LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

One Spanked Girl
It had been a long and busy day at the Diner. No business day in Boston is ever exactly slow, but this was a particularly grueling day. Now that fall had arrived, people were leaving their air-conditioned apartments and spending more time outside. The result of this was a steady drove of customers coming in all day long after their morning, afternoon, and early evening activities.

Liz looked at her watch and was delighted to see that it was 6.58 pm ... only two minutes before her shift was scheduled to come to an end. After a full day of serving customers, some of whom were frustratingly rude and impatient, Liz was looking forward to getting back home and relaxing before rewarding her hard day's work with a little shopping spree.

After removing her apron, punching her time card, and saying goodbye to the other staff members, she left the diner and made her way home. When she opened the door, she was greeted by Jenny, her friend and roommate. She was reclining on the couch with her laptop, doing some online shopping; her shift had ended two hours earlier and much like Liz, she was quite drained from her day.

"Hey Liz, how was the rest of your shift?" asked the bubbly blonde.

"Long. Let's just leave it at that," replied the young redhead.

"Yeah, sounds about right. Just remember, we need to put in our time and make the dough so we can get our hands into the batter," said Jenny with a little laugh, referring to the donut shop the two girls hoped to open one day.

"True. I just wish delayed gratification didn't have to be so... delayed," sighed Liz

Liz then left the living room and went into the bathroom to take a shower. She wanted to wash the day's work away (not to mention that unmistakable diner aroma) before going out on the town. She stripped down to her yellow satin bra and matching bikini panties and washed the slightly smeared makeup off of her face. When this was done, she turned to the mirror and shook her perky bottom.

If things at the diner get much worse, maybe I'll just start making money using my money maker, thought Liz as she admired her soft feminine rump in the mirror.

She then stepped into the shower and was initially shocked by the cold water that hit her now nude body. After a small scream, she turned the faucet head and before long the room was filled with steam from the hot water as it poured down on her. She slowly soaped up her young body, finally relaxing a bit as the warmth of the water beating down helped her to come down from the stress of her work day.

When the shower was finished, Liz put on a towel and walked to her bedroom, where she laid out her outfit for the evening.

Part 1 Heather pushed the accelerator pedal closer to the floor and made the tires squeal as she whipped around the corner onto the small college town's main drag.

"Can't this thing go any faster?" her friend Ashley asked, from her place in the shotgun seat. "If we're late to work again Lily will kill us."

"We wouldn't be late if you hadn't lost the car keys, again!"

"Well, I forgot they were still in my pocket when I changed."

"Lucky for you I thought to look in the laundry hamper."

"Oh, just shut up and drive."

The bickering was nothing new. They had been friends for years and were as close as sisters, even more so since they'd been sharing an apartment while going to college in their native Texas.

They were a cute pair, petite except for their exceptionally round bottoms. The boys at school had actually taken to calling them the bubble butt twins.

At exactly 2.59, Heather swung the car into the parking lot at Lily's Flower and Seed Emporium, where they had both found work after school and on weekends. Like most college kids, they'd been living a hand-to-mouth existence and the money they made working at Lily's was a godsend.

They jumped from the car and rushed through the front door just as the clock read 3:00. As expected, Lily was glaring at them from behind the counter.

"Cutting it mighty close, aren't you?" she said.

Heather gave her boss a sheepish grin. "Yes, ma'am, but our shift didn't start till 3:00 and we are here."

Lily continued to glare. "Just barely, you're here. Honestly, I'd think two grown girls in college could get themselves organized well enough to get to work on time without having to drive like maniacs. Instead, you come screeching into the parking lot at the last minute in a cloud of dust every day."

"We're sorry ma'am," Ashley said. "It was my fault. I kind of lost the car keys."

"We'll do better," Heather promised.

"You'd better if you want to keep working here. You two are on thin ice with me as is. Heather, you get behind the register and Ashley, a new shipment of seeds came in. Organize the packets and get them into the right bins. I have a bunch of orders from the web site to get ready, so I'll be in back. Don't bother me unless it's an emergency."

"Yes, ma'am," they answered in unison. As they rushed past their irritated boss on the way to their assigned tasks, she gave them each a little swat on the seat of their jeans to hurry them along.

As Heather took her place behind the register, she gave her freshly stung cheek a little rub. Lily was a big, strong gal and even her playful swats packed a wallop.

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. 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.

1. How it Began
"Hey Hon," I called from the kitchen table where I was reading the morning paper as I finished my breakfast, "look who's just been named 'Teacher of the Year'."

My wife paused a moment from packing our son's lunch to peer over my shoulder at the paper. Spotting the story, she quickly zeroed in on the name.

"Casey Corrigan!"

"My high school tutor," I added.

"And big time school boy crush!" she teased.

"True," I admitted, "but that was before I met you, my love."

Together, we read the glowing description of the many accomplishments that had garnered Casey the award. It had been years since either one of us had seen her, but it seemed that Casey had made quite a career for herself as an educator. No surprise there, I thought to myself. She already had all the makings when she first tutored me fifteen years ago.

As my wife hustled our son out to the car to drop him off at his school on her way to her own job as a high school teacher, I poured another cup of coffee and sat down to reread the article. As I did so, my mind wandered back over the years...

---oOo---
I grew up in a college town, the second child of parents who were psychologists and tenured professors at the university. Not only were Mom and Dad senior professors, they were also published authors (multiple times); they were involved in numerous research projects, and very busy on the guest lecturer circuit. All of these activities really kept them on the go, often for weeks at a time. Consequently, I spent much of my pre-school years in the university day care program and my early grade school years in the after-school program.

Honesty compels me to admit that I was an indifferent student throughout grade school. By the time I entered my freshman year in high school, I had been officially labeled as an 'underachiever' which must have been a real disappointment to my brilliant parents.

My sister Mary Ann, four years older than me and a senior, was just the opposite. She excelled at everything all through school. When I was in eighth grade, my parents got the idea that they would pay Mary Ann to be my tutor. That was a total bust! The dynamic was all wrong. I just couldn't stand the idea of being subjected to my bossy sister's authority and, as often happens with people who learn things easily themselves, she had very little patience when I couldn't or wouldn't understand what she was trying to teach me. We gave the whole thing up after a couple of frustrating months.

Very early in my freshman year, my parents were talking about me with one of the Deans at a faculty affair. The Dean mentioned that he and his wife had employed a tutor to help prepare their own son for the rigorous entrance exam required for admission to the University Prep School.

Dustin
The eighteen-year-old shifted nervously under the stern eyes watching him intently. He tried and failed to meet the eyes of the two ladies seated on the couch across from him.

"So you know why you're here, young man?" one of the women, a tall, willowy beauty with a mane of lustrous curly chestnut hair asked, her green eyes shining behind the pair of stylish rectangular glasses that were perched on the bridge of her nose.

"Uhhhh... yeah, I think so," Dustin answered, resisting the urge to touch his short, spiky brown hair as he had a habit of doing when he was nervous.

Andrea Mahony let a long disappointed-sounding breath out, and said slowly, "Yes, I think so, what, Dustin?"

"What?" Dustin said, blinking in confusion.

"What Andrea means, young man," the other woman on the couch spoke; she was also tall, and slim, but powerful, with long blonde hair and stern ice-blue eyes. Dustin knew Gabrielle Kennedy, he doubted that there was anyone in the mid-sized town of Clarkstown that didn't know, and was not a little bit intimidated by the formidable Kennedy matriarch. "Is that you did not end your sentence with an appropriate honorific such as ma'am or Miss, and she will also accept Aunty."

"Oh," Dustin said, his mouth dropping open. He had heard stories about the Spank Shop, everyone in Clarkstown had ever since Andrea opened the place, but he just hadn't thought he'd ever end up here. "Sorry, Mrs Kennedy, ma'am."

Gabrielle sighed. "Dustin we have had this conversation more than once, dear. Mrs Kennedy is my mother-in-law, you can call me Aunty Gabrielle."

"Yes, Aunty," Dustin said with a blush. It always felt weird for him to call his girlfriend's mother 'Aunty'.

The interrogation was interrupted by the entrance of an extremely attractive, short blonde who looked like a smaller, younger version of Gabrielle Kennedy. She carried a tea tray and busied herself setting out a teapot, cups, saucers and sugar and milk, before tucking the tray under an arm and leaving the room. She stopped and gave Dustin a thin-lipped icy glare before she opened the door that connected the cosy parlour to the shop's reception area, and shut it firmly behind her.

"Well someone has made an enemy of young Kimberley," Andrea remarked in amused tones as she poured herself a cup of tea and added in milk and sugar before stirring it and sipping.

"Our Kimmy's very protective of her little sister and doesn't like anyone causing her discomfort like Dustin has," Gabrielle remarked approvingly after blowing on her own tea to cool it and taking an experimental sip.

The comment got a miserable whimper from the room's fourth occupant. She was seated on a wooden straight-backed chair along one wall. She had Gabrielle and Kimberley's blue eyes, fair features and blonde hair; she was taller than her older sister but shorter than her mother.

Thin Pyjamas featuring Miss Keller
"I have received a very serious complaint about your behaviour from matron, Catesby," remarked Miss Keller. She was standing at the foot of the new boy's bed with an expression of mild amusement on her pale attractive face. There was complete and utter silence in the dormitory. All the boys knew Miss Keller and were therefore most careful to allow no hint of amusement to show in their own youthful faces.

Catesby had been caught red-handed by matron engaged in an energetic pillow fight on the staircase with three girls whose dormitory was directly above the boys' dormitory. A group of twelve-year-old girls from a boarding school in Surrey were on a short hockey tour and were staying at St Meredith's for a week. This was not the first case of youthful high spirits that had occurred since the girls had arrived. Miss Keller was of the opinion that the girls concerned needed a firm hand preferably applied with some force across their bottoms. However, the visiting hockey team were not really her responsibility although she would speak to the young schoolmistress who was meant to be in charge.

Catesby was looking at her with an expression reminiscent of an angel who had just finished saying his prayers. The child was not so much handsome as pretty she thought, indeed if he had grown his hair a little longer he could all too easily have been mistaken for a girl himself.

"Have you anything at all to say in your own defence, Catesby?" enquired Miss Keller. She sat on the very end of the boy's bed and the boy's expression tickled her sense of humour. Her bright blue eyes twinkled frostily, a smile quivered momentarily on her lips.

"It wasn't his fault, Miss Keller! It was a dormitory raid. Catesby wasn't to blame. It was really the girls that started it!" said Bennett-Brown.

"Bennett-Brown, you will remain silent or suffer the consequences. Catesby can speak for himself. Now did those girls attack you or were you attacking them?"

She had no doubt they were all equally responsible. Doubtless most of the other boys were involved as well but they had almost certainly scampered back to the dormitory by the time matron made her unwelcome appearance.

"It was my fault entirely, Miss Keller. The girls weren't in the least bit to blame," he said; his face looked rather pale as he spoke. In all likelihood the other boys had told him what to expect if he ended up on the wrong side of Miss Keller. The young schoolmistress was strangely touched by the boy's quixotic attempt to shoulder the entire blame. Trust matron to poke her sharp little nose into the affair. Usually, she would have been happily engaged in watching her favourite soap opera on a Monday evening. As she stood up, the mattress springs creaked.

Aunt Edith
by Stephen de Medici
Jessica and Steve were clearing up lunch - leftover Christmas food - when the doorbell unexpectedly rang. They weren't expecting anyone. Jessica, a 5 foot 5 petite brunette, looked quizzically at her slim six foot tall husband of three years. Steve shrugged silently, having no more idea who it was than his pretty wife.

"I'll go," Steve offered and made his way along the almost bare hallway towards the front door. The stained glass panel showed the shadow of a stout female form. His puzzled frown deepened as he reached for the door handle.

Standing on the door step was a formidable middle-aged woman, classically handsome rather than pretty or beautiful, and she had about her an aura of power. This aura was almost palpable and, as it was early January, supplemented by what seemed like steam coming off her head and clothing. All in all, it was a daunting sight for Steve. He knew the lady. It was his mother's sister, Aunt Edith, and she looked decidedly cross.

"Auntie!" Steve said with surprise. "Wha..?" Before he could get the rest of his query out Edith walked forward, forcing him to step aside and open the door fully to allow her entry.

"Good day to you too, Stephen," Edith stated as she passed her nephew. "Close the door, dear, it's rather chilly out."

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold ran up his spine. Usually, only his mother called him Stephen and only when he had been in trouble as a child. Hearing his aunt say it caused unaccountable squirming in the pit of his stomach. Jessica had come to the kitchen door to find out who was calling on them the day after New Year's Day so Edith strode forwards in her sensible shoes and Jessica gave way to allow this somehow threatening figure to enter the kitchen. Stephen followed, still puzzled as to why they were receiving a rare visit from his dour aunt. Edith undid her sensible overcoat and imperiously handed it to Steve, revealing a knee-length tweed skirt, white blouse and deep purple cardigan that clothed her slightly-stout figure. At 45 she still looked trim but... substantial... was the word most people used when describing her - though not to her face!

Steve hung up her coat while Jessica offered their unexpected visitor a cup of tea. Edith accepted the offer and sat at the pine kitchen table.

"Happy New Year, Auntie," Steve finally managed to say as he rejoined them in the kitchen. "You're looking well."

"Fit as a fiddle," Edith replied. There was a subtle uplift of the corners of her mouth which Steve had rarely seen. Steve had always thought his aunt to be an unhappy woman from having lost her husband to a work accident some ten years previously. She was the elder sister to his mother and, Steve assumed, took her seniority rather too seriously, like being the matriarch of the family was a serious matter.

Danny Fuller reported to work at The Troubadour for his job as a bartender promptly at 4:00. The handsome 23-year-old found his work satisfying in more ways than one. Though the hourly rate wasn't that great, the tips, especially from the women he served, more than made up for it. He was grateful for their generosity. The extra money was needed to fund his studies. Danny had friends who had graduated loaded down with debt and had been unable to find a job where they were able to earn enough to pay it off. As a result, he refused to borrow money for school. Last, but far from least, was the chance to meet girls. His confident manner and easy charm made him very popular with the ladies.

He quickly set up his bar and waited for the happy hour crowd to come in. With its medieval theme and excellent food, The Troubadour was an upscale tavern very popular with young professionals. Since it was Friday, he expected to serve a large crowd and take his pick of the females. He wasn't disappointed.

By 5:00 the place had begun to fill up. It wasn't long before the customers kept Danny and the other bartenders very busy. He watched with satisfaction as his tip jar began to fill up. Several young women, mostly secretaries, were vying for his attention. Most were attractive and choosing one would depend on which would be most likely to go to bed with him that night. As the clock edged toward 6:30, many of the patrons had taken tables to order dinner, and the pace at the bar slowed. Danny took the chance to do some restocking and straightening up.

"Are you too busy to get me a drink?" The voice startled him but not as much as whom it came from. Black hair in a page boy cut framed a slender face with high cheek bones. It held no hint of a smile. Piercing blue eyes made her gaze appear as a penetrating stare. She looked to be older than him, perhaps thirty. From the tone of her voice, she was used to getting what she wanted without delay.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I didn't see you come to the bar. What would you like?"

"Two fingers of your best single malt, neat." Danny reached for an eighteen-year-old bottle of Glenmorangie and poured her drink. "You know your Scotch. That's a little surprising for someone so young."

Her bright blue eyes never left his face and were making him uncomfortable.

"I've been watching you flirt with those girls. I think you are wasting your time. They are all the same type." She sipped her scotch before continuing. "Their main goal is finding a husband and having babies. Is that really the kind of woman you want to date?"

Danny was surprised at her blunt question, but he had to admit she had a point.

Flowers for the Wife
"Edward Anthony Gillespie - come here. Now."

Ted gulped. When Betty was pissed at him she always used his full name of Edward ... the addition of his middle name meant she was seriously pissed.

"Er, okay. I'm coming."

He put down his newspaper, got up from the sofa and headed towards the kitchen wondering what he'd done to displease her. She hadn't raised her voice, nor did she need to, because when she used that certain tone, Ted always knew she meant business... and when Betty was in one of her moods it was best not to irritate her further.

So he scurried into the kitchen, and there she was, his wife of six months, standing by the sink as the tap drip-drip-dripped into the bowl.

"Ah," he said apologetically. She had asked him twice to repair the dripping tap. Or was it three times?

"Four times I've asked you to see to the tap, and four times you promised to do so." Betty glared at him, her pretty face set into a hard stare.

"Uh, sorry. I forgot."

"You forgot? That's a pathetic excuse Edward, and you know it." Betty narrowed her eyes and looked at him speculatively. "If this marriage is going to work, things are going to change around here, Edward."

"Of course, of course," he said, with no clear idea of what she had in mind. "I'll do it straight away ... after the football." He glanced at his watch. "It's on in ten minutes."

"You'll do it right now," she said firmly, her green eyes blazing.

"But the football-"

"I don't give a damn about the football. I've been asking you to do this simple task for three weeks. So get on with it."

Ted frowned and was about to argue but thought better of it. He reached for a spanner out of one of the kitchen drawers. "Needs a new washer," he announced a couple of minutes later. "I'd best nip out and get one."

"Fine. But be quick about it. Or else," Betty added ominously.

Ted had every intention of buying a replacement washer, after the football. He couldn't miss kick off! He drove to the pub and raced inside, just in time to see the start of the match on the big screen.

"Ted! I wasn't expecting to see you here this afternoon." Ted's best mate Bill grinned, slapped him on the back, and ordered two pints from the bar.

Ted got the second round of drinks in at half time. His team continued to play brilliantly, winning 4 - 0. Ted was hoarse with shouting and ordered another two pints. "To ease our throats," he told Bill.

"Cheers, mate. I'll just give Molly a Call," said Bill. "Tell her I'm going to be another hour or so. She likes to know what I'm up to."

The Tyrant of the Classroom featuring Miss Docherty
The bell for the beginning of the first class of the morning had just moments before rung. The children all stood up as Miss Docherty walked into the classroom. Chairs scraped against the floor, desk lids squeaked as they were hurriedly shut. It was the last day of the summer term, but the children knew the rules would not be relaxed. It would just be like any other day.

"Good morning, Miss Docherty," they chorused.

"Good morning, children," she replied. "You may sit down."

It was like this every morning. Her eyes travelled along the rows of children, looking for absentees or those improperly dressed. She was a stickler for punctuality and correct school uniform. If there was one thing she couldn't abide it was untidiness. Like most young teachers it amused her to be stern. When called upon she could very stern indeed. She called out the register, the girls she called by their first names, the boys by their surnames. "Adsum," each child replied, some in a confident manner, some so quietly she had to strain her ears to hear. Once she had finished filling the register in her neat handwriting, she placed it carefully on her desk. Tidiness was almost an obsession with her.

"I need a volunteer to help me on Saturday morning," she announced. All the little girls immediately had their hands up, some of them almost bursting with eagerness. In contrast, most of the boys showed no enthusiasm for spending a Saturday morning at school. Along the back row she noticed not a single boy had raised his hand. She stood up from her chair and slowly walked down the central aisle of the classroom, desks in perfect rows on either side of her. The only sound that could be heard was the scrape of her sensible shoes against the bare wooden floorboards. She folded her arms and stopped in front of a desk in the back row.

Steven looked up, blushing under her steady gaze. She rarely had any problems with discipline. Occasionally, a child might answer her back but it would never happen twice. Having said that, she much preferred mischievous boys. Those who tried her patience she would make an example of and punish in front of the other children by putting them across her lap and smacking their bottoms. It wasn't a particularly harsh punishment, but it certainly put the boy concerned firmly in his place. There was a strong rumour that for more serious misdemeanours she kept a cane, although no one had actually ever seen it. Every now and then she would threaten a boy with six of the best and enjoy observing his face as it turned pale at the thought of such a punishment.

Maybe she wasn't the prettiest of women or the most charming but she was attractive in some indefinable way.

Revenge with a Ruler
Raymond Cutter, looking resplendent in his new khaki chinos and navy blue blazer, smiled broadly as he ascended the wide concrete steps leading up to Benjamin Harrison High School. In fact, it wasn't until he had actually cleared the massive bronze and glass door and began to smell the old, musty wood and linoleum inside that the memories of his misspent adolescence finally emerged.

Ten years ago he had hated this school and everything in it. But now he was back, tiptoeing through the cavernous hallways in search of the classroom he would occupy for the next nine months as the new tenth grade English teacher. Finally, after nearly ten minutes of seemingly directionless walking, he found his new home - room 264, an old, undecorated classroom at the end of a short hall on the second floor of the gigantic turn of the century school building.

Carefully, Raymond turned the knob on the wood and glass door, and reluctantly it creaked open. Inside, he found a near disaster. Everywhere desks were turned over; torn textbooks were piled high in a dusty corner and the chalkboard was hanging by one bolt. The young teacher smiled in spite of his chagrin over the condition of the room. "I see this place hasn't changed much," he said to himself.

He set down his new leather attaché case on one corner of the massive desk in the front of the room and began to pick up the chair desks. While he was so occupied, another man appeared in the doorway. The newcomer was middle aged and balding. "You must be the new guy," he greeted cheerily. "Welcome to Benjamin Harrison."

Raymond turned quickly, somewhat startled by the sudden intrusion. Immediately, he recognized the newcomer as George Ames, the veteran eleventh and twelfth grade history teacher. He finished aligning the first row of chair desks and walked over to greet his caller. "Thank you, Mr. Ames," he said, grasping the hand that was extended out for him. "It feels good to be back here."

George Ames stepped back and studied the new teacher. "Did you go to school here?" he asked finally.

Raymond smiled and nodded. "Yes, sir, ten years ago."

The veteran teacher still looked puzzled as he struggled to remember the face. "Were you ever in my classes?"

Raymond returned the nod. "Yes. Eleventh grade... American history."

"I thought I remembered most of my former students, especially the smart, ambitious ones," he said. "But you just don't look familiar."

The new teacher chuckled a little. "Well, I wasn't so smart and ambitious back in the eleventh grade," he rejoined. "And I didn't look much like I do now."

Ames continued to scan his former student. "Okay, son, you got me," he declared, throwing up his wrinkled hands. "What's your name?"

"Raymond Cutter," Cutter replied.

George took another step back. "Raymond Cutter. Raymond Cutter..." he sputtered. "Yes, I do remember you... as something of a troublemaker."

Something Wicked
by Pat Jones
Headmaster Charles Martin strode into his office with a sense of purpose. So many naughty bottoms to thrash and so little time! Charles Martin had nearly 800 girls under his charge, each with a bottom simply itching to be spanked - itching for it, mind you - judging from the cheek of them. As far as Charles Martin was concerned they were all naughty, every bloody one of them, even the ones that smiled sweetly and studied hard and pretended to be good. As far as the Headmaster was concerned even the 'good' ones needed a 'good' thrashing, and sooner or later all of them found themselves bent over his desk with tears in their eyes and knickers around their ankles, begging for a mercy he never felt.

Every day was busy and was filled with naked girlish bottoms to thrash, but today would be the worst. Yes, it was always the worst. He'd have to make an early start of it today.

"Just where do you think you're going, young man?"

The Headmaster turned to see his scowling secretary, Mrs. Mumford, glaring daggers at him. At first he thought her reprimand was a joke, a prank of the sort that made today the busiest day of the year for him. It wasn't until he caught sight of himself in the mirror that he realized something had gone dreadfully, horribly awry.

He was no longer fat; that was the good news. Now he was slender, almost waifish. He was no longer wearing his tweedy three piece suit with the traditional Headmaster's cloak, but was instead dressed like a schoolboy, wearing a blazer embossed with the school's logo, short pants, long gray socks, and a beanie cap which also had the school's logo.

Most startling of all he was no longer the 58-year-old Headmaster. He was now an 18-year-old schoolboy, mouth agape, slowly moving his hand up and down to verify that the reflection in the mirror belonged to him.

"What are you gaping at, boy?" Mrs. Mumford snapped. "Give me your pass and sit down on the bench. The Headmistress will see you when she has the time."

"Pass?" Charles Martin repeated, his mind awash in confusion.

"Are you a parrot? Yes, your pink punishment pass, child. The one sticking out of your pocket."

Charles Martin reached into his pocket and to his surprise extracted a pink punishment pass. He knew them well, for fretful girls handed in their passes all day long. But this was his pass, with his name on top! How could it be? Before he could read the damning details the incriminating pass was summarily snatched out of his hands by the impatient Ms. Mumford.

"SIT," she said sternly, barking at the stunned schoolboy standing before her like he was an errant puppy.

Unsure of what to do, the Headmaster complied.

A Warm Welcome

by by Anthony Alba
I was going to kill Rebecca. How could she have done this to me? It was not as if I had not been invited. The date of my arrival and everything had been pre arranged. Rebecca knew I had difficulty with strangers. She had promised that I would receive a warm welcome. Ringing ahead was a waste of time of course. As soon as I had gotten off the bus my phone signal had been down to one bar. Ten minutes walk later and a NO SIGNAL message was all that it would show. And of course, scatterbrain that she was, Rebecca had never thought to give me her home landline number.

"I am so terribly sorry about this Mrs Garner," I said and tried not to grimace. I was never good with strangers, not like Rebecca who could have them telling her their whole life story a few seconds after exchanging "Hello's."

I looked around searching for a solution but there was nothing I could think of. "I can come back another day when Rebecca is here."

"Nonsense," Mrs Garner replied as she quickly recovered from the surprise of my arrival. I was expected two days from now or so it seemed. She flashed me a warm reassuring smile. "Rebecca has told me so much about you, how you helped her out so much during her first year at college."

The woman glanced to her watch and she shook her head. "And all the busses will have stopped running by now. I'm certainly not sending such a good friend of my daughter out into the dark."

I nodded slowly. In truth I had not been looking forward to venturing out this late in the evening. I was a city girl and this far into the remote countryside might as well have been a foreign land. I had enjoyed admiring the scenery from the bus, but at night with no street lamps or glowing neon signs to light the way, it felt eerie and foreboding.

"And Rebecca did say she had invited you to stay a few days during the summer," Mrs Garner went on as she took me by the arm and led me deeper into her home. "My Becky can be such a scatterbrain at times. It would be just like her to get her dates mixed up. She should be back tomorrow."

"I don't want to impose," I told the woman. And I didn't. The idea of staying in a strange house with a middle-aged woman who I did not know was not high up on my list of how to spend a night. But what choice did I have? She was right. The buses would have stopped by now and I didn't even have a torch. The light on my mobile phone would not carry far enough to navigate the country lanes and road.

1948: Aunt Jane's Rules
Things could be difficult when four women had to share a house. And it was all the more difficult when it was Aunt Jane's house and she got to make all the rules.

Like so many women of her generation, Jane had never married. Amy sometimes conjured up a long lost love for her: a dashing captain who never returned from Flanders. Maybe there was such a man, but if Jane ever had such a past she kept it firmly to herself.

Jane was the last of the Edwardians, or so she styled herself. She'd even had a governess back in the day, or so she said. And in her day, girls knew their place.

Girls. There was the other thing. A woman was someone who came in to do the washing and cleaning. A lady, such as she, kept a house. All other female persons were definitely only girls. Even Amy's mother, Mary, who was almost 37.

Mary had brought Amy to live with her Aunt Jane in late 1946. The war was over and it was obvious even to Mary that her husband was never coming home. The house had gone in 1940 and since then Mary and Amy had shared an ever-changing set of temporary digs.

The other 'girl' in the house was Tommy. Tommy, whom Jane insisted on calling Thomasina, the name her parents had saddled her with, was another of Jane's nieces, Mary's first cousin. But at least Tommy was used to Aunt Jane's ways, having lived with her since 1936, when she was 16.

In the war, Tommy had served with the WRNS. The post war housing shortage had brought her back to Jane. She always said that the navy was not half as tough as living with Aunt Jane.

It was the first week of 1948 and 19-year-old Amy was learning that she was not too old for a spanking.

Amy had been brought up on spankings. With her father away and the world falling about their ears, mother had had no time for 'nonsense' as she called it. But things had eased off in that department until they came to Jane's. Thereafter life had taken on a distinct edge, and some days Amy could not even bear to look at a chair.

"Amy Louise Jones, you come with me this instant!" Her mother had set her jaw in that way that said she meant business.

"Ouch kid, your tail is toast," Tommy grimaced sympathetically as she slouched in the armchair. But despite her jocular manner, she unconsciously sat up straighter; no doubt Mary's scolding tone putting her in mind of Aunt Jane.

Amy sighed and walked with leaden steps to the kitchen where her mother was waiting. She hated the kitchen at times such as these. At least in the old days mother had taken her to her room.

"Mummy I..."

A Satisfactory Tale featuring Miss MacBride
It was all rather mysterious. A few months ago Miss MacBride had applied for the post of English mistress at a shabby but genteel boys' preparatory school. There were three other applicants, all older than she was. She had gathered that the post involved not only teaching English but a great deal of pastoral care. In effect, if selected, she would be an assistant housemistress to Mr Parry who ran one of the four houses at the school. As far as experience went she had only two years teaching at a boys' preparatory school although for a year and a half she had been engaged as a tutor for two mischievous young boys. Neither of them had been very keen on hard work to begin with but after the judicious and regular application of a light school cane to their bare bottoms they found that they possessed a great deal of enthusiasm for hard work after all. Miss MacBride was an extremely competent young woman but she felt just a little nervous as she entered the headmaster's study.

The headmaster, Mr Deverell, a short plump man with ears that stuck out at a peculiar angle, conducted the interview and she quickly formed a strong impression that he was a snob of the very worst kind. He had made an off the cuff remark about how unfortunate it was that in order to make ends meet the school had to accept boys whose fathers were in 'trade'. As if it were a disease that one caught from mixing with one's social inferiors. It had made the small fine hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention and before she could stop herself, she found herself speaking as if she were admonishing a small boy for a lapse in his table manners.

"There is nothing at all wrong with being in trade, as you call it, headmaster. My father was a bus driver for thirty-five years before he retired."

She imagined that her eyes were flashing as if she were a spirited heroine in a romantic novel. She was so unbelievably angry that she could have happily reached over and boxed his rather oversized ears. Of course the headmaster had held up his hands with a pained expression on his face. He had apologised profusely but she had known then with utter certainty that she had no chance of getting the job. So it had proved, a brief letter expressing regret that she had not gained the appointment duly arrived. Then six weeks later an urgent telephone call from the headmaster himself. Apparently, he had been very impressed with her at the interview: would she be immediately available still to take up the post as the school had been let down very badly indeed.

She couldn't help speculate about just how the school had been let down but as she had no offers of employment there was only one possible answer she could give.

Five Years Later
by Anthony Alba
"It's not changed a bit," James remarked with some surprise as he gazed around the old classroom.

"It has only been five years," his guide for the day, Julia Styles, remarked.

James nodded slowly. He was not sure what he had expected coming back to his old school. It might only have been five years since he was a student here but in those years he had gone on to college, got his degree. He'd even done a stint as a trainee teacher at Kings Landing Secondary. And then fate had brought him back full circle to start here as the new geography teacher.

He had been nervous about coming back. Last night he had tossed and turned well into the small hours before finally managing some sleep. He was not sure what he had expected but Willow Wood School was just how he remembered it. It was still looking for the extension that had been first requested long before he had been a first year. The games pitch was still too soggy when it rained. Even old Hughes the caretaker was still pottering around.

For the moment the halls and corridors were quiet. Term began tomorrow and come nine o'clock the place would be full of the hustle and bustle of children coming and going: first years, lost and confused and trying to make sense of their new timetables and find this room or that; friends meeting up after the summer break; and the upper sixth form would be lording over everyone, or at least trying to now that they had finally reached the top of the student food chain.

Suddenly he began to frown. The layout of the school had not changed. He had taken Maths in this very room. Looking around he could see the desk where he had liked to sit near the front. He turned to Julia, puzzled now.

"I thought this was your room?"

Julia smiled and it lit up her face just the way he recalled. "You remembered. I was wondering if you would."

James felt a flush of colour creep into his cheeks. As if anyone would forget Miss Julia Styles. He could still recall the first day she had appeared in class. It had been her first assignment not that anyone would have known it by the sure way she took charge of the class. She had an air about her, a steely confidence in her stance. She had surveyed her class with a quiet authority and they had all fallen into a respectful silence without having to be told to be quiet.

Back then he had been a tad shocked that someone who looked so young could be a teacher. There had been girls in the class who had looked older than Miss Styles. With shoulder length ash blond hair and pale blue eyes she looked drop dead gorgeous, like a model or film star, or so his younger self had thought.

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?"

Chapter 1 - A New Broom
The car moved slowly up the drive to Collingwood's, a small but expensive private school in the south of England. Eventually it reached the front of the imposing stone building that housed the main part of the school and, after a brief pause, was parked in one of the spaces marked 'staff'. A minute or so passed and then the driver got out and looked at the building for a brief moment or two before walking to the steps that led up to the main door. The driver was a tallish, slim and elegantly dressed lady with dark hair cut just off the shoulder and with a pleasant open face that looked as if it would rather smile than frown. Reaching the door she pushed it open and entered the building. Then she paused and looked around as if not quite sure what to do next. Just then a door opened and another lady appeared.

"Pamela! It's good to see you! Punctual as always I see! Come through this way and let me take your coat."

Pamela Jameson followed the other lady through an office and into a large study.

"It's good to see you too Julia. I never expected that we would meet again so soon."

Julia Maclean was Headmistress of Collingwood's. Still in her late 30s she was relatively young, to hold the position which she had taken up some six months earlier. During that time she had discovered that there were a number of problems at her new school and after some serious negotiations with the Board of Governors she had persuaded them to allow her existing Deputy to take early retirement with a view to recruiting a new, more dynamic replacement. She hoped that Pamela Jameson, who had been her Assistant at her previous establishment, would be that person. When she telephoned Pamela to persuade her to apply she had said, "This is a very good school with a very similar outlook on education and discipline to Edmonstone's. The girls generally come from a very high quality background - we even have a number of minor Royals, both British and European. The problem is that the discipline has gone to hell. My predecessor let things slip very badly and the Governors are very concerned. They are getting a lot of complaints from parents and a number have even withdrawn their daughters. They want something done about it - and quickly before the roll starts falling further. My existing Deputy is simply not up to the job that is required and is leaving so I need somebody to come in and take charge of the discipline. The school is too big for all that to fall on the Head. I really ought to be the last resort on discipline matters."

The reference to discipline was significant as Pamela had been involved jointly with the Head in such matters in her previous post and that had included the administration of corporal punishment which was now unheard of in state schools.

Chapter One - A Morning Reminder
"We need to take a little trip to the woodshed before you leave for work."

Jacob Miller's cup jittered slightly in his hand, sending a splash of coffee over the rim and into the safety of his empty breakfast plate. His wife Mary had calmly dropped the statement as she swept away the remnants of the morning meal. Their two children had long since left for school. One of the advantages of being a banker had always been the mornings together. He had always cherished those precious moments alone, the window of sanctuary between being a family and being a businessman, the daily hour when they could just be a couple.

Only this morning Mary had other intentions. Jacob was well aware of the purpose of the trip out the back door and into the sturdy little shed that housed their supply of firewood for the approaching winter. The shed was stacked full, but there would still be plenty of room for his wife to swing her leather strap. It was a trip they had made together countless times and one that never failed to leave him with damp eyes and a red and welted behind.

Why? He racked his mind to find the answer. Nothing sprung forward. What had he done? After fifteen years of marriage, Jacob had become familiar with his wife's expectations. He had by the same token become just as accustomed to her methods of dealing with her displeasure, only today he was at a loss to find the cause for any need for his spouse to deliver her preferred brand of marital discipline. "Mary, I don't understand. What did I do?"

"Finish your coffee," Mary replied, leaving his question unanswered. "When you are done, go saddle up your horse and then come back in. I should be done cleaning up by then. We will discuss the matter further once your bottom is bare."

Jacob knew better than to push the conversation any further. Mary was a loving wife, a giving mother and a committed partner but she was also a formidable disciplinarian. She had made up her mind he was to be punished... and he would be. Soon he would be bent over that familiar sawhorse with his pants around his ankles awaiting her ministrations with the strap. Anything he said now would only make things worse. He sighed quietly and tried to make his coffee last.

Mary went about her morning routine, inwardly chuckling as her husband delayed the trip to the woodshed as long as possible. She had given him a playful swat on the butt when he finally drained his coffee cup and headed to the stable to make ready the horse. The ride into town would feel more like ten miles than the actual one this morning. She would see to that. She loved her husband with all her heart. They had a good marriage and two happy, healthy children.