LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

It started quite by chance... 24 year-old Emma lived just a few doors away from 36-year-old Stephanie. They became friendly and one day were having coffee at Steph's house. Steph was in a state of despair with her two kids - Billy aged ten and Joel aged eight.

"Last week they were a nightmare," Steph complained. "I had to spank them both twice. Thank goodness they are off to camp the day after tomorrow for a couple of weeks."

"How often do you spank them?" Emma asked.

Steph sighed. "At least once a week. It used to be more often but I guess they have improved."

"So spanking worked?"

"No doubt about it," Steph enthused. "My Mum never spanked me and I was a bit of a tomboy. I wish she had dealt with me more strictly."

"My Mum never spanked me either. Even now I reckon it would do me some good."

"Really?" Steph queried. "At your age?"

Emma blushed as she admitted, "I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be a twelve-year-old again and to be subject to a much stricter disciplinary regime."

"Are you sure?" Steph asked, smiling. "It would be far more restrictive than you might think."

"How?" Emma's blush deepened.

"Oh, doing as you are told all the time and getting spanked if you don't."

"Yes, but if I had experienced that when I was twelve I would know."

"If you really want to, why not let me be your strict Mum to your twelve-year-old you?" suggested Steph.

"Sounds like an idea," Emma said, biting her lip. After a moment she asked, "But how would it work?"

Steph smiled and made a suggestion. "If you want you can come and stay with me when the kids are away. I know you go to work. However, if you take a couple of week's holiday you can stay at home with me. You will have to act and behave like a twelve-year-old and I will be the strict mum. Hey, I mean the very strict mum."

Emma liked the idea. "It does sound cool. But look... I know I want to experience a strict upbringing, but do you really want to have to deal with a naughty twelve-year-old?"

Steph was enjoying herself. "I'm going to have to do exactly that in a couple of years time, so it will be good training."

Emma took only a minute to decide. "It's a deal then, Steph," she said gleefully.

Steph glared back. "It's a deal then, Mum," she corrected.

Emma laughed. "Yes, sorry, Mum."

---oOo---
Two days later Emma carried two suitcases in to Steph's house and took them up to the spare bedroom. Emma put the cases down and looked at the bed. There was a school dress laid out on it; a short-sleeved green and white gingham checked dress with a front zip and two front pleats.

A Spanking for Abby
Abby walked nervously into the school office and stood at the counter, waiting for one of the secretaries to notice her. They looked like they were all extremely busy and she was in no particular hurry to find out why she had been summoned out of class, so she waited, trying not to bring attention to herself.

It hadn't taken long though before Mrs. Montgomery noticed her and asked, "What do you need, hun?"

"Somebody called me down here?" Abby asked more then stated.

That's when Mrs. Potter, the principal's secretary, looked up and said, "Are you Abigail Levine?"

"Yes, ma'am," Abby replied, frowning at the use of her given name. She hated that name; it was too old-fashioned.

Speaking more to Mrs. Montgomery then to Abby, Mrs. Potter said, "Mr. Murphy wanted to see her. I believe Miss Levine's father is in the office right now and they wanted her to join them."

At the mention of her father, Abby's face turned ashen white! She had no idea why he would be there, but it would have to be pretty serious for him to take time from his busy police schedule to come up to her school!

Giving Abby a half smile, Mrs. Montgomery said, "Have a seat, Abigail, and I'll let Mr. Murphy know you're here."

Abby looked behind her to see four black leather chairs lined up against the wall and chose the one farthest from the principal's office! Plopping down into the tattered seat she wondered how many others had occupied the same worn out chair waiting to be called in.

Fumbling with her fingers, Abby tried to think of a reason why she would be called into the office. There was only one thing she had done that would warrant an office visit and she was pretty sure there had been no witnesses around when she had done it! But she wasn't naive enough to think she had been called down to discuss the weather either!

"Abigail?" Mrs. Montgomery interrupted her thoughts. "Mr. Murphy will be with you in just a minute, okay hun?"

No, it wasn't okay, but there was nothing she could do about it! Wanting to be anywhere but right there at the moment, Abby simply nodded her head and said, "Yes, ma'am."

Besides stewing about why she was there, Abby watched and listened to others as they entered the office for one reason or another. She had been so enthralled by the hustle and bustle of the office visitors that she'd almost jumped out of her skin when Mrs. Montgomery finally called her, telling her that Mr. Murphy was ready to see her.

Abby's eyes automatically shot up to the clock hanging over the counter and noticed that they had kept her waiting fifteen minutes. Who knew what in the Hell they had been talking about during all that time.

Jennifer sat watching the storm. Ordinarily, sitting this close to the rain, watching as the droplets of water did their graceful dance down the side of the coffee shop window would have delighted her. But today the beauty of nature that had fascinated her all of her 24 years of life brought her no joy. If anything, the darkness of the skies reflected the gloom she was feeling in her heart.

She probably should have called Megan and cancelled. She certainly wasn't fit to be good company for her friend today. Then again, maybe she needed to talk to someone about this. If there was anyone in Clear Falls that she could unload this burden to, it was Megan.

How, she wondered? How do I tell my best friend, the one I stood beside when she was maid of honour on my wedding day, that the marriage is now on the rocks? How do I drop that bombshell on the table over weekly coffee? Oh my, these muffins are great... by the way Megan, did I tell you that Paul is slowly turning into a huge ass and I'm thinking of leaving him?

She glanced around the coffee shop for any sign of her friend. Except for her and the attendant behind the counter (Susan... Sandra maybe?) the tiny café was empty. She and Megan had purposely chosen mid-mornings for their weekly coffee dates. They had selected this cafe for that specific reason. It gave them a quiet time, that sweet spot after the morning rush of patrons had vacated the tables. While the world's early morning crowd were en-route to their individual office cubicles and construction sites, two friends could casually sit and nibble at sugar- coated pastries and sip endless cups of mocha or latte uninterrupted.

Today Jennifer was early and Megan was nowhere yet to be seen. She was sure now that she should have called Megan to cancel. She returned her stare towards the rain's ballet against the window pane and fell a little deeper into that pit of depression that her heart was digging.

She was still gazing out the window, still well past the rain and into her troubles at home, when her lifelong friend came up behind her. Megan was juggling two cups of French Vanilla and a plate with a couple layers of dark spiced bread that Sandra had called 'pumpkin slice'. She was smiling, assuming Jennifer to be lost in storm. Her friend's love of the rain was something Megan Davis had seen countless times over the course of almost 30 years of companionship.

As the clatter of the coffee mugs being set upon the table brought Jennifer out of her trance, the smile quickly disappeared from Megan's face. She asked a question that she could already clearly see the answer to.

"Jen, are you okay?"

Watching the joy drain out of her friend's expression was the final straw for Jennifer.

Stolen Car
"Brianna?"

"Hmmm?" I said sleepily as I lay in my bed, disturbed by the loud ringing of the phone.

"I need you to come over," my friend said, sobbing.

"Steph," I said weakly, glancing at the clock. "It's three in the morning and I had to work tonight. I'm really tired."

"I really need to talk to you, Brianna, please," she said, letting out another sob.

"What's wrong?" I asked in a worried voice, finally realizing that she was crying. "Stephanie? Are you okay? I'll be over there in a couple of minutes."

"Okay."

I slammed the phone down, changed into the nearest pair of pants, slipped on a shirt then jumped out of my window, hoping that Terrence would remain asleep until I at least got home. When I got outside, though, I realized that my car wasn't there. Yeah, I had gotten in a stupid wreck and it was still in the shop. I sighed loudly and looked at the sky as if asking God, 'Why me?' I thought for a moment and looked at Terrence's car, figuring he wouldn't miss it much. I slipped back inside my window, grabbed his keys from the kitchen table, jumped back out of the window then headed towards Stephanie's house.

I was at her house in a matter of seconds. That's how fast I drove through my neighborhood; that's how many stop signs I ran. I'm usually a really safe driver, but I was worried to death.

When I got there, the first thing I did was tap softly on her window. She opened it up and let me inside. Her eyes were red and puffy, a box of Kleenex sat next to her and Dashboard Confessionals was blaring loudly. I knew what had happened.

"Oh, God," I muttered when I landed on her floor. I allowed her to fall into my arms and I tried to rock her back and forth and console her, trying to listen to her muttering about her now ex-boyfriend and how she loved him so much and how she didn't want him to break up with her and how much she fucked up, then repeating everything afterwards. "It's okay, Steph," I said, softly. Being sixteen and all, having a boyfriend was a big deal, and it was her first real love.

We sat there for a long time, her crying on my shoulder and me rocking her back and forth. I searched through my mind, trying to think of something that could help her feel better. Sitting there on the bed listening to whiny Emo music wasn't helping at all. That's when the light bulb came on.

"Steph!" I said cheerfully.

"What?" she muttered.

"Get up! Get up! I have the perfect idea!"

She raised herself up and looked at me, her eyes puffier and redder than ever.

"Perfect idea? I miss Paul," she whined, laying her head down back on my chest.

Lilly stared down the seemingly never-ending highway ahead of her wondering how she had got herself into this situation. She always did things without completely thinking through her idea. After her parents passed in a car accident, she'd started dating a guy to fill up the void in her life, unsure whether it was love or loneliness that formed the basis of their relationship. It all seemed fine at first, but after a year or so all the excitement and joy seemed to fade. What happened to falling in love forever and till death do us part? No one seemed to stay together these days anyway, so maybe it was worth giving marriage a shot with someone who you could just deal with as opposed to someone you truly loved.

As she glanced at the clock on the dashboard, she noticed it had been over an hour since she had seen road signs for any sort of life. She realized it would have been smarter not to drive across country in the middle of the fierce July heat, but it was necessary to get out of the relationship. Her actions were based on that moment when she realized she couldn't deal with it anymore and there just might be a possibility of something better out there - somewhere. For the past three months, she had contemplated whether or not to be honest and tell Nathan how she really felt. But it really wasn't anything that was his fault that caused the rift between them. Granted, there were little things like occasionally chewing with his mouth open and little phrases he used that would grate on her nerves, but he didn't do these things intentionally and really shouldn't be blamed. It truly was the fact that they just weren't close anymore. Morning and night they passed each other lifelessly, saying 'Goodnight' and 'Have a good day'. That was the extent of the excitement in their relationship, whereas she wanted someone who would sweep her off her feet, take care of her, protect her, and cherish her. She sighed, thinking maybe she had watched too many Disney movies as a child - they had painted a picture in her mind of the ideal man and the ideal relationship, and real life bore no comparison. Damn you, Disney.

Sweating from the July heat, Lilly reached for the small cooler she had packed to pull out a bottle of water. "Damn!" she cursed, realizing all the bottles were empty, and began worrying about how much this trip was going to cost. Even though Nathan said he would pay the last month's rent of their lease, she still had plenty of credit card bills to pay, not to mention car insurance and a cell phone bill. She had always told herself she would take the credit cards out of her purse and keep paying a little over the amount due every month and eventually they would be fully paid; however, they never left her purse as there was always a range of tempting shoes or clothes on offer - and if she didn't buy them right then, she would never see them again.

Bald Face Liar Goes for Broke
Just to be clear, a bald-face (or bold-face) liar is one who tells brazen, audacious lies - lies that are perhaps believed only because they are so boldly stated. In other words, a bald-faced lie is one that is told in a compelling and convincing manner.

Go for broke means putting all your chips on the table. Betting big. Like taking all your winnings and placing them on 13. On a double 00 roulette wheel, you have one chance in 38 of winning. That's only a 2.63% chance. Slim odds.

But if 13 comes up on my $10 bet, I win $350.

This is a story about using bald-face lies to go for broke.

Take big chances. Win big.

Regarding context, this is a story about two 15-year-old cheerleaders from the junior varsity squad.

Most importantly, this is a story about spankings.

---oOo---
After JV cheer practice, Paige Primrose and I walk over to her house on Drury Lane. We'll do our algebra homework together there.

We're still in our cheer uniforms.

Secretly, I look forward to seeing her Uncle Matthew again. He's staying with Paige's family for a few weeks.

When I say 'uncle', I bet you think that Matt - if I may be so familiar - is of the same generation as Paige's stepdad.

True, they're half-brothers. They do share the same dad.

But Matt is the consequence of a May-December romance. A 'love' child, Matt is the offspring of their dad's second marriage to a trophy wife.

That explains why Uncle Matt is so much younger and so much better looking that his brother Preston.

I mean no disrespect to Paige's stepdad. I'm just trying to be totally honest here.

---oOo---
Matt Primrose is 24, a grad student in computer science at State.

And cute!!

Matt makes me tingle all over. When I walk by him, the scent of his aftershave makes me all squishy, if you know what I mean.

But then, I'm 15. I'm probably just going through a phase.

Almost every cute boy easily arouses me.

And in Matt's case, I worry that he is maybe too cute, if you know what I mean.

---oOo---
Paige's mom and dad are still at work. We have the entire Primrose house to ourselves.

Paige asks her Uncle Matt to help us with our algebra.

We set up our textbooks and assignment sheets at the kitchen table.

Paige casually mentions that we both got 69% on our last algebra test.

Her Uncle Matt says matter-of-factly, "Paige, if I were your father, I'd spank you for earning a score like that."

"What?" exclaims Paige. "You've got to be kidding!"

All of a sudden, my tingling goes into overdrive.

Just hearing Matt say "spank" makes me swoon.

Uncle Matt says "spank" so smoothly.

Charlotte was curled up on her favourite window seat in the sitting room happily immersed in her copy of Charles Dickens' Great Expectations until the faint rumble of carriage wheels and horses hooves caught her attention. Putting down her book she glanced through the window. The Duke of Stanton's carriage was clearly discernible, being painted in the family colours and crests. It approached steadily, pulled by a team of sleek, plumed horses tacked up in pristine harnesses.

Charlotte sighed, for the Duke was an odious man... a lecherous, fat slug of a man with a ruddy complexion, sagging jowls, and chins that wobbled. His large belly protruded over his breeches and he had mammoth thighs that tapered to a ridiculous slimness below the knee, quite disproportionate to the rest of his bulk. She shuddered at the recollection of her last encounter with him: his brazen stare at her bodice, the podgy fingers which grasped her own delicate hand, and those thick lips of his which cloyingly lingered as he kissed her fingers. His oily smile held no mirth, nor was there any reflected in his black pebble eyes; they were cold and hard and dangerous, filling her with an irrational fear as well as loathing.

Not for the first time, she wondered why such a powerful and influential man as the Duke would bother associating with her father ... a man without a title, and socially below the aristocracy. She assumed it was because father was amongst the landed gentry, being a wealthy landowner... though she was uncomfortably aware that the extent of his once vast wealth had dwindled markedly owing to his drinking and gambling habits since mother died. Not that he would discuss such matters with her, but it had become apparent that in addition to selling off great tracts of land (to the Duke), the number of household staff had been halved during the past year, and she was no longer allowed to buy fine gowns, being curtly told to "Make do with what you have."

And now the Duke and his cronies had returned; no doubt for another little soiree which usually involved drinking the best wines from the cellar and bleeding father dry at their stupid card games. As the carriage rolled into the courtyard, Charlotte decided it was time to make herself scarce. Jumping up, she fled from the sitting room, grabbed an apple and a piece of cheese from the larder, and ran up the staircase to the sanctuary of her room. If her presence at dinner was requested, she would simply feign illness and remain well out of the reach of the repugnant old Duke.

---oOo---
Four men sat round the table in the drawing room: the Duke, two of his associates, and Charlotte's father, Frederick Grenville. Drinking heavily, Frederick raised his glass and committed to yet another game. Whilst some card games were based on pure luck, the Duke had a particular fondness for Whist, a game which involved a high level of concentration to keep track of the cards, as well as knowledge of the extensive technical jargon.

The Hemswell Programme
by DJ Black
"Okay, let me see if I have got this right," Laura Carmichael said after a very deep breath, "My uncle, Dean Latimer, my late uncle... I mean he is dead and this isn't some joke?"

Laura frowned and paused to gather her thoughts again before continuing, as the lawyer leaned forward, linked his hands in front of him, signalling his almost infinite patience.

"Uncle Dean has left all his money to his two daughters, my cousins Emma and Lucy, but they don't get a penny until they are at least 30 years old? And I... I have control of his estate until then. Is that about the size of it?"

Laura barely knew her uncle, but his two daughters had been a thorn in her side ever since they had been put in the custody of their mother, a stupid feckless woman who had drunk herself to death, but not before spoiling them rotten.

"There is generous compensation in this for you," the lawyer explained, as if suddenly afraid she might refuse. "As well as enjoyment of Latimer Hall, you will receive £100,000 a year and one million pounds once your duties are discharged."

"But in effect I will be their legal guardian," Laura gaped.

At 28, she was only two years older than Emma and barely five years older than Lucy; there was no way they would mind her. Looking up, she glanced at the mirror on the opposite wall that framed the scene of the dour pin-striped lawyer and a petite woman with thick dark bobbed hair. The dark brown eyes staring back were wide with shock.

"Well that is a matter of interpretation," the lawyer continued. "I mean in essence you will only have to sign paperwork every month and help me make an annual assessment of their suitability to inherit."

"We are talking about the wild child of the west and her dippy little sister here. Believe me I know. The summers I spent with them..." Laura broke off and looked skyward in horror.

"Ah yes," the lawyer said as if this was old news to him, which it was. "That is rather why your uncle left the matter in your hands."

"But they are... 'It girls' and socialites these days, I am a... librarian," Laura said with an exasperated sigh and went to the window.

It was raining and the grey light under a heavy cloud was heavy with change. There was no way she could refuse. She had been made redundant the week before.

"I rather think their wild days are about to be curtailed," the lawyer said with a cough. "I mean the will clearly states..."

"Yes I see," Laura said wearily.

"Look. There is adequate provision for... expenses and I know a man who might help..." the lawyer said carefully as if he had just thought of it. "His name is Charles Hemswell."

1. The Trip
"Tell me about it," Diane purred.

"Again? You're worse than a five-year-old with a favourite story," Jack joked. "You're beginning to sound like my niece."

"Well I'm not five," Dianne purred, nibbling on her husband's ear. "And I really, really want to hear it again."

"So there's this place in Arizona where they've got an institute," Jack said, stroking his wife's hair. "It's for people who have been declared incompetent."

"Declared incompetent?" Diane probed, wanting to hear him repeat details.

"Like Britney Spears was," Jack reminded her.

"People?" Diane probed.

"Girls. Women," Jack clarified. "They can't be minors so that means they have to be over 21 before they can be admitted."

"Admitted?"

"Committed," Jack corrected. "They need a doctor's note and everything."

"Just a doctor's note? That's all it takes?" Diane asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it again.

"I think they need a judge to sign off on it. Or maybe just a public notary."

"And what they do is legal?" Diane enquired.

"It is," Jack confirmed. "State law says that people labelled as incompetent can be treated the same as naughty children."

"Really?" Diane asked.

She knew. She had seen the law. It was a simple, short one:

A parent or guardian and a teacher or other person entrusted with the care and supervision of a minor or incompetent person may use reasonable and appropriate physical force upon the minor or incompetent person when and to the extent reasonably necessary and appropriate to maintain discipline. (13-403. [Criminal Code])

In this case, 'appropriate physical force' meant punishments that were more appropriate to adults than children. Diane thought of them as very adult ones that maintained 'discipline' in the institution.

"Really," Jack confirmed.

"And we get to watch?" Diane asked.

"Not quite," Jack answered. "We get to evaluate."

Diane looked up sharply.

"That's new. What do you mean, evaluate?"

"Didn't we go over this? That's why it's couples only."

"What?"

"Officially, we're evaluating the service. That's the only real reason we'd be allowed to witness it."

"But how? Why?"

"Honey, we went over it," Jack said. "Remember? When we went over the forms?"

"I think I would have remembered that," Diane said sharply.

"We talked about the costumes," Jack pointed out. "We talked and shopped and talked and shopped and..."

"We looked at uniforms and costumes and I still think that I would remember something about it being an evaluation."

"But we went over it being couples only..."

"And that at least one of the couple had to be a woman," Diane nodded in agreement. "But that's to keep it from becoming a sausage fest."

"No, we went over all of this," Jack said. "It's because every woman there is officially there to evaluate the service."

"But..."

"I'm sure we talked about this," Jack said.

By the Hand of the Devil
The Devil Made Me Do It

In the corner of the churchyard, with a least another two hours work to do, Old Tom rested for a moment to watch Melanie Griffiths walking through. She didn't see him as he was partly hidden away in the shade, but he saw her alright. Every man in the village saw her; she was the girl of their dreams. Pretty in looks with a lovely figure, she had a lovely nature to go with it; sunny, happy and willing to help anyone at any time. Now she was wearing a summer dress that ended well above her knees making a feature of her perfect, long, summer-brown legs; the short sleeves made an equal picture of her arms while the thin dress allowed her bottom and breasts to be shown to their best advantage.

"I can't do it," he whispered.

"You must," the voice hissed in his ear. "Now is the perfect opportunity."

A weather-beaten man in late middle age but strong from a life time of manual work, he now moved quickly up behind Melanie, catching her just as she passed the bench with the inscription: In Memory of Giles Alexander who loved this spot. Seizing her and sitting on the bench, he flipped her over his knee, raised the short summer skirt and pulled down the lemon yellow knickers, exposing a perfect bottom, white against the light tan of her legs.

Now he hesitated at the sight of her bare bottom, not because Melanie's screams and cries were disturbing him, but because he knew he shouldn't be looking at her bare bottom, it just wasn't right.

"Spank her hard. Do it!" the voice hissed peremptorily in his ear.

Smack! His hand smacked down hard on her bottom, making it ripple and turn red. Melanie's yell of shock, anger and pain made his eardrums ache. His hand smacked down again and he lost his hesitation and reluctance in the sheer rhythm of spanking her pretty bottom. Poor Melanie, her struggles were in vain for he was a strong man and his work-worn calloused hand was very good at spanking her soft and tender rear. Smack! Smack! The sound of the spanking was eclipsed by her screams, wails and very soon her pleading.

"Oh stop. Stop, what have I done to you? Stop please stop. You're really hurting me."

---oOo---
The Rev. James Lundy had been in the church praying when the screaming started. He was earnestly at prayer because he was very shy with women and desperately wanted a wife. He really liked Melanie Griffiths, but every time he met her he became quite hot and bothered and lost the power of speech. Now the screams ended his prayers and he rushed from the church, wondering what was happening.

Caroline's story
I was the canteen manageress at a very old established, traditional, semi-independent boys' grammar school in the sixties, very happy in my job, and fully intended to remain there until my retirement. However, one day an incident occurred which was so serious it nearly led to me losing my job.

It was a busy Monday morning and our annual audit was due. The Bursar, Mr Eric Williams, a very precise and pedantic semi-retired chartered accountant, had requested the canteen annual accounts, and I was in my office double-checking and entering and filing the latest invoices.

I had delegated kitchen responsibility for that week to my supervisor Maggie Jones, a capable organiser but a rather uninspired cook, who was in her mid-forties. At least I knew she would never take risks or allow bad practices.

The senior cook was Jackie Dawson who had only recently moved into the neighbourhood after being tragically widowed by an unfortunate accident. She was a superb and very experienced cook and produced inspired and delicious meals on our miserable budget. I had been extremely fortunate that, due to a personal tragedy, she had left her previous job as a chef and, after a gap at home, had looked for a less demanding position, eventually choosing ours. Her main course menu was an enormous improvement on Maggie's uninspired but edible and filling school stodge, although Maggie was a superb pudding cook. The only irritant was that the bursar was able to say 'I told you so, a shilling per portion is quite adequate if you know what you're doing.'

Another recently arrived employee who worked in the kitchen as a general help, mainly doing the cleaning and washing-up, was a young and very pretty Irish girl called Siobhan Fitzpatrick who had just come to England and was living with her aunty. She was a very willing and hard worker, but hadn't been well educated by the nuns. We were soon to discover just how lacking her education was.

I had approved the week's menu and budgets and was concentrating completely on the last quarter's accounts when Maggie suddenly burst into the room and shrieked, "Come quickly, Caroline, something's gone badly wrong!"

I put my pen down and with as much dignity as I could muster I entered the dining hall to find the Headmaster waiting for me.

He directed me to taste a teaspoonful of cottage pie; I carefully took a tiny taste and spat it out immediately. It was so salty it made me gag, and I drank a glass of water.

I looked at him and said as calmly as possible, "A little too salty I think, Headmaster; I shall investigate further."

The Headmaster replied, "A masterpiece of understatement I think, Mrs Brown. However, I shall leave the matter in your capable hands. Please report to me tomorrow morning after assembly. My secretary will phone you to let you know when I'm available."

Episode 1: Home with the Heavers
The 28-year-old English lecturer was lost in her thoughts following her run-in with Mrs. Main, and she had a lot to think about. Her rapidly spinning head was still reeling with the agreement she had made. She was still blushing for God's sake, and at both ends, she thought ruefully.

One more run-in and she would either face public humiliation or very private and very regular intimate submission. She wanted to rail against the world and scream at its injustice, but she didn't feel any sense of injustice. Was that what bothered her most? Oh for sure she could take the college to a tribunal or even sue its ass off at a state or even federal level, but that seemed churlish of her somehow. She had come to Abraham Heights for the adventure and she had found it.

Besides, she somehow doubted that she was the first outsider to run afoul of the town's quaint little punitive customs. It was a cert that it could take care of itself and maybe at greater expense to her interests.

No, she had three choices as she saw it and that was why she had taken an evening walk around town to clear her head.

Firstly, she could try and stay out of trouble, but in her heart she knew that she would fail. That was a strategy she had employed for weeks now and something, probably her little self-saboteurs, was thwarting that approach.

Secondly, she could accept the situation, along with a weekly maintenance spanking and whatever other indignities Mrs. Main had in mind for her. Or thirdly, she could move out.

Donna sighed. The last was obvious, but then she thought of the rows of bare-bottomed college girls and the proximity to all that spanking adventure. She couldn't tell herself that it wasn't what she'd signed on for, it was. Even an experience or two at the hands of some hunk was not out of court. But such regular childish humiliations so close to home...? Her hands stole to her 'home' and rubbed it tenderly. If only... she sighed, and then looked up.

She was in a well-to-do area of town and Donna had taken in the quaint wooded street on a whim. Now she found herself outside a house set back from the others. It was a large home with a yard big enough to hold a ball game. It was certainly the largest on the street, not that its neighbours were exactly small. But there was something about this house that made her stop.

---oOo---
The two young women sitting next to each other on the couch were blushing hard and exchanged glances. No doubt they both felt a nauseous tingle assaulting their stomachs, that and an age-old disconnect that said that it wasn't happening.

The feeling was nothing new to Mindy Heaver.