LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Episode 1: The Tutor
Roland Archer checked his watch again. Everyone was late, and he could not abide tardiness.

"Have you any idea why your mother is so late, Karen?" Roland asked his young student as she stood in the corner.

"No sir," Karen replied crisply, slightly apprehensive that he might in some way hold her responsible.

"I have another student at three. Or at least I was supposed to have had," Roland explained. "It is a quarter past now."

Tell me about it, thought Karen. She had been standing in the corner of Professor Archer's study since two o'clock when he had finally finished metering out her straightener for the week. Mother was particular about that. Even when Karen hadn't dropped her grades or been late, the arrangement with Professor Archer, her tutor, required a firm dozen across the bare once a week. But mother was supposed to have come to collect her at 2.45.

The doorbell rang and Karen heaved a sigh of relief. At 18, standing with your bottom on display in front of your middle-aged tutor was definitely not the high point of the week.

Roland went to the door, but instead of Karen's mother, it was his new student Melanie Crow and her older sister Anita, another former student of his.

"Professor Archer, I am so sorry," Anita said breathlessly. "We were hopelessly delayed by an awful accident on the main road."

"I see," Roland said tartly. "You never were a good time keeper, but presumably it wasn't your fault this time. Not that I usually accept excuses as you know."

Twenty-six-year-old Anita blushed to her ears; she could well remember the consequences of any tardiness with Professor Archer.

"You remember Melanie, my sister?" Anita said to deflect any further embarrassing comments on the professor's part. "She has been slipping in English and History."

"Ah yes." Roland smiled reassuringly at the girl. "A sophomore. Your major is in History, isn't it?"

"Yes sir," Melanie replied shyly.

"Your sister has informed you of my methods?"

"Yes sir." Melanie blushed.

"We run a tight ship at the Crow household, don't we Mel?" Anita interjected.

Melanie nodded and blushed even more.

"Ah yes, I seem to remember you had rather a strict upbringing." Roland nodded sagely. "Am I to take it that you are acting in loco parentis?"

"It's certainly loco at our house. I mean, yes professor, that pretty much sums it up." Anita tried to rein in the flippancy in the presence of her old mentor then failed. "I have full custody of the family hairbrush."

"I see. And your old sorority paddle, no doubt," Roland said tartly.

"Oh yes. But Mel has one of her own now." Anita grinned.

Melanie blushed, suddenly wondering if this conversation wasn't veering into dangerous oath-breaking territory.

"A sorority girl? Well good for you," Roland said pleasantly.

Chapter 1
One Wednesday morning in the spring of 1979, Susan Cole met with the Principal and Vice-Principal of Anderson Falls High School before classes started, to make the final plans for the paddling that Don Jenkins was going to receive at the end of the day.

Miss Cole was in her second year of teaching English, and the two other women were seasoned educators, each having over two decades of teaching experience. Kathy Harris was the Principal, and although she was a good administrator, she wasn't particularly intimidating due to her petite stature and soft-spoken manner. Betty Nicholas, the Vice-Principal, was Kathy's lifelong friend, and she usually handled disciplinary matters at the school. She was a tall, stern-looking woman who was perfectly suited for this role, and her name alone could strike fear into the hearts of the students under her control.

To make sure everyone understood how things would proceed, Kathy went over the plan with her subordinates. "Susan, you and Betty can paddle Don in your classroom at the end of the day. It's been a while since we've spanked anyone here at the school, but it's still allowed by the Board of Education, and since he's 18 we don't need to get permission from his parents."

"How may swats should we give him?" asked Betty.

"I'll leave that up to you, but according to the Board's rules, the maximum number you can give him is six." Reaching into a drawer in her desk, Kathy took out a wooden paddle and handed to Susan. "I'll let you take this to your room so that you'll be ready at the end of the day when you need it."

The meeting adjourned, and as Susan walked to her classroom, she enjoyed the weight of the paddle in her hand. Mrs. Nicholas had spanked her with it a couple of times in the past year, and based upon her experience on the receiving end, she knew that Don was going to have trouble sitting down by the time his day was over.

Don's first inkling that something was wrong came in his sixth period class when one of the pretty assistants from the Principal's office knocked on the door, and told the teacher that she had a note for a student in his class. Such notes rarely brought good news, and everyone else in the room was relieved when Don was called to the front to pick it up. He hated that when he walked back to his desk he wasn't able to watch the assistant's cute backside sway from side-to-side as she headed back to the office, and the interest evident in the faces of the other boys in class as they watched her walking away made it clear he was missing out.

Ali sat in disbelief at the Nichols' kitchen table trying to figure out how she got herself in this new predicament! Her school books were lying all over the table and sitting next to her was the most tyrannical, authoritative man she had ever met!! He was far worse then any of her teachers and, believe it or not, worse than Officer Burns!

"Come on, Alison ... start writing," Mr. Pullman snapped, tapping her paper with his finger.

"I'm thinking," Ali replied, making sure there was no sassiness mixed in with her response.

She had already been paddled several times by this horrible man for talking back to him. If he even thought she was smarting back, she'd be bent over the table and smacked on her bare bottom!

She was thinking, but not about her English paper which was what she was supposed to be thinking about. Her mind was on last Friday afternoon. Her father had hardly said a word to her in the truck on the way home, but once they were in the house he had promptly sat her down and proceeded to tell her about how she and Katie would both be spending their two days of suspension the following week.

He explained how there would be two administrators from the Brookhaven Academy of Behavior that would be coming to spend those two days with the girls, in their own homes of course. These administrators would ensure that the girls would complete the assigned work given by their teachers for the days missed, even though the assignments wouldn't count. Their main focus, however, was on the student's attitude and obedience.

Ali was floored when her father told her all about the academy. It sounded crazy. How could there possibly be a real place like that?

He also said that unless she straightened up and flew right, she was going to spend her entire Spring Break at the academy. There was no way she would be spending her Spring break at that place! He could forget it.

Once he was through yelling at her, he had sent her to her room where she'd ended up spending the rest of her day. Her mother brought dinner up to her room, glaring at her the way only a mother can, and her father came in to carry the tray away thirty minutes later.

Her weekend was just as bad. She worked from sun up to sun down, doing odd jobs around the house for her parents, and ate and slept.

She'd basically filed everything her father had said about the academy in the back of her mind, thinking it was all just talk to try and scare her. So when Monday came and Mr. Pullman rang the bell at six in the morning, Ali was shocked.

Her mother came and woke her up, telling her Mr. Pullman wanted her downstairs and ready to work in twenty minutes!

This is the story of Annie Stevens, and the memorable years of her post-war life.

Life certainly didn't start out well on the cessation of hostilities; she had lost her dear husband in the weeks after D-Day in the fighting around Caen, and although he had left her financially secure, she and her daughter were finding it almost impossible to come to terms with their loss and grief.

John had been a junior partner in a re-insurance agency in Lloyds of London, and earned a generous salary, but spent most of the week either working or commuting from our home in Guildford. If he had a fault it was that he lived to work rather than worked to live, and his passion for cricket overwhelmed all other leisure pursuits. Annie seemed to spend most weekend summer afternoons making teas for twenty-two hungry men. During the war she was busy with voluntary war work, but when this ceased the loss was almost unbearable.

After a miserable post-war year in Surrey, she and her daughter, Jenny, decided that a clean break was best and, after discussing finances with her late husband's partners, who assured her that she had no need to work, she decided that she couldn't live like that. When her daughter finished her O levels they went on holiday to South Devon and, while motoring around, saw a charming general store and post-office in a large coastal village with a For Sale board up. Her curiosity aroused, Annie did a little spying and research, and made an appointment to view. The couple assured her that the business was very sound, had no debts, and they were very anxious to make a new life in the Channel Islands now the Germans had left.

Her researches suggested the lady had been extremely friendly with the Quartermaster Sergeant of the now departed US Army, and it was possible they had been a conduit through which US Army stores had leaked into British retail shops, giving rise to a considerable amount of unbankable cash. This suspicion was later given considerable credence by the later discovery of a hidden storeroom containing a large quantity of bourbon, cigarettes, beer, stockings and other items all marked US Army issue.

The shop was very attractive and had an added attraction of excellent residential space, a large garden with a barn, stables and paddock and beautiful views to the back. Although Annie could easily have afforded a country cottage and spent her time gardening, she didn't think it would be easy to make friends and she might be a lonely widow; if she bought the shop she could work in it when she wished and get to know the other villagers. The couple were willing to do a very generous deal to a quick cash buyer such as Annie, so with her daughter's complete agreement she bought it.

As her memories suddenly came rushing back, Angelica was filled with terror as she lay in the bed all alone. Feelings of helplessness welled up around her in the darkness and her tears began to return. She worried that Luc would not understand these horrible feelings and finally voiced her concerns as she whispered into the comforter, "Why don't you come hold me, Luc? Why don't you come and tell me everything is going to be alright?" She sniffled as her tears fell, her body trembling from the emotional cocktail in which she was immersed. She had a sudden need to be comforted ... by Luc, experiencing a powerful longing for her savior. Again, she murmured into the pillow. "Oh why don't you come hold me, Luc?"

Normal ears would not have picked up on her mutterings into the huge down comforter. Certainly, they would not have heard those muttered yearnings through the closed door, and down the hallway. But Luc had much better hearing and vision than anyone who knew him. They marveled at what he could pick up in the woods: the soft step of a deer, the slight change in shading across a ravine that others could only verify as a predator through the use of a telescope mounted on their high-powered rifle. Luc always picked up the tell-tale signs well before his friends and acquaintances.

Tonight was no different. As Angelica murmured her fear and longing, Luc suddenly lifted his head, tilting it in the direction of Angelica's bedroom. He moved silently down the hallway, afraid to disturb his guest and even more afraid that he had heard her mumbling through a dream. Carefully, he opened the door and peeked inside. Angelica was tucked into the huge comforter on the bed with her back to the door. With the stealth of a predator in the wild carefully approaching his prey, Luc moved cautiously closer to the bed. Was she asleep?

Deciding that Angelica was indeed sleeping, Luc knelt cautiously on the bed, leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. He whispered, hoping that in her sleepy haze she would somehow understand him, "You're safe here. I won't let anything harm you." Then he slowly moved off the bed so she wouldn't be disturbed.

"Don't go," she said in the darkness. "I'm so scared! Would you at least hold me for a little while?"

Though she did not turn, he knew she was awake. Saying nothing, Luc kicked off the moccasins he was wearing and slowly lifted the comforter to slide in next to Angelica. Seeing that she was naked beneath the comforter he had a decision to make: should he lay on top of the covers or slide in with her?

"It's OK," he heard her say quietly.

To understand how these two got here, we have to go back to the accident on the highway.

Angel
by Alan Barr
It was 11:00 am and Mark was watching the news channel on the TV in his office while he enjoyed his mid-morning coffee. The same old news! Another disastrous quarter for growth, more cuts, more job losses. Who would have thought when the recessions first started that it would have come to this? Public services cut to the very bone, everyone expected to be more self-reliant in all sorts of ways. Why, just a few years before, it was not at all unusual to see a dustcart doing house-to-house rubbish collection, or two police officers strolling amiably down the High Street. Nobody gave it a second thought. Everyone thought such a state of affairs was 'normal', nobody felt particularly privileged.

But now, such things seemed to belong to a different age. Now, everyone had to take their own rubbish to the incinerator, and to some extent, they had to provide their own law too. With gun sales spiralling, everything had become more territorial. On your own property, you were the law. Of course, the police still took an interest in the serious crimes like rioting, or benefit fraud, but when it came to murder, rape, theft and the like, they weren't particularly interested. They would rather people sorted things out for themselves. Needless to say, there were plenty like Mark who actually preferred the new arrangement. An Englishman's home was always reputed to be his castle, after all, and now it really felt like one. And the same went for his business too. Mark's less than happy life experiences had given him a low opinion of humanity in general. He didn't trust them. He was convinced the vast majority were out to cheat him and to rob him, given half a chance. But just let him catch them in the act, and then it was a very different story! Then he made them pay in full, they were forced to drink the cup of his vengeance to the bitter dregs! Like Shylock, he never flinched from exacting his pound of flesh!

At 11:10 am precisely, Mark put down his mug and switched off the TV. There was no need for haste. In fact, he was a great believer in letting the offender 'stew' for a while! But now the time had come. He pressed the button on his radio and uttered the single syllable necessary to set things in motion:

"Pete!"

A few seconds later, uniformed Pete appeared at his door with the woman in tow. He was holding her securely by the arm, which made her look uncomfortably lop-sided.

"Well, well! What have we here?"

"First one of the day!" Pete announced proudly. "Caught her hiding a pair of knickers under her jumper."

"A pair of knickers?" Mark queried incredulously, as if the duplicity of the human race was a continual source of amazement to him.

Aunt Sarah's Slippering
People sometimes ask me how I became a spanko - when did I first realise I was crazy about the idea of spanked bottoms?

We spankos like to compare notes on the origin of our obsession, and I know quite a few who swear they were born with it, almost as if it were in their genes or something. But it wasn't like that for me. I know exactly when it began. It was the day I went to the reading of my grandfather's will ...

I suppose I should have felt sorry for Aunt Sarah, but I didn't! Not until after, anyway. To my mind, she deserved it, and I'm pretty sure everyone else thought so too, everyone except Uncle Bernard of course, but I think even he was secretly rather pleased - just that, it being his wife, he couldn't show it. Poor Uncle Bernard. I may only have been twelve then, but even I could see who the boss was in their household!

I loved Gramps very much, and I cried after I left the hospital on that last visit with Dad, and I cried bitterly the following week, when they told me that he'd died.

Gramps was good fun; he always gave me sweets, and his Christmas presents were great. Not like Aunt Sarah. She gave me things meant for boys half my age, and her presents were always cheap - made in China, guaranteed to fall apart after ten minutes. The Christmas before Gramps died, I heard Dad telling Mum, "She loves money too much, that sister of mine. Fancy giving David a 10-piece plastic jigsaw puzzle of Tienanmen Square! I mean, really! And it says, quite clearly, 'For ages 3 to 5'! Can't she read? I wouldn't be surprised if she got it in one of those '99 Pence' shops. It's a damn shame."

And yet Uncle Bernard was rich - they lived in a big mansion in Dulwich, and Aunt Sarah was always boasting about how much her new carpet cost, or how her new outfit was made especially for her by the same designer as Princess So-and-so. Dad told us she'd paid two thousand pounds once for some curtain fittings! Two thousand quid - just for the fittings! Mum said she was just selfish and spoilt - she couldn't stand Aunt Sarah, but she tried to be nice when they came round, for Dad's sake.

Anyway, a few days after the funeral, Dad said we were going to the reading of the will. He said they didn't usually bother with a reading of the will because you don't have to under English law, but Gramps had stated quite clearly that he wanted his lawyer, Mr Snape, to read it out anyway - and not just that: Gramps had said everyone in the family had to be there, otherwise he'd leave all his money to charity, which seemed a bit weird.

Margaret J. Kemp, attorney at law, drummed her well manicured finger nails on the desktop as she listened with increasing consternation to the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Well," she said, "it sounds like my dear ex has done some pretty serious backsliding since his last visit." She listened a bit more and let out a throaty chuckle. "Yes, boys will be boys," she agreed. "That's the problem isn't it? They never really stop being boys completely." She nodded and tapped her keyboard to bring up some newly arrived emails. "Oh, he's going to the woodshed all right. I promise you, when you see him again on Tuesday, his attitude will have been thoroughly adjusted." She let out another chuckle. "Yes, I'll just bet you would. Who knows, maybe someday."

A frown creased her brow as she realized that she was looking at several emails she'd already seen. "Thank you so much for the report, Evelyn," she said into the handset cradled between her ear and shoulder. "I promise you, you won't have to put up with that kind of behavior for a long time after I get done with him. I trust you still like Channel?" She leaned back in the big leather swivel chair and put her feet up on the desk. "Oh, it's my pleasure, dear. Good spies are worth their weight in perfume."

She said goodbye to her ex-husband's executive assistant, returned the handset to its cradle and pushed the intercom button. "Jack, I need the file and surveillance photos for the Tarantino case."

"Yes, ma'am," came through the speaker.

A few minutes later, her young paralegal and protégé, Jack Dawson walked through the door holding the requested materials. He handed her the case file, but fumbled the folder with the photos, spilling them all over the floor.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said as he quickly sank to his knees and began scooping up the photos.

"Today please, Jack."

He winced at her tone, as he hurried to put the photos back in order. "Here you go," he said, finally setting the restored folder on her desk. He turned and attempted a hasty retreat from his beautiful, but demanding boss's office.

"Not so fast, mister," she said, just as he was reaching for the doorknob.

He winced again. Her voice was like a whip-crack. He turned back to face her. "Was there something else, ma'am?"

She crooked a finger at him, summoning him back to the desk. It was a gesture he'd learned to fear. He forced his feet to move until he was once again standing directly in front of the desk. He swallowed hard.

Maggie let him squirm for a few seconds as she looked him up and down. She took special notice of the slightly rumpled clothes and the tell-tale redness of his eyes. Jack was usually neat as a pin.

A Warm Welcome

by by Anthony Alba
I was going to kill Rebecca. How could she have done this to me? It was not as if I had not been invited. The date of my arrival and everything had been pre arranged. Rebecca knew I had difficulty with strangers. She had promised that I would receive a warm welcome. Ringing ahead was a waste of time of course. As soon as I had gotten off the bus my phone signal had been down to one bar. Ten minutes walk later and a NO SIGNAL message was all that it would show. And of course, scatterbrain that she was, Rebecca had never thought to give me her home landline number.

"I am so terribly sorry about this Mrs Garner," I said and tried not to grimace. I was never good with strangers, not like Rebecca who could have them telling her their whole life story a few seconds after exchanging "Hello's."

I looked around searching for a solution but there was nothing I could think of. "I can come back another day when Rebecca is here."

"Nonsense," Mrs Garner replied as she quickly recovered from the surprise of my arrival. I was expected two days from now or so it seemed. She flashed me a warm reassuring smile. "Rebecca has told me so much about you, how you helped her out so much during her first year at college."

The woman glanced to her watch and she shook her head. "And all the busses will have stopped running by now. I'm certainly not sending such a good friend of my daughter out into the dark."

I nodded slowly. In truth I had not been looking forward to venturing out this late in the evening. I was a city girl and this far into the remote countryside might as well have been a foreign land. I had enjoyed admiring the scenery from the bus, but at night with no street lamps or glowing neon signs to light the way, it felt eerie and foreboding.

"And Rebecca did say she had invited you to stay a few days during the summer," Mrs Garner went on as she took me by the arm and led me deeper into her home. "My Becky can be such a scatterbrain at times. It would be just like her to get her dates mixed up. She should be back tomorrow."

"I don't want to impose," I told the woman. And I didn't. The idea of staying in a strange house with a middle-aged woman who I did not know was not high up on my list of how to spend a night. But what choice did I have? She was right. The buses would have stopped by now and I didn't even have a torch. The light on my mobile phone would not carry far enough to navigate the country lanes and road.

Chapter 1: The New Neighbors
Cottonwood, Texas would never be listed as a city in itself; rather it was a gated, secure community within the incorporated city limits of Dallas. The residents, however, would describe their little community as unique, as an enclave of families happily protected from the usual urban blight. Cottonwood sprang from a large dilapidated industrial area near the Elm Fork of the Trinity River. All the buildings in the area had been razed five years earlier and streets and services had been laid out for a community of less than 30 rather large homes on generous lots with impressive landscaping.

The combination of security and privacy, newness of the homes, and proximity to his new job was what caused Steve Hess and his wife Terri to build a new home in Cottonwood when his company relocated him to Dallas. Terri had been particularly excited with the community after several long conversations with both the developer and the sales agent. Although they had no children, and weren't planning on having any, they built a 4,000 square foot home complete with swimming pool and spa. The pool and spa in the back yard were completely enclosed with an 8-foot high fence for privacy.

Steve and Terri were both 38-years-old but looked younger as they maintained a constant vigilance against aging. Both were careful to watch their diets and they worked out regularly. That was one of the reasons for the high fence: Steve loved to jump into the pool after a late night jog, usually just peeling off his running shorts and shoes to cool off in his pool stark naked. Although the lots on either side of their home were empty, Steve and Terri realized that someone would soon build on the lots and they would need the high fence to maintain their privacy.

Home building continued and soon new homes were being constructed next to them. A large two-story home similar to the Hess's own home was built to one side. Eventually, a family moved next door and Steve and Terri quickly met the new neighbors. Like Steve, Nora Daly was a corporate executive and her husband, Mike, was a successful interior design consultant. Mike was self-employed and like Terri, who was a voice coach, he could easily dictate his own hours.

Of the four, Nora was the boldest, often saying and doing things just to shock the others. Steve often wondered if her urge to shock others was her creative talent trying to burst free or if it might be a way for her to let loose after spending most of her days in a rigid corporate environment. He found out one night just how bold she could be.

Like most Thursdays, Terri had a late rehearsal with a local semi-professional chorus. And, like most Thursdays, Steve went for a late evening jog, enjoying the clear and warm July evening.

The Hundred Million Pound Will
The lawyer was young and ambitious and all his enquiries had suggested that she was a hotshot when it came to probate, just the kind he needed. Although while he was waiting he couldn't help but notice her long stockinged legs descending from a short tight skirt that was barely adequate and loose enough to be respectable. Even before she stood up, he could see that she had a good figure, but once she did stand and turn for him, then he was sold. Many a beautiful women had fallen off Sir John's radar by lacking in the bottom department.

When she finally deigned to see him, he noticed that the designer spectacles were fake and that she was obviously wearing them for effect. A faux pass that he would take pleasure in dealing with.

"I have looked at your proposal, Sir John, and I am not sure I can accredit it," she began without preamble. Despite trying hard to seem officious, she licked her lips nervously. The details of the proposed will were unusual to say the least and since she had read it, she had been strangely affected.

"Oh, Miss Lyon, I am sure you can," Sir John said smoothly.

"I am really not sure that this is legal, it certainly isn't ethical," Kerry Lyons replied, slightly irritated by his use of the Miss.

"The ethics you can leave to me. As for legal, in my world possession is nine tenths of the law, and if you tell my niece it is legal then she will be forced to accept it." Sir John smiled like a Cheshire cat playing with a very tasty mouse.

"Sir John, I am not concerned with nine tenths, I only deal in all of the law..."

"Miss Lyon, has anyone ever put you over their knee and given you a damn good spanking?"

Kerry's mouth hung open and she could scarce draw a breath.

"Sir John I don't see..."

"A very sound spanking on your bare bottom until it was quite red and all your sitting privileges are put in jeopardy?" Sir John said, standing up and removing his jacket.

"What are you...? I mean Sir John this is most..." Kerry eyed the intercom button wondering if she should get help.

"Miss Lyon. Come here," Sir John said forcefully as he rolled up his sleeves and took a step towards her.

"Sir John, you can't ... I mean this is totally..." Kerry gulped and ran around so that the desk was still between them.

"Miss Lyon. Come here. I won't tell you again," Sir John said in a voice that could not be resisted as he sat in her chair.

Kerry took three hesitant steps towards her client before she realised it, moving as she did into the range of his arms. Sir John took hold of her gently yet firmly and tipped her over his lap.

Louisa hurtled round the corner at top speed and sprinted towards the bus stop, then cursed as her bus went whizzing by before she'd reached the stop.

"Oh no," she wailed, and glanced at her watch. She couldn't be late for work again. Today was Friday, and she'd already been late twice - 15 minutes on Monday and a staggering 40 minutes yesterday.

Rather than stand at the bus stop for twenty minutes waiting for the next bus to arrive, she set off walking, intending to hail a cab... not that she could afford it, but it was necessary if she wanted to keep her job at Ventris Construction. She'd been there barely a month and had already made a hash of things including misfiling invoices, forgetting to pass on important telephone messages, and the most disastrous incident of all was when she unplugged her computer's network cable so she could move it on to the next desk (much bigger and nicer, with a pretty pink office chair). As a result of her ineptitude, the entire office network had crashed and some people had lost data. A contender for employee of the month she was not - though if the company had an award for the most inefficient employee of the month, she'd likely win that without even trying.

She sighed and quickened her pace, muttering, "Damn, damn, damn," every time she looked at her watch. It was almost 9 o'clock. She should be at the office by now, and even if a cab came by soon, it would still take 15 minutes to drive in to work. To make matters worse, it started to to rain: a soft drizzle gradually gathered momentum, gentle drops becoming heavier and more frequent, splatting down on the pavement. In mere minutes the shower became a downpour, soaking Louisa to the skin. She inwardly berated herself for not carrying an umbrella, and plodded on dejectedly, her blonde hair dripping and her waterlogged sandals squelching with every step.

When eventually a cab came into view, she hailed it and climbed in gratefully, glad to get out of the rain.

"Ventris Construction please. Morgan Avenue," she told the driver.

The driver nodded and the black cab moved forwards, its windscreen wipers swaying frantically from side to side as the rain teamed down. Louisa brushed her wet hair from her face and leaned back in her seat. Rush hour traffic was always bad, but today it was worse than usual. Vehicles crawled along, and after five minutes the cab came to a complete standstill.

"We could be here for some time, Miss," the driver said. "There's roadworks up ahead and temporary traffic lights."

"Oh no - I'm late enough as it is," wailed Louisa. She could already imagine the humiliating ticking off she would get from Miss Wiggins, the office supervisor, and could clearly picture the old dragon's poker face and the contemptuous expression in her pebble eyes once she beheld Louisa's dishevelled appearance.

Chapter 1
Elizabeth was getting dressed for church. Going to church was something she disliked and even the prospect of teaching in the Sunday school did not assuage her dislike. She was popular with the children and even the rumbustious boys gave her no trouble. Other teachers became very tense at the thought of taking the boys but not Elizabeth; she was still seventeen but the boys adored her and her classes, while lively, were orderly and productive. No, it was not the Sunday school that was the problem: she disliked going to church because it troubled her conscience. The Good Book made it very clear (Exodus 20:12) that children should honor their father and mother. Elizabeth found it very hard even to like her parents and being in church reminded her of that failure. On the wall of the Sunday school that very text was written in large letters and drove a sharp knife into her conscience every time she saw it.

"Elizabeth Franklyn Jones," came the cold harsh voice of her mother, "you are not ready. Must the whole household wait on you?"

"Sorry mother, I'm coming now."

The ride to church was, to begin with, much the same as always. Elizabeth's mother criticized her posture, her choice of clothing and once again her tardiness in getting ready for church. Her father made no comment but looked at her as if he was thoroughly tired of her presence. When her mother finally stopped her catalog of criticism her father cleared his voice.

"Elizabeth, you will be eighteen next week. I shall use your birthday to announce your engagement to Mr. Rankin Blake. It will not be a long engagement."

"But Father-"

Her father reacted sharply. "Enough, Elizabeth. I will tolerate no further delay or disobedience. Blake has waited four long years for you to become his bride."

Elizabeth tried hard to disguise the acid tone of her voice. "He didn't wait very long after the death of his first wife, and I was only fourteen."

"I shall not tolerate any more impertinence. Blake is a respectable, wealthy and influential man. It will be an excellent match for you."

Elizabeth said no more. She said nothing about the way that Rankin Blake had stared at her even when his poor wife was alive ... a look that made her flesh crawl and which had grown worse with every year. She said nothing about how cowed and frightened his first wife had looked or how quiet and timid his nine-year-old son Arthur was in his presence. Furthermore, she made no mention of the talk among the servants about his conduct at home. His servants talked to the Jones' servants and Elizabeth had picked up that talk. At home, Rankin Blake was a cruel man who had physically tormented his first wife. The whisper among the servants was that Blake had treated his wife with such cruelty that she had gone into an early labor and died.

Confusion
When the principal's secretary buzzed to tell him Peyton Long was there to see him, John's heart did flip-flops of confusion and he cursed. Why did life have to be so complicated?

There was certainly no confusion down below. His loins stirred with undeniable excitement despite his attempts to suppress it. Just thinking that in mere seconds the young beauty would be walking through his door had his cock swelling uncomfortably in his pants.

What was it about the girl that affected him so? Granted she was gorgeous - an elegant face with startling green eyes, straight brown hair long enough to cover those perfectly shaped and forbidden breasts, and that wonderfully tender smile - but he saw dozens of pretty girls every day. It was part of his job. Why was Peyton so special? Why did she make him lose control the way no other girl could?

With all the others he was a merciless rock. He was 'Mean Meaney', the strictest vice-principal in the long history of Knights Preparatory. He was renowned for the length of his cane and his willingness to use it. No heart-shaped face, puppy dog eyes, tears, or curled lower lip would slow his cane. No pleas, excuses, financial gifts - or offers of sexual favors - were accepted. When you were sent to John Meaney, he caned you hard and you slunk from his office in tears.

There was a gentle tap on his door and it swung open. John caught his breath. Peyton wore a light spring dress of white with a denim jacket that managed to be casual and elegant at the same time. She looked as delicious as a picnic, and he felt a surge of forbidden desire. He locked his jaw in a grim expression and rose stiffly, his frown dour and his eyes like knives.

"You again?" he spat. "Didn't I just thrash you two weeks ago?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Peyton said humbly, her face hot with pink shame. She bowed her head low. "Principal Lemasters said you may discipline me additionally if you feel it is appropriate."

"Ah, did he now."

John took the scarlet punishment form from the girl and studied it. It stated her name (Peyton Long), age (18), crime (absenteeism), and the recommended correction (12 strokes).

"Then we will add on six for being a perpetual offender," he growled, throwing the note in feigned disgust onto his desk. Inside, he was thrilled. Last time it had been a mere eight for being off school grounds at lunch without permission. He'd managed to up that to ten, but how he'd longed to truly beat this young lovely. She took the cane so well, brave and composed, without all the fuss of most girls, and her fully mature bottom was a joy to punish. He could hardly wait to administer a stout eighteen!

It was a somber Peyton who removed her jacket and folded it neatly into a stack by the door.

Prologue
Driving always calmed him down, so by the time he found himself in Scottsville, Jeff Kincaid had made a decision. He was going to leave home, the family farm to be precise. He had to get out on his own because the continual fighting with his brother was too stressful on everyone. It wasn't good for him, Paul or his parents. Paul was always right even when he was wrong, and he made life miserable for those around him if he didn't get his way.

The Willamette Valley was one of the most fertile valleys in Oregon. He knew he could make his own farm a success if he only had the chance. He loved farming and, having grown up and been working on a farm from the time he was ten along with the agricultural classes he had taken in college, he knew what he was doing. Money, however, was a problem. He couldn't afford to buy land so he'd have to look to lease. Even leased land was expensive, but if it was meant to be he knew he would find the right acreage and situation.

Having settled his mind, he was looking for a place to turn around and head back to Lewiston when he noticed an open field. From the looks of things, it hadn't been planted in crops in some time. He wondered if it would be available for lease. There was no sign, but he noticed a driveway and turned the wheel.

Little did he imagine how that simple action would affect the rest of his life.


Chapter One "C'mon in, Joel, the door's open," he heard as he stepped out of the car in front of the house.

"Now how did you know it was me?"

"How I always know. I know the sound of your car, haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Oh, I thought you were going to tell me you saw me."

She giggled at his remark. "Well, if I did, you wouldn't believe me anyway, would you?"

"Probably not."

She giggled again.

Chyna Minton had lived in the same house since her birth twenty-six years ago. She knew and loved every inch of it, inside and out. The house belonged to her great grandmother who had passed it down to her daughter, Evaline Miller. Evaline married John Arden and they had a daughter, Emma, who married Steven Minton. Emma and Steven Minton were Chyna's parents. The women who lived in this house always outlived the men, and so Chyna was raised by her great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother. All were now gone with Emma Minton's passing last year. Her passing raised all kinds of flags in town.

Scottsville was a small community of thirty-five hundred people, give or take one or two, and most knew and cared for each other. Some residents feared for Chyna now she was alone in her home; her neighbors wanted to be sure that she didn't want for anything.

Miss Kessler featuring Miss Kessler
Miss Kessler glanced at her small gold watch. There was certainly no one else at St Edwards preparatory school for boys who would have dreamed of wearing such a watch. It cost nearly as much as an ordinary schoolmistress would earn in an entire term. It was no wonder that amongst themselves the boys referred to her as Her Ladyship. Undoubtedly, she possessed an aristocratic air. What she was doing teaching at a rather down at heel boys' boarding school no one could properly understand as she seemed from another world entirely. No one could remember her ever being flustered or losing her poise. It was as if everything was always arranged for her satisfaction. Occasionally, boys were foolish enough to displease her which then meant they had to learn just how unwise that was. It was no wonder that despite her relative youthfulness the governors of the school had appointed her as Headmistress the previous term. It was a meteoric rise but one she took completely in her stride.

Again she looked at her watch. Where was that boy, Pearce? The dormitory monitor had been sent on a most important errand. In the distance she could hear the sound of his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he approached. He knew he would incur an extra punishment if he arrived as much as a second over the deadline he had been given; the Headmistress was an absolute stickler for punctuality. In the dormitory there were eight beds, one of which was occupied by an angelic blond-haired child called Bradley who was cheerfully reading a comic. The other six boys were stood in a line as if taking part in a military inspection. All six of them looked in contrast to Bradley extremely miserable as if they knew that something unforgettably painful would happen soon.

They had all (except for Bradley) been caught red-handed participating in a rather wild pillow fight. Evidence of this outbreak of hooliganism, as Miss Kessler severely termed it, could be seen by the piles of feathers scattered on the floor. At least two of the boys' pillows had burst. It was peculiar, she felt, how whenever she caught the boys of this particular dormitory misbehaving, Bradley was always engaged in some completely innocent activity. It would appear that Bradley was an exceptionally well-behaved child although somehow she doubted the evidence of her own eyes. Maybe it was her feminine intuition or perhaps it was the simple fact that he had at first, until she had drawn his attention to it, been reading his Beano upside down. Anyway, the important fact was that yet again Bradley had not been caught and would escape the caning that all the other boys would deservedly receive. It would be six of the best each plus an extra two for Pearce, as he was a dormitory monitor.

1948: Aunt Jane's Rules
Things could be difficult when four women had to share a house. And it was all the more difficult when it was Aunt Jane's house and she got to make all the rules.

Like so many women of her generation, Jane had never married. Amy sometimes conjured up a long lost love for her: a dashing captain who never returned from Flanders. Maybe there was such a man, but if Jane ever had such a past she kept it firmly to herself.

Jane was the last of the Edwardians, or so she styled herself. She'd even had a governess back in the day, or so she said. And in her day, girls knew their place.

Girls. There was the other thing. A woman was someone who came in to do the washing and cleaning. A lady, such as she, kept a house. All other female persons were definitely only girls. Even Amy's mother, Mary, who was almost 37.

Mary had brought Amy to live with her Aunt Jane in late 1946. The war was over and it was obvious even to Mary that her husband was never coming home. The house had gone in 1940 and since then Mary and Amy had shared an ever-changing set of temporary digs.

The other 'girl' in the house was Tommy. Tommy, whom Jane insisted on calling Thomasina, the name her parents had saddled her with, was another of Jane's nieces, Mary's first cousin. But at least Tommy was used to Aunt Jane's ways, having lived with her since 1936, when she was 16.

In the war, Tommy had served with the WRNS. The post war housing shortage had brought her back to Jane. She always said that the navy was not half as tough as living with Aunt Jane.

It was the first week of 1948 and 19-year-old Amy was learning that she was not too old for a spanking.

Amy had been brought up on spankings. With her father away and the world falling about their ears, mother had had no time for 'nonsense' as she called it. But things had eased off in that department until they came to Jane's. Thereafter life had taken on a distinct edge, and some days Amy could not even bear to look at a chair.

"Amy Louise Jones, you come with me this instant!" Her mother had set her jaw in that way that said she meant business.

"Ouch kid, your tail is toast," Tommy grimaced sympathetically as she slouched in the armchair. But despite her jocular manner, she unconsciously sat up straighter; no doubt Mary's scolding tone putting her in mind of Aunt Jane.

Amy sighed and walked with leaden steps to the kitchen where her mother was waiting. She hated the kitchen at times such as these. At least in the old days mother had taken her to her room.

"Mummy I..."

Chapter 1: A Mistake at Work
Cerise (Cherry) Stone strode through the small parking lot of the Connecticut fabrication company, a small specialty machine shop where she was the office manager - which meant she worked for the sole owner of the facility as secretary and bookkeeper. Sliding the big metal doors aside just to enough to walk onto the shop floor, she could sense the work slow to a grinding halt.

"Morning, Cherry!" one man yelled out over the sound of the drills and grinders and suddenly a chorus of morning greetings echoed in the big metal shop.

Cherry could feel the admiring gaze of all the guys on the floor as she waved her acknowledgment and strode purposefully to the stairs that led up to the office.

Work did not stop, nor did the guys on the floor yell out their greetings because she had some power in the small company, or because she had any real influence. They all stopped when Cherry came in because of the stairway. It was a long metal stairway that led up one wall to the office which was about a story and a half above the busy shop floor. It was exposed all the way up ... and all the guys wanted to watch Cherry climb the stairs.

Whether Cherry wore the skin tight jeans she now had on, or the occasional tight, short skirt when she was really in a teasing mood, did not matter. The guys on the floor, young and old alike, all stopped to admire the rolling motion of Cherry's bottom cheeks as she took step after step up the long set of stairs. Cherry loved the attention and her day always became better than it started when she felt the admiring gazes on her behind. She knew they were silently stripping her in their minds, imagining her naked bottom as she ascended the stairs, and the thought gave her a thrill.

Once in the spartan offices above, the noise of the metal working resumed to full pitch. Cherry flipped on her PC, stepped over and made a pot of coffee and once it had finished brewing made two cups of regular coffee. 'Regular' coffee in Derby, Connecticut was considered coffee with milk and two sugars. More than one visitor discovered this the hard way when passing through.

Setting one coffee on her desk, she took the other one in to her boss, Anthony Manchisi, who gratefully accepted the foam cup of coffee, sipped it and said, "I thought you'd never make it in."

It was a running joke between them and Cherry was actually right on time. Anthony had a need for morning caffeine and a lazy streak that made him wait until Cherry came in and made the coffee. Anthony was an OK boss. He never really hassled Cherry about anything after he took over the business when his father died several years ago.

Anthony Sr. had hired Cherry as a favor to her father and it was one of the favors he had never regretted.