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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Vacation," she said, licking her lips.

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

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

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

"You mean am I seeing anyone?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kelly-Ann's Request
My name is Tom. I'm 35 years-old. Like most men my age I've been around the block a few times with the fairer sex: high school, college, a five year stint in the navy. I finally settled into a fairly conventional career in the telecommunications industry. I had at various times during that journey shared my life with a number of women of different types, some on a long term basis, some short; and like most men probably, I was actually naive enough to think that after all that, women couldn't surprise me anymore. That's when Kelly-Ann Flynn came into my life.

We met during a party at the house of a mutual friend and clicked from the first moment. It was one of those rare times when the conversation was so engaging that I didn't really start to notice her looks until we were well into our talk. Six years my junior she was of average height with beautiful red hair worn in a shoulder-length bob. She had fair skin and green eyes and she was just a little plump for her frame, but it was arranged quite nicely - 'all buns and boobs', to use her own words. That was a typical female exaggeration of course. The overall effect was very pleasing to the eye. Well, to the male eye anyway.

We started dating. Things went well as the relationship progressed through the usual stages. We learned all about each other. The mundane things. She was from a large Irish-American family - four brothers, three sisters, she was the next to youngest. Eventually the intimate subjects were discussed, all of our little secrets, or so I thought at the time.

Before I knew it, five months had gone by and things couldn't be better. We had survived our first out of town trip together, a big milestone for any couple. 'I love you' was regularly exchanged. Sleepovers were now common, usually at my place where a number of feminine products had taken up residence in my bathroom. Not that I was complaining. She really was one heck of a girl. I'm not just talking about the physical stuff either, though like so many apple pie, wholesome, girl next door types, she was a real tiger in the sack.

No, the thing I really love about Kelly-Ann is that she has heart. Do you know what that means, heart? It means she would rather die than let down a friend in need. It means that she won't back down when she's sure that she's right. It means she would move heaven and earth to keep a commitment. It means that no matter how outmatched she might be she's always in there swinging with everything she's got.

I like heart. Heart is important. I stress that point because I want you all to understand that Kelly-Ann is not some simpering, mush-pot of a girl who wants the man in her life to make all of her decisions for her and tell her what to do.

Part 1: The Preliminaries
Elizabeth Lane appeared to have everything. She was tall, slim and very attractive but without the false 'beauty queen' look. At school she had excelled at everything she did. She was very bright and had no difficulty whatsoever in gaining the necessary qualifications to enable her to go to Oxford University. At games she was always in the first team and she had ended up as Head Girl. In that role she had been popular but no push-over and it would have been difficult to find any teacher or school colleague who had a bad word to say about her.

If there was anything that the staff at her school or her parents worried about at all it was possibly that her single-mindedness in achieving objectives might be a problem if she came across something that she could not achieve. That was a minor worry, however, and not one that had been tested as yet.

She left school in 1968 and going up to Oxford, having sailed through the entrance procedures, she took to the environment with apparent ease achieving a first-class honours degree while finding time to take part in drama and choral singing and make a large number of friends, although few who might be described as close. When she left University it was to take up a job in the civil service and she was one of a number who were placed on a 'fast track' which should lead them to the upper echelons of the service if all went well. Nobody expected anything other than that Elizabeth would reach those echelons quicker than most.

Over the next few years nothing happened to suggest that all of these expectations might be too high and when our story opens Elizabeth was assistant to an Alan Smith, a departmental head in the Foreign Office. One morning, after she had briefed her Head of Department about a particular project in which she was involved, he spoke to her about something else.

"By the way Elizabeth I should tell you that you have come to Sir John's attention. He would like to meet you."

Elizabeth's heart flipped a little at that. Sir John Shrewsbury was the Head of the whole division of the Foreign Office in which she worked and was regarded as something akin to God by those in the individual departments.

"He has heard good things about you and always likes to meet potential high fliers early in their careers, Elizabeth. What usually happens is that he will have lunch with you. I expect his secretary will be in touch shortly. Let me know when she does and I will make sure that you are free. Sir John's lunches can go on a bit on these occasions!"

In fact it was the next day when she received a telephone call from a lady with a cut-glass accent who enquired 'if she would be available to have lunch with Sir John Shrewsbury this coming Friday?'

Office Discipline
Marcia Greenwood detested the last Friday of the month and had good reason to loathe this one especially. She was employed as an assistant personnel manager for an airline and was based at their office in Berkshire, where she had worked for about five years. She was thirty years of age and happily married. Her job with the airline was only her second after university. She had been previously employed in a similar capacity by a national high street retailer. It was there that she further studied for and passed her personnel management diplomas. The fringe benefits of working for a major airline were what enticed her away from her previous position.

The personnel department at her current position was large - unsurprising given the number of employees. There were a number of specialist personnel managers responsible for specific elements of the business, such as cabin grew, flight crew and ground crew to name but three. Marcia's role was at the centre of the organisation. She was responsible for managing overall sickness absences, recruitment of general staff (not flight or cabin crew) and managing the organisation's disciplinary system. This necessitated arranging disciplinary hearings and advising on procedure and company regulations and current employment law. She was also required to record and monitor employee misconduct.

The airline had a staff handbook that was issued to each member of staff on appointment. This clearly defined expected and acceptable standards of conduct. Behaviour defined as gross misconduct necessitated formal disciplinary procedures: investigation, disciplinary hearing, and outcome/award and followed by any appeal process. Lesser acts of misconduct were usually dealt with by a system of demerit marks. Each equated successively to a verbal warning, written warning and final written warning. Each demerit had a shelf life of eighteen months. A fourth demerit within this period resulted in a referral to the Personnel Director on the last Friday of the month at the head office. Marcia was responsible for managing this. It was complicated by the nature of the business and the need to interrupt and rearrange work schedules. It required much patience and liaison with other managers.

These appointments with the Personnel Director were formal affairs. Referred employees were required to attend smartly dressed and in full dress uniform if this was appropriate to the grade of the staff member. On these occasions the Personnel Director verbally reprimanded attending personnel and offered a choice of dismissal or the option. The option consisted of a painful caning applied to the employee's bottom. Most employees chose the option, informally referred to as a gating, as it was accepted as better than an uncertain future following dismissal.

It was Marcia's duty to record all demerits and disciplinary hearing awards. Managers reported demerits via email. Occasionally, employees found guilty of gross misconduct were offered the option as an alternative to dismissal but such awards were exceptional.

The Apartment
Chad caught his breath as Eileen emerged from the tiny bathroom. She was wearing an old gray tee and when she bent near the bed to turn off the light, the tail raised just enough to expose the full lower curves of her ass. The glimpse of white panty snuggled deep between the round cheeks aroused him in an instant.

"Freeze!" he shouted, and she froze, eyes wide with alarm.

"What is it? Don't tell me there's another cockroach, I can't-"

"Quiet, you disobedient wench!"

Eileen gasped and began to giggle. She was still giggling as Chad's powerful palm connected with her right butt-cheek with a deafening wallop. Then she yelped. Her cries increased when he smacked her left cheek, and then her right.

"Oooh! Ow! Oh, that hurts," she said, grinning.

"You've been a bad girl, haven't you," he growled in her ear. He was leaning against her, feeling the warmth of her full, womanly body.

"Please don't spank me, sir! I'll be good, I swear I'll be a good girl!"

"It's too late for that. You're going to get just what you deserve!"

In a flash Chad had his wife across his lap, the shirt raised, the skimpy panties pulled down to expose her lovely bared buttocks. "Beautiful," he murmured, as she wiggled the big round cheeks in delight.

"Not too hard," she cooed. "I've got an interview tomorrow."

Chad laughed. "I've got to baptize our new apartment with a sound spanking, my dear, and your gorgeous bottom has been elected!"

Just as he raised his hand, preparing for a happy deluge of swats, there came a clear thumping sound from the north wall. A voice cried out, "Keep it quiet over there! People are trying to sleep."

Eileen whispered, "Is he talking about us?

"I don't think so. How can he even hear us?"

"I can hear you just fine, you morons," came the voice. "These walls are made of paper!"

"Shit!" gasped Eileen, her face the color of a beet. When she noticed Chad's hand still prepared for a smack, she quickly stood, shaking her head. "We can't!" she hissed. "Too noisy!"

Chad cursed, amusing himself with a playful bum rub instead, but it wasn't the same. Eileen was too self-conscious even for sex after that, and the mood was gone. She lay awake trying to remember who lived in 6B. Was that the gray-haired old man and his wife or the young Asian couple? She was mortified to think whoever it was had overheard her spanking. Maybe the sounds had been muffled and they hadn't realized what was going on. It had, after all, only been a few swats.

The next day, Chad put his ear to the wall and confirmed the awful reality: their new apartment building had no privacy. They could hear everything their neighbors to the north and south were doing, from showering to watching TV to intimate conversations.

Prologue
"Sheriff, thar's a ruckas at the hotel."

The sheriff frowned, he had calmed the town down considerably since he'd taken the job; bad elements had been cleared out and the town worthies were eager to continue that trend. They wanted it to be a place attractive to women and families. The pioneering days were gone; time to become respectable.

He strode across the road, newly made up so that in rainy weather it wasn't a mud bath which no lady could cross, and quizzed his informant as he went. It seemed a man had a woman confined in a room, and there was shouting. Someone thought they'd overheard the woman threatening to shoot the man, behavior the town worthies definitely didn't want. The owner, Bob Giles, was waiting anxiously in the lobby for his arrival, and he was led upstairs to the door of what was undoubtedly the best room.

There was indeed a loud and passionate argument going on, and he could hear in her voice that the woman had been crying. He banged the door loudly.

"Sheriff here, open up."

The argument was silenced, suddenly the door was flung wide open and an angry man waved him in.

"Come in Sheriff, perhaps you can talk some sense into her very stubborn head."


Chapter 1
"No Grandfather, I will not marry Mr. Monroe."

"Ellen, you will do as you're told. You are only eighteen and I make these decisions. Mr. Monroe is a highly respected and wealthy businessman. It will be a good match."

"Mr. Monroe is in his forties!"

Her grandfather snorted. "A perfect age. He will not be led astray, not with a beautiful young wife at home. Now that is an end to it. You will begin to prepare for your wedding day."

Ellen faked a solicitous manner. "Grandfather, your hearing is not beginning to go is it?"

"What do you mean, girl?"

"I said that I would not marry Mr. Monroe."

"Damn you, girl. I'll take a switch to you for your impertinence! You will damned well do as you're told! You'll marry Hector Monroe if I have to drag you down the aisle myself."

"You'll naturally want a society wedding, Grandfather."

Her grandfather eyed her suspiciously. The wretched girl suddenly seemed very docile. "Of course, all the best people must be there. The union of our two families will be an important event."

"I expect you will want the cathedral, Grandfather?"

"Of course."

"Picture me standing next to Mr. Monroe, all the 'greatest and good' of the city present. The minister will turn to me and say, 'Do you Ellen Mary Standish take Hector Monroe to be your lawful wedded husband?' or words to that effect. And I will say, 'no I don't, I am being bullied into this by my grandfather.'"

Her grandfather slammed his fists down onto his desk and rose abruptly to his feet, his face purple with rage.