LSF Publications: spanking fiction ebooks

1. Susan and Wendy at Home
At the end of the Spring term, Susan Robins returned home from school a little more confidently than she had done before Christmas; that occasion had not been an experience she was eager to repeat. Sue was one of those self-confident, headstrong girls who seem to attract trouble, and during that first term in the sixth-form she had been in and out of detention constantly, and at one point the school had called her parents in and warned them their daughter was heading towards a suspension. The subsequent 'discussion' with her mother in her bedroom proved quite painful, and Susan had promised to change her ways.

Susan's best friend Wendy usually managed to avoid getting into trouble, although when the two of them got into some scrape or other, Wendy appeared more reserved than Susan, and also looked quite young for her age. It was generally assumed that Susan was the ringleader in any prank, so she tended to get most of the blame.

Not only were the two girls in the same class at school, but right from when they had turned fifteen, they had also worked together as 'Saturday girls' at the local Woolworths. That experience had been a bit of a lark, especially when they first started, but now they were planning to leave. Two of their older school friends were off to college after the summer and their old jobs in a shoe shop would shortly be available. At Woolworths, the main perk was stuffing yourself with free sweets from the Pick and Mix counter, but the offer of discounted smart shoes had more appeal to the girls as they got older. Also, working in the shoe shop they were allowed to wear 'normal' clothes, as opposed to the Woolworths staff uniform: a striped dress, with a silly tin badge saying 'Trainee'... and what was worse, at their store, the manager made the Saturday girls and also some junior staff who had joined straight from school, wear white knee-socks until they turned eighteen. He said that otherwise, some girls would wear tights or perhaps even ankle socks and it would look scruffy. He wanted everyone to look the same.

Both sets of parents worked. Susan's were school teachers and so were generally at home during the school holidays. She also had a younger brother, Peter, who was a bit of a pest. They lived comfortably enough and had a large semi-detached house on a leafy avenue in a North London suburb. Susan's father taught science at a mixed secondary school across town, while her mother was the deputy head of a private girls school quite close to home.

St Ursula's, her mother's school, was an old fashioned establishment, proud of its high academic standards and its traditional discipline. Since she was eleven Susan had been regularly threatened with having to transfer there, particularly when she was in trouble at her present school, or if her grades were slipping.

Paddled by the Pledge Mistress...
or How I Met Your Mother
I'm not going to tease you about the identity of your mother, like that old sitcom. You obviously know who your mother is, so that would be silly. But you don't know the real story of how your mother and I met, so that's what I'm going to reveal.

You heard we met in college and that is true. It was fifty years ago in a very different era. It was the 1980s. Reagan was president. The Internet hadn't happened yet. Hell, most computers were text-based back then. Cell phones were the size of shoe boxes and cost five bucks a minute to use. And back then five bucks could buy you five gallons of gas or a decent dinner, so that was a lot of money.

I'm sure you're thinking all that history stuff isn't too relevant, but you need to understand the era. There wasn't all the politically correct thinking of today. This would never happen today. This was also in Texas, at A&M, where things were a little different even then. Back then, and I swear this is true, I heard guys actually had to fuck a goat in order to get into one of the fraternities. Seriously. It was part of the initiation. Today that'd get you locked up faster than you can say PETA.

So what you're about to hear may sound bizarre and outrageous, and maybe it even is, but at the time it didn't seem that unusual. I'm not saying it was normal - but this kind of thing wasn't uncommon.

I may not remember what I had for breakfast this morning, but I remember everything from that day like it was yesterday. It was a Saturday afternoon. I was twenty years old and not a very serious kid. I partied all the time and didn't have a clue what I wanted to do with my life. On that day I'd been planning on meeting a couple of my buddies to go see a movie, but they'd bailed on me. I'm sure I had studying I could have been doing, but I wasn't about to waste a Saturday afternoon on schoolwork. I had gone to another buddy's place off campus, but he wasn't home, so I was heading back to the dorms, bored as hell and wondering what to do.

I was on the south end of the campus near the Epsilon Theta Zeta sorority house. This was just off the campus property and I remember being annoyed because the place was gated and fenced and I was going to have to walk around it to get back on campus. It was a large house, very old, a collection of several buildings, and I remember wondering if I could cut through to save me time.

Chapter 1
It was going to be a big adventure! Excited and a little scared, 21-year-old Rebecca had packed her bags with everything she would need for her year away from home: a year of travel, seeing new countries, expanding her horizons ... a trip of a lifetime ... and she was doing all this by herself.

Picking up her bags, Rebecca kissed and hugged Maggie, her landlady and surrogate mum, then walked from the little terraced house and climbed into the black cab that was going to whisk her away to the airport.

Rebecca smiled at Maggie and called out, "Thank you for everything, Maggie."

"Take care, Becky. Make sure you behave yourself and come and see me when you get back."

Rebecca knew she would miss Maggie. She had lived in her house for the last three years, during which time she had been to University and studied history, gaining a very creditable 2:1. It was Maggie who scolded her when essays were late, who praised her when her grades were good, and on quite a few occasions punished her when she felt it was deserved. Early bedtimes, groundings and a smacked bottom had all been used to good effect. Rebecca blinked back a tear and looking through the cab rear windscreen, waved goodbye as the cab drove off.

"I guess you are off travelling then? Where are you going?" asked the cab driver.

Rebecca smiled. "I'm flying to the USA, then crossing the country and in about two months I will be in California... after that I'm off to the far-east, Thailand, Vietnam, and then Australia."

The cabbie smiled back in his mirror. "Have you remembered your passport and your money? I've had a few of you young teenagers forget them in the past."

A quick check in her pockets confirmed she had everything. "Yes I have them, thank you."

The rest of the journey passed quickly and before long Rebecca was presenting her passport and checking in her bags. The woman at the check-in looked at the passport and then at Rebecca. She liked what she saw: a pretty petite brunette with a pair of nicely tanned legs, about 5' 2'', hair in a pony tail, dressed in trainers, pink ankle socks, white shorts and a pink crop top that showed a flash of tummy and the beginnings of breasts, but obviously no bra. Then the woman attached two red flight tags to the Rebecca's bags and put them through to the loading area.

"One moment please." She smiled at Rebecca and then got up and disappeared around the back of check-in with Rebecca's passport, which she showed to a lady security officer. "Helen, look at this passport. I swear she looks 14 or 15, has the most adorable freckles, and I think she is off travelling."

Helen nodded. "OK, I will check her details; perhaps we have found what we are looking for."

The Sirens of Salem
Tom Forman was feeling exceptionally full of himself as he sat across the table from the owner of Jeffers Pharmacy, the largest of the three drugstores in the town of Salem. Although it certainly wasn't the largest contract he had ever negotiated, Tom was still surprised and very pleased that he was able to convince the conservative pharmacist to stock so much of Tom's new line of power foods and beverages. The success definitely made his two day swing through Blaine County worthwhile.

It was three o'clock on Friday afternoon. However, Tom wasn't particularly anxious to make the two hour drive back to the stark one bedroom apartment he had been calling home ever since his wife divorced him a year ago. He gulped the last of his second martini and looked across the table at his companion, Frank Jeffers, a man at least twenty years older than Tom. "So, Frank, what do you folks do for fun around here on a Friday night?"

Frank gave Tom a fatherly smile. "Go home and spend time with our families," he replied quickly. "Of course, the Pizza Hut over on Salem Road is popular with the younger crowd."

Just then, the waitress approached the table. Tom, who fancied himself a lothario, noticed that she was reasonably attractive for a woman who was at least thirty. He reasoned that under any circumstances she was probably the best this town had to offer. And she wasn't wearing a ring on the third finger of her left hand. "Can I get you anything more here?" she asked cheerfully, her blue eyes moving back and forth between the two men.

Frank shook his head. "Nothing more for me, Franny," he said. "I've got to get back to the store."

Tom flashed his best smile toward Franny. "I certainly wouldn't mind buying you a drink, honey, as soon as you're all done here."

Franny's pleasant smile turned to ice and she glared at the salesman. "No, thank you," she said in a very controlled voice. Then she dropped the check on the table, turned around, and walked away stiffly.

Tom huffed and looked over at Frank. "What's with her?" he questioned rhetorically. "I was just trying to be friendly."

Frank slid out of the booth and stood up. "She's not looking for that kind of friend," he answered. He turned toward the door. "Tom... I hope your power bars sell better than you do. Thanks for lunch." He walked away without waiting for a reply.

Tom flushed slightly, took a deep breath, and gathered himself together. He had been rebuffed before many times. He was determined not to let it bother him, especially the rejection of some small town yokel who was probably way past her prime. He picked up the check and studied it for a few seconds. Then he took out his wallet and set down the exact amount plus fifty cents.

1. The Taste of Him
As Sarah approached the pub, she marvelled at her complete lack of panic. This was her third try, her third attempt to meet someone who might...

Although she wasn't panicked, she still wasn't able to complete that particular thought.

Besides, she wasn't even sure if this would work out. They had written back and forth, and although Mark's writing was intriguing, it was distant and impersonal, almost professional in its feel. It didn't charm her the way some of the others had, and yet she nonetheless had a nagging feeling that it would be worth seeing him in person. Beyond writing, she had also learned that much could be learned about a man by his choice in pubs, and he certainly passed muster on that account. She hadn't even bothered to stop by his chosen meeting place beforehand to scope it out; he had chosen one of her favourite locations.

To his further credit, he had been very understanding thus far. He had sent her a name and a picture. She had sent him an excuse and an apology. She had set rules for herself, and refusal to give either of those things to strangers on the internet were among them. He asked if they were meeting for a drink, or perhaps something else as well. She had said just a drink, this first time. It was another of her rules which she made very clear to him in a patient e-mail, and which she made clear to herself by booking a bunk in a hostel for the night.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and peeked in. There he was, alone in the room which would have been cheery when filled with patrons, but now, in the mid-afternoon lull, instead presented a snug sense of privacy.

He stood to greet her. She cautiously offered her hand, which he turned into a hug complete with a quick peck on the cheek that she dutifully turned away from. She blushed, stammering and fumbling her way through a hurried introduction, ardently hoping that he wouldn't judge her too harshly on these first awkward moments.

And then he talked, his lilting accent filling the silence that she was unable to banish on her own: he recounted tales of his own history and asked simple questions on her own, listening attentively as her answers gradually grew from halting, stammering one-word wonders and started to resemble the actual sentences that a sane person might offer in the course of a normal conversation.

He patiently avoided 'the subject' at first ... not so much dancing around it as purposefully turning his back on it. They were each well into their second pint before he casually brought up the reason for their meeting, just a quick reference before returning to more mundane subjects.

"Later," he said when she started to ask. "I don't want to risk scaring you off just yet."