should be a ban on sleeping in such a wonderful bed.