LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Her Cheating Heart
Carissa is undoubtedly the sexiest woman I have ever met. She is beautiful, flirtatious, provocative. We ended up in bed on our first date for some of the most intense love-making I have ever experienced. It was this affinity for jumping into bed at the drop of a hat that would eventually get Carissa in big trouble.

We had been dating for three or four months when I began to have suspicions that I was not the exclusive recipient of her amorous attention. When through some friends I received conclusive proof, I confronted my lover. Her first defense was to deny everything. As I recounted what I knew, however, she changed tactics.

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. But we never made our relationship exclusive. You can date whoever you please. We're not going steady or anything."

"'Going steady?'" I asked incredulously. "We're not in high school. What was I supposed to do, give you my ID bracelet? We go out a couple times a week. You stay over most of those. I take you to and from the airport when you visit your folks. You come to my parents' house for Thanksgiving. I don't know what more you need. It sounds like it's pretty exclusive to me. But just for one of us, apparently."

She stood there meekly. "So what are you going to do, dump me?"

I had thought this over long and hard ever since I learned the truth. Dumping her was not something I wanted to do. She was great in the sack - there is no doubt that that was part of it. But there was more. I enjoyed being with her. She was funny. She was witty. When I had been sick, she had taken care of me; I later did the same for her. My dog liked her. We liked doing the same things - dancing, going to basketball games, biking, skiing. We liked the same music. I had seen her with my brother's kids - she was excellent with children, as might be expected of a teacher. In short, I loved her. If only she could stay out of other guys' beds.

"No, I'm not going to dump you. But if we're going to stay together, some things are going to have to change. Are you willing?"

This was the test. If she said no - if she needed her freedom to go bed-hopping, then it would be over between us. But if she said yes - if she would commit to me, then maybe she did love me. But I wasn't going to let her make that choice too easily. I had already decided what I must do to enforce her promise.

"Honey, I do love you. And I'm sorry, really I am. You're the one I want to be with. Come on, let's make up." She sidled up alongside me, taking hold of my arm, kissing my neck.

The destiny of Nations
Was made within those schools
Where slipper cane and tawse awaited
Fools who broke the rules
Where seeds were sown in clever minds
That smacked of risk and mystery
But shaped the ways of things to come
And changed the course of history
Friday 4 May 1984

Norma Nichols decided she liked Edinburgh. As she sat on the crowded early evening commuter train from Dunfermline to the Scottish Capital, she reflected on the events that had brought her there. The noisy ScotRail carriage rattled noisily over the iconic oxblood-red Forth Rail Bridge, and through the salt-stained window the 26 year-old watched the dazzling evening sunlight flicker brightly between the thick steel girders as the train flashed past.

Thinking back, Norma remembered the aptitude tests she had completed at the army recruitment office. Her outstanding talent for problem solving, and skills with both numbers and words had set her aside from the rest of the applicants they processed there, and as a result she was immediately head-hunted for special duties. Although she still had to complete a gruellingly hard condensed course in basic infantry soldiering, she was soon fast-tracked into military intelligence, where the work was far more demanding on the brain cells than brawn. Now stationed at historic Pitreavie Castle in Fyfe, the pretty young lass found her situation both exciting and satisfying, despite having to interact with an older generation of academics. It was an unusual place of work, where she found her colleagues to be rather eccentric and unpredictable. The only down-side to the job was the fact that she had yet to become acquainted with anyone she would class as a friend, and there were times when she felt a little lonely and wondered if she was missing out on the companionship of normal service life.

Following the success of the Falklands Campaign, the nearby naval dockyard at Rosyth had been a hive of activity, with battle-weary ships needing refits or replacement upon their return from the stormy South Atlantic. There was also a nightmare of lost documentation, which presented a real threat to national security. On top of that a national miner's strike was in full flow as well as threatened industrial action from refuse collectors, tanker drivers and firemen, to name but a few. To Norma, it felt like she was at the cutting edge of military intelligence. The work she was doing addressed threats which could come from any part of society, and as she rode the train home to the city, she looked out at the view over the Firth of Forth, and allowed her mind to clear of all the facts and figures she had been processing at work. To her right, framed by the giant suspension bridge, Norma watched a sleek battleship-grey frigate steaming out of the nearby naval base, and to her right, framed by the Fife and Lothian coastlines, the white-capped waves of the cold-looking Firth of Forth heralded the choppy North Sea beyond.

A Perfect Punishment Partnership
I remember that fateful day vividly. The previous afternoon, I'd made a routine stop at Wal-Mart on my way home. While there, I ran into a friend who wanted to know if it was true that the county health department was going to shut me down because of unsanitary conditions and a rodent infestation. Of course that was total nonsense! But if such a story got around, it would cost me a lot of business even though there was no truth in it. I asked him where he heard that, and with a few phone calls, I was able to trace the malicious rumor back to its likely source. Kristi Mason! I should have known. If customers avoided my place, many of them would buy from her instead.

I'll go back to the beginning. When I was a boy, my dad opened a produce stand at a crossroads just outside of town. He started selling fresh fruits and vegetables from local farms, and business was pretty good. When I was old enough, I started helping out on weekends and afternoons after school. Dad hired a lady to help us and we opened a snack bar on the side, and also sold home-made baked and canned goods. We put up a small building and had a store in the back, with the open-air produce stand out front.

Then, when I was about fifteen, Tom Mason came along and opened his produce stand directly across the road from us. My dad was furious. There was plenty of business for one produce stand to operate, but not for two. Of course, there was nothing he could do about it. It's a free country and Mason had a legal right. But Dad went from making a good living to barely staying afloat. He asked and then offered to pay Mason to move somewhere else. After all, Dad had a permanent building and Mason only had an open-air stand under a tent. But he refused, claiming there was no other reasonable location where he could set up. He and Dad argued numerous times and became bitter rivals.

Tom Mason had a daughter, just a year younger than me, who helped him at his stand. Her name was Kristi, and she was a cute kid, kind of skinny at the time, with light brown hair and a few freckles. But I couldn't like her because she was the enemy. We would look across the road and make faces at each other. It was childish, I know. But it got to be a habit every time we'd see each other. Then she got to be a couple years older and started... uh... 'filling out', if you know what I mean. If she had been anyone else other than Tom Mason's daughter, I'd have been all over her, asking for a date. She had a really nice ass! In the summer, she'd wear short cutoff jeans, and let me tell you, Daisy Duke had nothing on Kristi Mason!

An Incentive for Discipline
"Sure, Anne. I guess can watch Nathan for a while longer. It won't be a problem." Nancy had to force herself to say that. She didn't want to hurt her friend's feelings, but her boy was often an obnoxious brat.

Anne Wilson was grateful to her friend. A single mother whose husband had abandoned her shortly after their son was born, Anne was working two jobs and struggling to provide for herself and her child. She didn't know how she could get by without Nancy, who had a son the same age, and frequently watched Nathan for her.

"Thanks, Nancy. I'll be there to pick him up as soon as I meet with Dr. Howard. We need to talk about Nathan's progress."

Actually, the issue was larger than that, but she didn't want to share the details. Anne hung up the phone and checked her make-up in the mirror. She applied a little lipstick and brushed her hair. When she was satisfied with her appearance, she considered the large, old-fashioned hairbrush she held in her hand. She had owned the brush since she was a little girl, and it held a lot of memories, not all of them pleasant. Instead of returning the hairbrush to its normal place on the vanity, she dropped it into her purse as she left for her visit with Dr. Howard.

---oOo---
Dr. Mark Howard was not a medical doctor. His doctorate was in education. A handsome man only six years Anne's senior, he was young for his position as an administrator at a local private school. But his excellent reputation for his work with young children had earned him the job.

Anne adored her son. Nathan was a sweet child, though even she admitted he could be a bit difficult at times. Due to a chronic ear infection, he had missed much of his time in kindergarten. And because of her busy work schedule, she didn't have as much time to spend with him as she would have liked. Anne was afraid he was going to be behind the other children when he started school in a few months. On the advice of a friend, she had approached Dr. Howard about special tutoring for Nathan.

Living alone since his wife had been killed in a car accident two years previously, Mark Howard had the free time to do a bit of tutoring on the side, and had been impressed by Anne's concern. Too many parents failed to appreciate the importance of a proper foundation for their children's education. He agreed to evaluate the boy's potential and readiness without charge since he knew she was struggling financially and didn't even have a car.

Anne had been overjoyed at his kindness. She took an immediate liking to Dr. Howard and sensed that the feeling might be mutual. But after a couple of sessions with Nathan, Mark reported there was a problem.

Introduction
The actual identity of the woman referred to in this monograph as 'Lydia' has only recently come to light as a result of continuing research. However, in order to protect the privacy of her family, her full name will not be revealed here. Suffice it to say that she was born into wealth, the daughter of a knight of the realm, and it is for that very reason that the career she chose to follow in the 1870's, as outlined in the pages that follow, is so remarkable.

Lydia was a submissive who performed in houses and small theatres given over to the perceived pleasures of flagellation. Unlike many of her fellow submissives, whose origins were to be found almost exclusively in lower classes of society, there is no evidence at all that Lydia was a prostitute (if by that term we mean 'one who engages in sexual activity for pay'). She was paid for most of her performances, but these involved solely the submission on her part to various forms of flagellation.

Houses and brothels catering to a broad range of sexual proclivities became ubiquitous in London throughout the 1860's and onwards, despite the apparent contradiction posed by the commonly-held view of the Victorian era as being excessively prudish about sexual matters. Such establishments were frequented by many of the highest-ranking officials and aristocrats, and houses specialising in flagellation were among the most popular. Estimates suggest that as many as three to four thousand such places existed in various locations around London, though their existence was often fragile and transitory.

Evidence for research into this subject is of necessity restricted to a range of private and often elusive sources. Flagellation as a source of sexual stimulation and pleasure is to this day regarded with a mixture of condemnation and mockery. It is taboo, and will no doubt continue to be so. In the absence, therefore, of any official documentation (beyond occasional police or court papers detailing charges of 'lewdness' and the like), I have had to draw on the letters, journals, notices and sundry writings of a number of contemporary participants. I have also been fortunate enough to gather the spoken testimony of some witnesses yet living.

Before we turn to the outline of Lydia's career that is the main purpose of this monograph, a brief explanation of the titles of the three parts is required. They are explained by reference to Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, from which Lydia chose to borrow her stage names. In the play, a young woman (Viola) is shipwrecked on the shores of the fictitious country of Illyria, ruled by one Duke Orsino. Fearing for her safety, she adopts the disguise of a young man, taking the name Cesario. After many plot twists, she reveals herself as Viola, and marries the Duke Orsino.