LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Chapter 1
My name is Helen, and my friend Sandy and I were college roommates. Sandy always had a fantasy about being spanked, and when she visited me she was given an opportunity to live out that fantasy. I had no such fantasy - I actually grew up in a spanking family and for me, spanking was just a matter of discipline and punishment. While I readily agreed to provide the spanking experience for Sandy, what surprised me were the sexual aspects. The sexual excitement it brought to Sandy made me aware of the erotic side of spanking. I got a real charge from spanking her thoroughly and seeing her reactions and the arousal the spankings and other punishments had on her... and I could not help overhearing her use of her vibrator in the bedroom next door to mine every night after her punishments. It turned me on so much I was determined to experience a spanking again, so the night before she left I asked her to spank me. I even asked her to use her paddle so I could have the full experience. While it hurt as much as I remembered, the new sexual connection made it an entirely new and thrilling experience.

But four years have passed since then and there has been no opportunity for any repetition. However, about a week ago Sandy called. It seems that she had made arrangements to stay with my sister, Linda, and her husband Paul, in their cabin in the Tennessee mountains, and the agreement was for Sandy to be subject to their discipline just like she was subject to mine when she visited me.

Apparently things were going so well for the first week that she talked to them about asking me to join the fun. Only this time I would be among the spankees, not the main disciplinarian! That's what she called about. Was I interested? My mind is still reeling at the thought. Would I be willing to subject myself to spanking and punishment from my much younger sister? Would I be willing to include her husband? My heart raced and my faced blushed with the images and thoughts that went racing through my mind. I could not pass up this chance, so barely pausing to think, I agreed!

Now I am wondering what in the world I have gotten myself into. Unlike Sandy I am not so petite that I can play the role of a much younger woman who might naturally be subject to juvenile discipline. I am larger than both Sandy and my sister Linda and obviously older than Linda. So here is the scenario that Linda and Sandy have worked out: I am to be myself - Linda's older sister. But I have made some bad choices in my life and got myself into some trouble. Linda and her husband Paul have agreed to bail me out but on one condition - I am to be put under their control just as 'Cousin Sandy' is.

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."

Jane and Her Awakenings with Aunt Alice
These days you can find out about almost anything on the Internet. So if you have a strange personal experience and think you may be a little odd, it doesn't take long to find out that you are not the only one in the world to be obsessed with Singer sewing machines or whatever it happens to be.

But back in the 1960s the world was a different place, and if your secret quirk happened to have a sexual dimension then it was so much more confusing. Therefore when my life was turned upside down, it took a long time to get my head straight as I seriously thought I was a freak.

What are you talking about, Janice? Let's start from the beginning, as Aunt Alice would have said. I learnt the hard way to listen to Aunt Alice so here goes.

I was born in Gateshead as Janice Armstrong and in 1963 I was 19-years-old and had just completed my journalism part one qualification from a correspondence course and a bit of unpaid volunteering. I was absolutely convinced that I was going to change the world, or at least get to write about it. However, being an inexperienced girl in a northern town was not the best place to launch a career in writing.

In fact the only two newspapers within travelling distance of home both turned me down without an interview when they found out I was a woman. OK, well maybe I would have had a bit of a chance if I had been a woman but a teenage girl had no chance.

I got a job in a flower shop of all things and wrote to just about every newspaper in the country for a staff position as a writer. After six months, I had only three offers of an interview, all of them in London.

You have to understand that for a Tyneside girl in 1963, London was the other side of the moon. Sure, it was cool and happening, but it was also dangerous and expensive to get to. That was my father's view anyway.

Despite my best efforts to persuade him, I had already missed two interview dates before I could even get him to discuss it. Then mum remembered her Aunt Alice. At that time, there were only three things to know about Aunt Alice. Firstly, she was not really my mother's aunt, but a distant cousin. Second, she was a widow and therefore respectable. And thirdly, and most importantly for me, she lived in London.

To cut a very long frustrating story short, it was finally agreed that I could go to London for an interview if I stayed with Aunt Alice. Nothing was decided about what would happen if I got the job; I think my father was fairly certain that it wouldn't come up anyway.

Prefect Trouble
"Let go of me! Leave me alone!"

It was morning break, and Dawn was just coming out of the toilets, when she heard a familiar voice. That sounds like Karen, she said to herself. She quickly went to the end of the corridor and looked round the corner. Just disappearing at the far end of the corridor were two prefects forcibly dragging Karen along. She followed at a discreet distance as far as the prefects' common room where Karen was dragged in. What the hell's going on? wondered Dawn as she approached the door. Inside, Karen was standing glaring at the two girls that had brought her in.

"You can't do this to me!" she protested angrily.

"Can't we," sneered Carol Tucker, one of the prefects.

"And who's going to stop us?" said Melanie Cuthbertson, the other prefect, putting her face right in front of Karen's.

"I'll go to Miss Woods about this," yelled Karen.

"As if she'll believe you," laughed Carol.

There were two other prefects in the room.

"What's going on?" asked Pat Greenwood.

"This cheeky little brat refused to do the lines I gave her," said Carol.

"Shouldn't you go to her tutor?" replied Pat.

"No, it's time this one learnt a lesson. Her bum's going to be so sore by the time we've finished with her," retorted Carol.

"If anybody finds out, you're in big trouble," said Geraldine Arthurs, the fourth prefect.

"And who's going to say anything?" queried Melanie.

"I will," shouted Karen.

"You do and you're dead," snarled Carol. "Come on, Mel, let's get her over the desk."

Both girls grabbed a struggling Karen and pushed her down.

"Who's going to do the slippering?" asked Mel.

"Let's do half each," suggested Carol.

"How many?" asked Mel.

"We'll change after three and see how we go," said Carol.

"Sounds good to me," grinned Mel.

"I'll go first," said Carol. "Hey Pat, get one of my plimsolls out of my locker, will you."

"Get it yourself. I'm not having anything to do with this," retorted Pat.

"Me neither," interjected Geraldine.

"Alright then, I'll get it myself. Here, hold her down, Mel."

Carol quickly took a plimsoll from her locker and got into position.

"Get her skirt up," said Carol.

"Leave me alone," yelled Karen.

"Shut up, you little brat," snapped Mel.

Mel pulled Karen's skirt up over her back. "What about her knickers?"

"Yeah, let's have them down as well," said Carol.

"Might as well do the job properly," added Mel.

"I think this has gone far enough," intervened Geraldine.

"Shut up if you don't like it," retorted Carol.

Mel then pulled Karen's knickers down to her knees, to much protesting and wriggling from Karen.

"That's a lovely white bottom, let's turn it bright red," sniggered Carol.