LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Something Wicked
by Pat Jones
Headmaster Charles Martin strode into his office with a sense of purpose. So many naughty bottoms to thrash and so little time! Charles Martin had nearly 800 girls under his charge, each with a bottom simply itching to be spanked - itching for it, mind you - judging from the cheek of them. As far as Charles Martin was concerned they were all naughty, every bloody one of them, even the ones that smiled sweetly and studied hard and pretended to be good. As far as the Headmaster was concerned even the 'good' ones needed a 'good' thrashing, and sooner or later all of them found themselves bent over his desk with tears in their eyes and knickers around their ankles, begging for a mercy he never felt.

Every day was busy and was filled with naked girlish bottoms to thrash, but today would be the worst. Yes, it was always the worst. He'd have to make an early start of it today.

"Just where do you think you're going, young man?"

The Headmaster turned to see his scowling secretary, Mrs. Mumford, glaring daggers at him. At first he thought her reprimand was a joke, a prank of the sort that made today the busiest day of the year for him. It wasn't until he caught sight of himself in the mirror that he realized something had gone dreadfully, horribly awry.

He was no longer fat; that was the good news. Now he was slender, almost waifish. He was no longer wearing his tweedy three piece suit with the traditional Headmaster's cloak, but was instead dressed like a schoolboy, wearing a blazer embossed with the school's logo, short pants, long gray socks, and a beanie cap which also had the school's logo.

Most startling of all he was no longer the 58-year-old Headmaster. He was now an 18-year-old schoolboy, mouth agape, slowly moving his hand up and down to verify that the reflection in the mirror belonged to him.

"What are you gaping at, boy?" Mrs. Mumford snapped. "Give me your pass and sit down on the bench. The Headmistress will see you when she has the time."

"Pass?" Charles Martin repeated, his mind awash in confusion.

"Are you a parrot? Yes, your pink punishment pass, child. The one sticking out of your pocket."

Charles Martin reached into his pocket and to his surprise extracted a pink punishment pass. He knew them well, for fretful girls handed in their passes all day long. But this was his pass, with his name on top! How could it be? Before he could read the damning details the incriminating pass was summarily snatched out of his hands by the impatient Ms. Mumford.

"SIT," she said sternly, barking at the stunned schoolboy standing before her like he was an errant puppy.

Unsure of what to do, the Headmaster complied.