LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

Prologue
Lily Rose had been living in Greystone for over a year but it wasn't home. What do I have to show for all that time? she asked herself. She picked up her journal and began to read. How she missed having someone to love and someone to love her, someone brave and true like her Johnny. Would she ever find that again, she could only hope.

---oOo---
Chapter One Little Johnny Billings and his family had headed west to start a new life. The promise of vast open spaces and nothing but wilderness waiting to be tamed called to many, and wagon trains began crossing from east to west quite regularly. Unfortunately, some of those wide open spaces either crossed through, or were, Indian territory. Promises and treaties made between the US Government and the Indian tribes were continually broken as more and more settlers headed west. It wasn't long before the fragile peace forged between the white man and the Indian vanished along with the broken promises.

In spite of the many hazards, wagon trains filled with settlers hoping for a better life continued their westward journey. They traveled at their own peril. While some trains traversed the entire breadth of the country from east to west without a single Indian sighting, others were attacked and vanquished, not only by Indians but by disease, cattle thieves or outlaws in general. Some managed to complete their journey while others were decimated, leaving behind only the unburied dead and burned out wagons strewn across the land to mark their passing.

Unfortunately, the Billings' wagon train was one of the unlucky ones. Johnny and his friend, Luke, who had been away from the wagons hunting when the train was attacked, were the only survivors. They returned to find their families dead and very few possessions left to salvage.

Horse soldiers out on patrol arrived too late to ward off the band of renegades. They found the two boys searching for anyone or anything that might have survived the onslaught. Some of the soldiers left to try to catch whoever was responsible for the attack while a few stayed behind and helped the boys bury their families and gather whatever was salvageable. Sgt. Francis William Culhane, a wily old coot who had been with the cavalry since he was a young lad, was in charge of the soldiers left behind. He led the remaining members of the patrol, along with the boys, back to the fort. Since the boys were only eleven at the time, they were too young to be left alone but not old enough to be treated as men. The commanding officer would decide what was to become of them until other family members could be contacted.

Care of the boys was left to Sgt. Culhane. He had always been assigned the newest recruits, so to him, it wasn't much different.

1. A Caning for Connie
The reality of life in the Bends came home to Constance McKinley one Saturday afternoon in early September. Her family was so new to the neighborhood that she still had to drive slowly on Sycamore Trace to watch for the tiny sign that marked the Bends from the other gated communities.

She pulled up to the hut where the guard normally waved her through, but this time he signaled her to stop. She slid down her window.

"Is there a problem?"

"A small one, ma'am. Would you mind parking and stepping out of the car?"

Her heart fluttered a little. The Homeowners' Association Guidelines - a massive volume - contained a section on security gate protocol, which she had given just a cursory read. She glanced at Kelli, who was in the passenger seat bobbing her head to something on her ear-buds.

"I'll be just a minute," she said.

The girl, who Jake had begun calling 'Mini-Mom' because she had inherited her mother's red hair and soft freckles, ignored her.

Connie stepped out of the van and faced the guard, a fireplug of a man who stretched the buttons on his khaki shirt and was a head shorter than she. 'Rollins' was emblazoned on his name-tag.

"What's the trouble, Mr. Rollins?"

"Got a report of some things left in your front yard: a soccer ball and goal."

She frowned. She had told Kelli to put those things away before they left, but because the McKinleys' home had a rear-entry garage, she hadn't noticed the lawn when they drove off to the store. Her initial inclination was to argue that they had only been away for a couple of hours and a soccer ball and goal left in the yard wasn't a big deal. But she checked herself.

This, after all, was what the Bends was all about. More than the security, the lush green space, and the tightly restricted architectural standards, the Bends was about rigorously imposed community discipline. After hours of soul searching, Jake and Constance McKinley had decided it was right for them.

For the first five weeks nothing had happened, but Connie knew that had to change. And it was obvious it was going to change that day.

"I've got ice cream in the car, Mr. Rollins," she said softly.

"Then we'll make it quick. Please step over to the screen, Mrs. McKinley."

The screen was a decorative barrier of rustic planks nailed across posts and engraved with Willowbends - Welcome! on the side that faced the entry. A grab bar was attached to its backside.

"Is this your first experience at the Bends, Mrs. McKinley?" She nodded. "Well, in the event you've forgotten what the guidelines say - or maybe you haven't read them - violations reported to the gate earn you a ticket. One copy goes to your husband, to deal with as he sees fit. The second goes to the Association Directors - to deal with as they see fit."

Logically, the territory of Westsylvania should have become one of the United States. And it would have but for the stubborn nature of its citizens who refused to relinquish their newly-gained independence and join with the other former British colonies. Somewhat isolated by terrain in the Allegheny Mountains, it still called itself a 'state', but in the original sense of the word as an independent nation, unlike those which completely surrounded it. In 1840, it had renamed its capital city to Luxemburg (dropping the 'o') in honor of that similar-sized landlocked European country. But though proud of its sovereign status, it functioned almost as if it was one of its U.S. neighbors, and even used the same currency. Residents freely crossed its open borders to and from neighboring states, and its culture was very similar except in one curious detail.

Many of the original settlers in the area had belonged to a religious sect that held firmly to the belief that physical punishment was necessary to cleanse the soul from sin. And while the old faith was virtually extinct, a strong belief in corporal punishment remained in the secular traditions of most residents. While it had lost favor in other areas, it thrived in Westsylvania as the accepted way to deal with rebellion against authority in both the public and private sectors. Parents were encouraged to discipline, but not abuse their children, order was maintained in schools, and minor infractions of the law were dealt with primarily by inflicting a bit of pain upon the posteriors of offenders. And courts had upheld the right of business owners to require their employees to submit to it as a condition of employment. A firm hand, hairbrush, or similar implement was often used in domestic situations, while the paddle, strap and cane were employed for official procedures. The horsewhip and cat o' nine tails had been used in earlier days, and a few whipping posts were preserved on courthouse lawns as reminders of that past. But during the early twentieth century, public floggings had been mostly abandoned. Lesser offenses were now punished behind closed doors, usually on the buttocks rather than the backs of offenders, and incarceration was used for more serious crimes. However, within the state's jails and prisons, corporal punishment was still used to maintain discipline and impose penance for crimes. Judges often ordered that prisoners receive periodic corporal punishment as part of their sentences. A few attempts had been made to abolish such measures as 'cruel and unusual punishment', a concept shared with the U.S. But the Westsylvanian High Court had rejected those arguments and ruled that a moderate corporal punishment that caused no permanent injury was not excessively cruel, and in Westsylvania, it certainly was not unusual.

---oOo---
Having lived all her life in Westsylvania, Samantha Moore was certainly no stranger to corporal punishment. It was ingrained into the local culture, and submitting to it was a natural part of life.

Chapter 1
Sister Naomi Dawson was turning the pages of the job adverts in the Nursing Times when her eye was caught by the following:

ARE YOU THINKING WHAT WE'RE THINKING?

Do you believe that modern nursing has lost its way? Do you yearn for the days of Matron? Are you sick and tired of sloppy nursing practices and hospital infections; of wards inadequately cleaned by outsourced labour? Do you believe that patient care is at the heart of the nursing profession, not targets set by self-serving politicians? Do you yearn for the return of strict discipline to nursing?

If this is you - as it is certainly us - and you are a ward sister of proven excellence and more than two years' experience, who would not object to tripling her NHS salary - then we may have the opening you have been seeking.

The Cedric Placebo Clinic offers superb care and treatment to the cream of British society. We are seeking a new sister with the above qualities to join our team of dedicated and highly motivated professionals. You will find that we pay attention to your development in areas that have hitherto been neglected.

Sister Dawson's pulse beat faster. She fit the bill in every detail! The youngest ward sister in the health authority at twenty-seven, with almost three years' experience behind her, Naomi combined high-flying career advancement with surprisingly old-fashioned values. A petite red-headed package of flashing-green-eyed energy and impatience, she filled out her shapeless baggy blue uniform in all the right places. She yearned for the days of proper dress uniforms, of white caps and starched dresses and smart aprons rather than these ghastly scrubs that did nothing for morale and commitment to the service. She was known and even feared as a fierce martinet, one who enforced the highest professional standards upon her staff and upon herself. She would not put up with the slightest lapse in discipline. Indeed, when she came across a gaggle of young or even older nurses gossiping at the nursing station when they should have been attending to their patients, Naomi had a secret desire sometimes to give them more than the tongue-lashing they inevitably received.

What some of these girls needed, she thought to herself, was to be taken into the office to have their knickers taken down and a stiff hairbrush applied firmly to their bare backsides! She would smile to herself in a rather guilty fashion. Where she got such ideas from she had no clue. They were not the usual ideas of a twenty-something young woman. But she cherished her private imaginings: how the idle girls' faces would stretch with consternation! How they would kick and bawl as she tanned some liveliness into them! How they would hop to it afterwards, scurrying around to carry out their duties giving their smacked bottoms a rueful rub! And serve them right.

A Teen Reboot of Spankings
I close the front door behind me.

"What was that all about?" asks my matronly mother.

"Oh, that spanking thing? I was trying to help little Ashley and her folks make a decision. I'll tell you this and it's no lie. Thirteen years old is definitely not too old for spankings."

"So you actually went through with it?" asks Mom, sitting down on the couch. "I made a pot of chamomile tea. Like some?"

"Please, with sugar. And yes, we went through with it."

I sit next to her, wincing slightly. She leans over the coffee table to pour the tea.

"Well," she says cheerfully, "were you able to convince Ashley to taste a little of the fruit from the spanking tree? Did she participate in your little demo?"

"Mr. Almond gave Ashley a good, hard one. We told Ashley that her dad would only spank her for a short trial period. But I don't think that genie is going back in the bottle."

"So you think Mr. Almond will keep on spanking Ashley?"

"Yes, it's inevitable. Mr. Almond is way too good of a spanker to ever give up the spanking brush. Mom, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," she says apprehensively. "Unless, of course, it's something that will upset me."

My mother has a very delicate constitution.

"After you married Howard, did you guys ever consider maybe rebooting spankings? A teen reboot?"

"A teen reboot? You mean for you? Spank you?"

"Yes, start spanking me like Father used to do."

"No," says Mom thoughtfully. "I can't recall that we ever discussed it. Why?"

I shrug. "When you guys got married, I thought one of you might bring it up. Teen reboots of spankings is all the craze now. Especially with teenage girls."

"I did not know that."

"Yes, I even hinted to Howard once about dads and stepdads of some of my classmates. These girls still get spankings. But Howard just brushed it off."

"Grace, you were almost 12 when we married. You hadn't been spanked in nearly four years. I didn't see the need for a teen reboot of spankings."

"Well, what does Howard think?"

Mom looks at me blankly. "Frankly, Grace, I have no idea."

---oOo---
I tutor 8-year-old Ashley Almond. She lives walking distance from my house.

Earlier this evening, I'm wrapping up my tutoring duties up in Ashley's bedroom.

Downstairs, Mr. Almond discovers that Ashley had done something that he has specifically forbidden her to do. Her parents start arguing.

"What that girl needs is a good, hard spanking!" I hear him declare loudly.

I see the fright in Ashley's eyes.

"Did Daddy just say 'spanking'?" asks my little protégé worriedly. "Is he talking about me?"

"Yes, I'm pretty sure your dad is talking about spanking. Did you disobey your father?"

Ashley nods and hangs her head in shame.