LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Kansas, 1875

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Quite sure. Thank you."

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

"That's right. From Boston."

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

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

"Where are you headed?"

"Windy Creek ranch. Do you know it?"

"I have heard of it, ja."

"Oh - is it far?"

The big woman laughed.

1. The Mail Order Bride
Frightened beyond any reasonable description, the young woman stood quivering fearfully in an upstairs room of a dingy hotel in Amargo, Texas. The man she had married just a few scant hours earlier had gone out to the balcony in response to the shouts, yells, horrible noises and gun shots that had erupted just beyond the window of their room.

She was already scared about the situation in which she had found herself immersed only moments before. The young woman had married the man a few hours earlier ... marrying him less than an hour after meeting him in person. She had traveled for days from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to the hot, dusty town of Amargo, Texas with the express purpose of marrying a man whom she had met and who subsequently proposed to her through the mail.

She was frightened for what she had thought was to come next: a wedding night and the conjugal duties of a new wife; a new wife who had been raised substantially without the benefit of a mother, and whose preparations for her marital responsibilities had been handled by a nun ... a nun whom she knew had adhered to her vow of chastity and whose advice had seemed woefully simplistic when given, and now clearly totally inadequate as the young woman awaited the return of the rough and tumble cowboy who was her new husband.

Two more gunshots rang out amidst the din of the crowd and the woman pressed her hands to her ears as she quaked in fear. Would her new husband survive the night? And if he did return, could she be the wife he was expecting?


2. Gettysburg, Pennsylvania Martha Anderson was one thousands of sad statistics of the Battle of Gettysburg during the American Civil War; a battle that lasted three long days. Martha and her parents lived on a farm nearby and on the first dreadful blast of Confederate artillery their modest farm house was blown to bits. Martha and her parents had been hiding in the root cellar but that proved to be inadequate: both of her parents were killed instantly and the then 10 year old Martha was struck by shrapnel and knocked unconscious.

Martha lay beneath the rubble for three days before being discovered. A kindly Union doctor tended to her wounds. Fortunately, only a long jagged scar from the shrapnel would remain on her back just below her right shoulder and the effects of being knocked unconscious were temporary. The biggest wounds, however, could not be cured: her parents were dead.

The ten year old was passed from local family to family as she had no relatives to take her in. Eventually, Martha ended up in an orphanage where she remained until she turned 18 years old. It was a difficult existence living in an all-girls orphanage for eight years.

Prudence Wilson poked her head out of the open window of the Pullman car and looked down the length of the track. The conductor had finally announced her destination and she could now see the station approaching. Her heart was racing with excitement. It had been a long journey to this prairie town in the Oklahoma Territory. She had come all the way from Brisbane, in Queensland, Australia ... half way around the world!

Shielding her eyes, she tried to pick out her uncle and his family on the approaching platform. Her efforts were frustrated by a firm male hand which gripped her by the shoulder and pulled her back into her seat.

"I believe your father would be quite perturbed with me if I returned you to him with a telegraph pole embedded in your forehead, Prudence," the man said.

"We're almost there, Mr. Turner. Isn't it incredible?" she exclaimed, ignoring the scolding. "I can't believe we've traveled halfway around the globe."

Cyrus Turner removed his wire-framed spectacles and began wiping the lenses with a large white handkerchief. He was a business partner and close personal friend of her father, William Wilson. He had business to attend to in New York City and had agreed to chaperone Prudence to her destination before continuing on his way to New York.

"It's 1890, Prudence," he said. "The world gets to be a smaller place every year. Soon it will be a new century. Who knows what wonders it might hold?"

Prudence felt her pulse quicken with each turn of the locomotive's drive wheels. She thought she must be the luckiest girl alive to be having such an incredible adventure.

It was the beginning of her eighteenth summer and she had blossomed into a very attractive, young woman. She was tall as girls went, nearly five-foot-seven the last time her father had made the pencil mark on her bedroom door and checked it with a measuring tape. Blessed from birth with her mother's thick chestnut brown hair and her father's blue eyes, she had more recently developed the curvaceous figure of a young woman. It was a great relief to her after spending her adolescence as a thin, gangly, uncommonly tall girl.

She had secretly taken great pleasure in the appreciative glances she had noticed from several young men during her long journey. Of course, Mr. Turner had glowered at them and they had all hastily retreated.

The whole wondrous odyssey had come about as a sort of graduation present from her parents. She had long begged them for the chance to go visit her American relations. Her father had finally agreed to finance the venture upon satisfactory completion of her schooling.

Her Uncle John was her father's younger brother. Both men had been born in England but had gone abroad to seek their fortunes, her own father to Australia and his brother John to the ever expanding America. She looked forward to meeting them finally.

Callie Watterson was trying her best to stand still with her nose pressed against the wall, just like she was ordered to do. Her panties were down below her knees and her small but curvaceous bottom practically glowed from the spanking she had received a few minutes ago.

However, in spite of her best effort, she began to fidget, moving first one foot, then the other, back and forth. Part of the problem was that her bottom hurt. Her husband Brent had used the paint paddle on her while she was draped submissively across his lap. The combination of the long paddling plus the awkward position never failed to reduce her to hot tears within a minute or two. Certainly, today's experience was no exception. She would feel the effects of this punishment for at least a day or so.

But another part of the problem was that she was conflicted. In her mind she knew that she had deserved the spanking; it was, after all, her fault and her fault alone that she had interrupted him while he was working on an important case. She knew logically that she shouldn't have interrupted him; she knew she should have been happy that at least he was working at home instead of remaining at the office, as he often did. Finally, she understood that, as a rising star in a very active law firm, Brent would be extremely busy and need to work at home in the evening and even on weekends.

They had discussed this at length before they were married three weeks ago (somehow it seemed much longer to Callie, almost another lifetime). Brent had told her in no uncertain terms that for the time being he would need to work as many hours as the firm required. And Callie said that she understood, especially since the law firm was representing her father's company, Roaring Meadows Pharmaceuticals, in several lawsuits involving patent infringement. She also knew that the preparation and litigation could very well drag on for weeks, if not months.

But this was Saturday evening, a time when most newly married couples were together, enjoying each other's company and doing what newlyweds are supposed to do. In fact, this evening, Callie had wanted to go out for dinner and maybe a movie, sit in the darkened theater and neck like a couple of teenagers. When she mentioned it at breakfast, Brent just shrugged, saying, "We'll see, Callie." She knew only too well what that meant.

Those had been the last words he had spoken to her, as he holed up in his office with the door closed, leaving her to stew about being left alone on a Saturday. Finally, at five-thirty, after she had entertained herself as much as she could, she worked up enough anger to push open his office door and practically storm inside. "Are you going to ignore me all day and all evening too?" she had blurted out.

Chapter 1
I didn't cry at the funeral of my parents although I know that's what is expected. Folk wanted me to be the frail, grief-stricken daughter who couldn't cope, but I wasn't going to put on a show for them. My grief was deep and hurt in ways I never thought possible, but it was my grief and not for public display. I cannot recall anything at all about the service; I know it happened, but what the Rev. Cornflower actually said must have passed me by. Afterwards I accepted the condolences of the many mourners, but who or what they said is also gone.

Mrs Bancroft, our kindly neighbour, had organised refreshments but I tasted nothing. I was aware of the expectations: a young woman was expected to faint or at least to require support; I did not. The malicious, of which every town has a few, whispered unpleasant comments, but I cared nothing. I was locked in my own private grief and coming to terms with the simple fact that I was all alone in the world.

Two days later I went to see our solicitor, Mr Jarndyne. He patronisingly assumed I would be selling the gunsmiths business. In fact, I was perfectly capable of taking on the business. There was no gun in the shop I couldn't handle or repair, and that was without the help of Old Phil, the sole employee. However, although the business was profitable, father's debts had piled up. Paying the interest on his various debts was crippling and made it imperative to sell up now while a good price might be had and before the debts escalated. If I sold both the business and our small house, I could clear the debts and have a sum of money that would help me make a new start. If only father had allowed me to run the business side, then all might have been well. Guns were his passion, but he was no better a businessman than he had been a farmer. His stubborn pride had prevented him seeking any help with either.

Much to his surprise, I refused Mr Jarndyne's help in selling the business, but I knew he wouldn't drive a hard bargain. Mr Flathers, the rather dour Yorkshireman I sold it to, expressed surprise at just how hard a bargain I did drive.

"Lass," he said bluntly, "thou's put me through mangle... tis a pretty mangle with silk lined rollers, but a mangle nonetheless."

With the proceeds of the sale (and the sale of the house) the debts were paid. When all was done I had a good nest egg to help me re-start my life. I took a room with Mrs Bancroft and considered my options. They were not good. To earn a respectable living is hard for a woman. I could become a teacher in a National school or one of the new Board schools but it wasn't an attractive prospect.

Honoria

Honoria Van der Biek pushed a stray dark curl from her brow as she sat quietly on the passenger side of the front seat of the cowboy's pickup truck. The two of them had enjoyed an evening of food and wine (beer for him) and pleasant conversation in each other's company. It had become a sort of ritual for the two of them over the past several months: every two or three weeks they would get together and make the long drive into town from the depths of the isolated valley deep in the Colorado Mountains.

The cowboy, Mark Reston, had a ranch that was near the State addiction rehab facility; 'near' being a relative term in this remote part of Colorado. As the chief administrator of the facility, it was impractical for Honoria to socialize with her employees... which was fortunate really because most of those employees were less than desirable dinner partners. Shortly after she had taken over at the rehab facility, there had been an attempted escape. The escapee had tried resting in the Mark Reston's barn but was discovered. When Honoria showed up to collect her 'client', she and the cowboy had hit it off immediately. She found him attractive, sexy and dominant; he lived alone and they didn't work together: what wasn't to like?

They went to dinner a few nights after that and through the course of dinner conversation, her need for what became something of a ritual had been established. Right now Honoria sat quietly in the pickup truck with the cowboy, knowing what the rest of the evening held in store. She was frightened. She was thrilled. She was a ball of emotions.

Mark was driving them back to his ranch where Honoria had left her car. No trace of emotion showed on his face, though he was always amused at the change she underwent the moment she got into the truck on the drive back. Almost unstoppably chatty during dinner, she was silent as a stone in the truck.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye and marveled at how her conservative attire hid one damned alluring female form beneath. He should know: he'd seen her undressed more than once. He also appreciated the concern and apprehension that was building beneath that quiet surface as they both knew what was coming next. When they got back to his ranch house, she would be subjected to something that was very primal ... something that she desperately needed on a regular basis ... and though she might initially complain or plead, it was something she knew deep within that she could not survive without.

Mark parked his truck next to the ranch house and turned to his quiet dinner partner. "Go on in and get ready," he said in his deep bass voice. "You know what to do."

Honoria looked at him with pleading, watery eyes, but she said nothing.

Lilly stared down the seemingly never-ending highway ahead of her wondering how she had got herself into this situation. She always did things without completely thinking through her idea. After her parents passed in a car accident, she'd started dating a guy to fill up the void in her life, unsure whether it was love or loneliness that formed the basis of their relationship. It all seemed fine at first, but after a year or so all the excitement and joy seemed to fade. What happened to falling in love forever and till death do us part? No one seemed to stay together these days anyway, so maybe it was worth giving marriage a shot with someone who you could just deal with as opposed to someone you truly loved.

As she glanced at the clock on the dashboard, she noticed it had been over an hour since she had seen road signs for any sort of life. She realized it would have been smarter not to drive across country in the middle of the fierce July heat, but it was necessary to get out of the relationship. Her actions were based on that moment when she realized she couldn't deal with it anymore and there just might be a possibility of something better out there - somewhere. For the past three months, she had contemplated whether or not to be honest and tell Nathan how she really felt. But it really wasn't anything that was his fault that caused the rift between them. Granted, there were little things like occasionally chewing with his mouth open and little phrases he used that would grate on her nerves, but he didn't do these things intentionally and really shouldn't be blamed. It truly was the fact that they just weren't close anymore. Morning and night they passed each other lifelessly, saying 'Goodnight' and 'Have a good day'. That was the extent of the excitement in their relationship, whereas she wanted someone who would sweep her off her feet, take care of her, protect her, and cherish her. She sighed, thinking maybe she had watched too many Disney movies as a child - they had painted a picture in her mind of the ideal man and the ideal relationship, and real life bore no comparison. Damn you, Disney.

Sweating from the July heat, Lilly reached for the small cooler she had packed to pull out a bottle of water. "Damn!" she cursed, realizing all the bottles were empty, and began worrying about how much this trip was going to cost. Even though Nathan said he would pay the last month's rent of their lease, she still had plenty of credit card bills to pay, not to mention car insurance and a cell phone bill. She had always told herself she would take the credit cards out of her purse and keep paying a little over the amount due every month and eventually they would be fully paid; however, they never left her purse as there was always a range of tempting shoes or clothes on offer - and if she didn't buy them right then, she would never see them again.

Holding the young woman so she faced him, the cowboy gripped her arms with both hands. Although the day was sunny and bright, his face was clouded and menacing. "You and I are going to manage this wagon on our own," he growled at her. "You aren't going to work your magic or charm or whatever it is that you do to get others to do your work for you. If you even think about doing so, this is what you can expect!" Leaning against the broad trunk of a tree, the cowboy put his left leg out to form a platform across which he bent the young woman.

He forced her down across his left thigh and held her in place with his strong left hand. His right hand rose and then began to spank the young woman with heavy swats. His spanking hand was hard and leathered, but the sound of the spanking was lost in the thicket of trees and the swats were muted by the dress the lovely young woman wore. His efforts were not rewarded with either the sharp retort of his spanks or her squealing in pain. This of course, only angered him more.

The young woman found her voice though when the cowboy raised up her skirts to reveal the simple cotton drawers she wore beneath. Now the spanks rang out more sharply and the young lady cried out from the sharp stinging swats. She kicked and squirmed and although it made her bottom a moving target, her efforts only inflamed his desire ... not only to spank the young woman, but to have and hold her.

It was a quick but effective spanking that got the point across. His hand rose and fell with exacting intent, causing her saucy bottom cheeks to wriggle and writhe beneath his stinging palm. The young dark-haired woman yelped in distress.

The cowboy pulled the woman to her feet and as she sniffled and shed a few tears that ran down her cheek, she pulled her skirt back in place. "If I ever have to do that again," the angry man warned the sniffling woman, "it'll be on your bare backside."

The young woman's eyes widened in fear of that promise ever happening, but she had those wonderfully sparkling dark eyes that worked a magic all their own. She looked both pitiable and beautifully desirable at the same time, and the cowboy was suddenly deeply attracted to her. Without conscious thought, he took her into his arms, embraced her and kissed her hotly and full on her lips. She melted into his arms.

But the cowboy suddenly pulled back as if instantly aware that he may have crossed a line. Damn! She's a good looking woman! he thought, though to her he scolded, "Now you know how it'll be. If you still plan to come, I'll see you at the wagon." Then he stalked off and disappeared through the thicket of trees.

Chapter 1
Elizabeth was getting dressed for church. Going to church was something she disliked and even the prospect of teaching in the Sunday school did not assuage her dislike. She was popular with the children and even the rumbustious boys gave her no trouble. Other teachers became very tense at the thought of taking the boys but not Elizabeth; she was still seventeen but the boys adored her and her classes, while lively, were orderly and productive. No, it was not the Sunday school that was the problem: she disliked going to church because it troubled her conscience. The Good Book made it very clear (Exodus 20:12) that children should honor their father and mother. Elizabeth found it very hard even to like her parents and being in church reminded her of that failure. On the wall of the Sunday school that very text was written in large letters and drove a sharp knife into her conscience every time she saw it.

"Elizabeth Franklyn Jones," came the cold harsh voice of her mother, "you are not ready. Must the whole household wait on you?"

"Sorry mother, I'm coming now."

The ride to church was, to begin with, much the same as always. Elizabeth's mother criticized her posture, her choice of clothing and once again her tardiness in getting ready for church. Her father made no comment but looked at her as if he was thoroughly tired of her presence. When her mother finally stopped her catalog of criticism her father cleared his voice.

"Elizabeth, you will be eighteen next week. I shall use your birthday to announce your engagement to Mr. Rankin Blake. It will not be a long engagement."

"But Father-"

Her father reacted sharply. "Enough, Elizabeth. I will tolerate no further delay or disobedience. Blake has waited four long years for you to become his bride."

Elizabeth tried hard to disguise the acid tone of her voice. "He didn't wait very long after the death of his first wife, and I was only fourteen."

"I shall not tolerate any more impertinence. Blake is a respectable, wealthy and influential man. It will be an excellent match for you."

Elizabeth said no more. She said nothing about the way that Rankin Blake had stared at her even when his poor wife was alive ... a look that made her flesh crawl and which had grown worse with every year. She said nothing about how cowed and frightened his first wife had looked or how quiet and timid his nine-year-old son Arthur was in his presence. Furthermore, she made no mention of the talk among the servants about his conduct at home. His servants talked to the Jones' servants and Elizabeth had picked up that talk. At home, Rankin Blake was a cruel man who had physically tormented his first wife. The whisper among the servants was that Blake had treated his wife with such cruelty that she had gone into an early labor and died.

Chapter One
Ashley jotted down another note in her little pad as she again slowed in her pace. While she loved walking the streets of New York City, she'd long ago learned not to rush when she was distracted. It always ended in a bump, a trip, or someone getting a foot stepped on.

"Ashley, come on, keep up," Keiko said, grabbing her by the elbow.

Looking up, she pocketed the pad. "Yes, sorry, just-"

"I know, just another story idea. Shit, what, you going to write the next great American novel? Forget that for tonight. This night is about dirty nasty fun!"

Ashley let out a squeak. "Keiko, just how wild a club is this?"

"Relax, it's nothing you can't handle. The mild stuff is the same shit we've been doing since high school."

"Mild? So, that means there's... other stuff?"

Keiko nodded. "Yes, but it's strictly voluntary, okay?"

"Well, okay."

She quickened her pace to keep up, even as her heart did likewise - and not just from the physical exertion. No, that was mild, and she was in great shape. They both were. Keiko and Ashley were two of a kind. Born and raised in a quiet coastal town of Connecticut, they'd been BFFs since grade school. Now recently graduated from college, they shared a tiny apartment in Manhattan, and Keiko was determined that they should live life to its fullest. Given that they were both petite, blonde, and had firm curvy builds, dating was never a problem. Although Keiko always seemed to have a slight edge in that department, Ashley attributed that to her Asian features and killer legs and ass. She was slightly taller than Ashley too, but at four-eight almost everyone was taller than her! Yet, there was still something missing in their lives, hence this expedition. Still, the prospect of going to a BDSM/fetish club filled her with nervous energy.

They finally reached it, and she was surprised - it was an elegant-looking brownstone. She thought sure it would be some hole-in-the-wall dump hidden away from prying eyes. The doorman checked their ID and then ushered them into the main atrium.

"So, some fancy lobby, huh?" Keiko whispered, slowly turning around.

"Girl, this is way too fancy to be a lobby. This is a foyer!"

"Keiko, how nice to see you again," a booming woman's voice said.

Ashley turned and cringed, letting out a little squeak. A mountain of a woman was approaching them, and Ashley didn't need an introduction to know she was the mistress or madam, or whatever the title was, of the house. Her long flowing black gown hugged every curve of her incredible Valkyrie figure, and she was head and shoulders above them. Given the strength and girth to her arms, Ashley estimated she could easily hoist both of them aloft.

Keiko extended her hand to her.

Chapter 1
"Finally!" Anna jumped up on the couch, doing her own little dance of excitement.

"What is it, Anna?" Gabe entered the room as Anna pumped her little fists in the air, twirling a circle, and shaking her behind. He smiled when he saw her, watching her sweet little body move through the air. Before he could laugh, she lost her footing and took a head-first dive off of the front of the couch toward the coffee table. Reaching her just in time, he snagged her around the waist and stood her up in front of him. "Jesus, Anna. What on earth is going on? You nearly cracked your head on the table."

"I'm fine," Anna laughed, looking up at her handsome fiancé. She couldn't believe she was engaged to the gorgeous man towering over her. Life couldn't get any better right now. "Guess what?!"

Gabe could feel the excitement rolling off her body and chuckled at her display. "What, honey?"

"I just got an email from Sammy, and she's coming to visit!"

"Sammy, your old college roommate?"

"Geez, Gabe, we're not old ladies. We only graduated two years ago."

Gabe raised an eyebrow at her sarcasm. "Watch the 'tude, young lady. You know what I mean."

"Sorry," Anna muttered, glancing up to see if he was still giving her the look. "I've been trying to get her to visit for almost a year now, and she finally agreed."

Gabe led Anna into the kitchen and pulled out a chair for her. "That's great, honey. When is she coming?"

"I don't know. She said really soon though. We're going to have a blast! I'll take her riding, we can go hiking, and I'll take her to all the local shops. It's going to be amazing! We haven't hung out in so long!"

Gabe walked toward the coffee maker to start brewing as he listed to Anna's excitement. He loved her spirit. She was always upbeat, happy, and smiling. He only worried her unbridled excitement would lead her to doing things without thinking, which seemed to be a consistent problem for her. She constantly worried him with her spur of the moment adventures, and he'd warned her plenty of times already that she needed to be more careful when she acted. He couldn't bear it if something bad were to happen to her. Before she went on another outburst about her future escapades with her old roommate, he turned around to face her, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter.

"Anna, you know the same rules apply when she is here, right?"

"What do you mean?" The look on Anna's face was nothing short of shock. He couldn't mean what she thought he meant. There was no way he would do that with her friend staying in their house.

Independence, Missouri, April 1848

"What?! Reuben?! You're going to stay here and marry Reuben Bolton?!" Rosalind stared at her sister in disbelief. "Like hell you are! I won't allow it!"

Jane tossed her head defiantly. "I am. He asked me and I said yes, and there ain't a thing you can do to stop me."

"Jane - you can't do this." The enormity of her sister's unexpected announcement would change everything. In that brief moment, Rosalind saw her dream of a bright future crumble into dust. "What about our plan?"

"Oh, stuff the plan. Life will be a great deal safer for me here in Independence as Mrs Bolton than it would be spending 160 days in a covered wagon, having to contend with Lord knows what dangers on the trail."

"But ... but we've talked about this for months ... planned it all. You can't opt out now. You can't! We're going to Oregon."

Jane's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Rosalind, but my mind's made up. It was a silly, harebrained scheme anyway. I don't know why we even considered it."

"Well we did consider it - most carefully," snapped Rosalind, "and planned things out to the last detail."

"Oh well - guess we'll leave the adventuring to others, little sister. Reuben says you can come live with us. There's a small room above the saloon earmarked for you. You'll love it."

"I will not - and if you think I'm going to live in some flea pit of a bordello, you're very much mistaken."

"It's a respectable saloon," sniffed Jane, "which my Reuben has turned into a fine and profitable concern." She lowered her voice. "And if there are one or two working girls plying their trade upstairs, so what? Reuben takes a slice of their earnings ... a mighty big slice. Think of all the fripperies and fine gowns we can have. Making do will be a thing of the past. I'll look after you, Rosalind, like I always have since Ma died. You listen to me now, I know what's best."

"Huh. You may think you know what's best for you, but you sure as hell don't know what's best for me. I can't believe this ... you must reconsider, Jane. What do you want to marry Reuben for anyway? He's old and fat and has warts on his nose."

"Oooh - he does not have warts on his nose!"

"Yes he does."

"No he doesn't."

"Does too. And if he's been sampling the charms of the likes of Pearl and Laura, he's likely got warts on another part of his anatomy."

"Why, you little ..." Incensed, Jane threw up her hands. "My Reuben has eyes only for me! Enough of this stupidity. There's been a change of plan, but you'll soon adjust to your new life."

Kelly-Ann on Vacation
We were in South Carolina driving east on Hwy 17, a two lane affair that winds its way though scenic country side until it finally reaches Charleston on the coast. We had in fact just passed the sign that put Charleston ten miles down the road. I glanced over at my beloved Kelly-Ann. She had her bare feet propped up on the dashboard, as was her habit during long car trips, and her nose buried in one of those romance novels women like. This one had something to do with pirates, but then it seemed like they all had something to do with pirates.

"Almost there, Honey," I informed her. Charleston wasn't our actual destination. We were going to near by James Island where a friend had graciously loaned us the use of his beach house for a week.

"Yeah, vacation," she said. "I can't wait to lie on the beach."

"We have a beach at home," I reminded her. We live in South Florida near Fort Lauderdale.

"Which we never go to," she countered. It was true. Getting all the stuff together, finding a place to park, fighting the crowds; it was a hassle. We were lucky to get there four or five times a year.

"Well, we'll get to this one," I assured her. "It'll be right outside the back door."

"Yep, and remember we're going to go out every night too. You promised, Tom. No sitting in front of the TV."

"I have every intention of keeping my promise, sweetheart," I assured her.

"You better, mister. I don't want to have to take those britches down," she warned sternly. She was being sarcastic of course. Those of you who have heard me speak of Kelly-Ann before know that it is she who routinely has her britches taken down.

Yes, it turns out the love of my life has herself a little spanking fetish. I was in my mid thirties when we met and I'd been around the block a few times. I fancied myself to be pretty savvy about the fairer sex, but Kelly-Ann was my first, and to date only, spanko. I have to admit I was quite surprised when she confessed this dark little secret to me. I was also more than a little intrigued. Still, it was a pretty sharp learning curve for me those first several months, but I must admit I've come to enjoy tanning her plump little fanny cheeks.

I took the turn off for James Island. "Speaking of britches coming down, I'm afraid we're going to have to have a little discussion when we get to the house," I informed her.

"No way!" she said. "What for?"

"For that spit ball fight in the Stucky's restaurant in Georgia," I reminded her, giving her my best stern look.

"What? He started it."

"He was a twelve-year-old boy. You're supposed to know better."

Kelly-Ann's Request
My name is Tom. I'm 35 years-old. Like most men my age I've been around the block a few times with the fairer sex: high school, college, a five year stint in the navy. I finally settled into a fairly conventional career in the telecommunications industry. I had at various times during that journey shared my life with a number of women of different types, some on a long term basis, some short; and like most men probably, I was actually naive enough to think that after all that, women couldn't surprise me anymore. That's when Kelly-Ann Flynn came into my life.

We met during a party at the house of a mutual friend and clicked from the first moment. It was one of those rare times when the conversation was so engaging that I didn't really start to notice her looks until we were well into our talk. Six years my junior she was of average height with beautiful red hair worn in a shoulder-length bob. She had fair skin and green eyes and she was just a little plump for her frame, but it was arranged quite nicely - 'all buns and boobs', to use her own words. That was a typical female exaggeration of course. The overall effect was very pleasing to the eye. Well, to the male eye anyway.

We started dating. Things went well as the relationship progressed through the usual stages. We learned all about each other. The mundane things. She was from a large Irish-American family - four brothers, three sisters, she was the next to youngest. Eventually the intimate subjects were discussed, all of our little secrets, or so I thought at the time.

Before I knew it, five months had gone by and things couldn't be better. We had survived our first out of town trip together, a big milestone for any couple. 'I love you' was regularly exchanged. Sleepovers were now common, usually at my place where a number of feminine products had taken up residence in my bathroom. Not that I was complaining. She really was one heck of a girl. I'm not just talking about the physical stuff either, though like so many apple pie, wholesome, girl next door types, she was a real tiger in the sack.

No, the thing I really love about Kelly-Ann is that she has heart. Do you know what that means, heart? It means she would rather die than let down a friend in need. It means that she won't back down when she's sure that she's right. It means she would move heaven and earth to keep a commitment. It means that no matter how outmatched she might be she's always in there swinging with everything she's got.

I like heart. Heart is important. I stress that point because I want you all to understand that Kelly-Ann is not some simpering, mush-pot of a girl who wants the man in her life to make all of her decisions for her and tell her what to do.

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 - Personal Needs
Miss Elizabeth Semple, soon to be Mrs. Jeremiah Pickens, was outraged! She was in the most ignominious position imaginable: laying across the lap of Mr. Jeremiah Pickens, a man she had met in person only a few scant hours earlier. She struggled, but not enough to extricate herself from this position. In fact, she wasn't so sure that she could escape her predicament. Mr. Pickens was a brawny man of uncommon height, and at 30 years of age with years of living and working on a ranch was ... what was it the sheriff in town called him? "One tough sumbitch."

Adding to her concern had been the look of utter disdain that had creased Mr. Pickens' face just prior to his upending Elizabeth as he sat down on one of the crude chairs in his home. Worse still, Elizabeth could feel her skirts being lifted by Mr. Pickens. "Don't you dare!" she seethed. "Don't you dare do this to me!"

Her words had no effect as Jeremiah Pickens went methodically about his business. And that business right then was to give Miss Elizabeth Semple a taste of what she should expect if she dared to ignore the warnings of her husband, or what she should expect if her sassy, 'back-East' mouth should run off as it had just done.

Her bloomers were quickly parted in back by the man holding her in place and she struggled harder to no avail. Though it was still summer, the air was cool and felt especially cold against her now bared bottom. Elizabeth had told Jeremiah she wouldn't stand for a spanking and he had replied it was not her choice.

Both were correct. She had no choice and she wasn't standing; she was lying across her soon to be husband's lap as he bared the target area. Elizabeth was also about to discover one of the side effects of ranch life: it calloused your hands and made them very tough. Jeremiah's hands were both calloused and tough, and they were spanking hands to be respected. His hands were large, but in proportion to the bulging biceps and shoulders that led up to a very broad and brawny chest.

SMACK!! His calloused hand swatted her alabaster white bottom and Elizabeth yelped shrilly.

SMACK! SPANK! SWAT!

With casual, but purposeful, intent, Jeremiah walloped the bare backside of his betrothed and each spank resulted in a high pitched shriek that would have bothered the neighbors back east, but with the nearest ranch several miles away, Elizabeth could yelp and scream all she wanted. Even the echoes of her cries would die out before reaching any human ear other than the ones attached to the big man who was inflicting this pain.

Her pristine white bottom soon turned pink and then red. She began to plead her apologies and offered excuses such as "I had no idea" or "I didn't know!"

Bruce headed for his front door, his shoulders slumped, and a slight tightness in his gut. It had been a long hard day at the clinic. He was feeling very down. On the one hand, he was a good doctor, but on the other hand, he had trouble getting patients. Ever since the changes to the medical insurance laws had pushed most people into an HMO, the old-fashioned type of doctor's office - like his - had suffered.

That was why he now drove a Ford and had to sell the BMW. At least he still had one simple joy in his life: his little baby. Just the thought of her put a spring in his step and got him standing up straight. He entered their modest home and looked at the playpen in the corner of the living room. Ah, yet another disappointment. It was empty.

Damn, that means she's working again.

He was right. The sound of computer keys being typed on was coming from the study. It brought him down, as it made him sad that she had to work. He headed for the study. The sight before him did make him smile. Little Shania, his petite darling, sat there in one of her cute little girl outfits: short skirt, bright green blouse, and a big green bow in her straight ebony hair. Yeah, she might be twenty-three, but she looked all of about twelve.

---oOo---
Shania sat at Daddy's desk. A slight creak of the floor made her turn her head. Daddy Bruce was standing in the doorway. He didn't look happy. She tingled at the sight of him, both from fear and excitement. He was such a magnificent figure of a man. Well over six feet, solid build, sparkling blue eyes, and almost white-blond hair.

"Hi, Daddy, how are you? Yeah, I know, I'm not playing. I'm sorry," she said.

He sighed and stepped over to kiss her on the forehead. "It's okay, baby. But what happened to Nanny Marsha?"

Marsha was the Domme that Bruce had hired to not only watch over Shania while he was at work, but also taken care of his office - schedule patients, file billing, organize the staff and so on.

"Daddy, I caught her stealing from petty cash and your jewelry case. She tried to browbeat me by being all 'I'm the dominant here, Missy.' Well, that's fine when it comes to playtime, but this was theft from my daddy, and I won't stand for that from anyone! I fired her and sent her packing."

"Ah, that's my little girl, always watching out for her daddy," he said and kissed her again. "But, Daddy is home now, and he is feeling stressed, which means...?"

"Daddy needs to de-stress. Yes, sir, I'll go wait for you," she said with a nod.

She plodded off to her playroom.

Prologue
"She's the one." Tarak adjusted the zoom on his console, magnifying the image. He stared intently at the screen, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he beheld her: Selina. Mine. She will be mine. I know it. Certainty bloomed like a bright flower.

The young Comms officer by Tarak's side looked on with interest and approval. "How do you know, Sir?"

Tarak exhaled, his eyes glimmering as he drank her in: petite, dark brown hair swinging in a jaunty pony tail as she walked, big brown eyes blinking in the bright afternoon sunlight, her sweet lips smiling for no apparent reason other than she was happy. Though small in stature, she had curves in all the right places, pert little breasts, trim waist, and a nicely rounded bottom topped a pair of shapely legs, her feet encased in pale pink sneakers, pink laces tied in a floppy bow. She was undeniably pretty, simultaneously managing to look both cute and sexy, alluring and innocent. She was enchanting, exquisite. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life, Officer Kasa."

An experienced veteran of intergalactic travel, he had never before encountered any female who had evoked in him such an immediate and powerful attraction. From that moment on, his mission to apprehend the renegade Flynn became more than a routine assignment, it became a personal quest, because through Flynn, he could reach Selina.

As The Anastrasis orbited the earth's atmosphere, Tarak stood on the fight deck, deep in thought. After years of waiting, he had finally found 'the one', and relished the prospect of claiming her as his own. "Selina," he whispered, testing her name on his lips. "I am coming. Be ready to embrace your destiny, little one."


Chapter 1 - Thirteen Jericho Place
It was just an ordinary looking house, a modest three-storey end terrace in a block of six, solidly built and unpretentious. Like all the other houses in the row, number 13 Jericho Place had bright white paintwork and a black front door with a brass door knocker. The afternoon sunshine cast a warm homely glow on the row of red brick dwellings, all seemingly identical from the outside.

Selina lived at number 12, bang opposite number 13. The houses on this side of the road were much older and built of stone, blackened with age. The spacious attic bedroom at the top of the house was her domain. It was a fabulous old room, full of character, and it was a pleasure to snuggle down in bed listening to the splats of rain pattering on the window pane, and the twitter of birds nesting in the eaves. She loved its curious walls and cracked ceiling that sloped quirkily in different directions so that it seemed geometrically impossible they should come together in the right way to form a room, and she liked the way the crooked floorboards dipped unevenly by the door, and the creaking sound they made when anyone stepped on them.

Chapter One
Annie Dixon stepped from the kitchen to get a coke. The lunch crowd over, she thanked the Lord and hoped the rest of the afternoon would be slow. Meat loaf Tuesday's were always busy and she needed a break, her feet were killing her. As she walked to the dispenser she heard the jingle of the bell over the door signaling that another customer had entered. She looked up and quickly looked down.

---oOo---
She had met him years ago when she was just 18 and he was 22. She'd been visiting her sister in Dallas and supposedly out for a night of fun at a street festival instead of going to Pickin' Pete's Bar and Grill. Under age and with a false ID in the name Clovis Gentry, and false courage from the tequila, she had flirted and carried on with every man and boy at the club. She'd been about to get herself into real trouble when she'd stepped outside with someone interested in more than just flirting. He wasn't taking no for an answer and she'd been fighting him off like a tomcat when Jace McCall had come to her rescue. He had stepped between the two...

---oOo---
"I don't think the lady wants what you're offering."

"Who the hell are you and what business is it of yours?" came the surly reply.

"It doesn't matter whether it's my business. The lady isn't interested in what you're offering. Now go back to whatever rock you climbed out from and leave her alone."

The guy pulled back his arm and was about to deliver his fist into Jace's face when a well-placed kick from 'Clovis' ended the confrontation. The big jerk immediately had something else to do with his hands. Doubled over and grabbing his precious jewels, he swore at them as Jace led her away.

Jace knew that she'd had one too many tequilas because he'd spotted her the minute she walked into the club. She was a looker, way too big for her britches, who thought she was God's gift to men. Someone needed to take her in hand before she got into big trouble. He wasn't looking forward to babysitting anyone and that's what she needed so he'd stayed away, but when he'd seen her leaving with that idiot, he knew that he had to do something. So here he was, arguing with her about how she was going to get home.

"Do you have someone to drive you home?" he asked.

"I can drive myself."

"I don't think so; you're far too drunk to get behind the wheel."

Annie was not about to let somebody tell her what to do, let alone another macho cowboy. She started digging into her purse for her keys. He grabbed for her keys, spilling the contents of her purse onto the ground.

Chapter 1 - An Arizona Night
Gerhard knew when a woman was playing with him and he suspected Leticia was now using her charms to get her way ... but he wondered what it truly was that she wanted. Later he would wonder what had come over him, but he took Leticia in his arms and said, "If we are to travel together, you need to know what a proper kiss is." His strong arms enveloping the young woman, he pulled her tight and placed his lips on hers. He kissed her passionately and was pleased, though somewhat surprised, at the passion she returned in her kiss. They embraced like that for a long moment, before awkwardly breaking hold. Each suddenly felt like a shy teenager.

But in the late 19th Century, even in the Wild West of Territorial Arizona, a woman simply did not let a man, no matter how attractive he was, kiss her. And when that young woman has been raised with a belief that she is of a social status much higher than others, this was particularly true. Still a bit stunned by the kiss and her embarrassingly passionate response, the young Mexican woman reached up and slapped the big blonde German across the face with a force that stunned him.

"Oh? You tease me and lead me on and I get slapped for a little kiss?" Gerhard was partly intrigued by the fire Leticia showed and partly angry at her physically confusing reactions. She had kissed him back and then slapped him for it. They were alone in the night having taken a short walk on the dusty road leading out of Tortilla Flats. The air was warm and there was an inviting breeze that was welcome after a full day of blazing sun and heat.

Heat? That's just what this teasing wench deserves, he thought. The big man picked up the woman and, despite her punching and kicking, carried her to a stump by the side of the road. There he put his left foot on the stump creating a nicely even surface with his left thigh over which he placed Leticia. Pinning her to his thigh she could not escape though she tried to, and all of her kicking and squirming only caused her pants to pull taut across her bottom. She was completely at his mercy as her entire body was suspended across his thigh.

"You wouldn't dare!" seethed the Mexican woman as she recognized the position she was in. Her bottom was well up and vulnerable. She was pinned in place; her only recourse was to talk her way out of what she was worried would be coming.

The reply she got was a pair of hard swats to her backside: one to each of her bottom cheeks. This made her struggle harder, but her struggling only earned her a half dozen more spanks. The swats made loud slapping noises that were crisp and obvious in the dark night air.