LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

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.