LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Eddington House
Jeanette Price had been late getting all her registration materials in for college, and now all the dorms were full. She'd never considered a sorority. Being an only child, the whole big sister/little sister vibe just wasn't her thing. Plus, despite the entire 'Greek' collegiate world's insistence to the contrary, she had a feeling those paddles on the walls weren't entirely decorative! She'd had enough spankings thank you very much. In fact, her last one had been at age 18, a humiliating secret that she guarded with her life!

Jeanette had always been a procrastinator, and this time it looked as if it was going to cost her. She hated the thought of living at home and driving 45 minutes to and from school every day. Most of her friends had either been accepted to out-of-state colleges or were living on campus at the local university. She'd miss most of the best social opportunities if she stayed at home, because her parents were old-fashioned and strict about her curfew. It would be a drag missing the best parties because she was expected to be home by 11:00 pm. on weeknights and midnight on weekends.

She wasn't a classic beauty, but she was quite cute. She stood 5'5'' barefoot and had red, shoulder-length hair that she usually wore in a ponytail. No one but a supermodel would consider her overweight, but she was curvy and filled out her clothes nicely. On this rather warm early September day, she was dressed in denim cut-offs and a tank top. She was lying on her stomach on the living room floor, waving her feet in the air as she pored over the classified ads in the local paper in search of a place to live close to campus. She was limited by what she could spend; her parents were paying her tuition, but hadn't counted on rent being part of the equation. There had been quite the dust-up when her parents had found out that no more dorm rooms were available, because they'd both been after her to get all her paperwork in on time. But it was the summer after her senior year in high school, and she'd been distracted by parties and other gatherings with her friends.

Suddenly, an ad caught her eye that read: Room available for female student. Breakfast and dinner included free of charge. Must be stable nonsmoker and nondrinker. Call Mrs. Eddington or Miss Stevenson for more info.

The rent amount quoted in the ad was incredibly low; it seemed too good to be true. Still, Jeanette felt she owed it to herself to check it out. She dialed the number.

"Good afternoon, Eddington House." The voice sounded like it belonged to a girl about her age.

"Hi, is this the number for the ad about the room?" Jeanette asked.

"Yes, it is. Are you interested in applying to live here?"

What an unusual way to phrase it, Jeanette thought. "Yes, I am. Are you ... Mrs. Eddington?"

Birthday Suit
"Carla, get down here! They're gonna be here any minute!" Maggie called up the stairs.

"I know! I'll be right there!" Carla called back.

Maggie went back to the last of the party preparations, shaking her head. "It's not like she has to get dressed or anything," she said to herself with a smile.

It was Carla's 30th birthday, and they were celebrating with some good friends who shared their particular lifestyle. In keeping with the same, the birthday girl would spend the party in her birthday suit, and receive over-the-knee spankings from each guest!

Upstairs, Carla was looking in the bathroom mirror and blushing prettily. She was basically a shy person, but being married to Maggie meant having her limits perpetually tested. She'd been to two of these birthday parties in the past year, but this was her first time as the guest of honor, and to say she was nervous would be a serious understatement!

Her shoulder-length brown hair had been styled for the occasion, and she was satisfied with the look. At 5'6", she was a petite woman with medium-sized breasts, a fairly flat stomach and an ample behind. "A bottom made for spanking," as Maggie often said. It was still a light pink and tingling from the private birthday spanking she had received earlier. At Maggie's behest, Carla had fully shaven herself in front, making her feel more than naked! This evening, she would be wearing nothing but her jewelry: a wedding ring, a silver belly button ring, a toe ring on her left foot and an ankle bracelet on her right. The thought of welcoming guests in her present condition made her tummy flip!

"Carla! Get your butt downstairs now!" she heard Maggie yell.

"I'm coming!" she called back. It was the moment of truth. Once she went downstairs there'd be no turning back. She stepped out on the landing, blushing like crazy. It was a cold December night in the Colorado mountains, and in her current state, Carla was certainly feeling the chill! She forced herself to walk downstairs, saying, "This is crazy, this is crazy!" to herself as she went.

"Well, it's about time, chica!" Maggie said in mock anger. "One more minute and you would have gotten yourself a punishment spanking for being late for your own party! I think it would be cute if you had to greet your guests with a hot pink bottom, don't you?"

"Umm, not so much," Carla replied, her hands automatically going back to cover her bottom.

"Well, it certainly will be a nice shade of red once everyone's had their turn with it tonight!" Maggie winked.

The doorbell rang, and Carla's stomach did somersaults. "Well," Maggie said, "don't just stand there babe, answer the door!" Carla groaned, but obeyed, tiptoeing towards the door in her bare feet.

When she opened it, there stood Dee, her good friend from the UK. Dee was a bisexual woman who had traveled all the way across the Atlantic for this very special 'girls' night.'

Country Loving
He had been in the house exactly three weeks. Three weeks of peace and quiet and luxurious solitude - and then he met Dorothy. In under an hour she managed to scrape his car, demolish his gate, and ransack his garden.

There he was, relaxing in the comfortable chair by the window, enjoying a cold beer while he read the Sunday paper. It was bliss. But then the tranquillity was shattered by a sudden series of loud cracks. Thinking someone had been shot, Grant put down the paper and looked out of the window. A battered red car misfired its way down the lane, accompanied by a huge cloud of thick black smoke from the exhaust pipe. As the lane was a dead end and his was the only house located there, he fervently hoped the occupant of the noisy smelly car wouldn't be visiting him. With any luck they would realise they'd taken a wrong turn, and head back the way they had come.

With a nauseating crunch of gears, the car pulled up outside his house. Grant winced. Who the heck was this? A woman emerged from the vehicle, pushed open his gates, ran up the path, and started hammering urgently on the front door.

"Yes?" he enquired, looking into a pair of green eyes beneath a mop of tussled red curls.

"Hi. Hello. Pleased to meet you. I'm Dorothy but you can call me Dotty - everyone else does. I'm your neighbour. I live up there - Gamekeeper's Cottage." She pointed to a low, grey stone building in the valley about two miles across the field. "Not that I'm a gamekeeper of course." She grinned. Her face was full of freckles. "But there used to be one living there, years ago. He had a big nose - a right whopper it was. He kept a goat. It was really smelly. I would have come round to say hello sooner, but I caught mumps off my nephew. You should have seen my face - it was all puffed up. I looked like a hamster. Anyway, I've lost George. I don't suppose you've seen him? Oh - did I say I was called Dotty? I'm a bit forgetful."

She paused for breath, grabbed his right hand and pumped it up and down enthusiastically.

"Dotty," he murmured, thinking she did indeed appear to be completely dotty. "Er, I can't say I've seen anyone else wandering this morning. Hopefully George can find his way back home."

"There's not much chance of that. Damn and blast." She cast an anxious glance round Grant's front garden.

"Who exactly is George?" enquired Grant, somewhat bemused.

"He's been up to his usual tricks, the dirty little devil. I'm afraid he's turned into the most frightful sex pest. He just won't leave my girls alone - he wants to be at it constantly. He's a damn nuisance."

"A sex pest? Surely not. Shouldn't you be calling the police and pressing charges?"

Amanda and the Policeman
Ryan pulled up in front of the offices of Bradley's Building Supplies. Thanks to his grandfather's direction and accounting skills, the company had grown considerably over the past 40 years and had established shops in eight major cities. Business was booming. As a family member, Ryan got 30% discount on anything he wanted, which was handy given that he had recently transferred his job from London and had just bought a property in the village - it was actually the old police station, redundant since a nice new modern one had been built further up the road. The old place had charm and character. He was very happy with it, though it needed some work including roof repairs, a new bathroom, and replacement fencing for the garden. He also planned to knock down the existing garage (it had been unused for so many years that there was an ash tree growing up through the roof!) and build a new one. Being a practical sort of guy, he wanted to do as much of the work as he possibly could, just for the hell of it. And why not, seeing as how there was no woman in his life to occupy his free time.

Women. After a bad experience with Sylvia, whom he discovered had been sleeping with not one but four of his colleagues, he decided to move out of London and return north, back to his Yorkshire roots. Here he would happily forget Sylvia Shagalot (the name he had coined for her, post separation) and his former friends and colleagues who had proved by their actions not to be friends in any sense of the word. Here he would make a new start and avoid looking at anything wearing a skirt. Women were off the menu.

Or so he thought, until he caught sight of Amanda Moore. She was a slender but shapely woman in her mid twenties, with a mane of tousled blonde hair that tumbled in glorious waves down her back. She had clear blue eyes the colour of a cloudless sky on a summer day. The first time he had looked into those eyes, he knew he was hooked. She had given him a warm and friendly smile, not in the least contrived, her lips curving prettily.

"Hi Ryan," she said, rising from her desk in the reception area. "You must be Bertram's grandson. I don't need an introduction - you look so much like him!"

"Without the wrinkles and the turkey neck, I hope." He smiled back. He couldn't help it. She had an infectious charm.

"There's not a wrinkle in sight, as far as I can see," she giggled. "Bertram is expecting you but he's still in a meeting. So can I get you some coffee while you wait?"

"Sure. That would be great."

"How do you take it?"

"Dark and strong and not too sweet."

"Hey - I like my men that way too!" She laughed briefly and then clasped her hand over her mouth.

Caroline's Secret Obsession
Knock on a stranger's door, and you never know what may unfold. Take, for example, an incident that happened to me in autumn of the year 1884. At Laurel Street, in one of the finer neighborhoods in Stamford, Connecticut, I opened the gate in a picket fence and walked up a flagstone walkway past well-manicured grounds. Arriving at the portico of a fine old Colonial-style home, I lifted the heavy bronze knocker and rapped several times.

A maid, well into her middle age, answered. "Yes?"

"I wish to speak with the master or lady of the house."

"Your name?"

"Arthur Whitlock."

Her eyes brightening, she said, "Yes sir, this way please."

She led me into the parlor and, to my surprise, reached out and took my derby hat I held in my hand. As mine was a brief, formal visit, it was a breach of protocol to take a man's hat. However, I let it pass. Almost at once there appeared in the doorway a handsome lady in her forties, bedecked in a stylish floral print day dress, all poufs and pleats and gathers, that covered her from neck to ankle.

"Arthur Whitlock?" she smiled.

"At your service, madam. I'm calling because my ..."

"Yes, yes, of course," she smiled effusively as she took my hands. "I'm Lydia Delaney. It is a pleasure to meet you, young man. A pleasure! Now, you are just in time for dinner."

"Dinner? Well really, I hadn't ..."

"Oh but I insist!" declared Mrs. Delaney. "My husband Henry will be here shortly. In the meantime, let me introduce you to ..." here the lady paused, her eyes twinkling, "...our Caroline."

Still holding one of my hands, she led me across and down the hallway into a library. Near a brick fireplace, in which burned a cozy fire, sat a young woman at her knitting. Only when she looked up, smiled, and then rose did the full effect of her presence manifest itself.

I gazed in awe at a creature the likes of whose beauty falls upon a man's eyes only a few times in his life. Caroline's hair was a thick auburn mane, massed in the back in the style of the day. Her long-lashed eyes were deep azure. From her brow came her nose in a straight classical line, like a modern day Aphrodite. The girl's white, lace-covered blouse, with a raised collar enclosing her long graceful neck, accentuated the rose blush on her cheeks.

"Caroline, dear," gushed her mother, "this is Arthur Whitlock. Mr. Whitlock, may I present our daughter Caroline."

Pleased that such an exquisite flower had bloomed here in Stamford, I gave a slight bow as the girl curtsied. When she extended her soft hand, I placed there a gentleman's kiss.

As was the custom, I turned to the mother, on whom one would lavish praise for rearing this angel. "Mrs. Delaney," I smiled, "your daughter is as pretty as a picture. May I offer my congratulations to you and Mr. Delaney. Both of you must be proud."