LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

The Performance Review
by Luna Austin
I didn't hear my boss come up behind me as I stacked my edited performance review on top of my outbox.

"Ruby, it's time for your performance review." He noticed the copy on my desk. "What's this doing here?" he frowned. "Employees aren't supposed to see these until the one-on-ones."

I shrugged, not wanting to give myself away.

"I'll be taking this." He swiped the paper from the pile.

"I could just shred it," I offered, holding out my hand for it. "It's probably an extra."

"Perhaps. But I'll keep it for now, I want to check something. Come with me."

I trailed behind my boss, a well-muscled man who clearly spent a good amount of his non-working hours at the gym. He closed the office door for privacy and told me to sit down.

"I don't know if you're aware of this, Ruby, but when I first get the reviews, I scan them into each employee's file before sending the whole lot to be shredded. Which means this," he tapped on the sheet he'd removed from the inbox, "should not exist."

I paled a little. But nothing was proven. I'd keep my mouth shut.

"Now, it could be a simple mistake. I'm not sure how it would have ended up in your outbox in that case, but I'll get to that later. For now, let's see if it was a mistake. If it was, there shouldn't be a scanned copy in your file." His eyes never once left my face, and I could tell he was watching for any hint of guilt. I wasn't any good at hiding my emotions, and I knew it. I was screwed. A few swift clicks had my file open, and sure enough, the original performance review document was there.

"Okay, Ruby," he said, voice steady but with a hint of anger behind his eyes. "How far did you go?" His eyes flipped between the scanned copy and the paper one in front of him. "I see you modified your scores."

"Just a little!" I burst out, then covered my mouth as I realized I'd admitted I'd messed with the document.

"That is irrelevant at this point, Miss." I fell silent.

"How did you get the original copy?"

"I... I..."

"They never leave my office after they are scanned in one piece. Which means you, or someone else, came in here and got it for you." I didn't want anyone else to come down with me, if I was going down, which seemed inevitable.

"It was me," I confessed.

"And you are towards the end of the alphabet. This means to get to your review, you had to look through most everyone else's review. Invasion of privacy." He leaned forward, and almost simultaneously, I leaned back.

Chapter One
Sheena was in a tough spot. She was high in the air, muscles straining, and she was staring at the ground below her. Sheena was essentially wedged between two crumbling buildings in the worst slum of Regina City. Were it not for her predicament, she might find that almost amusing. Regina City was named for the planet's former queen and was supposed to be the best of the best. Well, it appeared not everyone got the memo on that. Large sections of it were stricken with the worst poverty.

Oh well, at least we're kept out of sight, right, people?

She cast her eyes about the area looking for him, Mr. Snotty Upper Crust who'd been chasing her. He was nowhere in sight. This hiding spot always worked. No one ever thought to look up here, the open space between two buildings. Long ago, when she was about twelve, she'd figured that out, and learned to essentially 'wall walk' up between the buildings using her hands and feet to push against the old apartments and get her up and out of trouble. However, she was getting tired; she was going to have to come down.

It's okay, he's got to be gone by now. Nobody's going to spend so much time chasing one little street rat.

Slowly, jarringly, she came down the walls until she was close enough to safely drop to the ground. Brushing the dust and paint from her hands, she straightened her tattered shorts (they'd ridden up on her ass a bit), and set off. It was morning and she was hungry. She had no money (as usual), so theft or begging was the rule of the day.

Whoosh! An odd sound echoed around her. Her cat-like reflexes kicked in and she spun to face the new intruder. She wasn't fast enough. Two shots from a Web Gun struck her, pinning her arms to her side and ensnaring her ankles, and she promptly flopped to the ground. Wiggling and squirming like a snake, she heard and then saw feet approaching her. She looked up and saw the fancy and ornate boots of him step in front of her.

"Well, well, little street rat, we meet again," he said smugly.

"Look, dude, I don't know what you want with me, but let's talk," she said, trying to sound sweet and sincere.

He hoisted her aloft so they could look at each other. She cringed. He was big, with a powerful build, long arms and legs, and a long mane and beard of ebony hair with just a hint of premature grey at the temples. She also felt a slight surge to her pussy. He was awesome! If she wasn't poor and he (obviously) a member of the nobility, she would have come on to him when they first met. However, she might be only twenty, but she knew her station in society.

Home for Christmas
Prologue
On the way back from New Mexico after spending Christmas with his long-estranged family, Mitch kept thinking about how his life had changed since that day he met the woman who was now sitting next to him. It was a good thing Bonnie was driving because his thoughts weren't on the road. He kept jumping back and forth between now and then.

---oOo---
Mitch Ryder worked on the Double JJ Ranch. He loved his job because it involved working with horses rather than people. A solitary man, being around people made him uncomfortable. He and Sam were driving home after five days on the road; they were within one hundred and fifty miles of cold beer, hot showers and getting out of the damn truck. Mitch hated these trips, but it was all part of the job. He had successfully delivered the four horses to their new home and with any luck it would be a couple of months before he had to do it again.

He was trying to get a station on the radio on this desolate stretch of highway when he saw a flash of color ahead. He started to slow down, and as he got closer he saw a female waving her arms. Normally, he wouldn't have stopped, but out here in the middle of nowhere it would be criminal not to help out. The thing that bothered him was that there wasn't a vehicle in site. What the hell was she doing out here? Was there someone hiding in the gulch waiting to steal his truck?

He slowed but didn't turn on his blinker. He drove past and stopped about fifteen yards ahead. He got out and debated letting Sam out before he decided to make use of Sam's talents. Sam would let him know if this was a set-up or not. Sam, his trusty companion of ten years, was a mutt of questionable lineage. Mitch had found him on a road much like this one on a trip just like this one. He never knew where he came from but here was this little pup all by his lonesome, running along the highway. It was the best stop Mitch had ever made. Now Sam was his constant companion - from that little ball of fur that came running toward him to the 100-pound giant he was today.

Sam sniffed the air and took off toward the stranded female. Coast clear, was the message Mitch received. He approached the woman who had bent down to pet Sam.

One point in her favor.

"Howdy, ma'am. What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"

She looked up at him, still petting Sam and answered. "There is no easy answer to that question, Mister."

"No, I don't suppose there would be. Are you expecting someone to pick you up, are you stranded, do you need a ride?

1. Thanksgiving in a New World: The Plan Forms
Coming home feels weird, Clare Marsh thought as she passed the gravy. Not as weird as going to college did, but weird.

She inwardly scolded herself for being ungrateful. Not every freshman college student could afford to come home for Thanksgiving, so she had no right to feel weird in her childhood home. That said, she did feel a bit weird.

"So, what do you think the King will say in his speech today?" Jessica Marsh, Clare's mother, asked to start a new round of conversations.

Clare didn't join in that conversation, but it gave her a new thing to be thankful for - the fact that she lived today and not 60 years ago before they had a King. But then everyone who wasn't around then was thankful that they hadn't had to live through the collapse.

Since history wasn't her forté, Clare didn't know all the factors that led to the collapse. It was something about energy and pollution or something along those lines. All she really knew (since it had been on almost every history test she'd ever taken) was that 52 years ago there had been a Constitutional Congress that rewrote the constitution from the ground up. Clare had heard about the 'checks and balances' system, but only as one of the causes of the collapse. History (as written by the new government) had judged that without those checks and balances the old government would have been more effective, more efficient, and able to prevent the collapse. Some said that this judgement was suspect since it had been a worldwide collapse, but those debates had never made it into any history class that Clare had taken. She had heard a few people (mostly seniors) debating the pros and cons of a republic versus the current monarchy, but as far as Clare was concerned, having the executive powers (such as they were) in the hands of a figurehead monarch clearly worked best.

"Do you think he'll try to reach out to some of the more, um, different areas?" Aunt Mona Kasey, Clare's mother's sister, asked.

Clare tried not to think about the different areas. The years of the collapse had taken their toll, as had the rebuilding, and not everywhere had been rebuilt along the same lines. Her professor for Economics 101 had said that the country was now more a commonwealth of locales than a true nation, and Clare believed that. In some areas you could walk into any drugstore and, if you could pay for it, leave with the drug of your choice, from old-fashioned heroin to the latest blend of S; while in others possession of alcohol was a capital offence. Most areas were somewhere in between those extremes, but mind-altering substances weren't the only issue that split the nation. Name the issue and most of the country was somewhere in the middle of it, with extreme positions taken in various jurisdictions.

Chapter 1
"If you don't knuckle down and pull your socks up, young lady, I see a dismal future for you," glowered Mr Topping over the top of his spectacles. "Exceedingly dismal."

Polly flicked her pony tail and grinned cheekily at her form tutor. As today was the last day of school and she was taking a whole year out before getting a job, she didn't care about anything the old goat had to say.

Mr Topping frowned and gave an exasperated sigh. Of all the class, this girl was the sharpest and could have excelled at anything she chose to. She had real talent, yet preferred to waste her time doing anything but schoolwork. Well, he had done all he could for her; and now it was all down to her. It was a pity that corporal punishment was no longer allowed in schools, as many of his more recalcitrant pupils would have benefited from a good bottom warming. He deposited a maths exercise book on Polly's desk and moved on to the next pupil.

The whole class were euphoric and the atmosphere was electric. It was tradition to finish school at lunchtime on the last day. Everyone was busy swapping emails, phone numbers and addresses.

"Got any plans, Pol?"

"Nothing definite. I'll just hang around for a while, then maybe go abroad - Spain or Greece - somewhere nice and hot with plenty of nightlife."

"Cool," said Ben.

"Bloody brilliant. I can't wait to get out of this dump."

"Send me a postcard." Ben handed her a card with his address on.

"Sure will."

At twelve noon, the class piled out of the form room for the last time. Some of the girls cried with emotion, but not Polly - she was first in the queue out of the door.

"Bye, Toppy!" She turned her head and waved cheerily at Mr Topping.

He smiled at her and raised his hand in a wave. And when the last pupil had left the room, he moved to the window and watched them congregating outside the school gates, before going their separate ways.

Polly was in the midst of a throng of excited girls. There was much hugging and kissing, and then the group broke up and dispersed in different directions. Polly strode ahead on those wonderful long legs, the June sun shining on her blonde hair. Mr Topping watched until she was out of sight and wondered just what her future would be. It was clear that air-headed mother of hers would give her no encouragement other than to lavish money on her and leave her to her own devices; and as the girls father had walked out some years ago, there was no authority figure to curb her wilful ways. The girl needs discipline, thought Mr Topping. Good, old fashioned discipline. He sighed, shook his head, gathered up the pile of papers from his desk, and left the room.

1. Lucy James
Lucy walked down the road with a spring in her step and a broad smile on her face. Under her clerical grey dress, her bottom throbbed and she could feel the material of her panties rubbing against her well-spanked skin. She was also aware of the spreading dampness in the gusset of her panties and couldn't wait to get back to the office for some private time.

Lucy James was 33 years old and a partner in a high-flying PR agency in central Leeds in England. She had never married, preferring the company of women to men, but still had the odd affair with men when the mood took her, which seemed to be less and less these days as she was just too busy at work to even contemplate taking any time off.

Arriving back at the workplace, Lucy hurried to her office, greeting her secretary as she passed and told her she was not to be disturbed for the next half hour. Closing the door to her office, she threw her bag on to her desk and made for her en-suite shower room. Locking the door behind her, she hastily pulled up her dress and pushed down her panties and tights to her ankles, and sat on the toilet as her fingers found the dampness between her legs. Her orgasm took no time at all as she was so aroused. It took her a good ten minutes before she felt strong enough to strip off her remaining clothing and step under the shower and let the warm water play over her body. After drying herself with a big white fluffy towel, she examined her spanked bottom in the mirror, admiring the colour and the evenness of the strokes of the tawse across her plump mounds. Going to a drawer, she took out fresh underwear and dressed quickly before returning to her office to face the rest of the day.

That evening at home, with a glass of Pinot Grigio in one hand, Lucy thought back to the chain of events that had led to her spanking earlier that day.

---oOo---
It had all started some fifteen years previously when Lucy had been an upper sixth form pupil at a private school for girls on the outskirts of Leeds. At the start of that term, a new PE Mistress had started and all the girls, including most of the sixth form, had a crush on the lady concerned. Her name was Miss Johnson. She was fairly tall at 5'7" with short blonde hair, long elegant legs that came down from the hem of the navy blue culottes she always wore, and perfect pert breasts that the girls guessed to be 36C. Miss Johnson seemed to be blissfully unaware of the excitement she caused amongst the pupils and went about her lessons as normal. She was very strict and punished any breach of the rules by taking the culprit over her knee and spanking their bare bottoms.

1. The Mail Order Bride
Frightened beyond any reasonable description, the young woman stood quivering fearfully in an upstairs room of a dingy hotel in Amargo, Texas. The man she had married just a few scant hours earlier had gone out to the balcony in response to the shouts, yells, horrible noises and gun shots that had erupted just beyond the window of their room.

She was already scared about the situation in which she had found herself immersed only moments before. The young woman had married the man a few hours earlier ... marrying him less than an hour after meeting him in person. She had traveled for days from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to the hot, dusty town of Amargo, Texas with the express purpose of marrying a man whom she had met and who subsequently proposed to her through the mail.

She was frightened for what she had thought was to come next: a wedding night and the conjugal duties of a new wife; a new wife who had been raised substantially without the benefit of a mother, and whose preparations for her marital responsibilities had been handled by a nun ... a nun whom she knew had adhered to her vow of chastity and whose advice had seemed woefully simplistic when given, and now clearly totally inadequate as the young woman awaited the return of the rough and tumble cowboy who was her new husband.

Two more gunshots rang out amidst the din of the crowd and the woman pressed her hands to her ears as she quaked in fear. Would her new husband survive the night? And if he did return, could she be the wife he was expecting?


2. Gettysburg, Pennsylvania Martha Anderson was one thousands of sad statistics of the Battle of Gettysburg during the American Civil War; a battle that lasted three long days. Martha and her parents lived on a farm nearby and on the first dreadful blast of Confederate artillery their modest farm house was blown to bits. Martha and her parents had been hiding in the root cellar but that proved to be inadequate: both of her parents were killed instantly and the then 10 year old Martha was struck by shrapnel and knocked unconscious.

Martha lay beneath the rubble for three days before being discovered. A kindly Union doctor tended to her wounds. Fortunately, only a long jagged scar from the shrapnel would remain on her back just below her right shoulder and the effects of being knocked unconscious were temporary. The biggest wounds, however, could not be cured: her parents were dead.

The ten year old was passed from local family to family as she had no relatives to take her in. Eventually, Martha ended up in an orphanage where she remained until she turned 18 years old. It was a difficult existence living in an all-girls orphanage for eight years.

Her Cyberspanker Made Real
"Miss Paterson! Miss Paterson! My pencil's broke!"

"Can I go to the toilet?"

"Miss! Miss! What's a verb again?"

"I've lost my jotter!"

Jenny Paterson rubbed her temples wearily, and surveyed the chaos that was her classroom. Twenty-nine eleven and twelve year olds could make one heck of a noise - as well as a mess.

A few of them, she had to admit, were at least trying to do the grammar exercise she had set, but most were rampaging around, hitting each other with rulers, and throwing paper-clips and occasional obscenities around the room. Some of the more literate ones were actually writing the obscenities on the desks.

At the end of her tether, Jenny did something to which she seldom resorted. She yelled. "Shut up!"

There was a stunned silence. A paper aeroplane sailed past Jenny's right ear, and she caught it neatly before continuing. "Now, 1D, I do not want to hear another word from you this period - I said not another word, John Allen -" as said child opened his mouth. "If your pencil is - the word is 'broken', Charlene - then sharpen it. No, Jason, you may not go to the toilet - it will be lunchtime in quarter of an hour. A verb, Daniel, for the umpteenth time - is a word which expresses action or a state of being - a 'doing' word, if you prefer. Kerry, your jotter is on the floor where you threw it. Pick it up and get writing - now!"

For fifteen blessed minutes, peace reigned. Instead of moving around the class, helping the slower pupils as she usually did, Jenny stalked up and down between the rows of desks, glaring at any child who appeared to be breathing out of turn.

At last the bell rang to signal the end of the period, and Jenny tottered thankfully to the staff-room. She threw herself disconsolately into a chair and sighed.

"Having a bad day?" came a voice from beside the coffee machine.

Jenny started - she'd not noticed the tall figure of Terry Johnston, the history teacher. "Oh - sorry, I didn't see you. Bad day? Every day is a bad day with 1D!"

He chuckled. "I know. I have them too. Never known a first year class like them in twenty years. Want a cuppa?"

"Oh, yes, please. With brandy if you've got any!"

"Sorry - hip-flask is empty. I finished it when I had 1D!" He gave her a grin, and sat in the chair opposite, handing her a steaming mug of coffee as he did so.

Blushing slightly, Jenny returned his smile and took the mug from him. She admired his strong hands, and wondered - No! She cut that thought off sharply. There was no way she could ever admit that she harboured fantasies about him - especially the kind of fantasies she had.

Halo Adjustment Services
John stretched aching shoulders, clasping his hands together and pushing them over his head. He knew he was damp with sweat. He could feel his t-shirt plastered to his back as he paused in his work. Hopefully, this was the last time in his life he would be moving. He'd been hauling his stuff into the old Victorian mansion he'd inherited from his grandmother for most of the day.

There was a big office, to the right inside the front door. He intended to run his business from there. He'd already had a post installed next to the mailbox where he could hang his shingle. He definitely wasn't ready to work yet, but he was anxious to get his business sign in place. He actually researched the area and knew there was no one who provided what he did. John was extremely fit for his 40 years and he was getting a thrill knowing someone was watching him intently from the house next door. Flexing again, he turned and went into the house.

Ida watched as the young man who had been lifting and carrying heavy looking boxes and bulky pieces of furniture all day, stretched like a lithe cat, tight muscles and wide shoulders. She might be 85, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate a fine man when she saw one. It must be her friend Hetty's grandson. She hadn't seen him around in quite a few years. Certainly not since Jill had moved in with her.

"Have you seen whoever's moving in, Grandma?" Jill asked, as she walked into the kitchen.

"No, not really," Ida lied.

"I wonder what he does? Is he very old, do ya think?"

"I'm sure we'll find out sooner or later. Maybe you should make some cookies."

Now, her grandmother KNEW Jilly hated to bake. Hell, she rather knit him a god damn sweater than bake cookies. And she didn't know how to knit either. But Jillian also knew that her grandmother expected her to do it anyway.

Ever since Jillian's divorce, when she hadn't had anywhere else to live or any way to pay the ridiculously large amounts of money it took to support yourself these days, she had lived with her grandmother.

So, at 35, Jilly was no longer subjected to the tyranny known as husband. Instead she was at the beck and call of a tornado named Grandmother.

Jilly tied an apron over her sundress, and resigned herself to her fate. Despite what her grandmother thought, she had made chocolate chip cookies a couple of times. After all they had been Harry's favorite, back when she had actually given a shit what he liked. He had driven all thoughts of wanting to please him completely away, when whatever she tried was always wrong, poorly done, or just plain stupid.

The Trouble with Amy
Jack answered the call on the third ring, recognising his sister's number, but was shocked to hear Amanda's tearful voice, full of anguish.

"Jack, she's done it again."

Sobs prevented further speech and Jack sighed in exasperation. 'She' was his 17-year-old niece Amy who had been in trouble both at school and at home recently and his sister was at her wit's end!

"I'll be there in 10 minutes," Jack told her and hung up.

He arrived at Amanda's within the promised time and enveloped her in a bear hug as soon as he stepped through the door. Her desperate sobs broke his heart; he had always taken care of his younger sister since their parents' death several years ago. Now he was determined to 'take care' of his misbehaving niece.

"Tell me the latest, Amanda," he urged his sister.

"I just got a call from school; she's been skipping lessons again, not handing in homework. She forged a letter, supposedly from me, asking for leave of absence. Her attitude has been disrespectful, she didn't attend three detentions and her language has been worse than ever!" All of this was said interspersed with sobs.

Jack sighed again; Amanda was due to leave in an hour for a weekend away with friends and right now, she was in no fit state to do so.

"Amanda, I know you've refused to allow me to deal with Amy previously, but you must realise this is the final straw?" he asked coaxingly, hoping she would agree this time.

Her shudder and renewed sobbing confirmed her resignation and she whispered her answer. "Yes... yes I realise I can't let her get away with it any more. I'm ready to let you punish her; will you please?" She looked up at her big brother, trusting him to sort this out for her, so thankful she had him to rely on.

"Very well, here's what we're going to do. I assume you're already packed to leave for your weekend?"

"Yes, I'm all ready," she said with a hiccup.

"Okay, I want you to pack a bag for Amy too; she's going to stay with me for the weekend. She will only need casual clothes, but pack thong underwear and a nightshirt for her. I intend to spank her severely but I want to see skin, so she will need to be wearing a thong to preserve some modesty," he stated sternly.

Amanda gasped in shock, but accepted the outcome as reasonable; her daughter really did need to be spanked and she wasn't capable of doing it herself.

"What if she won't let you?" she dared to ask.

"If she wants to go on the holiday I promised to fund and not be grounded for the whole summer, she will agree to my punishment," he said with confidence. I will ring the school and assure them that she will be dealt with, most severely."

He Said/She Said: A Dialogue
"In an elevator? How interesting."

"I think so. It'd be tremendously exciting."

"Yes, exciting. Also a bit risky, don't you think?"

"Of course! That's what makes it exciting."

"Well, yes, I suppose."

"You don't sound convinced. You don't want to, do you?"

"I didn't say that."

"But that's what you're thinking. You're afraid of being caught. All right then. Well, you asked, and I told you."

"We both agreed to share. And really, hon, my hesitation didn't mean 'no'. We'll try it sometime. We will. We just need to find the right place and time. Ok?"

"You promise?"

"Sure. I do. In an elevator. We'll do it.'"

"Thanks, hon. I love you! It'll be great! Ok - now your turn."

"I don't know. Do I have to? You might think it's a little weird."

"Yes, you have to. I told you mine."

"Oh, all right, here goes. I'd like it if sometime... you would... let me spank you."

"Uh, spank me?"

"Yes. I warned you that it's a little weird."

"No, no - it's not weird..."

"... but? I sense a 'but'. But what?"

"Oh, I dunno. This isn't like punishment, is it? I didn't do anything bad, did I?"

"Of course not! It'd just be for fun. Sensual. For excitement. You know, like 'doing it' in an elevator."

"Oh, good. Because if I ever did something you didn't like, you could just tell me."

"Of course! I know that. I'm not talking punishment here, just fun."

"Just fun."

"Right."

"So you mean like some playful slaps?"

"Playful, yes, but they should sting."

"Sting? You mean like hurt."

"Not necessarily a lot."

"Oh, not necessarily. But you'd want it to. Hurt. I don't get it - why do you want to hurt me?"

"No, no, no, that's not the point. I don't want to hurt you. I just want it to sting enough to be exciting. For you. And for me. Exciting. As I said before - like doing it in the elevator."

"No one's getting hurt in the elevator. Well, not unless we fall over or something."

"You're not going to get hurt. I promise you that. And you'll be able to decide how much, and how hard, because you'll have a safe word."

"A what?"

"A safe word."

"Which is...?"

"Something you can say if you want me to stop, or go lighter."

"Wouldn't it be easier if I just said 'stop'?"

"Perhaps, but, if we're playing - and it would be just playing - you might want to say 'stop' even when you don't really mean it."

"Where do you get this stuff? Is this something you've done before?"

"No, not really. I've just done research."

I met Gary at university and we married just after I left. He was the most wonderful man and I adored him in every way. Eventually we had two children: Ruth, our first born, and then David. Gary was very close to his parents, Steve and Carol. Steve had invented a new way of making a washing machine and his factories made him very wealthy indeed. Both my parents in law were generous and kind with very strong moral principles... totally unlike most modern day industrialists as far as I can see.

Steve and Carol had another younger child... Sally. Steve once told me that Sally was a 'force of nature'. He said it with love but he was right; she had to excel at everything. Notice I say had to and not did. Oh, she did as well but it was the fact that she wouldn't rest at anything until she was the best. She was outstanding academically and at several sports, and into everything at school. She took on bullies and won and was, of course, school captain before she left.

Once I heard Steve say about Sally, "She'll either end up as the dictator of a large country or as a saint. I'm just not sure which."

Carol and I laughed but Gary sat thoughtful and then looked up as if puzzled and asked, "Only one country?"

Sally worked in finance and I know her lifestyle worried everyone. She seemed intent on accumulating wealth for the sake of it and gave little thought to who might get hurt along the way. She drank heavily, used cocaine, and swore terribly. Once she moved to New York we saw very little of her and that worried us all even more.

Now my parents in law loved being with their grandchildren so we all went on holiday together to a rather lovely beach resort. I'd taken Ruth and David to buy an ice cream when a group of crazed young men came to the beach to kill for their religion. I watched my parents in law and then my husband gunned down and saw them turn their attention to those of us at the ice cream stand. Just then armed guards gunned them down. An elderly British couple looked after the children while I rushed down to the beach. Gary was still alive but he lasted only a short time, and I staggered away to ring my mum and dad. I couldn't get them so I rang Sally instead.

Sally didn't seem to understand me so the older man took the phone and explained everything. He shut the phone off and said simply, "Sally's on her way now." Sally was my saviour. She seemed to arrive instantly but I realise that wasn't the case. My elderly benefactors cared for me and the children and I am ashamed to say I went utterly to pieces.

1. A Caning for Connie
The reality of life in the Bends came home to Constance McKinley one Saturday afternoon in early September. Her family was so new to the neighborhood that she still had to drive slowly on Sycamore Trace to watch for the tiny sign that marked the Bends from the other gated communities.

She pulled up to the hut where the guard normally waved her through, but this time he signaled her to stop. She slid down her window.

"Is there a problem?"

"A small one, ma'am. Would you mind parking and stepping out of the car?"

Her heart fluttered a little. The Homeowners' Association Guidelines - a massive volume - contained a section on security gate protocol, which she had given just a cursory read. She glanced at Kelli, who was in the passenger seat bobbing her head to something on her ear-buds.

"I'll be just a minute," she said.

The girl, who Jake had begun calling 'Mini-Mom' because she had inherited her mother's red hair and soft freckles, ignored her.

Connie stepped out of the van and faced the guard, a fireplug of a man who stretched the buttons on his khaki shirt and was a head shorter than she. 'Rollins' was emblazoned on his name-tag.

"What's the trouble, Mr. Rollins?"

"Got a report of some things left in your front yard: a soccer ball and goal."

She frowned. She had told Kelli to put those things away before they left, but because the McKinleys' home had a rear-entry garage, she hadn't noticed the lawn when they drove off to the store. Her initial inclination was to argue that they had only been away for a couple of hours and a soccer ball and goal left in the yard wasn't a big deal. But she checked herself.

This, after all, was what the Bends was all about. More than the security, the lush green space, and the tightly restricted architectural standards, the Bends was about rigorously imposed community discipline. After hours of soul searching, Jake and Constance McKinley had decided it was right for them.

For the first five weeks nothing had happened, but Connie knew that had to change. And it was obvious it was going to change that day.

"I've got ice cream in the car, Mr. Rollins," she said softly.

"Then we'll make it quick. Please step over to the screen, Mrs. McKinley."

The screen was a decorative barrier of rustic planks nailed across posts and engraved with Willowbends - Welcome! on the side that faced the entry. A grab bar was attached to its backside.

"Is this your first experience at the Bends, Mrs. McKinley?" She nodded. "Well, in the event you've forgotten what the guidelines say - or maybe you haven't read them - violations reported to the gate earn you a ticket. One copy goes to your husband, to deal with as he sees fit. The second goes to the Association Directors - to deal with as they see fit."