LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Blair was focusing on getting the packages to the car. As she walked through the mall, she could hear the rain pounding on the roof and wished she had parked a little closer. Now she was about to get drenched before she got to the car. As she reached the door she bumped into someone, causing her to drop one of the packages. As she bent to get it, she bumped heads with a great looking man who was trying to reach for her package too. He was about 6' 2" with blond hair and was dressed very casually in khakis and a blue Oxford cloth shirt with a sweater loosely draped around his shoulders. Blair could not believe how handsome he was, and when he handed her the package their fingers touched and she felt a jolt of electricity. She casually glanced at his hand to see if he was wearing a ring.

No ring, that's good, she thought. Blair tried to think of something to prolong this encounter. Her mind was furiously working to come up with a thought when he spoke.

"Hi, my name is David. Can I help you in getting these packages to your car?"

Blair was so tongue-tied she barely managed to introduce herself. "Yes, I really would appreciate another set of hands, but I don't want you to get soaked too."

"Want to get a cup of coffee?" he suggested. "Maybe by then the rain will have let up and neither of us will have to get wet."

Blair could not believe her luck. Here was a gorgeous man who just invited her for a cup of coffee.

Don't get too excited Blair warned herself. Just because he's not wearing a ring and he's offered to buy you coffee doesn't mean he's looking for a date. He could be just being gentlemanly.

They found a small table near the Starbuck's kiosk. David went to get the coffee as Blair deposited her packages.

David returned with the coffee. "I'm not sure if you take any cream or sugar, so I just brought it this way. I'll watch the packages if you need to get anything."

"No, I like it black," Blair replied.

"So do I," replied David.

"Good that's at least one thing we have in common," smiled Blair.

David could not believe his luck in meeting this girl. He was already smitten, there was something about her, he couldn't put his finger on it but it was smoldering just below the surface. She was about 5' 6" with beautiful green eyes and a smile that could light up a room. He had recently moved to the area, did not have many friends, and certainly had not dated anyone since his break-up with his last lady friend over three months ago. He wondered if Blair was married or in a relationship and figured the best thing was to just come out and ask.

"So, Blair, why don't you tell me about yourself? Are you married? In a relationship?"

Chapter 1
The light on Kim McConnell's answering machine was blinking red when she returned home. Threading her way through the jungle of moving boxes - some of which had yet to be opened - she checked the display and found that there were three messages. All from him, probably. She had a cell phone with voice mail, but she hadn't given him that number. The last thing she needed was him calling her at work.

With a sigh, she pressed the blinking red button and listened as the artificial voice of the machine confirmed that she had three new messages, then:

(Beep)... "Hey, it's Jack. Just called to see how things are goin' with the new place and all. Guess you must be putting in some long hours at the store. You're never home when I call..."

There was a long pause and Kim could just imagine the turn of his head and the slight curling up of one side of his mouth. She knew those pauses well enough. Knew too the face that always accompanied them. There had been at least one in every argument they ever had. In the last couple of conversations they had had before she moved out, Jack had spent as much time pausing and making that face as he had talking down to her.

When he continued, the pretence of civility was gone from his tone.

"Is that what you really want? Spending all your time working in that damn store? You know you're never going to get ahead. You'll be just like all the..."

The machine cut him off just as his voice was starting to rise. Apparently he must have gathered himself together before calling back, because when the second message started to play, he was once again the level-headed Jack of old.

(Beep)... "Look, I'm sorry about that. I miss you, you know? I just don't know what you think you're..."

This time Kim cut him off herself, hitting the Delete button before the message had finished playing. When the third message started to play, she didn't even let the beep finish before she deleted it as well.

She went into the bedroom to change, congratulating herself on the fact that she wasn't crying. She wanted to, sure, but she wasn't going to. Kim had already decided that she had cried enough because of him. But he was still getting to her, there was no denying that. After twelve hours at work, almost all of it on her feet, she should have been ready to just crash for the night, but instead she was changing to go out because she just had to. Tired as she was, she had to get out for a while, away from her new place, away from her boxes, and especially away from that damn answering machine.

So a few minutes later she emerged from the sliding glass door at the back of her condominium. The dress shirt and formal slacks she wore to work had been exchanged for a T-shirt and a comfortable pair of blue jeans.

A Certain Kind of Girl
The door said 'Housefellow' and it was open. Helen had this open door policy so we felt free to come in and talk. She's a grad student, Helen is, and cute and athletic, and I was a little in awe of her, even before I heard the rumors. That's why I was lurking just outside her door. Because of the rumors, and I was afraid they weren't true, or she would turn me down, but I was also afraid that she'd say 'yes.' Finally I just couldn't stand the indecision any more, and knocked on her door jam. She looked up and put her book down. Some Latin poet or something.

"Cathy. Hi. Is there something I can do for you? Come on in and sit down."

I came in, feeling little and embarrassed. I did not sit down. I felt like looking down and mumbling, but I forced myself to look at Helen. She was so pretty and so nice but didn't take shit from anybody. Reminded me of someone from my past, I think.

"I heard these rumors," I said, and yeah, I felt about as lame as that just sounded.

Helen waved her hand and went, "So? It's a dorm full of girls. Gossip is what they do. What do you expect?"

Did I want it to be false so my heart would calm back down, or did I really want it to be true? I was all bent out of shape about it, that's for sure. "Um, you know those two brats, Jill and Lisa? The rumor is they've stopped being a pain in the butt because they're getting one. The rumor is you spank them."

Helen shrugged, serene. "Which, even if it were true, would be something private, and absolutely none of your business."

I'd already asked both the brats, and they'd denied it, but when they did, Jill blushed and Lisa squirmed, and that kind of gave me hope. "I'm not trying to get them in trouble, Helen, and I'm not trying to get you in trouble either. I need to know for personal reasons."

"Well," Helen said. She sighed. "Speaking hypothetically ..."

Oh. Sure. Give her an out. "Yeah?"

"Well, all right. Let's say hypothetically that there's a certain kind of girl who needs discipline in her life and if she doesn't get it from a trusted person in authority, she'd have to get it from her boyfriend, and she fears that might risk getting pregnant and dropping out of school, or at least getting all messed up emotionally. Then maybe you could see how someone in authority could see her way clear to bend the rules, because there'd be more good than harm?"

Helen was saying it was true. I felt this heady mix of fear and joy. "Well, while we're speaking hypothetically, what if I've known that's what I've needed for quite a while. Could you see yourself clear to discipline me, too?"

Basement
"Okay," Mary said. "What is it?"

A black, square box with a power cord and an indicator light. Peg looked at it as it sat there on Mare's table. "The answer to all my troubles?" she asked. Just joking.

"Precisely," Mary said. "It's a mind field."

Peg blinked. "You mean, like a bomb?" She backed up a little.

Mare cleared her throat. "Don't be a dork, Peg. I didn't say 'mine field,' I said 'mind field.' You plug it in and it takes about a day before the field forms. Once it does, anyone who gets within about three feet of the thing, it sort of reads their mental state. If they're not holding onto much guilt, nothing happens. If they are, the box deepens the feeling, and adds a need to be punished physically."

Peg could think of an immediate use for the thing, and his name was Tim. It was almost too good to be true. "Who would even think of making a thing like that?" she asked. "And what's the market?"

"Designed for use in Singapore's prisons," Mary said. "Imported by a guy who thought for sure it was a cure-all for rebellious teens, and then he found out how much sex has to do with the way it works. So they came up surplus. Want it? I picked it up thinking of you. You know. For Tim."

"Lying, cheating sack of shit," Peg said, almost reflexively. It would be tempting. "You really think I should, Mare?"

"Oh, definitely," Mary said. "Think of how he hurt you, how he broke your trust. Then set up the box someplace people won't stumble on it accidentally like the basement or the attic, and get him to stand next to it. Then beat him black and blue."

Oh God. It was a dream come true. "And he won't call the cops on me later, or something?"

"He'll think it was his idea," Mary said, "and in a way, it will be."

Peg felt a rush of excitement. A chance to get the bastard back. A chance to see him suffer as she had suffered. "Oh, jeez, Mare, I'm so damn tempted. But we don't have a lot of cash right now. Great idea, though. I guess it's the thought that counts."

"Like I said," Mary said, "it's surplus. It didn't cost that much, considering. And it doesn't cost you anything at all. A gift, from me to you. Let's just say it appeals to my sense of justice."

Peg looked at the lumpen metal box, so out of place in the middle of Mare's bright and cheery kitchen. But it would be right at home in a basement corner, maybe over near Tim's work bench. He'd be truly at her mercy, actually wanting her to hurt him. Oh God, it was so tempting. "Let me think," Peg said, but in her heart she knew. And when she stepped out of her friend's house that soggy Sunday in early Spring, she carried a surprisingly heavy metal box.

This story, based in the UK in the 1970s, is about a young man (well let's put him at 31) who lets himself fall under the influence, in more ways than one, of a 50 year old woman, who has not passed the flower of youthful exuberance and is still very much embroiled in eroticism.

---oOo---
We had been going out for a couple of months. Jo was lovely. Everything a man could ask for. She was tall (5'10 in her stockings), had a fabulous figure, with large well moulded and firm breasts (36D cup) and a full, rounded bottom. She was physically strong and fit (she worked out once a week) and was successful in business. She had long blonde hair, which she mostly wore loose down her back where it reached her waist, but occasionally it would invade her front, where, if she was naked, it tantalisingly attempted to conceal her ample, proud bosom. To cap it all she loved me and was a demanding and persistent lover. She was perfect for me, or possibly, if I dared to think about it, for most red blooded men. OK, she was 19 years older than me. OK, there were a few lines on her face, but they were mostly laugh lines and, in my mind, they made her more attractive. She did not look that older than me, certainly did not behave old, unless one counts dominance as a sign of age, and in any case what is 19 years between great lovers?

She had her own business, involving the distribution of fashion items within the fashion trade. It was a high powered enterprise, earning a good salary. But it also meant that she had to attend meetings or business lunches or dinners, and these would often impinge on our social life. But I was not worried by this. Being self employed she was able to take time off or adjust her schedule to suit herself.

She was very protective of her private life. There were strict rules by which I had to abide. I was not given a key to her flat. Whenever I was intending to visit her I would have to text beforehand. I was never to arrive at her flat unannounced and I could only visit her when she said it was OK to do so. "After all, darling," she had explained, "I may be involved in negotiating an important contract, and we wouldn't want you bursting in with your trousers down around your ankles and your willy hanging out!"

We both had our own flats in the town. Hers was spacious and light, with an entrance into a large, well decorated sitting room, which included a dining area. There was a well-found and modern kitchen, a large double bedroom and a small spare room. There was a separate bathroom, with a loo and modern shower. From both the sitting room and her main bedroom there were French windows leading out to an outside deck.