LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

The Punishment Dinner
"Let's see how she looks!"

The servants quickly broke away, leaving Lana standing alone on the dais. She was facing away from me slightly and turned and looked at me over her shoulder. I sucked in my breath in hidden delight. She was stunning.

Lana strongly reminded me of a cat. She had the body type: slender and lithe with athletic elegance, yet with graceful feminine curves. Her dirty blonde hair hung in casual-seeming wisps down to her shoulders, every hair seemingly random, yet perfectly placed. The triangle of her petite face was also feline: angled eyebrows, large expressive almond-shaped eyes, the cutest tiniest nose, elegant high cheekbones, and a small welcoming mouth with clean white teeth. Delicious.

Around her neck she wore a black leather collar, its short leash hanging loose between her bare breasts, dainty upturned things with stiff, impudent nipples. Her waist narrowed sharply making the swell of her hips and the dip of her back even more dramatic. Around her hips was a small scarlet sash tied in a bow at the back, a short tail dangling into the valley between the bare orbs of her buttocks. These ball-like buttocks drew your eye - I'd never seen a rounder, cheekier bottom. Lana's legs were long and graceful, with flawless honey-colored skin, but her butt was the star with such a high-placed outthrust it insisted you pay attention and worship it.

Lana swiveled, her hips swaying seductively, her high bottom bobbing as she struggled to step in her three-inch spike heels. Everything about her body was centered around that spectacular ass; the cheeks were the ball joints of her sleek legs.

She looked at me, blushing and grinning and terrified at the same time. I saw that except for the collar, the sash, and the shoes, she was utterly naked. From the front of the sash hung a tiny triangle which only just covered her pubis; when she moved it would no doubt offer exciting glimpses into her secret charms.

"You look perfect," I said.

"Thank you."

"There's only one thing missing."

She didn't even need to touch her toes; her bum was splendidly taut just standing there. With the long black riding switch I gave her three cuts three inches apart. The third was low, almost to her thighs, and she stared at me silently, tears glistening in her eyes and her pretty mouth tense with pain. Already the white lines were darkening to crimson. They were swelling and soon would be raised puffy weals of a purplish hue.

"Now you are ready." I headed for the door. "Come, our guests await."

Lana followed, eyes still brimming with tears, tottering on her high heels, her breasts quivering delicately with each step.

"Gentlemen, this is my wife, Lana."

The men stood in respect. There were nine of them. They'd been carefully selected for variety, so there were tall and short, lean and stout, young and old.

Morris County, Kansas, 1870

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you. What are you doing hiding in the barn? Ma's on the warpath 'cos there's a pile of potatoes that need peeling for supper."

Eden Meyer's green eyes never once left the page of the letter she was studying. "It's your turn to help Ma with supper," she told her twin sister. "I did it last night. And I made breakfast this morning too."

Sierra Meyer pulled a weary face. "Yeah I know, but you're so much better at cooking than I am. Can't you do it?" Still Eden didn't look up and Sierra's pretty face took on an exasperated pout. "What are you reading anyway, Sis?"

Eden finally glanced up into an identical pair of cat-like green eyes. Appearance wise they were so similar that no one, except their parents, could tell them apart. Both were blessed with beautiful long black hair, inherited from their Mexican mother, along with her dazzling smile. The jade green eyes were a gift from their father, a German immigrant who had settled in Kansas some twenty-five years previously.

"It's another letter from Beau Rivers."

Sierra's pout became a teasing grin. "That's the second letter you've had from him this month. He must be really smitten with you."

Eden sighed. "He is. Look, he sent me the money for the journey out there. He wants me to go join him in Montana as soon as possible."

Sierra plonked herself down on the bale of hay, beside her twin and whipped the letter from her hand. "Oh my Lord," she declared, half in envy and half in disgust. "He really wants to marry you! Even though you ain't never even met? What a sap head."

Eden reclaimed her letter. "It's called taking a mail order bride and a lot of men are getting wives that way nowadays. Advertising for a wife does not make him a sap head. On the contrary, he seems like a fine, upstanding man to me. He's handsome too."

"How do you know?"

Eden dimpled a little smile and fished into her skirt pocket. "He sent me a likeness," she said, pulling out a small photograph and passing it to Sierra.

Sierra studied the grainy black and white print. Something in her tummy gave a tiny flutter just looking at the chisel-faced stranger staring back at her with serious eyes. To mask her response she shrugged. "I guess he ain't all that ugly."

"He's gorgeous," Eden insisted.

"So how come you're not happy?"

Eden's eyes didn't quite meet Sierra's intuitive gaze. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Eden Meyer. All you ever wanted was for some good lookin' guy to come sweep you off your feet. Yet here you are, moping in the barn instead of dancing round for joy. Something ain't right."

Chapter 1
As the door closed behind the final interviewee, Fiona Hill sat back and relaxed. She was an author whose books had finally started to sell well and she had decided that she could now afford an assistant. Married with a daughter aged 18, she worked from home, but after discussing things with her husband they agreed that they could make an office in a smallish room at the rear of the house without disrupting family life to any extent. So in due course Fiona had drawn up an advert and today had been the day for interviewing the four candidates that she had selected from the dozens of applications received. It had been an interesting if tiring experience, but now she had to make up her mind and choose one. She made herself a cup of coffee, opened a fresh page in her notebook and began to go through the candidates one by one, checking her notes as she did so.

The job, as Fiona saw it, should not be hugely difficult. It would be mainly administrative, probably a mixture of a secretary and a personal assistant, although the latter certainly suggested something much more important than what she had in mind initially. She also wanted someone who could help her with research as well - and that was the problem really, as none of the candidates had any experience of that. Eventually she sat back and thought for a while. Then she decided. Of all the four, Emma Kildare was the youngest and least experienced but there was a freshness and a keenness about her. Fiona thought that she could make something of Emma. It might take longer than with the others, but she decided to back her judgement that in the long run it would pay dividends. She thought again, going over everything in her mind one more time, then reached out for the telephone.

A few miles away Emma Kildare was at home - or at least her parent's home. She certainly couldn't afford a place of her own. She was sitting with a mug of coffee feeling just a little depressed. She thought she had been very open at this most recent interview, probably even a little naive, and once it was over she thought that there was no way she would get the job. The trouble was she wanted it desperately. Not all that long out of university and not really having much experience apart from a couple of internships and working in a shop, she didn't know what she wanted to do with her life yet. However, she liked literature and reading so the chance to work for a writer seemed too good to miss.

In an attempt to sound convincing, she had emphasised her politeness, devotion to duty and sense of discipline, coming as she did from a strict upbringing. What she didn't mention was that her stepfather still spanked her regularly with her mother's full approval!

Seat Warmers Unlimited
"Good afternoon, Madam." The receptionist sat behind a large, modern pinewood desk, before which stood two shiny steel-framed chairs, the seats upholstered in red velvet. The desk was neat, uncluttered save for a red telephone, some pads of paper and pens.

"Hi," said Jessica, taking in the smell of leather that pervaded the place, wondering about its source. She was nervous and embarrassed. She surveyed the walls, noting the erotic figure drawings, the two canes forming an X above the receptionist's desk and the two large paddles on either side. To the left stood a blackboard on an easel, a mortar board with tassels perched on a corner. Chalked on the board were a list of implements and prices. Her heart skipped like a schoolgirl but she feigned nonchalance. She saw "cane... birch... riding crop ... paddle... tawse... hairbrush... slipper... hand" and prices per "six of the best".

"Is this your first visit, Madam?" asked the middle-aged woman neutrally.

"Yes, it is," croaked Jessica.

"If you would like to fill in your requirements on here..." The receptionist slid a pad of carbon-copied forms and a biro across the desk. "I think you'll find everything is made clear."

Jessica nodded gratefully, sat and pulled the pad towards her. Centred at the top was the company's name: "Seat-Warmers Unlimited" with the mission statement in italics below it: "Discipline with discretion". The page was divided into four sections. The first listed the implements she'd seen on the blackboard along with several others such as carpet-beater, gym shoe, bath brush, spoon. Adjacent to each item was a box to indicate number of sets of six, though she noticed "hand" came in sets of twelve only. The prices seemed very reasonable at £5 per set, with "birch" costlier at £8, though there was a minimum charge of £30.

A second column of boxes invited the client to indicate by number the order in which the sets were to be administered. Jessica felt heat rising through her middle and wished she wasn't by nature so quick to blush. She was suddenly very conscious of the woman across the desk and what she must think. She felt faintly ridiculous sitting here getting moist with excitement contemplating a mere form. She crossed her legs and then cleared her throat at exactly the same moment as the woman.

"Why don't I give you a minute to think things over?" Jessica looked up and smiled awkwardly but gratefully as the receptionist got up. Just then the phone rang. The woman smiled an apology and picked it up.

"Good afternoon," she said politely. She listened for some moments before rolling her eyes. "No madam, I'm afraid we don't supply any kind of vehicle upholstery ... no ... no ... I'm sorry ... I can't really help you there... erm, you probably don't want to know... thank you, goodbye." She seemed to have brought the conversation to an abrupt end.

Called to the Front of the Class
It must have been fifteen years since Ryan Ferris had been anywhere near his old school. In fact, forty-three years had passed since he had finished sixth form. Life had been good. Having studied mechanical engineering at university, he had set up his own company some thirty years ago, worked hard, and had reaped the rewards. Not bad for the diminutive, unassuming shy kid they called 'Carrot Top' during his schooldays.

Today he was due to see a prospective client that had a site very near to Holly Grove School, the place where, despite his inhibited demeanour, such wonderful memories came flooding back. He stopped his silver Mercedes directly outside the school gates. The place had changed somewhat, and had recently been granted academy status. But still, the old memories flowed, and so did his tears at the passing of time.

Happy school memories they were, but his biggest regret was his chronic failure to be popular with the girls. Two particular girls came to mind. He shut his eyes and could picture them both at the school gates: one vivacious, charismatic and often rebellious, giggling and cavorting with the boys, the other reserved, engaging, quietly appealing and academically brilliant. However, they both shared one thing: they were two equally beautiful girls. He had loved both dearly, but agonizingly, neither had reciprocated. He pictured them again and sighed. Never had he forgotten Chelsea Sanderson or Jasmine Cooper.

Two unforgettable days played on Ryan's mind that involved both Chelsea Sanderson and Jasmine Cooper. One was just simply exceptional, the other nothing short of astonishing, and both were intrinsically linked. The first memory that sprung to mind was the last day of term when he was in the Lower Sixth. He shut his eyes and pictured the events. The year was 1970: long hair, platform shoes, flared trousers, mini skirts and crombies. It saw the break-up of the Beatles, the World Cup in Mexico, and at that time, Mungo Jerry were battling in the pop music charts for the No. 1 spot with Christie's Yellow River, before the latter-day birth of T. Rex.

It had been swelteringly hot and he had hated it. It tortured his pale, freckle-covered skin to the point of ridicule. Bright sun had the effect of illuminating him, and the calls of 'Carrot Top' had been quite widespread that week. His emotions had been fraught on the day because of Chelsea and Jasmine.

He recalled how the calamity of approximately one hundred sixth form pupils leaving the Stuart Close entrance of the Holly Grove School had momentarily abated his irritation towards the afternoon's intense heat. Boys chanted, yelled and wrestled, while others stole last minute kisses with the girls. Boys that were considered good-looking enough indulged in passionate, lingering kisses with any one of the array of pretty girls that were happy to reciprocate.