LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Assembly Caning
Every school-day at Langtree Hill School began with an assembly in the hall. Today was no different. The schoolgirls filed in, class by class, the more senior girls sitting on the long wooden benches that ran across the back of the hall and the younger girls on the benches at the front, nearest the stage.

The teachers, too, had their assigned places; most sat on chairs on the stage arranged around the large desk, behind which the headmistress sat. Normally, apart from a few books and papers with the headmistress's notes, there was nothing on the desk. Today, however, a straight length of kooboo rattan, thirty four inches long - the senior school cane - was lying there.

None of the schoolgirls, apart perhaps from one fifth form girl, noticed it there against the shiny brown surface of the desk top. In addition to the teachers on stage, two teachers each day, chosen by rota, stood in the aisles on either side of the hall, assisting in keeping order.

Assembly and morning prayers were treated seriously at Langtree Hill, and girls who were caught talking or even whispering in assembly were more often than not sent out of the hall immediately to stand in the vestibule, below the school clock. There, after an unpleasant wait of several minutes until all the other girls were back in their classrooms, they would find themselves having to lean forwards, their blue school skirts tautening across their rears, to receive one or two smart slaps from a plimsoll, delivered by a senior teacher or by Mrs Cornwall, the headmistress, herself.

Today, as the girls of 5A took their places, Maria Hunt seemed reluctant to sit down. She hovered in the aisle as the others sat down and then signed to Emma Richardson to budge up along the bench a bit, so she could sit at the end. Emma thought it odd, but quickly obliged. Maria had looked rather agitated throughout registration, she remembered, and hadn't said a word to anyone.

Now that all the girls were sitting down, the headmistress made her entrance. The girls, and all of the teachers, stood up once again as she made her way behind the large desk and sat down. Everyone, except the two teachers in the aisles, now sat down again, and the assembly commenced as always with Miss Bowler playing the piano and the singing of hymns.

Nothing unusual or out of the way took place until Mrs Cornwall rose to make the announcements. These were normally rather tedious and most of the listening girls were preparing to be bored. Some of the more perceptive, though, had spotted odd expressions on some of the members of staff on the stage and wondered if something was up. Maria Hunt, unfortunately for her, had all too good an idea of what was to come.

"I am sorry to have to tell you, girls," the headmistress began, "that one of you has let herself and all of you down.

Chapter One
When Rodrigo Cantrell opened his bloodshot eyes, the first thing he saw was the clear blue sky yawning above him like an immense and empty canyon, like Heaven was opening its pearl-studded gates just for him. Then, when a gush of cold sea water washed over his face, stinging his cracked skin, he knew he was still alive, that he wasn't gazing upward at Heaven. Slowly and painfully, he raised himself up into a sitting position and shifted his gaze to the horizon, now wondering what had awakened him and, more importantly, where exactly he was. The makeshift raft upon which he had been drifting was now banging against some rocks on a jagged, deserted coastline. He had been saved from the sea.

However, his jubilation over being alive was tempered as he realized he had no idea where he was or how long he had been drifting. He remembered that he had been a passenger aboard the Spanish barque, La Clava, out of Barcelona bound for Minorca in the Balearic Islands. He remembered that the small sailing vessel floundered in a sudden storm. He was washed overboard just as the ship was breaking apart and managed to climb onto a piece of the deck. He remembered very little after that.

Rodrigo gathered what little strength he had left and slid away from the planking that had served as his lifeboat. He staggered for a moment as his legs, already very weak, tried to remember what solid ground felt like. In the distance, perhaps fifty feet away was a stream bubbling over rocks - fresh water. His thirst was overwhelming and, like a desperate horse nearing a pool in the desert, he stumbled toward the stream, now oblivious to anything else around him. When he reached it, he kneeled down and stuck his whole face in the cool, running water. He drank steadily for nearly a minute.

Once his thirst was momentarily satisfied, his still disjointed thoughts turned again to where he was. They had been too far from the Spanish coast for him to have drifted back. Therefore, he reasoned, he must be on one of the many islands in the Balearic chain. But which one? It didn't look big enough to be Ibiza. To the north were only trees and small hills; to the south was the brilliant Mediterranean. A few birds flew overhead. He didn't recognize the species. Only one way to find out where I am, he told himself as he turned toward the north.

He walked slowly and wearily along the stream, heading progressively more inland; however, after less than fifty yards, fatigue and hunger began to overtake him. He stumbled over several rocks along the bank and fell on his side into a small grassy meadow. There he lost consciousness.

Rodrigo awoke to low voices around him and a soft hand upon his face. He opened his eyes and was immediately confronted by the sight of four young women clothed in ragged ankle length dresses standing over him, concerned looks etched on their unmarked faces.

1. Starting Summertime Spankings at 13
On June 10th of my 13th year, I decided to act.

Summer vacation had just started for me the week before.

Mom went to work that morning, but Ryan - he's my step-dad - worked on his computer out of his office at home. Ryan's got this really cool job. He makes a lot more money than Mom and he doesn't even have to go to work! Ryan sort of keeps an eye on me during summer vacation, but he's pretty laid back.

"Ryan?" I asked awkwardly. "Can I talk to you about something?"

My step-dad looked up from his computer screen and smiled. "Sure, Gracie, what's up?"

I hate when he calls me 'Gracie', but I had a favor to ask. So I let it slide.

"I was just thinking," I began, not really sure where the conversation would take me, "now that I'm a teenager and all, maybe we could change some of the rules around here."

I mean, my 13th birthday was three weeks ago, so that makes me a legal teenager, right?

"Have you talked to your mother about this?" he asked, reaching out to pull me down to sit on his lap.

---oOo---
Ryan became my step-dad when I was 11, but I felt close to him, even from the start.

Maybe that's because my real dad left when I was five.

Ryan's the only dad I've really known.

And besides, my step-dad's kind of mellow, which makes it weird that he married Mom.

My mother is totally hyper and an emotional bitch on top of that.

But I've never understood why parents end up with each other.

---oOo---
"No, I can't talk to Mom just yet," I replied. "I kind of need your help. You know that boy? Mark Hainsworth? From down the street?"

"The one you've been pining over ever since he moved in?" Ryan laughed, squeezing my shoulders. "What about him?"

"Well, he finally introduced me to his Mom and dad. They're kind of - well - Christians. I mean, really REALLY Christian. Crosses all over the house. They sort of have this set of rules on the wall."

"I see," Ryan replied, noncommittal.

"And they've even got this big blue paddle hanging right there in the family room where everybody can see it," I continued, my words poring our faster now. "And you know what?"

He smiled and shrugged.

"They STILL spank Mark with that blue paddle, right on the bare behind!" I exclaimed. "I couldn't believe it when he told me. But his mom says it's true. You know, Mark's almost 15."

"Some Christians are like that," Ryan agreed. "But what's that got to do with us?"

"Well, I sort of told them that my mom's not strict at all," I said, looking away. "So you handle the discipline."

Kansas, 1875

Annabelle gazed out of the window as the steam train rumbled along the tracks, blowing out plumes of smoke as the carriages rocked and swayed rhythmically. It had been a long journey from Boston and she was exhausted, but at last she was approaching her destination, and as the grey light of dawn brightened and trails of vibrant pink flooded the morning sky, the conductor moved down the train, making his announcement.

"Next stop, Dodge City," he called. "Dodge City, next stop."

His announcement galvanised the passengers into action, many of them rising from their seats to gather their belongings. Annabelle followed suit, glad to be free of the hard seat and stretch her legs. Ten minutes later, the shrill steam whistle sounded and the big locomotive sighed and hissed as it chugged to a halt; countless people stepped out of the dark maroon carriages onto the station platform.

Annabelle alighted with the others, clutching the two bags that contained all her worldly possessions. The station was teeming with people, and the general hubbub made her head spin. It was all so overwhelming.

Tentatively she moved forward through the jostling throng and made her way to the exit. Once out of the station, she gazed at the unfamiliar streets. Even at this early hour there were plenty of people milling around, and tantalising smells of breakfast and coffee emanating from various eating establishments nearby. Her stomach growled a protest as she passed by a crowded rail road diner; her frugal supper of soup in the dining car of the train seemed an eternity ago, but after buying her ticket in Boston, she had precious little money left.

She wandered down the street, wondering how to find her way from here to Uncle Jacob's ranch. Her stomach twisted apprehensively at the thought of her uncle, and she once again reflected how the relatives she had never met would react to her turning up unannounced. Fighting down a rising tide of panic, she stepped through the open doorway of a side street café. A large woman behind the counter smiled at her.

"Good morning," she greeted in a German accent. "Would you like breakfast?"

"Good morning ... can I just have a cup of coffee please?"

"Of course. Please ... sit. I'll bring it to you."

Annabelle took a seat by the window and gratefully accepted the coffee. It was rich and dark and warming.

"Are you sure I can't get you anything else?" the German lady asked, noticing the girl's pinched face.

"Quite sure. Thank you."

The German lady nodded and bustled around wiping down the tables. "You have just arrived, ja?" she asked conversationally.

"That's right. From Boston."

"That's a fair distance you've travelled. You must be tired."

Annabelle nodded. "Yes, and I still have some way to go."

"Where are you headed?"

"Windy Creek ranch. Do you know it?"

"I have heard of it, ja."

"Oh - is it far?"

The big woman laughed.

Rob Gains a Mother
Rob sat in the bathtub listening to his step-mom of the past eighteen years work around the house. She had adopted him before he was two, so in actual fact she was the only mother he knew, but their relationship had not got off to a good start. By the time he was eight he openly rebelled at doing anything she wanted and had paid the price with a sore butt from his father many times since. He called her Mother, but it was in name only.

Spankings from his dad made little difference to his attitude toward Rose, and up to the day he had left home for college two years previously, the two had fought constantly. He was home for the summer, and his job did not start until the following week so he had a lot of time to spend at home. The only trouble was that Rose was also home, and from the moment he'd arrived the bickering had started over again.

Things were bad and would have stayed that way for the entire summer if Rob had not discovered what he did. His suspicions were aroused when he gave his father the bill for next year's tuition, and his dad had turned away from him. Rob could see his dad's face had turned white. After a few seconds his dad said he would look after the bill, but Rob did some checking and found his father's company was close to being bankrupt. It was when he was checking his father's home office that he found something else that surprised him.

He stumbled onto Rose's bank accounts and found she had paid his last two years tuition and all his monthly allowances had come from her. He saw the explanation for the newest cheque still in the system was exactly the amount of his next year's tuition. Not that Rose could not afford it - she could have paid for fifty years and still have had cash in the bank, but the fact she paid and never said one word to Rob all that time gave him a view of her he had never had before.

Rob sat in the bathtub wondering why his step-mom would do such a thing. He could not afford to pay the tuition fees himself and would have to drop out if the money was not available. The question in Rob's mind was what to do now? He could not tell his father he had snooped through his business files, not if he wanted to live at home the rest of the summer. He could not tell Rose he knew she was paying his college bills, as he had no right to look at her bank statements.

At the same time, he knew he had to do something or else feel very guilty about his behaviour over the past ten or more years.

1. Monday
I awoke groggily with a disconcerted feeling. The lacy pink bed cover was not mine, nor was the bookshelf of porcelain unicorn miniatures above my head. I sat up with mild curiosity, wondering who I'd come home with, but then I remembered: this was Grandma Eden's guest room. I was back home in Dornbrook.

I couldn't remember much from the previous night, or even the previous week for that matter. Between cramming for finals and celebrating my graduation with the gang at the Lucky Dragon, I hadn't slept more than a dozen hours in the past one hundred and fifty. The train had come in after midnight and to judge from the afternoon light streaming into the room, I had been dead to the world for most of the day. I still felt like hell but the idea of slugging in bed for much longer sounded like even worse torture. I stumbled from bed into the bathroom, relieved myself, and took a quick hot shower.

Grandma Eden was setting out the tea things when I emerged, dressed and somewhat alert.

"Marty! You're awake!"

"Good afternoon, Grams. Thanks for letting me sleep in. I was beat."

She laughed, her voice amusingly girlish for one pushing seventy. "I didn't have much choice! I knocked several times but you were dead as a log."

"Sorry. I haven't had much time for sleeping lately."

"Sit, and I'll get you some breakfast."

I was famished and obeyed, quickly absorbing a mountain of hot buttered scones with honey, coffee instead of tea, deviled ham sandwiches, and fried eggs with bacon. I felt like a real person again when I finished and decided I'd go for a walk in the fresh air. It was a lovely day, warm and bright, and I was restless after weeks of studying.

It was great to be home. When I'd lived in Dornbrook I'd thought the little town quaint and old-fashioned and couldn't wait to be off to university, but having been away for a while, I realized there was much to like about the peaceful place. It still wasn't the sort of place for me to permanently settle in, but it was a nice change of pace for a visit.

I traveled up Gravely Street to the top of Dorrill Hill with its beautiful view of the surrounding countryside. I noticed that even Dornbrook hadn't escaped change: there was a new housing development out on the west side and a new collection of stores just off Route 13.

"Marty Reece? Marvel's boy?"

I turned at the voice and vaguely recognized the dowdy woman in the doorway of the small brick cottage. She was Mrs. Lun-something, I thought.

"Yes ma'am, that's me. Just here visiting, staying with Grandma Eden."

"Weren't you in school?"

"All done, ma'am. I got my diploma two days ago."

The Lesson
Elmhurst Academy was a private high school dedicated to high standards in education. The founder had come to the U.S. from England and, discovering the public education system did not meet his requirements for his own sons, he had established the institution in the traditions of a strict English boys' school. But after the elder gentleman's passing, the school had gradually become a bit more modern and liberal. It had become co-ed and now the faculty and Board of Directors, as well as the student body was an almost equal mix of genders.

One thing had not changed: students were expected to be well-behaved and respectful. And no student was admitted unless his or her parents gave permission for that expectation to be enforced with a cane, strap, or paddle on the backside of the errant pupil.

But now there was a new development. The school year had just started when the aging headmaster, who had occupied his position for many years, was suddenly forced into retirement due to health problems. And when the Board of Directors needed to quickly select a replacement, the most qualified candidate was a much younger educator. But though only twenty-eight years old, the applicant had a PhD in Education, stellar references, and an excellent record during the past two years as assistant principal at another high school. Her name was Miss Karen Wood.

A couple of the older men on the board were concerned about choosing a woman. As administrator, it would be her duty to administer corporal punishment to the male students as well as the girls and that might be a problem, they said. The women on the board stifled that sexist objection, pointing out that the headmaster had been punishing the girls as well as the boys ever since the school became co-ed; so what was the problem? A woman could swing a cane just as well as a man and if those who raised the objection had any doubt of it, they would be happy to provide a personal demonstration.

The school was abuzz with rumors. It was said the headmaster was going to be replaced by a woman. And a young woman at that! The girls were ecstatic. They felt they had been discriminated against and would have someone more on their side. The boys had mixed emotions. Some thought it would be great. Others weren't so sure. On the morning the new administrator was scheduled to arrive, several of the senior boys were standing outside when they saw a car they didn't recognize pull into the headmaster's parking space. They stared in amazement as the occupant got out.

"Oh, My God!"

"That can't be her! Can it?"

"No way! She's not old enough."

"She is fucking gorgeous!"

"Are you sure that's not a new student? Maybe she just parked in the wrong place."

"THAT'S the new headmaster!?

Old Faithful
"Hold it right there, young lady!"

Allison Conway froze in shock, eyes swiveling towards the kitchen door. A cold finger ran the length of her spine. She knew that tone, recognized the naked anger in her father's voice. It was a tone she had come to fear over the years, one she'd learnt to treat with the utmost respect. Her pulse leapt into overdrive as the adrenalin hit her bloodstream. She'd been caught sneaking in through the back door, and now she was in trouble.

Literally breathless with surprise, Allison turned to face the tall, brooding figure looming in the doorway. Jason Conway stood with his hands planted firmly on his hips, face simmering with rage and relief. Relief because his wayward daughter had finally arrived home; rage because it was two-thirty in the morning. He loomed in the doorway, staring down at her in slow-burning contempt.

"Where have you been?" Jason demanded, his words slicing the air like a razor. Allison flinched like a frightened child, her mind whirling with panic. Jason wasn't just angry. He was utterly furious. His eyes glittered with emerald fire, and his mouth was a taut red line.

Allison could almost feel the heat radiating off him in blistering waves. She wavered before that scalding gaze, frantically searching for an excuse, an escape route, some pretext by which she could evade imminent justice. Nothing much came to mind.

She'd been caught red-handed, after all. All her lies and schemes and covert little deceptions had come to nothing: Jason had snared her with an almost dismissive ease, laying the trap with the confidence of long experience. What had she been thinking, creeping through the kitchen like some rank amateur? Jason Conway was a predator, patrolling his territory like a hungry barracuda. Allie had seriously under-estimated her Father's considerable intellect, and now the mistake was going to cost her. Dearly.

"I assume you realize what time it is," Jason said, striding into the kitchen with a menacing, determined step. "I've had the police out looking for you since midnight, Allie!"

"The police?!" Allison cried, her voice high and thin, "Daddy, you didn't -"

"Yes I did. They weren't terribly impressed - and neither was I. I've warned you before about your curfew. Ten-thirty by the latest - no exceptions." He halted two paces from the girl, his lean, pantherish figure framed in a rectangle of fluorescent light. His glare could have felled a Minnesota Bull.

Allison wilted in open dread, knowing what was coming next. "B-but it w-wasn't my fault, Daddy", she stammered, falling back from that livid, unforgiving gaze, "I just d-didn't -"

"I don't care what your story is, young lady!" Jason cut her off, voice rising by at least two decibels. "If you're late, you call home! That's the rule, Allie - and you know it." Which was true.