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Hearing the key in the front door as she came home from school, he shouted his usual "Hello!" but instead of going straight up to her room as she normally did, she turned into the living room. It struck him immediately that something had to be wrong; her face was pale and she was dragging her feet behind her.

"There's something I have to show you," she said in a thin, flat voice and handed him an inconspicuous little book. She had stuck her index finger between two pages to make it open in the right place. Only when he looked inside, he recognized the little message book used for notes between school and parents. At first he only saw the small notes in his own handwriting from the times she had been sick or was to be excused from gym, but then he noticed a message in a different handwriting in the bottom corner. It continued on the next page, but he got the gist of it before he turned the page.

"Cheating!" he said, "You have been caught cheating on a geography test?"

With a timid smile she replied, "I didn't mean to cheat, but I had forgotten to put my notes in my bag, and the teacher assumed I had them on my desk to cheat."

"That was quite careless at best," he said, "but this note indicates you were not the only one?"

She swallowed. "Yes, no, not quite..."

"Someone I know?"

"Yes... Margrete also got caught," she said and blushed.

"Margrete? Didn't you go to study with her the night before?" A nod was all the answer he got. "According to the note this will be on your report card, and you will probably get a D in geography as you couldn't answer any of the questions after the test!"

She blushed even more and replied, "I really could, but I was so nervous because of what had happened that my mind just went blank!"

"And Margrete didn't remember a thing either?"

"I don't know. Not much, I think."

He looked closely at her. "So you had really studied, then? The only reason you were allowed to go to Margrete the night before was because you were going to study for the test!" She nodded and looked even more unhappy. He suddenly thought of something. "But that test wasn't today, it was yesterday!" He looked down to check the date on the note. "Shouldn't you have delivered this note yesterday?" She nodded. He said, "But then Margrete's mother must already know. I think I'll give her a call."

"No, no, don't do it!" she pleaded.

"Why not?"

"Because..."

"Because what?"

"Because..." she hesitated. "We weren't at Margrete's that evening. Margrete got a phone call and then we went out to meet..."

"To meet...?"

"Some boys."

"Well, you didn't study then? Perhaps you didn't really know that much geography, did you?"

Hearing the key in the front door as she came home from school, he shouted his usual "Hello!" but instead of going straight up to her room as she normally did, she turned into the living room. It struck him immediately that something had to be wrong; her face was pale and she was dragging her feet behind her.

"There's something I have to show you," she said in a thin, flat voice and handed him an inconspicuous little book. She had stuck her index finger between two pages to make it open in the right place. Only when he looked inside, he recognized the little message book used for notes between school and parents. At first he only saw the small notes in his own handwriting from the times she had been sick or was to be excused from gym, but then he noticed a message in a different handwriting in the bottom corner. It continued on the next page, but he got the gist of it before he turned the page.

"Cheating!" he said, "You have been caught cheating on a geography test?"

With a timid smile she replied, "I didn't mean to cheat, but I had forgotten to put my notes in my bag, and the teacher assumed I had them on my desk to cheat."

"That was quite careless at best," he said, "but this note indicates you were not the only one?"

She swallowed. "Yes, no, not quite..."

"Someone I know?"

"Yes... Margrete also got caught," she said and blushed.

"Margrete? Didn't you go to study with her the night before?" A nod was all the answer he got. "According to the note this will be on your report card, and you will probably get a D in geography as you couldn't answer any of the questions after the test!"

She blushed even more and replied, "I really could, but I was so nervous because of what had happened that my mind just went blank!"

"And Margrete didn't remember a thing either?"

"I don't know. Not much, I think."

He looked closely at her. "So you had really studied, then? The only reason you were allowed to go to Margrete the night before was because you were going to study for the test!" She nodded and looked even more unhappy. He suddenly thought of something. "But that test wasn't today, it was yesterday!" He looked down to check the date on the note. "Shouldn't you have delivered this note yesterday?" She nodded. He said, "But then Margrete's mother must already know. I think I'll give her a call."

"No, no, don't do it!" she pleaded.

"Why not?"

"Because..."

"Because what?"

"Because..." she hesitated. "We weren't at Margrete's that evening. Margrete got a phone call and then we went out to meet..."

"To meet...?"

"Some boys."

"Well, you didn't study then? Perhaps you didn't really know that much geography, did you?"

1. The Spanking Hotel
"Come on," said Finn brandishing the wooden-backed hairbrush that resided on his bedside table, "lets have some fun!" He looked hopefully across at his wife, Bella, who was laid in bed next to him.

"Noooooo," Bella whined in response. "It's too damn cold!" She snuggled herself deeper down into the duvet, seeking more warmth.

Finn sighed. He knew she was right, especially when his sigh turned the air in front of him cloudy, but he loved to play with his wife and knew how much she enjoyed his attentions too.

They both loved the big old rambling farmhouse that they had owned and lived in for the last five years. It was high up on the Yorkshire moors, the views were stunning, the neighbours were over a mile away and the peace and quiet was priceless. The only real problem was heating the place. The heating system was old and rickety, hardly worked and drank oil as though it were on commission from the government. If it was feeling generous the system would deign to heat some water to somewhere between tepid and warm but if not the water would run as stubbornly cold as it was when it was first dragged up from the well over the hill.

Sensing her loved one's disappointment Bella turned to look at Finn. "Well, you could always light us a nice fire tomorrow afternoon when you get home from work!"

This cheered Finn up no end so he snuggled up close to Bella and they both fell asleep.

---oOo---
Bella giggled with delight as she twirled round to enable Finn to remove her clothes. The room was toasty warm, the fire was glowing brightly and their two Ragdoll cats, Bill and Ben, were sprawled on top of the piano snoring gently.

Now quite naked, Bella stood near the fire, enjoying the warmth on her skin. Finn watched her with admiration. Bella was twenty-five, six years younger than he, and athletically built with strong limbs and a toned tummy. Her bottom was Finn's favourite part of her - well, after her lovely face with the sparkling green eyes and the auburn hair that framed her features - it was beautifully sculpted, shapely and toned but with a wobble that delighted Finn.

Finn sat in the middle of their four-seater sofa and beckoned his wife over to him. Bella sashayed playfully over and with no embarrassment at all threw herself over Finn's lap. She landed with her feet up on the sofa at one end, her head resting on a cushion at the other and her bottom at the highest point, nicely positioned across Finn's knees.

Finn smiled at her enthusiasm, lifting his right knee a little higher to perfect her position and then raising his hand he started to smack her bottom, one cheek then the other, lightly to start with, gradually building up the sting.

A Judicial Caning for Mother and Daughter
The mind can recount historical events in great detail, even after many years. This account is so vivid it could have been yesterday.

I was celebrating my upcoming big '40' birthday accompanied by my daughter who was having a gap year before starting university. On an extended holiday, we had planned a short stopover on one of the smaller Emirate States to top up our suntan before moving on to the Maldives, where my husband was to join us for a blissful month of self indulgence.

I so remember the moment a sniffer dog took an interest in the hand luggage being carried by my daughter when we disembarked from the aircraft at the small airport. We were escorted to a room where a search of the bag revealed a small quantity of cannabis. I knew my daughter didn't do drugs. It was probably a combination of Western arrogance and the impetuosity of youth, but we both ended up being charged with offences. Of course we totally denied any wrongdoing and could only presume that the illicit drugs had been planted. Our passports were confiscated and we were bailed pending court appearances. We consulted a local lawyer who agreed to act for us. It was two weeks before the formal court hearing. We were surprised at the formality and efficiency of the proceedings, which although conducted in Arabic, provided a simultaneous English translation via headphones. A jury of eight local residents made up of six men and two women were to decide whether or not to believe our rebuttal of the charges.

At the conclusion of prosecution and defence arguments, the judge summarised the case to the jury and they were sent out to deliberate. In fairness the proceedings appeared to be conducted with absolute integrity and we could not fault anything. We were confident that we would soon be on our way to the Maldives, albeit ten days later than planned.

The jury returned and confirmed to the court that they had reached verdicts on the two charges we each faced. We were then asked to stand in the dock.

The clerk of the court asked the appointed chairman of the jury how they found against me, Amanda Binchy, to the charge of narcotic possession.

"Guilty," came the verdict. And to the charge of perverting the course of justice I was also found guilty.

When asked about the similar charges against my daughter, Scarlet Binchy, the jury spokesman revealed she was also found to be guilty.

The judge then addressed us. "Amanda and Scarlet Binchy, you have both been found guilty of serious charges. I will hear pleas of mitigation from you or your legal advisor before passing sentence in one week's time. However I must advise you that a custodial sentence is likely, so I am remanding you both into custody pending sentence. Take them down."

With this we were taken to separate holding cells within the court building.

Prudence Wilson poked her head out of the open window of the Pullman car and looked down the length of the track. The conductor had finally announced her destination and she could now see the station approaching. Her heart was racing with excitement. It had been a long journey to this prairie town in the Oklahoma Territory. She had come all the way from Brisbane, in Queensland, Australia ... half way around the world!

Shielding her eyes, she tried to pick out her uncle and his family on the approaching platform. Her efforts were frustrated by a firm male hand which gripped her by the shoulder and pulled her back into her seat.

"I believe your father would be quite perturbed with me if I returned you to him with a telegraph pole embedded in your forehead, Prudence," the man said.

"We're almost there, Mr. Turner. Isn't it incredible?" she exclaimed, ignoring the scolding. "I can't believe we've traveled halfway around the globe."

Cyrus Turner removed his wire-framed spectacles and began wiping the lenses with a large white handkerchief. He was a business partner and close personal friend of her father, William Wilson. He had business to attend to in New York City and had agreed to chaperone Prudence to her destination before continuing on his way to New York.

"It's 1890, Prudence," he said. "The world gets to be a smaller place every year. Soon it will be a new century. Who knows what wonders it might hold?"

Prudence felt her pulse quicken with each turn of the locomotive's drive wheels. She thought she must be the luckiest girl alive to be having such an incredible adventure.

It was the beginning of her eighteenth summer and she had blossomed into a very attractive, young woman. She was tall as girls went, nearly five-foot-seven the last time her father had made the pencil mark on her bedroom door and checked it with a measuring tape. Blessed from birth with her mother's thick chestnut brown hair and her father's blue eyes, she had more recently developed the curvaceous figure of a young woman. It was a great relief to her after spending her adolescence as a thin, gangly, uncommonly tall girl.

She had secretly taken great pleasure in the appreciative glances she had noticed from several young men during her long journey. Of course, Mr. Turner had glowered at them and they had all hastily retreated.

The whole wondrous odyssey had come about as a sort of graduation present from her parents. She had long begged them for the chance to go visit her American relations. Her father had finally agreed to finance the venture upon satisfactory completion of her schooling.

Her Uncle John was her father's younger brother. Both men had been born in England but had gone abroad to seek their fortunes, her own father to Australia and his brother John to the ever expanding America. She looked forward to meeting them finally.

State Championships
State championships... ah what a joy. Anastasia and I were so anxious to get on the field and feel that rush again; it was hard to wait a whole month! We trained hard the whole month, scoring as many goals as we could, defending as many goals as we could, running until we collapsed. It was great. A month is no time when you're training, but a month lasts forever when you're excited about something. You'd think that they would cancel each other out, but they didn't. So we worked hard and trained and got giddy about the competition. The cool thing was that the coach was no longer mad at me for fighting. She just made me promise that I would not try any of that stuff at the state championships or I'd be kicked off the team for good. I told her not to worry, I'd learned my lesson.

When the week of the championships came around, we had so much adrenaline that we could run twice as long without collapsing and we could do tons more exercises. Our coach made sure that we ate fruit for breakfast every morning by calling us, and if we said that we didn't have any, she'd bring an apple up to school for us to eat. It was pretty cool, being on a team like this, especially with all of the praise we got.

An even cooler thing was that the boys' soccer team was going to Baton Rouge with us. They were traveling in a separate bus, but we were all going to be in the same hotel so we could all go swimming after we won the championships. We had another scrimmage that Wednesday for the school to see, and obviously the boys had stepped it up a bit because we tied this time. I guess that couldn't be a bad thing, as we were both extremely good teams, and the boys were supposed to be stronger and faster than us, so at least they would win the championship.

That Thursday, we went through half of the school day, having our pep rally during 4th and 5th period, then leaving right afterwards with the gym cheering and clapping us on. We had people make a little tunnel for us and as each person went through everyone slapped them on the back, wishing them luck at the game. We came out of there really feeling like the toughest shit in the world, and knowing that if we didn't win the state championships, the people who did were good enough to be professionals.

We had a five hour long bus ride ahead of us. I'd been to Baton Rouge only once before on a school trip for this gifted class I was in. Yeah, when I was in fifth grade I was gifted. Lucky me. Of course, a five hour long bus ride can't be that boring when you're sitting in the back by the window with your best friends surrounding you.

1. How it Began
"Hey Hon," I called from the kitchen table where I was reading the morning paper as I finished my breakfast, "look who's just been named 'Teacher of the Year'."

My wife paused a moment from packing our son's lunch to peer over my shoulder at the paper. Spotting the story, she quickly zeroed in on the name.

"Casey Corrigan!"

"My high school tutor," I added.

"And big time school boy crush!" she teased.

"True," I admitted, "but that was before I met you, my love."

Together, we read the glowing description of the many accomplishments that had garnered Casey the award. It had been years since either one of us had seen her, but it seemed that Casey had made quite a career for herself as an educator. No surprise there, I thought to myself. She already had all the makings when she first tutored me fifteen years ago.

As my wife hustled our son out to the car to drop him off at his school on her way to her own job as a high school teacher, I poured another cup of coffee and sat down to reread the article. As I did so, my mind wandered back over the years...

---oOo---
I grew up in a college town, the second child of parents who were psychologists and tenured professors at the university. Not only were Mom and Dad senior professors, they were also published authors (multiple times); they were involved in numerous research projects, and very busy on the guest lecturer circuit. All of these activities really kept them on the go, often for weeks at a time. Consequently, I spent much of my pre-school years in the university day care program and my early grade school years in the after-school program.

Honesty compels me to admit that I was an indifferent student throughout grade school. By the time I entered my freshman year in high school, I had been officially labeled as an 'underachiever' which must have been a real disappointment to my brilliant parents.

My sister Mary Ann, four years older than me and a senior, was just the opposite. She excelled at everything all through school. When I was in eighth grade, my parents got the idea that they would pay Mary Ann to be my tutor. That was a total bust! The dynamic was all wrong. I just couldn't stand the idea of being subjected to my bossy sister's authority and, as often happens with people who learn things easily themselves, she had very little patience when I couldn't or wouldn't understand what she was trying to teach me. We gave the whole thing up after a couple of frustrating months.

Very early in my freshman year, my parents were talking about me with one of the Deans at a faculty affair. The Dean mentioned that he and his wife had employed a tutor to help prepare their own son for the rigorous entrance exam required for admission to the University Prep School.

Dustin
The eighteen-year-old shifted nervously under the stern eyes watching him intently. He tried and failed to meet the eyes of the two ladies seated on the couch across from him.

"So you know why you're here, young man?" one of the women, a tall, willowy beauty with a mane of lustrous curly chestnut hair asked, her green eyes shining behind the pair of stylish rectangular glasses that were perched on the bridge of her nose.

"Uhhhh... yeah, I think so," Dustin answered, resisting the urge to touch his short, spiky brown hair as he had a habit of doing when he was nervous.

Andrea Mahony let a long disappointed-sounding breath out, and said slowly, "Yes, I think so, what, Dustin?"

"What?" Dustin said, blinking in confusion.

"What Andrea means, young man," the other woman on the couch spoke; she was also tall, and slim, but powerful, with long blonde hair and stern ice-blue eyes. Dustin knew Gabrielle Kennedy, he doubted that there was anyone in the mid-sized town of Clarkstown that didn't know, and was not a little bit intimidated by the formidable Kennedy matriarch. "Is that you did not end your sentence with an appropriate honorific such as ma'am or Miss, and she will also accept Aunty."

"Oh," Dustin said, his mouth dropping open. He had heard stories about the Spank Shop, everyone in Clarkstown had ever since Andrea opened the place, but he just hadn't thought he'd ever end up here. "Sorry, Mrs Kennedy, ma'am."

Gabrielle sighed. "Dustin we have had this conversation more than once, dear. Mrs Kennedy is my mother-in-law, you can call me Aunty Gabrielle."

"Yes, Aunty," Dustin said with a blush. It always felt weird for him to call his girlfriend's mother 'Aunty'.

The interrogation was interrupted by the entrance of an extremely attractive, short blonde who looked like a smaller, younger version of Gabrielle Kennedy. She carried a tea tray and busied herself setting out a teapot, cups, saucers and sugar and milk, before tucking the tray under an arm and leaving the room. She stopped and gave Dustin a thin-lipped icy glare before she opened the door that connected the cosy parlour to the shop's reception area, and shut it firmly behind her.

"Well someone has made an enemy of young Kimberley," Andrea remarked in amused tones as she poured herself a cup of tea and added in milk and sugar before stirring it and sipping.

"Our Kimmy's very protective of her little sister and doesn't like anyone causing her discomfort like Dustin has," Gabrielle remarked approvingly after blowing on her own tea to cool it and taking an experimental sip.

The comment got a miserable whimper from the room's fourth occupant. She was seated on a wooden straight-backed chair along one wall. She had Gabrielle and Kimberley's blue eyes, fair features and blonde hair; she was taller than her older sister but shorter than her mother.

Property development was a tricky old game. One minute you acquire a decent sized tenement for a few hundred thousand, a quick soft shoe shuffle to do it up, and in a few weeks you have a million quid mortgage on a property worth five times that. The next minute ... well just about anything could happen.

Carolynn Blake had turned this trick two dozen times now, each time racking up her portfolio and each time expanding her debt. At 30 years old she was as confident as they came: a little brunette bundle of energy with cheeky smiling eyes and a cocky demeanour that she carried with an understated authority.

It was a hard won personality, one born out of adversity. At eighteen she had inherited the family mortgage and two much younger sisters. Her university place was suddenly surplus to requirements and she had needed cash quickly.

In twelve years she had built a property empire worth 20 million and had safely got her two sisters into good schools with real futures. The trouble was 15 million of her portfolio was still mortgaged and the market had tanked.

"Consolidate, consolidate, consolidate," John Dacia had told her time and again, but Carolynn had been cocky and over-confident. Now she was paying the price.

John Dacia had been in the business for 25 years and had seen three crashes come and go. He was now one of the richest developers in London. Carolynn had met him early in her career and rather than become a rival he had become a firm friend and something of a mentor.

It was to him that she had decided to visit to see what, if anything could be salvaged. Maybe a loan, maybe he could pick up her most vulnerable stock... maybe something else?

"Are you dead in the water?" the craggy-faced John asked her as he swivelled his office chair to face her. His expression was paternal and concerned, but from the way he fingered his short salt and pepper hair Carolynn knew that he had no quick fix for her.

When he had something up his sleeve John would wink and draw in his cheeks like he was sucking on a mint. The head scratch was his indicator when the news was not good.

"Pretty much." Carolynn made a thin line with her lips before making a grimace.

Whenever she talked to John she would hunker down like a naughty schoolgirl and roll her eyes. When she wanted something she would bounce up and down like a puppy while she pouted and peered up at him from under a low raven-black fringe that all but screened her eyes. This was the way she presented herself now.

"I can throw 100,000 your way at bank rates," he offered. "I wouldn't need any pay back for say..." His eyes flicked back and forth as he calculated. "Eighteen months?"

Carolynn grimaced again and her head sunk lower into her shoulders.

Prologue
The community hall had once been part of a large school; the rest of the building had been destroyed, leaving only the school hall, and that had been adapted for its current use by the small farming community. The stage was not being used; those watching would be very close. She stood, holding her husband's hand tightly, scared, for this was her first public punishment. She doubted she could be any more scared if she was herself about to be punished.

They were at the front of the horseshoe-shaped group of spectators as befitted her husband's standing in the community. A short distance away, and the centre of everyone's attention, was the wooden punishment block. Ironically it had been made by the husband of one of the two women due to be punished. Simon Chandler was the carpenter and joiner of the district. He too was a man of substance, with several men working for him, and two apprentices; but man of substance or not, his wife would not be spared her public spanking.

The wooden punishment block was a fine example of the craftsman's trade: no nails or dowels had been used, only meticulously made complex joints. The finish was exquisite and she couldn't help wondering at the care and love that had gone into something only used to punish. The construction was odd: a low platform at the front was for kneeling on, then an angled riser, and finally a top platform which sloped downwards. The person kneeling would be bent over, their upper body angling down to become lower than their bottom.

From a door in the corner a group made an entrance. There was Master Cartwright, District Overseer; the Rev. Nathaniel Phillips ... a burly man carrying a small case; two women dressed in flimsy white robes that barely reached the knees; and four older women, each properly dressed, supporters for the women in white. Master Cartwright separated himself from the others, and raising himself to his full height addressed the horseshoe of spectators.

"Brothers and Sisters, it is a sad occasion when one of our number offends against the community. Punishment must follow to cleanse and purify us all, but after punishment must come forgiveness. Once these punishments are done with today our sisters will be restored to us and no mention of their past deeds need be made."

She thought that Master Cartwright was as windy and pompous as usual but she gave no sign of her contempt. Her husband squeezed her hand a little to show that he knew what she thought and agreed.

"Rev. Phillips will now lead us in prayer."

The prayer was also long and windy; she thought that if she was standing waiting in that skimpy gown of penitence she would be screaming for them to get on with it.

Master Cartwright puffed up his chest again and announced, "Ruth Chandler will now make her confession."

Chapter 1
As I got dressed I was wondering how come I was going to my friend Ella's house to be spanked. I was thirty-three years old and a lifelong friend of Ella, also thirty-three. She was divorced with two children. I was still unmarried.

I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. I had purchased the school clothes at the retail park yesterday, when I had arranged with Ella to go to her house for my spanking. I remembered the conversation so clearly. I was feeling relaxed after the two glasses of wine we'd consumed. As a mother of teenagers, Ella told me how she used spanking to enforce her rules at home. I mused with her that I had never been spanked as a youngster and wondered if I would have been better behaved if I had been. I even told her how I had often imagined myself across my mum's lap. Ella laughed as she told me that knowing how I acted sometimes with her, she would definitely have spanked me if she had been my mum.

I laughed. Ella told me how she had spanked Ben two days earlier for arguing with her and how Lizzie watched. In fact she always gave a spanking with the other sibling allowed to watch. I told Ella I could see how that would make the punishment more effective and agreed it was a good idea to let siblings watch the spanking.

The conversation continued and I playfully smacked the back of Ella's hand when she went to take my glass away. That was when she looked at me with a motherly stern look and said firmly, "If you were my daughter you'd get your bottom spanked for that, young lady."

I blushed as I replied arrogantly, "Whatever."

Ella leaned forward and told me in a very assertive tone, "Tomorrow, my house, you get spanked."

I licked my lips and playing along replied petulantly, "What? After school?"

Ella kept a stern look on her face, screwing up her eyes. "Yes, be at mine at four o'clock. I'll have got the kids home from school by then." She added, "As it's after school, wear a school uniform... the one you wore at the fancy dress party the other week, like Lizzie's school uniform."

Ella and I laughed about the interchange. However when she left to collect the kids from school she reminded me in a stern voice, "Don't forget, Steph. Four o'clock tomorrow. You'll come over and I'll give you that spanking you have needed so badly for so long."

So when I looked at myself in the mirror I knew what was going to happen to me inside the next hour; it was something I had fantasised about for years and years, except I had pictured myself across my mum's lap and not Ella's. Also, I pictured my sister watching me being spanked.

Attitude
As soon as they arrived home, Dan Carrothers sent Vanessa straight to her room. There had been a disagreement earlier that evening, and he'd promised her an extremely painful lesson on the ride in from town. This left no room for doubt on Nessa's part; she knew from prior experience precisely what he had in store for her. Dan's philosophy was simple: the easiest way to settle a dispute was to take his daughter straight over his knee and give her a spanking. Not just a few sharp whacks on the derriere, either: Dan specialized in long, hard and extremely thorough strappings... the kind which invariably left her weeping and breathless, unable to sit down for days afterwards.

Standing in the living room, Vanessa tearfully begged her father to let her off - or at least reduce her punishment to some less severe alternative. The argument hadn't been very serious, and she was sorry now; it would never happen again. She was too old for a spanking, she wasn't a child, she was eighteen years old! None of her friends had to endure parental spankings, it just wasn't right.

"Please, Daddy, not a spanking," she wailed, desperate to overturn the final verdict, "It's not fair, I'm too big for that. You can't spank me like a little girl, you can't!"

Unfortunately for Vanessa, Dan was totally unimpressed by his daughter's rhetoric. He was her father, and as far as he was concerned, she'd never be too old to go over his knee. It made no difference to him that her friends never received spankings. Tonight, she'd be going to bed with a hot, throbbing bottom, and that was the end of it.

"Now - up to your room, young lady," Dan told her, gesturing towards the stairway. "I'll be along to deal with you in a moment."

So Vanessa ran weeping up to her room, already feeling her father's hot, stinging palm-print on her soft, curvaceous tushie. Throwing herself on the bed, she cried piteously, knowing she had no one to blame but herself. She knew her father well enough to realize that disagreements only led to a well-smacked bottom. She listened apprehensively for his inevitable approach, imagining how much it was going to hurt.

Why did she ever argue with him? All she had to do was keep her mouth shut and pay him the respect he deserved. She'd been over his knee too many times to claim ignorance of the law: he'd been spanking her for years now, and she was well aware he had little tolerance for dissent.

After what seemed like an eternity, she heard his footsteps coming up the stairs. She bit her lip against the oncoming flood of fresh tears, and sat up on the bed, ready to start pleading for clemency the moment he walked into the room.