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Assembly Caning
Every school-day at Langtree Hill School began with an assembly in the hall. Today was no different. The schoolgirls filed in, class by class, the more senior girls sitting on the long wooden benches that ran across the back of the hall and the younger girls on the benches at the front, nearest the stage.

The teachers, too, had their assigned places; most sat on chairs on the stage arranged around the large desk, behind which the headmistress sat. Normally, apart from a few books and papers with the headmistress's notes, there was nothing on the desk. Today, however, a straight length of kooboo rattan, thirty four inches long - the senior school cane - was lying there.

None of the schoolgirls, apart perhaps from one fifth form girl, noticed it there against the shiny brown surface of the desk top. In addition to the teachers on stage, two teachers each day, chosen by rota, stood in the aisles on either side of the hall, assisting in keeping order.

Assembly and morning prayers were treated seriously at Langtree Hill, and girls who were caught talking or even whispering in assembly were more often than not sent out of the hall immediately to stand in the vestibule, below the school clock. There, after an unpleasant wait of several minutes until all the other girls were back in their classrooms, they would find themselves having to lean forwards, their blue school skirts tautening across their rears, to receive one or two smart slaps from a plimsoll, delivered by a senior teacher or by Mrs Cornwall, the headmistress, herself.

Today, as the girls of 5A took their places, Maria Hunt seemed reluctant to sit down. She hovered in the aisle as the others sat down and then signed to Emma Richardson to budge up along the bench a bit, so she could sit at the end. Emma thought it odd, but quickly obliged. Maria had looked rather agitated throughout registration, she remembered, and hadn't said a word to anyone.

Now that all the girls were sitting down, the headmistress made her entrance. The girls, and all of the teachers, stood up once again as she made her way behind the large desk and sat down. Everyone, except the two teachers in the aisles, now sat down again, and the assembly commenced as always with Miss Bowler playing the piano and the singing of hymns.

Nothing unusual or out of the way took place until Mrs Cornwall rose to make the announcements. These were normally rather tedious and most of the listening girls were preparing to be bored. Some of the more perceptive, though, had spotted odd expressions on some of the members of staff on the stage and wondered if something was up. Maria Hunt, unfortunately for her, had all too good an idea of what was to come.

"I am sorry to have to tell you, girls," the headmistress began, "that one of you has let herself and all of you down.

Chapter One
When Rodrigo Cantrell opened his bloodshot eyes, the first thing he saw was the clear blue sky yawning above him like an immense and empty canyon, like Heaven was opening its pearl-studded gates just for him. Then, when a gush of cold sea water washed over his face, stinging his cracked skin, he knew he was still alive, that he wasn't gazing upward at Heaven. Slowly and painfully, he raised himself up into a sitting position and shifted his gaze to the horizon, now wondering what had awakened him and, more importantly, where exactly he was. The makeshift raft upon which he had been drifting was now banging against some rocks on a jagged, deserted coastline. He had been saved from the sea.

However, his jubilation over being alive was tempered as he realized he had no idea where he was or how long he had been drifting. He remembered that he had been a passenger aboard the Spanish barque, La Clava, out of Barcelona bound for Minorca in the Balearic Islands. He remembered that the small sailing vessel floundered in a sudden storm. He was washed overboard just as the ship was breaking apart and managed to climb onto a piece of the deck. He remembered very little after that.

Rodrigo gathered what little strength he had left and slid away from the planking that had served as his lifeboat. He staggered for a moment as his legs, already very weak, tried to remember what solid ground felt like. In the distance, perhaps fifty feet away was a stream bubbling over rocks - fresh water. His thirst was overwhelming and, like a desperate horse nearing a pool in the desert, he stumbled toward the stream, now oblivious to anything else around him. When he reached it, he kneeled down and stuck his whole face in the cool, running water. He drank steadily for nearly a minute.

Once his thirst was momentarily satisfied, his still disjointed thoughts turned again to where he was. They had been too far from the Spanish coast for him to have drifted back. Therefore, he reasoned, he must be on one of the many islands in the Balearic chain. But which one? It didn't look big enough to be Ibiza. To the north were only trees and small hills; to the south was the brilliant Mediterranean. A few birds flew overhead. He didn't recognize the species. Only one way to find out where I am, he told himself as he turned toward the north.

He walked slowly and wearily along the stream, heading progressively more inland; however, after less than fifty yards, fatigue and hunger began to overtake him. He stumbled over several rocks along the bank and fell on his side into a small grassy meadow. There he lost consciousness.

Rodrigo awoke to low voices around him and a soft hand upon his face. He opened his eyes and was immediately confronted by the sight of four young women clothed in ragged ankle length dresses standing over him, concerned looks etched on their unmarked faces.

1. Starting Summertime Spankings at 13
On June 10th of my 13th year, I decided to act.

Summer vacation had just started for me the week before.

Mom went to work that morning, but Ryan - he's my step-dad - worked on his computer out of his office at home. Ryan's got this really cool job. He makes a lot more money than Mom and he doesn't even have to go to work! Ryan sort of keeps an eye on me during summer vacation, but he's pretty laid back.

"Ryan?" I asked awkwardly. "Can I talk to you about something?"

My step-dad looked up from his computer screen and smiled. "Sure, Gracie, what's up?"

I hate when he calls me 'Gracie', but I had a favor to ask. So I let it slide.

"I was just thinking," I began, not really sure where the conversation would take me, "now that I'm a teenager and all, maybe we could change some of the rules around here."

I mean, my 13th birthday was three weeks ago, so that makes me a legal teenager, right?

"Have you talked to your mother about this?" he asked, reaching out to pull me down to sit on his lap.

---oOo---
Ryan became my step-dad when I was 11, but I felt close to him, even from the start.

Maybe that's because my real dad left when I was five.

Ryan's the only dad I've really known.

And besides, my step-dad's kind of mellow, which makes it weird that he married Mom.

My mother is totally hyper and an emotional bitch on top of that.

But I've never understood why parents end up with each other.

---oOo---
"No, I can't talk to Mom just yet," I replied. "I kind of need your help. You know that boy? Mark Hainsworth? From down the street?"

"The one you've been pining over ever since he moved in?" Ryan laughed, squeezing my shoulders. "What about him?"

"Well, he finally introduced me to his Mom and dad. They're kind of - well - Christians. I mean, really REALLY Christian. Crosses all over the house. They sort of have this set of rules on the wall."

"I see," Ryan replied, noncommittal.

"And they've even got this big blue paddle hanging right there in the family room where everybody can see it," I continued, my words poring our faster now. "And you know what?"

He smiled and shrugged.

"They STILL spank Mark with that blue paddle, right on the bare behind!" I exclaimed. "I couldn't believe it when he told me. But his mom says it's true. You know, Mark's almost 15."

"Some Christians are like that," Ryan agreed. "But what's that got to do with us?"

"Well, I sort of told them that my mom's not strict at all," I said, looking away. "So you handle the discipline."

Kansas, 1875

Annabelle gazed out of the window as the steam train rumbled along the tracks, blowing out plumes of smoke as the carriages rocked and swayed rhythmically. It had been a long journey from Boston and she was exhausted, but at last she was approaching her destination, and as the grey light of dawn brightened and trails of vibrant pink flooded the morning sky, the conductor moved down the train, making his announcement.

"Next stop, Dodge City," he called. "Dodge City, next stop."

His announcement galvanised the passengers into action, many of them rising from their seats to gather their belongings. Annabelle followed suit, glad to be free of the hard seat and stretch her legs. Ten minutes later, the shrill steam whistle sounded and the big locomotive sighed and hissed as it chugged to a halt; countless people stepped out of the dark maroon carriages onto the station platform.

Annabelle alighted with the others, clutching the two bags that contained all her worldly possessions. The station was teeming with people, and the general hubbub made her head spin. It was all so overwhelming.

Tentatively she moved forward through the jostling throng and made her way to the exit. Once out of the station, she gazed at the unfamiliar streets. Even at this early hour there were plenty of people milling around, and tantalising smells of breakfast and coffee emanating from various eating establishments nearby. Her stomach growled a protest as she passed by a crowded rail road diner; her frugal supper of soup in the dining car of the train seemed an eternity ago, but after buying her ticket in Boston, she had precious little money left.

She wandered down the street, wondering how to find her way from here to Uncle Jacob's ranch. Her stomach twisted apprehensively at the thought of her uncle, and she once again reflected how the relatives she had never met would react to her turning up unannounced. Fighting down a rising tide of panic, she stepped through the open doorway of a side street café. A large woman behind the counter smiled at her.

"Good morning," she greeted in a German accent. "Would you like breakfast?"

"Good morning ... can I just have a cup of coffee please?"

"Of course. Please ... sit. I'll bring it to you."

Annabelle took a seat by the window and gratefully accepted the coffee. It was rich and dark and warming.

"Are you sure I can't get you anything else?" the German lady asked, noticing the girl's pinched face.

"Quite sure. Thank you."

The German lady nodded and bustled around wiping down the tables. "You have just arrived, ja?" she asked conversationally.

"That's right. From Boston."

"That's a fair distance you've travelled. You must be tired."

Annabelle nodded. "Yes, and I still have some way to go."

"Where are you headed?"

"Windy Creek ranch. Do you know it?"

"I have heard of it, ja."

"Oh - is it far?"

The big woman laughed.

Rob Gains a Mother
Rob sat in the bathtub listening to his step-mom of the past eighteen years work around the house. She had adopted him before he was two, so in actual fact she was the only mother he knew, but their relationship had not got off to a good start. By the time he was eight he openly rebelled at doing anything she wanted and had paid the price with a sore butt from his father many times since. He called her Mother, but it was in name only.

Spankings from his dad made little difference to his attitude toward Rose, and up to the day he had left home for college two years previously, the two had fought constantly. He was home for the summer, and his job did not start until the following week so he had a lot of time to spend at home. The only trouble was that Rose was also home, and from the moment he'd arrived the bickering had started over again.

Things were bad and would have stayed that way for the entire summer if Rob had not discovered what he did. His suspicions were aroused when he gave his father the bill for next year's tuition, and his dad had turned away from him. Rob could see his dad's face had turned white. After a few seconds his dad said he would look after the bill, but Rob did some checking and found his father's company was close to being bankrupt. It was when he was checking his father's home office that he found something else that surprised him.

He stumbled onto Rose's bank accounts and found she had paid his last two years tuition and all his monthly allowances had come from her. He saw the explanation for the newest cheque still in the system was exactly the amount of his next year's tuition. Not that Rose could not afford it - she could have paid for fifty years and still have had cash in the bank, but the fact she paid and never said one word to Rob all that time gave him a view of her he had never had before.

Rob sat in the bathtub wondering why his step-mom would do such a thing. He could not afford to pay the tuition fees himself and would have to drop out if the money was not available. The question in Rob's mind was what to do now? He could not tell his father he had snooped through his business files, not if he wanted to live at home the rest of the summer. He could not tell Rose he knew she was paying his college bills, as he had no right to look at her bank statements.

At the same time, he knew he had to do something or else feel very guilty about his behaviour over the past ten or more years.

1. Monday
I awoke groggily with a disconcerted feeling. The lacy pink bed cover was not mine, nor was the bookshelf of porcelain unicorn miniatures above my head. I sat up with mild curiosity, wondering who I'd come home with, but then I remembered: this was Grandma Eden's guest room. I was back home in Dornbrook.

I couldn't remember much from the previous night, or even the previous week for that matter. Between cramming for finals and celebrating my graduation with the gang at the Lucky Dragon, I hadn't slept more than a dozen hours in the past one hundred and fifty. The train had come in after midnight and to judge from the afternoon light streaming into the room, I had been dead to the world for most of the day. I still felt like hell but the idea of slugging in bed for much longer sounded like even worse torture. I stumbled from bed into the bathroom, relieved myself, and took a quick hot shower.

Grandma Eden was setting out the tea things when I emerged, dressed and somewhat alert.

"Marty! You're awake!"

"Good afternoon, Grams. Thanks for letting me sleep in. I was beat."

She laughed, her voice amusingly girlish for one pushing seventy. "I didn't have much choice! I knocked several times but you were dead as a log."

"Sorry. I haven't had much time for sleeping lately."

"Sit, and I'll get you some breakfast."

I was famished and obeyed, quickly absorbing a mountain of hot buttered scones with honey, coffee instead of tea, deviled ham sandwiches, and fried eggs with bacon. I felt like a real person again when I finished and decided I'd go for a walk in the fresh air. It was a lovely day, warm and bright, and I was restless after weeks of studying.

It was great to be home. When I'd lived in Dornbrook I'd thought the little town quaint and old-fashioned and couldn't wait to be off to university, but having been away for a while, I realized there was much to like about the peaceful place. It still wasn't the sort of place for me to permanently settle in, but it was a nice change of pace for a visit.

I traveled up Gravely Street to the top of Dorrill Hill with its beautiful view of the surrounding countryside. I noticed that even Dornbrook hadn't escaped change: there was a new housing development out on the west side and a new collection of stores just off Route 13.

"Marty Reece? Marvel's boy?"

I turned at the voice and vaguely recognized the dowdy woman in the doorway of the small brick cottage. She was Mrs. Lun-something, I thought.

"Yes ma'am, that's me. Just here visiting, staying with Grandma Eden."

"Weren't you in school?"

"All done, ma'am. I got my diploma two days ago."

The Lesson
Elmhurst Academy was a private high school dedicated to high standards in education. The founder had come to the U.S. from England and, discovering the public education system did not meet his requirements for his own sons, he had established the institution in the traditions of a strict English boys' school. But after the elder gentleman's passing, the school had gradually become a bit more modern and liberal. It had become co-ed and now the faculty and Board of Directors, as well as the student body was an almost equal mix of genders.

One thing had not changed: students were expected to be well-behaved and respectful. And no student was admitted unless his or her parents gave permission for that expectation to be enforced with a cane, strap, or paddle on the backside of the errant pupil.

But now there was a new development. The school year had just started when the aging headmaster, who had occupied his position for many years, was suddenly forced into retirement due to health problems. And when the Board of Directors needed to quickly select a replacement, the most qualified candidate was a much younger educator. But though only twenty-eight years old, the applicant had a PhD in Education, stellar references, and an excellent record during the past two years as assistant principal at another high school. Her name was Miss Karen Wood.

A couple of the older men on the board were concerned about choosing a woman. As administrator, it would be her duty to administer corporal punishment to the male students as well as the girls and that might be a problem, they said. The women on the board stifled that sexist objection, pointing out that the headmaster had been punishing the girls as well as the boys ever since the school became co-ed; so what was the problem? A woman could swing a cane just as well as a man and if those who raised the objection had any doubt of it, they would be happy to provide a personal demonstration.

The school was abuzz with rumors. It was said the headmaster was going to be replaced by a woman. And a young woman at that! The girls were ecstatic. They felt they had been discriminated against and would have someone more on their side. The boys had mixed emotions. Some thought it would be great. Others weren't so sure. On the morning the new administrator was scheduled to arrive, several of the senior boys were standing outside when they saw a car they didn't recognize pull into the headmaster's parking space. They stared in amazement as the occupant got out.

"Oh, My God!"

"That can't be her! Can it?"

"No way! She's not old enough."

"She is fucking gorgeous!"

"Are you sure that's not a new student? Maybe she just parked in the wrong place."

"THAT'S the new headmaster!?

Old Faithful
"Hold it right there, young lady!"

Allison Conway froze in shock, eyes swiveling towards the kitchen door. A cold finger ran the length of her spine. She knew that tone, recognized the naked anger in her father's voice. It was a tone she had come to fear over the years, one she'd learnt to treat with the utmost respect. Her pulse leapt into overdrive as the adrenalin hit her bloodstream. She'd been caught sneaking in through the back door, and now she was in trouble.

Literally breathless with surprise, Allison turned to face the tall, brooding figure looming in the doorway. Jason Conway stood with his hands planted firmly on his hips, face simmering with rage and relief. Relief because his wayward daughter had finally arrived home; rage because it was two-thirty in the morning. He loomed in the doorway, staring down at her in slow-burning contempt.

"Where have you been?" Jason demanded, his words slicing the air like a razor. Allison flinched like a frightened child, her mind whirling with panic. Jason wasn't just angry. He was utterly furious. His eyes glittered with emerald fire, and his mouth was a taut red line.

Allison could almost feel the heat radiating off him in blistering waves. She wavered before that scalding gaze, frantically searching for an excuse, an escape route, some pretext by which she could evade imminent justice. Nothing much came to mind.

She'd been caught red-handed, after all. All her lies and schemes and covert little deceptions had come to nothing: Jason had snared her with an almost dismissive ease, laying the trap with the confidence of long experience. What had she been thinking, creeping through the kitchen like some rank amateur? Jason Conway was a predator, patrolling his territory like a hungry barracuda. Allie had seriously under-estimated her Father's considerable intellect, and now the mistake was going to cost her. Dearly.

"I assume you realize what time it is," Jason said, striding into the kitchen with a menacing, determined step. "I've had the police out looking for you since midnight, Allie!"

"The police?!" Allison cried, her voice high and thin, "Daddy, you didn't -"

"Yes I did. They weren't terribly impressed - and neither was I. I've warned you before about your curfew. Ten-thirty by the latest - no exceptions." He halted two paces from the girl, his lean, pantherish figure framed in a rectangle of fluorescent light. His glare could have felled a Minnesota Bull.

Allison wilted in open dread, knowing what was coming next. "B-but it w-wasn't my fault, Daddy", she stammered, falling back from that livid, unforgiving gaze, "I just d-didn't -"

"I don't care what your story is, young lady!" Jason cut her off, voice rising by at least two decibels. "If you're late, you call home! That's the rule, Allie - and you know it." Which was true.

The Performance Review
by Luna Austin
I didn't hear my boss come up behind me as I stacked my edited performance review on top of my outbox.

"Ruby, it's time for your performance review." He noticed the copy on my desk. "What's this doing here?" he frowned. "Employees aren't supposed to see these until the one-on-ones."

I shrugged, not wanting to give myself away.

"I'll be taking this." He swiped the paper from the pile.

"I could just shred it," I offered, holding out my hand for it. "It's probably an extra."

"Perhaps. But I'll keep it for now, I want to check something. Come with me."

I trailed behind my boss, a well-muscled man who clearly spent a good amount of his non-working hours at the gym. He closed the office door for privacy and told me to sit down.

"I don't know if you're aware of this, Ruby, but when I first get the reviews, I scan them into each employee's file before sending the whole lot to be shredded. Which means this," he tapped on the sheet he'd removed from the inbox, "should not exist."

I paled a little. But nothing was proven. I'd keep my mouth shut.

"Now, it could be a simple mistake. I'm not sure how it would have ended up in your outbox in that case, but I'll get to that later. For now, let's see if it was a mistake. If it was, there shouldn't be a scanned copy in your file." His eyes never once left my face, and I could tell he was watching for any hint of guilt. I wasn't any good at hiding my emotions, and I knew it. I was screwed. A few swift clicks had my file open, and sure enough, the original performance review document was there.

"Okay, Ruby," he said, voice steady but with a hint of anger behind his eyes. "How far did you go?" His eyes flipped between the scanned copy and the paper one in front of him. "I see you modified your scores."

"Just a little!" I burst out, then covered my mouth as I realized I'd admitted I'd messed with the document.

"That is irrelevant at this point, Miss." I fell silent.

"How did you get the original copy?"

"I... I..."

"They never leave my office after they are scanned in one piece. Which means you, or someone else, came in here and got it for you." I didn't want anyone else to come down with me, if I was going down, which seemed inevitable.

"It was me," I confessed.

"And you are towards the end of the alphabet. This means to get to your review, you had to look through most everyone else's review. Invasion of privacy." He leaned forward, and almost simultaneously, I leaned back.

Chapter One
Sheena was in a tough spot. She was high in the air, muscles straining, and she was staring at the ground below her. Sheena was essentially wedged between two crumbling buildings in the worst slum of Regina City. Were it not for her predicament, she might find that almost amusing. Regina City was named for the planet's former queen and was supposed to be the best of the best. Well, it appeared not everyone got the memo on that. Large sections of it were stricken with the worst poverty.

Oh well, at least we're kept out of sight, right, people?

She cast her eyes about the area looking for him, Mr. Snotty Upper Crust who'd been chasing her. He was nowhere in sight. This hiding spot always worked. No one ever thought to look up here, the open space between two buildings. Long ago, when she was about twelve, she'd figured that out, and learned to essentially 'wall walk' up between the buildings using her hands and feet to push against the old apartments and get her up and out of trouble. However, she was getting tired; she was going to have to come down.

It's okay, he's got to be gone by now. Nobody's going to spend so much time chasing one little street rat.

Slowly, jarringly, she came down the walls until she was close enough to safely drop to the ground. Brushing the dust and paint from her hands, she straightened her tattered shorts (they'd ridden up on her ass a bit), and set off. It was morning and she was hungry. She had no money (as usual), so theft or begging was the rule of the day.

Whoosh! An odd sound echoed around her. Her cat-like reflexes kicked in and she spun to face the new intruder. She wasn't fast enough. Two shots from a Web Gun struck her, pinning her arms to her side and ensnaring her ankles, and she promptly flopped to the ground. Wiggling and squirming like a snake, she heard and then saw feet approaching her. She looked up and saw the fancy and ornate boots of him step in front of her.

"Well, well, little street rat, we meet again," he said smugly.

"Look, dude, I don't know what you want with me, but let's talk," she said, trying to sound sweet and sincere.

He hoisted her aloft so they could look at each other. She cringed. He was big, with a powerful build, long arms and legs, and a long mane and beard of ebony hair with just a hint of premature grey at the temples. She also felt a slight surge to her pussy. He was awesome! If she wasn't poor and he (obviously) a member of the nobility, she would have come on to him when they first met. However, she might be only twenty, but she knew her station in society.

Home for Christmas
Prologue
On the way back from New Mexico after spending Christmas with his long-estranged family, Mitch kept thinking about how his life had changed since that day he met the woman who was now sitting next to him. It was a good thing Bonnie was driving because his thoughts weren't on the road. He kept jumping back and forth between now and then.

---oOo---
Mitch Ryder worked on the Double JJ Ranch. He loved his job because it involved working with horses rather than people. A solitary man, being around people made him uncomfortable. He and Sam were driving home after five days on the road; they were within one hundred and fifty miles of cold beer, hot showers and getting out of the damn truck. Mitch hated these trips, but it was all part of the job. He had successfully delivered the four horses to their new home and with any luck it would be a couple of months before he had to do it again.

He was trying to get a station on the radio on this desolate stretch of highway when he saw a flash of color ahead. He started to slow down, and as he got closer he saw a female waving her arms. Normally, he wouldn't have stopped, but out here in the middle of nowhere it would be criminal not to help out. The thing that bothered him was that there wasn't a vehicle in site. What the hell was she doing out here? Was there someone hiding in the gulch waiting to steal his truck?

He slowed but didn't turn on his blinker. He drove past and stopped about fifteen yards ahead. He got out and debated letting Sam out before he decided to make use of Sam's talents. Sam would let him know if this was a set-up or not. Sam, his trusty companion of ten years, was a mutt of questionable lineage. Mitch had found him on a road much like this one on a trip just like this one. He never knew where he came from but here was this little pup all by his lonesome, running along the highway. It was the best stop Mitch had ever made. Now Sam was his constant companion - from that little ball of fur that came running toward him to the 100-pound giant he was today.

Sam sniffed the air and took off toward the stranded female. Coast clear, was the message Mitch received. He approached the woman who had bent down to pet Sam.

One point in her favor.

"Howdy, ma'am. What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"

She looked up at him, still petting Sam and answered. "There is no easy answer to that question, Mister."

"No, I don't suppose there would be. Are you expecting someone to pick you up, are you stranded, do you need a ride?

1. Thanksgiving in a New World: The Plan Forms
Coming home feels weird, Clare Marsh thought as she passed the gravy. Not as weird as going to college did, but weird.

She inwardly scolded herself for being ungrateful. Not every freshman college student could afford to come home for Thanksgiving, so she had no right to feel weird in her childhood home. That said, she did feel a bit weird.

"So, what do you think the King will say in his speech today?" Jessica Marsh, Clare's mother, asked to start a new round of conversations.

Clare didn't join in that conversation, but it gave her a new thing to be thankful for - the fact that she lived today and not 60 years ago before they had a King. But then everyone who wasn't around then was thankful that they hadn't had to live through the collapse.

Since history wasn't her forté, Clare didn't know all the factors that led to the collapse. It was something about energy and pollution or something along those lines. All she really knew (since it had been on almost every history test she'd ever taken) was that 52 years ago there had been a Constitutional Congress that rewrote the constitution from the ground up. Clare had heard about the 'checks and balances' system, but only as one of the causes of the collapse. History (as written by the new government) had judged that without those checks and balances the old government would have been more effective, more efficient, and able to prevent the collapse. Some said that this judgement was suspect since it had been a worldwide collapse, but those debates had never made it into any history class that Clare had taken. She had heard a few people (mostly seniors) debating the pros and cons of a republic versus the current monarchy, but as far as Clare was concerned, having the executive powers (such as they were) in the hands of a figurehead monarch clearly worked best.

"Do you think he'll try to reach out to some of the more, um, different areas?" Aunt Mona Kasey, Clare's mother's sister, asked.

Clare tried not to think about the different areas. The years of the collapse had taken their toll, as had the rebuilding, and not everywhere had been rebuilt along the same lines. Her professor for Economics 101 had said that the country was now more a commonwealth of locales than a true nation, and Clare believed that. In some areas you could walk into any drugstore and, if you could pay for it, leave with the drug of your choice, from old-fashioned heroin to the latest blend of S; while in others possession of alcohol was a capital offence. Most areas were somewhere in between those extremes, but mind-altering substances weren't the only issue that split the nation. Name the issue and most of the country was somewhere in the middle of it, with extreme positions taken in various jurisdictions.

Chapter 1
"If you don't knuckle down and pull your socks up, young lady, I see a dismal future for you," glowered Mr Topping over the top of his spectacles. "Exceedingly dismal."

Polly flicked her pony tail and grinned cheekily at her form tutor. As today was the last day of school and she was taking a whole year out before getting a job, she didn't care about anything the old goat had to say.

Mr Topping frowned and gave an exasperated sigh. Of all the class, this girl was the sharpest and could have excelled at anything she chose to. She had real talent, yet preferred to waste her time doing anything but schoolwork. Well, he had done all he could for her; and now it was all down to her. It was a pity that corporal punishment was no longer allowed in schools, as many of his more recalcitrant pupils would have benefited from a good bottom warming. He deposited a maths exercise book on Polly's desk and moved on to the next pupil.

The whole class were euphoric and the atmosphere was electric. It was tradition to finish school at lunchtime on the last day. Everyone was busy swapping emails, phone numbers and addresses.

"Got any plans, Pol?"

"Nothing definite. I'll just hang around for a while, then maybe go abroad - Spain or Greece - somewhere nice and hot with plenty of nightlife."

"Cool," said Ben.

"Bloody brilliant. I can't wait to get out of this dump."

"Send me a postcard." Ben handed her a card with his address on.

"Sure will."

At twelve noon, the class piled out of the form room for the last time. Some of the girls cried with emotion, but not Polly - she was first in the queue out of the door.

"Bye, Toppy!" She turned her head and waved cheerily at Mr Topping.

He smiled at her and raised his hand in a wave. And when the last pupil had left the room, he moved to the window and watched them congregating outside the school gates, before going their separate ways.

Polly was in the midst of a throng of excited girls. There was much hugging and kissing, and then the group broke up and dispersed in different directions. Polly strode ahead on those wonderful long legs, the June sun shining on her blonde hair. Mr Topping watched until she was out of sight and wondered just what her future would be. It was clear that air-headed mother of hers would give her no encouragement other than to lavish money on her and leave her to her own devices; and as the girls father had walked out some years ago, there was no authority figure to curb her wilful ways. The girl needs discipline, thought Mr Topping. Good, old fashioned discipline. He sighed, shook his head, gathered up the pile of papers from his desk, and left the room.

1. Lucy James
Lucy walked down the road with a spring in her step and a broad smile on her face. Under her clerical grey dress, her bottom throbbed and she could feel the material of her panties rubbing against her well-spanked skin. She was also aware of the spreading dampness in the gusset of her panties and couldn't wait to get back to the office for some private time.

Lucy James was 33 years old and a partner in a high-flying PR agency in central Leeds in England. She had never married, preferring the company of women to men, but still had the odd affair with men when the mood took her, which seemed to be less and less these days as she was just too busy at work to even contemplate taking any time off.

Arriving back at the workplace, Lucy hurried to her office, greeting her secretary as she passed and told her she was not to be disturbed for the next half hour. Closing the door to her office, she threw her bag on to her desk and made for her en-suite shower room. Locking the door behind her, she hastily pulled up her dress and pushed down her panties and tights to her ankles, and sat on the toilet as her fingers found the dampness between her legs. Her orgasm took no time at all as she was so aroused. It took her a good ten minutes before she felt strong enough to strip off her remaining clothing and step under the shower and let the warm water play over her body. After drying herself with a big white fluffy towel, she examined her spanked bottom in the mirror, admiring the colour and the evenness of the strokes of the tawse across her plump mounds. Going to a drawer, she took out fresh underwear and dressed quickly before returning to her office to face the rest of the day.

That evening at home, with a glass of Pinot Grigio in one hand, Lucy thought back to the chain of events that had led to her spanking earlier that day.

---oOo---
It had all started some fifteen years previously when Lucy had been an upper sixth form pupil at a private school for girls on the outskirts of Leeds. At the start of that term, a new PE Mistress had started and all the girls, including most of the sixth form, had a crush on the lady concerned. Her name was Miss Johnson. She was fairly tall at 5'7" with short blonde hair, long elegant legs that came down from the hem of the navy blue culottes she always wore, and perfect pert breasts that the girls guessed to be 36C. Miss Johnson seemed to be blissfully unaware of the excitement she caused amongst the pupils and went about her lessons as normal. She was very strict and punished any breach of the rules by taking the culprit over her knee and spanking their bare bottoms.

1. The Mail Order Bride
Frightened beyond any reasonable description, the young woman stood quivering fearfully in an upstairs room of a dingy hotel in Amargo, Texas. The man she had married just a few scant hours earlier had gone out to the balcony in response to the shouts, yells, horrible noises and gun shots that had erupted just beyond the window of their room.

She was already scared about the situation in which she had found herself immersed only moments before. The young woman had married the man a few hours earlier ... marrying him less than an hour after meeting him in person. She had traveled for days from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to the hot, dusty town of Amargo, Texas with the express purpose of marrying a man whom she had met and who subsequently proposed to her through the mail.

She was frightened for what she had thought was to come next: a wedding night and the conjugal duties of a new wife; a new wife who had been raised substantially without the benefit of a mother, and whose preparations for her marital responsibilities had been handled by a nun ... a nun whom she knew had adhered to her vow of chastity and whose advice had seemed woefully simplistic when given, and now clearly totally inadequate as the young woman awaited the return of the rough and tumble cowboy who was her new husband.

Two more gunshots rang out amidst the din of the crowd and the woman pressed her hands to her ears as she quaked in fear. Would her new husband survive the night? And if he did return, could she be the wife he was expecting?


2. Gettysburg, Pennsylvania Martha Anderson was one thousands of sad statistics of the Battle of Gettysburg during the American Civil War; a battle that lasted three long days. Martha and her parents lived on a farm nearby and on the first dreadful blast of Confederate artillery their modest farm house was blown to bits. Martha and her parents had been hiding in the root cellar but that proved to be inadequate: both of her parents were killed instantly and the then 10 year old Martha was struck by shrapnel and knocked unconscious.

Martha lay beneath the rubble for three days before being discovered. A kindly Union doctor tended to her wounds. Fortunately, only a long jagged scar from the shrapnel would remain on her back just below her right shoulder and the effects of being knocked unconscious were temporary. The biggest wounds, however, could not be cured: her parents were dead.

The ten year old was passed from local family to family as she had no relatives to take her in. Eventually, Martha ended up in an orphanage where she remained until she turned 18 years old. It was a difficult existence living in an all-girls orphanage for eight years.

Her Cyberspanker Made Real
"Miss Paterson! Miss Paterson! My pencil's broke!"

"Can I go to the toilet?"

"Miss! Miss! What's a verb again?"

"I've lost my jotter!"

Jenny Paterson rubbed her temples wearily, and surveyed the chaos that was her classroom. Twenty-nine eleven and twelve year olds could make one heck of a noise - as well as a mess.

A few of them, she had to admit, were at least trying to do the grammar exercise she had set, but most were rampaging around, hitting each other with rulers, and throwing paper-clips and occasional obscenities around the room. Some of the more literate ones were actually writing the obscenities on the desks.

At the end of her tether, Jenny did something to which she seldom resorted. She yelled. "Shut up!"

There was a stunned silence. A paper aeroplane sailed past Jenny's right ear, and she caught it neatly before continuing. "Now, 1D, I do not want to hear another word from you this period - I said not another word, John Allen -" as said child opened his mouth. "If your pencil is - the word is 'broken', Charlene - then sharpen it. No, Jason, you may not go to the toilet - it will be lunchtime in quarter of an hour. A verb, Daniel, for the umpteenth time - is a word which expresses action or a state of being - a 'doing' word, if you prefer. Kerry, your jotter is on the floor where you threw it. Pick it up and get writing - now!"

For fifteen blessed minutes, peace reigned. Instead of moving around the class, helping the slower pupils as she usually did, Jenny stalked up and down between the rows of desks, glaring at any child who appeared to be breathing out of turn.

At last the bell rang to signal the end of the period, and Jenny tottered thankfully to the staff-room. She threw herself disconsolately into a chair and sighed.

"Having a bad day?" came a voice from beside the coffee machine.

Jenny started - she'd not noticed the tall figure of Terry Johnston, the history teacher. "Oh - sorry, I didn't see you. Bad day? Every day is a bad day with 1D!"

He chuckled. "I know. I have them too. Never known a first year class like them in twenty years. Want a cuppa?"

"Oh, yes, please. With brandy if you've got any!"

"Sorry - hip-flask is empty. I finished it when I had 1D!" He gave her a grin, and sat in the chair opposite, handing her a steaming mug of coffee as he did so.

Blushing slightly, Jenny returned his smile and took the mug from him. She admired his strong hands, and wondered - No! She cut that thought off sharply. There was no way she could ever admit that she harboured fantasies about him - especially the kind of fantasies she had.

Halo Adjustment Services
John stretched aching shoulders, clasping his hands together and pushing them over his head. He knew he was damp with sweat. He could feel his t-shirt plastered to his back as he paused in his work. Hopefully, this was the last time in his life he would be moving. He'd been hauling his stuff into the old Victorian mansion he'd inherited from his grandmother for most of the day.

There was a big office, to the right inside the front door. He intended to run his business from there. He'd already had a post installed next to the mailbox where he could hang his shingle. He definitely wasn't ready to work yet, but he was anxious to get his business sign in place. He actually researched the area and knew there was no one who provided what he did. John was extremely fit for his 40 years and he was getting a thrill knowing someone was watching him intently from the house next door. Flexing again, he turned and went into the house.

Ida watched as the young man who had been lifting and carrying heavy looking boxes and bulky pieces of furniture all day, stretched like a lithe cat, tight muscles and wide shoulders. She might be 85, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate a fine man when she saw one. It must be her friend Hetty's grandson. She hadn't seen him around in quite a few years. Certainly not since Jill had moved in with her.

"Have you seen whoever's moving in, Grandma?" Jill asked, as she walked into the kitchen.

"No, not really," Ida lied.

"I wonder what he does? Is he very old, do ya think?"

"I'm sure we'll find out sooner or later. Maybe you should make some cookies."

Now, her grandmother KNEW Jilly hated to bake. Hell, she rather knit him a god damn sweater than bake cookies. And she didn't know how to knit either. But Jillian also knew that her grandmother expected her to do it anyway.

Ever since Jillian's divorce, when she hadn't had anywhere else to live or any way to pay the ridiculously large amounts of money it took to support yourself these days, she had lived with her grandmother.

So, at 35, Jilly was no longer subjected to the tyranny known as husband. Instead she was at the beck and call of a tornado named Grandmother.

Jilly tied an apron over her sundress, and resigned herself to her fate. Despite what her grandmother thought, she had made chocolate chip cookies a couple of times. After all they had been Harry's favorite, back when she had actually given a shit what he liked. He had driven all thoughts of wanting to please him completely away, when whatever she tried was always wrong, poorly done, or just plain stupid.

The Trouble with Amy
Jack answered the call on the third ring, recognising his sister's number, but was shocked to hear Amanda's tearful voice, full of anguish.

"Jack, she's done it again."

Sobs prevented further speech and Jack sighed in exasperation. 'She' was his 17-year-old niece Amy who had been in trouble both at school and at home recently and his sister was at her wit's end!

"I'll be there in 10 minutes," Jack told her and hung up.

He arrived at Amanda's within the promised time and enveloped her in a bear hug as soon as he stepped through the door. Her desperate sobs broke his heart; he had always taken care of his younger sister since their parents' death several years ago. Now he was determined to 'take care' of his misbehaving niece.

"Tell me the latest, Amanda," he urged his sister.

"I just got a call from school; she's been skipping lessons again, not handing in homework. She forged a letter, supposedly from me, asking for leave of absence. Her attitude has been disrespectful, she didn't attend three detentions and her language has been worse than ever!" All of this was said interspersed with sobs.

Jack sighed again; Amanda was due to leave in an hour for a weekend away with friends and right now, she was in no fit state to do so.

"Amanda, I know you've refused to allow me to deal with Amy previously, but you must realise this is the final straw?" he asked coaxingly, hoping she would agree this time.

Her shudder and renewed sobbing confirmed her resignation and she whispered her answer. "Yes... yes I realise I can't let her get away with it any more. I'm ready to let you punish her; will you please?" She looked up at her big brother, trusting him to sort this out for her, so thankful she had him to rely on.

"Very well, here's what we're going to do. I assume you're already packed to leave for your weekend?"

"Yes, I'm all ready," she said with a hiccup.

"Okay, I want you to pack a bag for Amy too; she's going to stay with me for the weekend. She will only need casual clothes, but pack thong underwear and a nightshirt for her. I intend to spank her severely but I want to see skin, so she will need to be wearing a thong to preserve some modesty," he stated sternly.

Amanda gasped in shock, but accepted the outcome as reasonable; her daughter really did need to be spanked and she wasn't capable of doing it herself.

"What if she won't let you?" she dared to ask.

"If she wants to go on the holiday I promised to fund and not be grounded for the whole summer, she will agree to my punishment," he said with confidence. I will ring the school and assure them that she will be dealt with, most severely."

He Said/She Said: A Dialogue
"In an elevator? How interesting."

"I think so. It'd be tremendously exciting."

"Yes, exciting. Also a bit risky, don't you think?"

"Of course! That's what makes it exciting."

"Well, yes, I suppose."

"You don't sound convinced. You don't want to, do you?"

"I didn't say that."

"But that's what you're thinking. You're afraid of being caught. All right then. Well, you asked, and I told you."

"We both agreed to share. And really, hon, my hesitation didn't mean 'no'. We'll try it sometime. We will. We just need to find the right place and time. Ok?"

"You promise?"

"Sure. I do. In an elevator. We'll do it.'"

"Thanks, hon. I love you! It'll be great! Ok - now your turn."

"I don't know. Do I have to? You might think it's a little weird."

"Yes, you have to. I told you mine."

"Oh, all right, here goes. I'd like it if sometime... you would... let me spank you."

"Uh, spank me?"

"Yes. I warned you that it's a little weird."

"No, no - it's not weird..."

"... but? I sense a 'but'. But what?"

"Oh, I dunno. This isn't like punishment, is it? I didn't do anything bad, did I?"

"Of course not! It'd just be for fun. Sensual. For excitement. You know, like 'doing it' in an elevator."

"Oh, good. Because if I ever did something you didn't like, you could just tell me."

"Of course! I know that. I'm not talking punishment here, just fun."

"Just fun."

"Right."

"So you mean like some playful slaps?"

"Playful, yes, but they should sting."

"Sting? You mean like hurt."

"Not necessarily a lot."

"Oh, not necessarily. But you'd want it to. Hurt. I don't get it - why do you want to hurt me?"

"No, no, no, that's not the point. I don't want to hurt you. I just want it to sting enough to be exciting. For you. And for me. Exciting. As I said before - like doing it in the elevator."

"No one's getting hurt in the elevator. Well, not unless we fall over or something."

"You're not going to get hurt. I promise you that. And you'll be able to decide how much, and how hard, because you'll have a safe word."

"A what?"

"A safe word."

"Which is...?"

"Something you can say if you want me to stop, or go lighter."

"Wouldn't it be easier if I just said 'stop'?"

"Perhaps, but, if we're playing - and it would be just playing - you might want to say 'stop' even when you don't really mean it."

"Where do you get this stuff? Is this something you've done before?"

"No, not really. I've just done research."

I met Gary at university and we married just after I left. He was the most wonderful man and I adored him in every way. Eventually we had two children: Ruth, our first born, and then David. Gary was very close to his parents, Steve and Carol. Steve had invented a new way of making a washing machine and his factories made him very wealthy indeed. Both my parents in law were generous and kind with very strong moral principles... totally unlike most modern day industrialists as far as I can see.

Steve and Carol had another younger child... Sally. Steve once told me that Sally was a 'force of nature'. He said it with love but he was right; she had to excel at everything. Notice I say had to and not did. Oh, she did as well but it was the fact that she wouldn't rest at anything until she was the best. She was outstanding academically and at several sports, and into everything at school. She took on bullies and won and was, of course, school captain before she left.

Once I heard Steve say about Sally, "She'll either end up as the dictator of a large country or as a saint. I'm just not sure which."

Carol and I laughed but Gary sat thoughtful and then looked up as if puzzled and asked, "Only one country?"

Sally worked in finance and I know her lifestyle worried everyone. She seemed intent on accumulating wealth for the sake of it and gave little thought to who might get hurt along the way. She drank heavily, used cocaine, and swore terribly. Once she moved to New York we saw very little of her and that worried us all even more.

Now my parents in law loved being with their grandchildren so we all went on holiday together to a rather lovely beach resort. I'd taken Ruth and David to buy an ice cream when a group of crazed young men came to the beach to kill for their religion. I watched my parents in law and then my husband gunned down and saw them turn their attention to those of us at the ice cream stand. Just then armed guards gunned them down. An elderly British couple looked after the children while I rushed down to the beach. Gary was still alive but he lasted only a short time, and I staggered away to ring my mum and dad. I couldn't get them so I rang Sally instead.

Sally didn't seem to understand me so the older man took the phone and explained everything. He shut the phone off and said simply, "Sally's on her way now." Sally was my saviour. She seemed to arrive instantly but I realise that wasn't the case. My elderly benefactors cared for me and the children and I am ashamed to say I went utterly to pieces.

1. A Caning for Connie
The reality of life in the Bends came home to Constance McKinley one Saturday afternoon in early September. Her family was so new to the neighborhood that she still had to drive slowly on Sycamore Trace to watch for the tiny sign that marked the Bends from the other gated communities.

She pulled up to the hut where the guard normally waved her through, but this time he signaled her to stop. She slid down her window.

"Is there a problem?"

"A small one, ma'am. Would you mind parking and stepping out of the car?"

Her heart fluttered a little. The Homeowners' Association Guidelines - a massive volume - contained a section on security gate protocol, which she had given just a cursory read. She glanced at Kelli, who was in the passenger seat bobbing her head to something on her ear-buds.

"I'll be just a minute," she said.

The girl, who Jake had begun calling 'Mini-Mom' because she had inherited her mother's red hair and soft freckles, ignored her.

Connie stepped out of the van and faced the guard, a fireplug of a man who stretched the buttons on his khaki shirt and was a head shorter than she. 'Rollins' was emblazoned on his name-tag.

"What's the trouble, Mr. Rollins?"

"Got a report of some things left in your front yard: a soccer ball and goal."

She frowned. She had told Kelli to put those things away before they left, but because the McKinleys' home had a rear-entry garage, she hadn't noticed the lawn when they drove off to the store. Her initial inclination was to argue that they had only been away for a couple of hours and a soccer ball and goal left in the yard wasn't a big deal. But she checked herself.

This, after all, was what the Bends was all about. More than the security, the lush green space, and the tightly restricted architectural standards, the Bends was about rigorously imposed community discipline. After hours of soul searching, Jake and Constance McKinley had decided it was right for them.

For the first five weeks nothing had happened, but Connie knew that had to change. And it was obvious it was going to change that day.

"I've got ice cream in the car, Mr. Rollins," she said softly.

"Then we'll make it quick. Please step over to the screen, Mrs. McKinley."

The screen was a decorative barrier of rustic planks nailed across posts and engraved with Willowbends - Welcome! on the side that faced the entry. A grab bar was attached to its backside.

"Is this your first experience at the Bends, Mrs. McKinley?" She nodded. "Well, in the event you've forgotten what the guidelines say - or maybe you haven't read them - violations reported to the gate earn you a ticket. One copy goes to your husband, to deal with as he sees fit. The second goes to the Association Directors - to deal with as they see fit."

Hearing the key in the front door as she came home from school, he shouted his usual "Hello!" but instead of going straight up to her room as she normally did, she turned into the living room. It struck him immediately that something had to be wrong; her face was pale and she was dragging her feet behind her.

"There's something I have to show you," she said in a thin, flat voice and handed him an inconspicuous little book. She had stuck her index finger between two pages to make it open in the right place. Only when he looked inside, he recognized the little message book used for notes between school and parents. At first he only saw the small notes in his own handwriting from the times she had been sick or was to be excused from gym, but then he noticed a message in a different handwriting in the bottom corner. It continued on the next page, but he got the gist of it before he turned the page.

"Cheating!" he said, "You have been caught cheating on a geography test?"

With a timid smile she replied, "I didn't mean to cheat, but I had forgotten to put my notes in my bag, and the teacher assumed I had them on my desk to cheat."

"That was quite careless at best," he said, "but this note indicates you were not the only one?"

She swallowed. "Yes, no, not quite..."

"Someone I know?"

"Yes... Margrete also got caught," she said and blushed.

"Margrete? Didn't you go to study with her the night before?" A nod was all the answer he got. "According to the note this will be on your report card, and you will probably get a D in geography as you couldn't answer any of the questions after the test!"

She blushed even more and replied, "I really could, but I was so nervous because of what had happened that my mind just went blank!"

"And Margrete didn't remember a thing either?"

"I don't know. Not much, I think."

He looked closely at her. "So you had really studied, then? The only reason you were allowed to go to Margrete the night before was because you were going to study for the test!" She nodded and looked even more unhappy. He suddenly thought of something. "But that test wasn't today, it was yesterday!" He looked down to check the date on the note. "Shouldn't you have delivered this note yesterday?" She nodded. He said, "But then Margrete's mother must already know. I think I'll give her a call."

"No, no, don't do it!" she pleaded.

"Why not?"

"Because..."

"Because what?"

"Because..." she hesitated. "We weren't at Margrete's that evening. Margrete got a phone call and then we went out to meet..."

"To meet...?"

"Some boys."

"Well, you didn't study then? Perhaps you didn't really know that much geography, did you?"

Hearing the key in the front door as she came home from school, he shouted his usual "Hello!" but instead of going straight up to her room as she normally did, she turned into the living room. It struck him immediately that something had to be wrong; her face was pale and she was dragging her feet behind her.

"There's something I have to show you," she said in a thin, flat voice and handed him an inconspicuous little book. She had stuck her index finger between two pages to make it open in the right place. Only when he looked inside, he recognized the little message book used for notes between school and parents. At first he only saw the small notes in his own handwriting from the times she had been sick or was to be excused from gym, but then he noticed a message in a different handwriting in the bottom corner. It continued on the next page, but he got the gist of it before he turned the page.

"Cheating!" he said, "You have been caught cheating on a geography test?"

With a timid smile she replied, "I didn't mean to cheat, but I had forgotten to put my notes in my bag, and the teacher assumed I had them on my desk to cheat."

"That was quite careless at best," he said, "but this note indicates you were not the only one?"

She swallowed. "Yes, no, not quite..."

"Someone I know?"

"Yes... Margrete also got caught," she said and blushed.

"Margrete? Didn't you go to study with her the night before?" A nod was all the answer he got. "According to the note this will be on your report card, and you will probably get a D in geography as you couldn't answer any of the questions after the test!"

She blushed even more and replied, "I really could, but I was so nervous because of what had happened that my mind just went blank!"

"And Margrete didn't remember a thing either?"

"I don't know. Not much, I think."

He looked closely at her. "So you had really studied, then? The only reason you were allowed to go to Margrete the night before was because you were going to study for the test!" She nodded and looked even more unhappy. He suddenly thought of something. "But that test wasn't today, it was yesterday!" He looked down to check the date on the note. "Shouldn't you have delivered this note yesterday?" She nodded. He said, "But then Margrete's mother must already know. I think I'll give her a call."

"No, no, don't do it!" she pleaded.

"Why not?"

"Because..."

"Because what?"

"Because..." she hesitated. "We weren't at Margrete's that evening. Margrete got a phone call and then we went out to meet..."

"To meet...?"

"Some boys."

"Well, you didn't study then? Perhaps you didn't really know that much geography, did you?"

1. The Spanking Hotel
"Come on," said Finn brandishing the wooden-backed hairbrush that resided on his bedside table, "lets have some fun!" He looked hopefully across at his wife, Bella, who was laid in bed next to him.

"Noooooo," Bella whined in response. "It's too damn cold!" She snuggled herself deeper down into the duvet, seeking more warmth.

Finn sighed. He knew she was right, especially when his sigh turned the air in front of him cloudy, but he loved to play with his wife and knew how much she enjoyed his attentions too.

They both loved the big old rambling farmhouse that they had owned and lived in for the last five years. It was high up on the Yorkshire moors, the views were stunning, the neighbours were over a mile away and the peace and quiet was priceless. The only real problem was heating the place. The heating system was old and rickety, hardly worked and drank oil as though it were on commission from the government. If it was feeling generous the system would deign to heat some water to somewhere between tepid and warm but if not the water would run as stubbornly cold as it was when it was first dragged up from the well over the hill.

Sensing her loved one's disappointment Bella turned to look at Finn. "Well, you could always light us a nice fire tomorrow afternoon when you get home from work!"

This cheered Finn up no end so he snuggled up close to Bella and they both fell asleep.

---oOo---
Bella giggled with delight as she twirled round to enable Finn to remove her clothes. The room was toasty warm, the fire was glowing brightly and their two Ragdoll cats, Bill and Ben, were sprawled on top of the piano snoring gently.

Now quite naked, Bella stood near the fire, enjoying the warmth on her skin. Finn watched her with admiration. Bella was twenty-five, six years younger than he, and athletically built with strong limbs and a toned tummy. Her bottom was Finn's favourite part of her - well, after her lovely face with the sparkling green eyes and the auburn hair that framed her features - it was beautifully sculpted, shapely and toned but with a wobble that delighted Finn.

Finn sat in the middle of their four-seater sofa and beckoned his wife over to him. Bella sashayed playfully over and with no embarrassment at all threw herself over Finn's lap. She landed with her feet up on the sofa at one end, her head resting on a cushion at the other and her bottom at the highest point, nicely positioned across Finn's knees.

Finn smiled at her enthusiasm, lifting his right knee a little higher to perfect her position and then raising his hand he started to smack her bottom, one cheek then the other, lightly to start with, gradually building up the sting.

A Judicial Caning for Mother and Daughter
The mind can recount historical events in great detail, even after many years. This account is so vivid it could have been yesterday.

I was celebrating my upcoming big '40' birthday accompanied by my daughter who was having a gap year before starting university. On an extended holiday, we had planned a short stopover on one of the smaller Emirate States to top up our suntan before moving on to the Maldives, where my husband was to join us for a blissful month of self indulgence.

I so remember the moment a sniffer dog took an interest in the hand luggage being carried by my daughter when we disembarked from the aircraft at the small airport. We were escorted to a room where a search of the bag revealed a small quantity of cannabis. I knew my daughter didn't do drugs. It was probably a combination of Western arrogance and the impetuosity of youth, but we both ended up being charged with offences. Of course we totally denied any wrongdoing and could only presume that the illicit drugs had been planted. Our passports were confiscated and we were bailed pending court appearances. We consulted a local lawyer who agreed to act for us. It was two weeks before the formal court hearing. We were surprised at the formality and efficiency of the proceedings, which although conducted in Arabic, provided a simultaneous English translation via headphones. A jury of eight local residents made up of six men and two women were to decide whether or not to believe our rebuttal of the charges.

At the conclusion of prosecution and defence arguments, the judge summarised the case to the jury and they were sent out to deliberate. In fairness the proceedings appeared to be conducted with absolute integrity and we could not fault anything. We were confident that we would soon be on our way to the Maldives, albeit ten days later than planned.

The jury returned and confirmed to the court that they had reached verdicts on the two charges we each faced. We were then asked to stand in the dock.

The clerk of the court asked the appointed chairman of the jury how they found against me, Amanda Binchy, to the charge of narcotic possession.

"Guilty," came the verdict. And to the charge of perverting the course of justice I was also found guilty.

When asked about the similar charges against my daughter, Scarlet Binchy, the jury spokesman revealed she was also found to be guilty.

The judge then addressed us. "Amanda and Scarlet Binchy, you have both been found guilty of serious charges. I will hear pleas of mitigation from you or your legal advisor before passing sentence in one week's time. However I must advise you that a custodial sentence is likely, so I am remanding you both into custody pending sentence. Take them down."

With this we were taken to separate holding cells within the court building.

Prudence Wilson poked her head out of the open window of the Pullman car and looked down the length of the track. The conductor had finally announced her destination and she could now see the station approaching. Her heart was racing with excitement. It had been a long journey to this prairie town in the Oklahoma Territory. She had come all the way from Brisbane, in Queensland, Australia ... half way around the world!

Shielding her eyes, she tried to pick out her uncle and his family on the approaching platform. Her efforts were frustrated by a firm male hand which gripped her by the shoulder and pulled her back into her seat.

"I believe your father would be quite perturbed with me if I returned you to him with a telegraph pole embedded in your forehead, Prudence," the man said.

"We're almost there, Mr. Turner. Isn't it incredible?" she exclaimed, ignoring the scolding. "I can't believe we've traveled halfway around the globe."

Cyrus Turner removed his wire-framed spectacles and began wiping the lenses with a large white handkerchief. He was a business partner and close personal friend of her father, William Wilson. He had business to attend to in New York City and had agreed to chaperone Prudence to her destination before continuing on his way to New York.

"It's 1890, Prudence," he said. "The world gets to be a smaller place every year. Soon it will be a new century. Who knows what wonders it might hold?"

Prudence felt her pulse quicken with each turn of the locomotive's drive wheels. She thought she must be the luckiest girl alive to be having such an incredible adventure.

It was the beginning of her eighteenth summer and she had blossomed into a very attractive, young woman. She was tall as girls went, nearly five-foot-seven the last time her father had made the pencil mark on her bedroom door and checked it with a measuring tape. Blessed from birth with her mother's thick chestnut brown hair and her father's blue eyes, she had more recently developed the curvaceous figure of a young woman. It was a great relief to her after spending her adolescence as a thin, gangly, uncommonly tall girl.

She had secretly taken great pleasure in the appreciative glances she had noticed from several young men during her long journey. Of course, Mr. Turner had glowered at them and they had all hastily retreated.

The whole wondrous odyssey had come about as a sort of graduation present from her parents. She had long begged them for the chance to go visit her American relations. Her father had finally agreed to finance the venture upon satisfactory completion of her schooling.

Her Uncle John was her father's younger brother. Both men had been born in England but had gone abroad to seek their fortunes, her own father to Australia and his brother John to the ever expanding America. She looked forward to meeting them finally.