LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

1. Susan and Wendy at Home
At the end of the Spring term, Susan Robins returned home from school a little more confidently than she had done before Christmas; that occasion had not been an experience she was eager to repeat. Sue was one of those self-confident, headstrong girls who seem to attract trouble, and during that first term in the sixth-form she had been in and out of detention constantly, and at one point the school had called her parents in and warned them their daughter was heading towards a suspension. The subsequent 'discussion' with her mother in her bedroom proved quite painful, and Susan had promised to change her ways.

Susan's best friend Wendy usually managed to avoid getting into trouble, although when the two of them got into some scrape or other, Wendy appeared more reserved than Susan, and also looked quite young for her age. It was generally assumed that Susan was the ringleader in any prank, so she tended to get most of the blame.

Not only were the two girls in the same class at school, but right from when they had turned fifteen, they had also worked together as 'Saturday girls' at the local Woolworths. That experience had been a bit of a lark, especially when they first started, but now they were planning to leave. Two of their older school friends were off to college after the summer and their old jobs in a shoe shop would shortly be available. At Woolworths, the main perk was stuffing yourself with free sweets from the Pick and Mix counter, but the offer of discounted smart shoes had more appeal to the girls as they got older. Also, working in the shoe shop they were allowed to wear 'normal' clothes, as opposed to the Woolworths staff uniform: a striped dress, with a silly tin badge saying 'Trainee'... and what was worse, at their store, the manager made the Saturday girls and also some junior staff who had joined straight from school, wear white knee-socks until they turned eighteen. He said that otherwise, some girls would wear tights or perhaps even ankle socks and it would look scruffy. He wanted everyone to look the same.

Both sets of parents worked. Susan's were school teachers and so were generally at home during the school holidays. She also had a younger brother, Peter, who was a bit of a pest. They lived comfortably enough and had a large semi-detached house on a leafy avenue in a North London suburb. Susan's father taught science at a mixed secondary school across town, while her mother was the deputy head of a private girls school quite close to home.

St Ursula's, her mother's school, was an old fashioned establishment, proud of its high academic standards and its traditional discipline. Since she was eleven Susan had been regularly threatened with having to transfer there, particularly when she was in trouble at her present school, or if her grades were slipping.

Paddled by the Pledge Mistress...
or How I Met Your Mother
I'm not going to tease you about the identity of your mother, like that old sitcom. You obviously know who your mother is, so that would be silly. But you don't know the real story of how your mother and I met, so that's what I'm going to reveal.

You heard we met in college and that is true. It was fifty years ago in a very different era. It was the 1980s. Reagan was president. The Internet hadn't happened yet. Hell, most computers were text-based back then. Cell phones were the size of shoe boxes and cost five bucks a minute to use. And back then five bucks could buy you five gallons of gas or a decent dinner, so that was a lot of money.

I'm sure you're thinking all that history stuff isn't too relevant, but you need to understand the era. There wasn't all the politically correct thinking of today. This would never happen today. This was also in Texas, at A&M, where things were a little different even then. Back then, and I swear this is true, I heard guys actually had to fuck a goat in order to get into one of the fraternities. Seriously. It was part of the initiation. Today that'd get you locked up faster than you can say PETA.

So what you're about to hear may sound bizarre and outrageous, and maybe it even is, but at the time it didn't seem that unusual. I'm not saying it was normal - but this kind of thing wasn't uncommon.

I may not remember what I had for breakfast this morning, but I remember everything from that day like it was yesterday. It was a Saturday afternoon. I was twenty years old and not a very serious kid. I partied all the time and didn't have a clue what I wanted to do with my life. On that day I'd been planning on meeting a couple of my buddies to go see a movie, but they'd bailed on me. I'm sure I had studying I could have been doing, but I wasn't about to waste a Saturday afternoon on schoolwork. I had gone to another buddy's place off campus, but he wasn't home, so I was heading back to the dorms, bored as hell and wondering what to do.

I was on the south end of the campus near the Epsilon Theta Zeta sorority house. This was just off the campus property and I remember being annoyed because the place was gated and fenced and I was going to have to walk around it to get back on campus. It was a large house, very old, a collection of several buildings, and I remember wondering if I could cut through to save me time.

Chapter 1
It was going to be a big adventure! Excited and a little scared, 21-year-old Rebecca had packed her bags with everything she would need for her year away from home: a year of travel, seeing new countries, expanding her horizons ... a trip of a lifetime ... and she was doing all this by herself.

Picking up her bags, Rebecca kissed and hugged Maggie, her landlady and surrogate mum, then walked from the little terraced house and climbed into the black cab that was going to whisk her away to the airport.

Rebecca smiled at Maggie and called out, "Thank you for everything, Maggie."

"Take care, Becky. Make sure you behave yourself and come and see me when you get back."

Rebecca knew she would miss Maggie. She had lived in her house for the last three years, during which time she had been to University and studied history, gaining a very creditable 2:1. It was Maggie who scolded her when essays were late, who praised her when her grades were good, and on quite a few occasions punished her when she felt it was deserved. Early bedtimes, groundings and a smacked bottom had all been used to good effect. Rebecca blinked back a tear and looking through the cab rear windscreen, waved goodbye as the cab drove off.

"I guess you are off travelling then? Where are you going?" asked the cab driver.

Rebecca smiled. "I'm flying to the USA, then crossing the country and in about two months I will be in California... after that I'm off to the far-east, Thailand, Vietnam, and then Australia."

The cabbie smiled back in his mirror. "Have you remembered your passport and your money? I've had a few of you young teenagers forget them in the past."

A quick check in her pockets confirmed she had everything. "Yes I have them, thank you."

The rest of the journey passed quickly and before long Rebecca was presenting her passport and checking in her bags. The woman at the check-in looked at the passport and then at Rebecca. She liked what she saw: a pretty petite brunette with a pair of nicely tanned legs, about 5' 2'', hair in a pony tail, dressed in trainers, pink ankle socks, white shorts and a pink crop top that showed a flash of tummy and the beginnings of breasts, but obviously no bra. Then the woman attached two red flight tags to the Rebecca's bags and put them through to the loading area.

"One moment please." She smiled at Rebecca and then got up and disappeared around the back of check-in with Rebecca's passport, which she showed to a lady security officer. "Helen, look at this passport. I swear she looks 14 or 15, has the most adorable freckles, and I think she is off travelling."

Helen nodded. "OK, I will check her details; perhaps we have found what we are looking for."

The Sirens of Salem
Tom Forman was feeling exceptionally full of himself as he sat across the table from the owner of Jeffers Pharmacy, the largest of the three drugstores in the town of Salem. Although it certainly wasn't the largest contract he had ever negotiated, Tom was still surprised and very pleased that he was able to convince the conservative pharmacist to stock so much of Tom's new line of power foods and beverages. The success definitely made his two day swing through Blaine County worthwhile.

It was three o'clock on Friday afternoon. However, Tom wasn't particularly anxious to make the two hour drive back to the stark one bedroom apartment he had been calling home ever since his wife divorced him a year ago. He gulped the last of his second martini and looked across the table at his companion, Frank Jeffers, a man at least twenty years older than Tom. "So, Frank, what do you folks do for fun around here on a Friday night?"

Frank gave Tom a fatherly smile. "Go home and spend time with our families," he replied quickly. "Of course, the Pizza Hut over on Salem Road is popular with the younger crowd."

Just then, the waitress approached the table. Tom, who fancied himself a lothario, noticed that she was reasonably attractive for a woman who was at least thirty. He reasoned that under any circumstances she was probably the best this town had to offer. And she wasn't wearing a ring on the third finger of her left hand. "Can I get you anything more here?" she asked cheerfully, her blue eyes moving back and forth between the two men.

Frank shook his head. "Nothing more for me, Franny," he said. "I've got to get back to the store."

Tom flashed his best smile toward Franny. "I certainly wouldn't mind buying you a drink, honey, as soon as you're all done here."

Franny's pleasant smile turned to ice and she glared at the salesman. "No, thank you," she said in a very controlled voice. Then she dropped the check on the table, turned around, and walked away stiffly.

Tom huffed and looked over at Frank. "What's with her?" he questioned rhetorically. "I was just trying to be friendly."

Frank slid out of the booth and stood up. "She's not looking for that kind of friend," he answered. He turned toward the door. "Tom... I hope your power bars sell better than you do. Thanks for lunch." He walked away without waiting for a reply.

Tom flushed slightly, took a deep breath, and gathered himself together. He had been rebuffed before many times. He was determined not to let it bother him, especially the rejection of some small town yokel who was probably way past her prime. He picked up the check and studied it for a few seconds. Then he took out his wallet and set down the exact amount plus fifty cents.

1. The Taste of Him
As Sarah approached the pub, she marvelled at her complete lack of panic. This was her third try, her third attempt to meet someone who might...

Although she wasn't panicked, she still wasn't able to complete that particular thought.

Besides, she wasn't even sure if this would work out. They had written back and forth, and although Mark's writing was intriguing, it was distant and impersonal, almost professional in its feel. It didn't charm her the way some of the others had, and yet she nonetheless had a nagging feeling that it would be worth seeing him in person. Beyond writing, she had also learned that much could be learned about a man by his choice in pubs, and he certainly passed muster on that account. She hadn't even bothered to stop by his chosen meeting place beforehand to scope it out; he had chosen one of her favourite locations.

To his further credit, he had been very understanding thus far. He had sent her a name and a picture. She had sent him an excuse and an apology. She had set rules for herself, and refusal to give either of those things to strangers on the internet were among them. He asked if they were meeting for a drink, or perhaps something else as well. She had said just a drink, this first time. It was another of her rules which she made very clear to him in a patient e-mail, and which she made clear to herself by booking a bunk in a hostel for the night.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and peeked in. There he was, alone in the room which would have been cheery when filled with patrons, but now, in the mid-afternoon lull, instead presented a snug sense of privacy.

He stood to greet her. She cautiously offered her hand, which he turned into a hug complete with a quick peck on the cheek that she dutifully turned away from. She blushed, stammering and fumbling her way through a hurried introduction, ardently hoping that he wouldn't judge her too harshly on these first awkward moments.

And then he talked, his lilting accent filling the silence that she was unable to banish on her own: he recounted tales of his own history and asked simple questions on her own, listening attentively as her answers gradually grew from halting, stammering one-word wonders and started to resemble the actual sentences that a sane person might offer in the course of a normal conversation.

He patiently avoided 'the subject' at first ... not so much dancing around it as purposefully turning his back on it. They were each well into their second pint before he casually brought up the reason for their meeting, just a quick reference before returning to more mundane subjects.

"Later," he said when she started to ask. "I don't want to risk scaring you off just yet."

Judicial Snafu
by Jeff Chadwick
Thirty-two-year-old Brooke slipped on her nightgown, poured a cup of coffee, and sat at the kitchen table. Bleary-eyed, she looked over yesterday's unopened mail. An official looking envelope marked 'Corrections Department' caught her attention. She opened it and read the contents. Then she read again, to make sure the words were real.

To: Ms. Brooke Erica Hoffman (ID# 26630149937)

This letter serves as official notice that Brooke Erica Hoffman is summoned to appear at the Southside Corrections Facility at 9 am on March 7, 20**, to receive judicial corporal discipline as per sentencing in Circuit Court case #4761002. Attendance is mandatory. Petitions for postponement must be applied for at the Correctional Facility at least 3 days (excluding weekends and public holidays) prior to a scheduled disciplinary session. Postponements are granted only for medical reasons. If an emergency situation arises that prevents attendance at a session, an emergency petition must be applied for within 3 days (excluding weekends and public holidays) following the scheduled disciplinary session. Failure to comply with these conditions will incur additional penalties.

The words made no sense. What sentence? Brooke had never been to court, ever. Was this some kind of mistake? Was it a joke? Confused and more than a bit panicked, she called the number listed on the letter.

After twenty minutes navigating phone menus, she finally reached a bored-sounding operator. "Ma'am, you are definitely in the system for a twenty swat discipline session. What for? I'm sorry ma'am, I can't seem bring up the records of your court case. No ma'am, I don't know why they aren't available. They should be. There have been some computer issues lately. You'll need to talk to someone in person, ma'am, there's nothing I can do here."

Obviously it was some kind of mistake. Brooke worked a part-time contract with a PR firm, and was a freelance writer on the side, so she figured she was entitled to take a day off to go deal with it. She got showered, dressed in a simple blouse and skirt combination, and drove to the facility as quickly as she could. But not so quickly that she'd run the risk of a ticket. That would be a bad idea right now, she suspected.

Judicial corporal punishment had been proposed right about when Brooke graduated from journalism school. Her first big splash as a wet-behind-the-ears newspaper writer came with a column supporting the idea. She'd argued it was much more humane to dole out a sound strapping to minor criminals, rather than relegate them to the overcrowded and brutal prison system, which was less likely to reform them than to turn them into hardened criminals. That had gotten her journalism career off to a flying start.

Chapter 1
Damn the luck! Wouldn't you know it? The dumpster was only about twenty yards from the cabin, and Ron and Clair had collected trash in the car on the trip - mainly paper cups and food wrappers. It would take only a few seconds to make a dash with the trash. Clair went for it in a sprint.

But Mr. Finney whirred around the curve on his little golf cart. Clair dropped in the trash and let the lid on the dumpster fall shut with a bang - and sighed.

"I'm busted, aren't I?" she said.

Mr. Finney chuckled and stopped the cart.

"'Fraid so, Mrs. Lattimer," he said as he stepped out. "You know what the rules say."

"I know, I know. Rule 6. No ladies allowed away from their cabins after five wearing clothes below the waist," Claire said.

"Actually, socks and shoes are okay," Mr. Finney said.

He reached into the basket on the back of a cart and brought out a clear polymer paddle with a double regiment of holes running the length of its business end. Claire examined the weapon for an instant, then looked around. Only a few of the cabins had vehicles parked in front of them, but it was only Wednesday. They would fill up by the weekend. A pickup truck was parked a couple of cabins down and a man in jeans, white tee, and dark shades sat on its little porch nursing a beer. Watching. Thunder rumbled in the east.

"We're gonna get it this evenin'," Mr. Finney said. "Hear Beaver Run is already out of its banks. Gonna come a gully-washer."

"I think I'm going to get it right now, Mr. Finney," Claire replied.

The man chuckled. Somewhere between middle age and death, Mr. Finney, as always, was dressed in pressed khaki. A floppy straw fedora was centered on his head.

"'Spect that's true, Mrs. Lattimer."

Clair unbuttoned her white walking shorts and shimmied them down to her knees. Black panties followed. She bent and grasped her shins.

"Why don't you turn t'other way, Mrs. Lattimer, so Mr. Barker can see."

Clair waddled around so the man on the porch could see her bare bottom.

Sometimes, the whole thing seemed absurd. Clair Lattimer, thirty six years old, looking much like a prim school teacher - which she was (maybe not so much the prim part) - standing bare-bottomed where a man who was not her husband would see her get spanked.

"Ready, Mrs. Lattimer?" Mr. Finney said.

Clair quickly brushed a stray lock of her short chestnut-colored hair out of her eyes, widened her stance a little for stability, and grasped her shins tighter.

"Ready, Mr. Finney."

The paddle crashed into her bottom with such force she almost stumbled forward.

"OH!"

Damn, he hit hard for an old guy! Clair regained her stance quickly and the second swat almost lifted her off her feet.

Mary Lansley, the wife of highly respected Justice of the Peace, Adam Lansley, was lying in bed with her lover's arm sprawled over her naked body. They had been like that since their lovemaking had ended about an hour previously. Slowly she surfaced, wondered where she was for a few seconds and then glanced at the clock beside the bed. She didn't quite believe what she saw and levered herself up to look more closely.

"Shit Johnnie, I should have been on my way home ages ago!"

She manoeuvred herself from under him, got out of bed and began to dress as quickly as she could. He watched her, admiring yet again her shapely taut body which belied her age - much closer to 50 than 40 now.

Within a few minutes she was in her car and driving fast through the dark countryside. She knew that she was probably over the limit - after all they had drunk at least one bottle of champagne before going to bed - but she really needed to try get home before her husband arrived back from one of these interminable meetings. She glanced down at the car clock and put her foot down harder on the accelerator. Suddenly she was going through a village and a young woman was crossing the road in front of her. Mary jammed on the brake and swerved. She managed to avoid the woman but in doing so clipped the corner of a car parked at the side of the road. There was a screech of metal on metal. Fortunately she was able to regain control of the car and it came to a halt about 30 yards further along the street. She looked in the mirror and saw the woman staring at the car. She didn't look hurt in any way, however, so Mary put her foot down again and shot off.

When she drove into the large courtyard of the house she was relieved to see that Adam's car was not there, so parked her car with the corner of the car that had been damaged away from where he might see it when he got home. Mary wasn't completely stupid, however, and knew that there were likely to be recriminations eventually, but for the moment she had got away with it.

It was only five minutes later that her husband came through the door. Unfortunately for Mary, it was only five more minutes before the doorbell rang, and within a minute or so her husband returned with two policemen - a sergeant and a constable. Her problems were about to begin.

The interrogation was brief and to the point and Mary was breathalysed after admitting that yes, she had had a minor accident on the way home and had not stopped.

The sergeant looked at the reading shown on the meter and turned to her husband. "I wonder if I might have a word in private, Mr Lansley."

1. In the Beginning
Bob and Wendy were lying in their queen-size bed with the sheets rumpled and the large quilt pulled haphazardly back. It was late on a Saturday evening. They were both naked and feeling warm and relaxed after making love. Bob was tenderly stroking Wendy's inner thigh, and she was letting him. Her eyes were nearly closed. They were celebrating the end of their sixth year together in the style that was most comfortable to them - privately, without any extravagant celebration or fanfare.

Unconsciously, Bob's hand began to creep higher and higher on Wendy's thigh until it was only a few millimeters away from the curly brown pubic hair that surrounded her glistening sex.

"You know I would never tell you what to do," Wendy whispered, "but you better stop doing that."

"Why?" he asked, continuing to massage the sensitive flesh.

"Can you manage another performance?"

Bob smiled and pulled back his hand knowingly. "Probably not right away."

They both rolled onto their backs. "Hard to believe it's been six years," Wendy said.

"In some ways," Bob said. "In some ways, it seems like we've been together forever, just like an old married couple." Then he sat up and glanced at their wedding picture - a simple photograph taken immediately after a simple ceremony at their church, with eight guests, including the deacon who performed the ceremony. "Wendy, do you remember the first time I saw you?"

Wendy thought for a few seconds. "I was working at that plumbing supply company, I think."

"That's right. You were Tom's receptionist and secretary. I had to meet with Tom to discuss increasing his insurance since he was expanding. You greeted me in the outer office and told me that Mr. Jackson was meeting with a potential customer and I would have to wait for a few minutes. I remember thinking that you had a nice voice and pleasant air about you, but that you were a bit timid."

Wendy sat up next to her husband. "Well, you recall that I had only been working there for a few weeks and I was recently divorced."

"I certainly didn't hold that against you. I thought that your timidity was a very attractive quality. Even then, I wondered if maybe you were submissive." He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Later, in Tom's office, I asked him about you. At first, he seemed reluctant to tell me anything. I think he had some designs on you himself - not that I could blame him."

Wendy looked surprised. "I thought he was married."

Bob nodded. "He was, but that never stopped him. I knew Tom Jackson in high school and college. He was always a womanizer. I believe he still is."

"Well, he never came on to me."

"No, I imagine he didn't. After he told me that you were divorced and had been a teacher who would rather work as a secretary, I told him that I thought I might want to get to know his new secretary a little better."

Aunt Edith
by Stephen de Medici
Jessica and Steve were clearing up lunch - leftover Christmas food - when the doorbell unexpectedly rang. They weren't expecting anyone. Jessica, a 5 foot 5 petite brunette, looked quizzically at her slim six foot tall husband of three years. Steve shrugged silently, having no more idea who it was than his pretty wife.

"I'll go," Steve offered and made his way along the almost bare hallway towards the front door. The stained glass panel showed the shadow of a stout female form. His puzzled frown deepened as he reached for the door handle.

Standing on the door step was a formidable middle-aged woman, classically handsome rather than pretty or beautiful, and she had about her an aura of power. This aura was almost palpable and, as it was early January, supplemented by what seemed like steam coming off her head and clothing. All in all, it was a daunting sight for Steve. He knew the lady. It was his mother's sister, Aunt Edith, and she looked decidedly cross.

"Auntie!" Steve said with surprise. "Wha..?" Before he could get the rest of his query out Edith walked forward, forcing him to step aside and open the door fully to allow her entry.

"Good day to you too, Stephen," Edith stated as she passed her nephew. "Close the door, dear, it's rather chilly out."

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold ran up his spine. Usually, only his mother called him Stephen and only when he had been in trouble as a child. Hearing his aunt say it caused unaccountable squirming in the pit of his stomach. Jessica had come to the kitchen door to find out who was calling on them the day after New Year's Day so Edith strode forwards in her sensible shoes and Jessica gave way to allow this somehow threatening figure to enter the kitchen. Stephen followed, still puzzled as to why they were receiving a rare visit from his dour aunt. Edith undid her sensible overcoat and imperiously handed it to Steve, revealing a knee-length tweed skirt, white blouse and deep purple cardigan that clothed her slightly-stout figure. At 45 she still looked trim but... substantial... was the word most people used when describing her - though not to her face!

Steve hung up her coat while Jessica offered their unexpected visitor a cup of tea. Edith accepted the offer and sat at the pine kitchen table.

"Happy New Year, Auntie," Steve finally managed to say as he rejoined them in the kitchen. "You're looking well."

"Fit as a fiddle," Edith replied. There was a subtle uplift of the corners of her mouth which Steve had rarely seen. Steve had always thought his aunt to be an unhappy woman from having lost her husband to a work accident some ten years previously. She was the elder sister to his mother and, Steve assumed, took her seniority rather too seriously, like being the matriarch of the family was a serious matter.

Chapter One
Ruth was mortified beyond measure. It wasn't just that she was across Lucinda 'Momma' Fletcher's lap getting spanked on the seat of her panties, she was used to that by now. No, it was that she was lying there side by side with 'sister' Sarah. Mrs. Fletcher had a very big lap! Ruth was a grown woman, twenty-years old, and yet she was being spanked like a naughty child because, in the Fletcher home, she was a child.

"Ouch!" Sarah yelped. "Mom, come on it's not that big a deal."

Ruth cringed. She wasn't all that worldly and knowledgeable, but she was sharp enough to know that Sarah wasn't winning any points with her mom. Crack! The extra hard smack she got right to the center of her behind proved it.

"Ow! Momma, we're sorry; we won't sneak friends into the house ever again, promise."

Ruth couldn't believe she'd just said that word: Momma. She'd been done with calling anyone that wonderful term of endearment for a very long time. Lying there, Momma beating out quite the tune on their poor bottoms, Ruth's mind slipped back over the course of recent events. How had she come to this?

It had started innocently enough...

Ruth had worked at the Daybreak Diner for five years. She'd started as a dishwasher when she was fifteen and still in foster care. Her foster parents had thought it a good idea, a way of teaching her the value of hard work and she could earn some money of her own. By the time she finished high school (finished, not graduated), she was a waitress.

That was where she met the Fletcher family. They came in every Sunday morning for breakfast and Ruth instantly loved them all. The concept, the very idea of an intact family was totally alien to her, and she loved being around people who so clearly loved and cared for each other deeply. Watching the girls grow had been the most amazing thing of all, especially Sarah, the oldest. Every time she had a growth spurt, on their next visit she and Ruth would stand back to back to compare sizes. At fourteen, Sarah was half a head shorter than Ruth - but two years later, their situations were reversed!

"Goodness, girl, don't you ever eat?" Mrs. Fletcher would say.

The girls would giggle and Mr. Fletcher would sigh.

"Dear, you say that every week," he'd say.

"Well, it's true. Ruth, I'm serious, are you eating enough?"

"I'm fine, thanks for asking. They feed me real good here. Now, you folks save room for dessert? We got fresh blueberry pie!"

The girls let loose with a chorus of 'yes', but Ruth had learned long ago that it was Mom and Dad who had the final say.

The buzzing sound that filled the darkened room sent a hand shooting out from the bed. Finding the 'Off' button, Leo only wanted to go back to sleep but knew it was time to get up. So after hitting the button, he groaned and stretched his six-foot frame. Slowly he pulled himself up and, giving one last yawn, tossed the top sheet off and got out of bed.

"Leopold, breakfast is ready, dear," called Mom from down the hall.

"I'll be there in a few minutes, Mom."

After pulling on his uniform, Leo entered the bathroom. A close look in the mirror showed hazel eyes filled with mixed emotions of both gladness and sorrow.

"Why couldn't you have cleared up in high school?" he whispered at his reflection, before passing a comb through his reddish hair. It made him think of all the cruel teasing at school by the so-called cool kids; they, the jocks and cheerleaders were all guilty of making his high school years a living hell. "Well it's over, and this fall means a fresh start at the University of California," he stated to the face in the mirror.

Yes, no more feelings of hating to go to school and being the target of the different cliques. Though he was valedictorian at Centennial High, he would be glad to be leaving it and Bakersfield behind, to start a new life. He intended to make a fresh start by becoming a Bio-engineer. Things would be different in University; students there would really want to learn.

Heading down to the kitchen, Leo made his way to the table after giving his mom a kiss on the cheek. Sitting down he started into his breakfast of Cheerios and toast, washing down the toast with orange juice. After brushing his teeth he grabbed his lunch and headed out the door. Backing his 94 Taurus out, he headed down Seven Hills towards the East Hills Mall.

Leo did wish he had a car that wasn't so old... maybe five years old, but not fifteen. But his dad had said as long as it gets you from point A to point B, that's all that matters.

"Right, Dad. You're not the one having to drive to school in it," Leo mumbled as he drove.

Leo had got lucky as Chris, one of his few friends, had an uncle who needed some part-time security guards at the mall. Chris talked his uncle into hiring the pair of them, and his uncle soon found that Leo was a good worker even though his nephew Chris was not.

The job did have its ups and downs. The good part was sitting in the security room watching the monitors to see that there was no trouble. The bad part was when he had kids from school that he had to deal with. Even in uniform he was still being taunted. This being Saturday, Leo knew that it would be one of those days.

Chapter 1
My name is Helen, and my friend Sandy and I were college roommates. Sandy always had a fantasy about being spanked, and when she visited me she was given an opportunity to live out that fantasy. I had no such fantasy - I actually grew up in a spanking family and for me, spanking was just a matter of discipline and punishment. While I readily agreed to provide the spanking experience for Sandy, what surprised me were the sexual aspects. The sexual excitement it brought to Sandy made me aware of the erotic side of spanking. I got a real charge from spanking her thoroughly and seeing her reactions and the arousal the spankings and other punishments had on her... and I could not help overhearing her use of her vibrator in the bedroom next door to mine every night after her punishments. It turned me on so much I was determined to experience a spanking again, so the night before she left I asked her to spank me. I even asked her to use her paddle so I could have the full experience. While it hurt as much as I remembered, the new sexual connection made it an entirely new and thrilling experience.

But four years have passed since then and there has been no opportunity for any repetition. However, about a week ago Sandy called. It seems that she had made arrangements to stay with my sister, Linda, and her husband Paul, in their cabin in the Tennessee mountains, and the agreement was for Sandy to be subject to their discipline just like she was subject to mine when she visited me.

Apparently things were going so well for the first week that she talked to them about asking me to join the fun. Only this time I would be among the spankees, not the main disciplinarian! That's what she called about. Was I interested? My mind is still reeling at the thought. Would I be willing to subject myself to spanking and punishment from my much younger sister? Would I be willing to include her husband? My heart raced and my faced blushed with the images and thoughts that went racing through my mind. I could not pass up this chance, so barely pausing to think, I agreed!

Now I am wondering what in the world I have gotten myself into. Unlike Sandy I am not so petite that I can play the role of a much younger woman who might naturally be subject to juvenile discipline. I am larger than both Sandy and my sister Linda and obviously older than Linda. So here is the scenario that Linda and Sandy have worked out: I am to be myself - Linda's older sister. But I have made some bad choices in my life and got myself into some trouble. Linda and her husband Paul have agreed to bail me out but on one condition - I am to be put under their control just as 'Cousin Sandy' is.

Danny Fuller reported to work at The Troubadour for his job as a bartender promptly at 4:00. The handsome 23-year-old found his work satisfying in more ways than one. Though the hourly rate wasn't that great, the tips, especially from the women he served, more than made up for it. He was grateful for their generosity. The extra money was needed to fund his studies. Danny had friends who had graduated loaded down with debt and had been unable to find a job where they were able to earn enough to pay it off. As a result, he refused to borrow money for school. Last, but far from least, was the chance to meet girls. His confident manner and easy charm made him very popular with the ladies.

He quickly set up his bar and waited for the happy hour crowd to come in. With its medieval theme and excellent food, The Troubadour was an upscale tavern very popular with young professionals. Since it was Friday, he expected to serve a large crowd and take his pick of the females. He wasn't disappointed.

By 5:00 the place had begun to fill up. It wasn't long before the customers kept Danny and the other bartenders very busy. He watched with satisfaction as his tip jar began to fill up. Several young women, mostly secretaries, were vying for his attention. Most were attractive and choosing one would depend on which would be most likely to go to bed with him that night. As the clock edged toward 6:30, many of the patrons had taken tables to order dinner, and the pace at the bar slowed. Danny took the chance to do some restocking and straightening up.

"Are you too busy to get me a drink?" The voice startled him but not as much as whom it came from. Black hair in a page boy cut framed a slender face with high cheek bones. It held no hint of a smile. Piercing blue eyes made her gaze appear as a penetrating stare. She looked to be older than him, perhaps thirty. From the tone of her voice, she was used to getting what she wanted without delay.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I didn't see you come to the bar. What would you like?"

"Two fingers of your best single malt, neat." Danny reached for an eighteen-year-old bottle of Glenmorangie and poured her drink. "You know your Scotch. That's a little surprising for someone so young."

Her bright blue eyes never left his face and were making him uncomfortable.

"I've been watching you flirt with those girls. I think you are wasting your time. They are all the same type." She sipped her scotch before continuing. "Their main goal is finding a husband and having babies. Is that really the kind of woman you want to date?"

Danny was surprised at her blunt question, but he had to admit she had a point.

Flowers for the Wife
"Edward Anthony Gillespie - come here. Now."

Ted gulped. When Betty was pissed at him she always used his full name of Edward ... the addition of his middle name meant she was seriously pissed.

"Er, okay. I'm coming."

He put down his newspaper, got up from the sofa and headed towards the kitchen wondering what he'd done to displease her. She hadn't raised her voice, nor did she need to, because when she used that certain tone, Ted always knew she meant business... and when Betty was in one of her moods it was best not to irritate her further.

So he scurried into the kitchen, and there she was, his wife of six months, standing by the sink as the tap drip-drip-dripped into the bowl.

"Ah," he said apologetically. She had asked him twice to repair the dripping tap. Or was it three times?

"Four times I've asked you to see to the tap, and four times you promised to do so." Betty glared at him, her pretty face set into a hard stare.

"Uh, sorry. I forgot."

"You forgot? That's a pathetic excuse Edward, and you know it." Betty narrowed her eyes and looked at him speculatively. "If this marriage is going to work, things are going to change around here, Edward."

"Of course, of course," he said, with no clear idea of what she had in mind. "I'll do it straight away ... after the football." He glanced at his watch. "It's on in ten minutes."

"You'll do it right now," she said firmly, her green eyes blazing.

"But the football-"

"I don't give a damn about the football. I've been asking you to do this simple task for three weeks. So get on with it."

Ted frowned and was about to argue but thought better of it. He reached for a spanner out of one of the kitchen drawers. "Needs a new washer," he announced a couple of minutes later. "I'd best nip out and get one."

"Fine. But be quick about it. Or else," Betty added ominously.

Ted had every intention of buying a replacement washer, after the football. He couldn't miss kick off! He drove to the pub and raced inside, just in time to see the start of the match on the big screen.

"Ted! I wasn't expecting to see you here this afternoon." Ted's best mate Bill grinned, slapped him on the back, and ordered two pints from the bar.

Ted got the second round of drinks in at half time. His team continued to play brilliantly, winning 4 - 0. Ted was hoarse with shouting and ordered another two pints. "To ease our throats," he told Bill.

"Cheers, mate. I'll just give Molly a Call," said Bill. "Tell her I'm going to be another hour or so. She likes to know what I'm up to."

Jane and Her Awakenings with Aunt Alice
These days you can find out about almost anything on the Internet. So if you have a strange personal experience and think you may be a little odd, it doesn't take long to find out that you are not the only one in the world to be obsessed with Singer sewing machines or whatever it happens to be.

But back in the 1960s the world was a different place, and if your secret quirk happened to have a sexual dimension then it was so much more confusing. Therefore when my life was turned upside down, it took a long time to get my head straight as I seriously thought I was a freak.

What are you talking about, Janice? Let's start from the beginning, as Aunt Alice would have said. I learnt the hard way to listen to Aunt Alice so here goes.

I was born in Gateshead as Janice Armstrong and in 1963 I was 19-years-old and had just completed my journalism part one qualification from a correspondence course and a bit of unpaid volunteering. I was absolutely convinced that I was going to change the world, or at least get to write about it. However, being an inexperienced girl in a northern town was not the best place to launch a career in writing.

In fact the only two newspapers within travelling distance of home both turned me down without an interview when they found out I was a woman. OK, well maybe I would have had a bit of a chance if I had been a woman but a teenage girl had no chance.

I got a job in a flower shop of all things and wrote to just about every newspaper in the country for a staff position as a writer. After six months, I had only three offers of an interview, all of them in London.

You have to understand that for a Tyneside girl in 1963, London was the other side of the moon. Sure, it was cool and happening, but it was also dangerous and expensive to get to. That was my father's view anyway.

Despite my best efforts to persuade him, I had already missed two interview dates before I could even get him to discuss it. Then mum remembered her Aunt Alice. At that time, there were only three things to know about Aunt Alice. Firstly, she was not really my mother's aunt, but a distant cousin. Second, she was a widow and therefore respectable. And thirdly, and most importantly for me, she lived in London.

To cut a very long frustrating story short, it was finally agreed that I could go to London for an interview if I stayed with Aunt Alice. Nothing was decided about what would happen if I got the job; I think my father was fairly certain that it wouldn't come up anyway.

Prefect Trouble
"Let go of me! Leave me alone!"

It was morning break, and Dawn was just coming out of the toilets, when she heard a familiar voice. That sounds like Karen, she said to herself. She quickly went to the end of the corridor and looked round the corner. Just disappearing at the far end of the corridor were two prefects forcibly dragging Karen along. She followed at a discreet distance as far as the prefects' common room where Karen was dragged in. What the hell's going on? wondered Dawn as she approached the door. Inside, Karen was standing glaring at the two girls that had brought her in.

"You can't do this to me!" she protested angrily.

"Can't we," sneered Carol Tucker, one of the prefects.

"And who's going to stop us?" said Melanie Cuthbertson, the other prefect, putting her face right in front of Karen's.

"I'll go to Miss Woods about this," yelled Karen.

"As if she'll believe you," laughed Carol.

There were two other prefects in the room.

"What's going on?" asked Pat Greenwood.

"This cheeky little brat refused to do the lines I gave her," said Carol.

"Shouldn't you go to her tutor?" replied Pat.

"No, it's time this one learnt a lesson. Her bum's going to be so sore by the time we've finished with her," retorted Carol.

"If anybody finds out, you're in big trouble," said Geraldine Arthurs, the fourth prefect.

"And who's going to say anything?" queried Melanie.

"I will," shouted Karen.

"You do and you're dead," snarled Carol. "Come on, Mel, let's get her over the desk."

Both girls grabbed a struggling Karen and pushed her down.

"Who's going to do the slippering?" asked Mel.

"Let's do half each," suggested Carol.

"How many?" asked Mel.

"We'll change after three and see how we go," said Carol.

"Sounds good to me," grinned Mel.

"I'll go first," said Carol. "Hey Pat, get one of my plimsolls out of my locker, will you."

"Get it yourself. I'm not having anything to do with this," retorted Pat.

"Me neither," interjected Geraldine.

"Alright then, I'll get it myself. Here, hold her down, Mel."

Carol quickly took a plimsoll from her locker and got into position.

"Get her skirt up," said Carol.

"Leave me alone," yelled Karen.

"Shut up, you little brat," snapped Mel.

Mel pulled Karen's skirt up over her back. "What about her knickers?"

"Yeah, let's have them down as well," said Carol.

"Might as well do the job properly," added Mel.

"I think this has gone far enough," intervened Geraldine.

"Shut up if you don't like it," retorted Carol.

Mel then pulled Karen's knickers down to her knees, to much protesting and wriggling from Karen.

"That's a lovely white bottom, let's turn it bright red," sniggered Carol.