When the City Council chairwoman asked the new community’s attorney why his clients had chosen to name it Spanker Hills, he had a ready reply.

A dazzling grin spread over his tanned face, from his thin lips to the blue eyes that sparkled beneath his curly black hair. “’Dirty River’ is not really a very attractive term, even if that was the original name,” he told her, as the audience tittered politely.

In a more serious tone, he added, “But Spanker Hills would honor the memory of Henrietta Spanker, who did so much for local charity. It would also move new residents into an older community that went bankrupt during the housing bust.”

The chairwoman stared suspiciously down at him from behind her harlequin glasses. “I know all about the housing bust,” she said. “I also think I know as much about Castlemaine County’s history as anyone does, Mr. Brewer. But I never heard of a Henrietta Spanker.”

“And that is exactly why we want to honor her now,” he triumphantly replied. “She was an active modern woman, long before her time…just as you are now, Ms. Semple. She deserves to be remembered.”

“And you will make sure she will be,” the chairwoman retorted. “Very well, then, let’s leave the name aside. Now, about the homes themselves…”

“The community is planned for 20 single-family colonial brick houses on one-acre lots,” he informed her, pointing at the map that hung above the council table. “We know that that’s the most popular style in Pennsylvania, and for good reason. They reflect our region’s proud historical heritage.

“What’s more, the homes will have shuttered windows and soundproof walls, to preserve the quiet atmosphere. The community center will follow the same plan.”

Sitting in the front row, Linda Lawrence had long since resigned herself to another long, dull hearing about a new planned community. She had sat through them often enough, heaven knew, as part of her job with the weekly Castlemaine County Chronicle. There was something about this particular session, though, that made her sit up and take notice.

For one thing, she realized she was just about the only woman in the audience who was seated on a wooden chair. The others had brought cushions to place beneath them…just as though they had recently suffered at a real spanker’s hands.

In addition, she was well aware that she had never heard of a local female philanthropist named “Henrietta Spanker,” although she had learned as much as anyone about the town’s history. If “Spanker Hills” really turned out to be some den of perverts, it could lead to a big enough stories for a big-city daily newspaper. She needed that desperately to get her stalled career started again. Her own blue eyes gleamed at the thought.

She was certainly well suited for a star reporter’s career. For one thing, she knew she looked the part, with her straight blond hair falling onto the red blazer that was a newswoman’s uniform. For another, she had a master’s degree in journalism from Lewis and Clark University in Chicago.

With those qualifications, she should not have been reduced to covering local elections, new restaurants, wedding announcements and obituaries and, above all, local government meetings like this one.

But she had been wasting away here in the boondocks for the last five years, and she had to admit it was largely her fault. She felt sure her professors had given her bad references, and when a few employers had taken a chance on hiring her anyway, she had lasted for less than three years with any of them. What’s worse, she was still unmarried for the very same reasons: Her quick temper combined with her high principles.

Every time she recalled her fatal outbursts, she could hardly believe she had made them.

Why in the world had she slammed her fist on the professor’s desk and demanded her grades right then? She knew that the students who stood around her felt the same way, since it was time to send off their job applications with graduation coming so close. But instead of backing her up they merely stared at her silently, with their eyes lowered before the professor’s cold glare.

The only editors who had hired her, had been the ones who made the decision on the spot, without waiting for references. Always, she had sworn to herself that she would show her gratitude by her complete cooperation, and she had usually been able to do it for a year or less.

Then that awful question of principle had raised its ugly head…like the problems caused by that office manager who insisted on approving her stories in advance. In her righteous anger, Linda had forgotten the first rule of journalism: reporters are a lot easier to replace than good office managers.

When she had finally broken down and protested to her boss, he had responded that the other woman had already complained about her, too. Two weeks later, he had called Linda into his office to say that he was cutting some staff positions, including her own. But not, of course, the office manager’s.

When Linda finally landed her current job, with a newspaper that needed someone quickly and could not wait for reference letters, she swore, once again, that she would remember one simple rule: The editor set the editorial policy, and it was her job to follow it.

But, as she told herself, no editor had ever ordered her to back off from a really hot story. This one would be as hot as…well, as hot as Richard Brewer, the attorney with the curly black hair, dazzling smile, broad shoulders and obviously powerful hands.

She could not help imagining what it would feel like, to have those hands administering a really sound spanking, like the ones that would probably be taking place at Spanker Hills. Looking out over the crowd, she had the definite feeling that most of those women had long since gone way beyond the imagining stage.

Some of those ladies were gazing up at their husbands with open adoration, and others stared straight at the speaker with eager, gleaming eyes, while a third group kept their heads submissively lowered. They were all eager to move into that perverted place, but she suspected they felt that way for different reasons.

***
Grace Wilcox could hardly be blamed for gazing up at her husband, because he was so incredibly handsome. His crew-cut blond hair and square jaw made him look like everyone’s image of a police officer, which in fact he was.

This cop was also a strictly honest one. He had proven that when he told Grace on their second date that he believed in domestic discipline.

“You are the kind of girl I want to marry,” he said, as they sat together in his Land Rover, in front of her apartment. Seeing the smile spread over her round pink face, he quickly added, “There is something I must tell you first. I will be the boss in our home.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, “she assured him, leaning her head of curly brown hair against his broad shoulder. “That is what our church teaches, and you may remember that I met you at a singles’ mixer there. It’s hard for a math teacher to meet eligible men, but I hit the jackpot this time.” She smiled up at him, but he did not smile back.

“I haven’t told you what I meant yet, when I said I would be the boss. I meant I believe in domestic discipline, the way my parents did, and I want my marriage to be as happy as theirs. Our own church does not teach this, and I know it is has frightened many girls away. Now I’m just hoping you aren’t one of them.”

“Domestic discipline?” she answered. “Do you mean I must obey you? I told you, I am perfectly ready for that.”

“It means even more,” he told her, gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead. “It means that I will set up rules for you…and if you fail to follow them, you will wind up over my knee.”

“You mean…you will spank me?” she asked. “With your bare hand?”

“On your equally bare bottom,” he answered, with a thin smile. “But that is only for the mildest misdeeds. For more serious infractions, you will get the hairbrush or the belt.”

With a shudder, she replied, “Well then, I suppose I had better not commit any of those!”

“I’m sure my mother believed the same thing, but she wound up earning her punishments anyway. Of course, they sent me out of the house on some errand when he was about to spank her, even though I didn’t know why. When I came home I knew she had been crying, but they were hugging each other, too.”

“Then I guess it was worth it…for her, at least. But I don’t know if I could stand it…”

“Then perhaps we had better end it right here.”

“No!” she heard herself saying, to her own surprise. “I mean, no matter how bad the spanking would be…losing you would be even worse.”

“You will marry me then, on my terms?”

Snuggling more closely against him, she said, “Well, those seem to be the only terms there are.”

 

***
Some of the wedding guests had been openly shocked when they heard the bride promising to “obey” as well as “love and honor.” But the groom’s proud parents smiled at each other and pressed one another’s hands.

As they stood in the receiving line together, Grace’s mother cautiously asked her if that had not been a rather old-fashioned ceremony.

“Well,” the new Mrs. Wilcox answered promptly, “My husband is an old-fashioned guy.”

***
She was also an old-fashioned girl in another way, as she proved on their wedding night. He had promised to be very gentle when she told him she was still a virgin at age 25, and he kept his word.

Seeing his organ grow long, thick and hard, her eyes had widened with fear. He responded with his faint smile again. “This will hurt for a moment,” he told her. “But I promise that you will enjoy it, too.”

That seemed impossible…until he leaned down and gently ran his tongue over her opening, until it was warm and moist and she was squirming with desire. Then he pressed himself into her, as the pain and pleasure mingled together, so that it was almost impossible to tell them apart.

***
Two weeks later, she learned that pain and pleasure could be worlds apart. Driving home from an evening with her mother, she remembered that she had promised to call Steve on her cell phone after she left for home.

The problem was, every street she passed seemed to have yellow curbs with signs reading “No parking…no standing…fire lane.” Her only choice was to look for the nearest shopping center and call from the parking lot, although that might be miles away.

That wasn’t her fault, was it, she assured herself. He could not punish her for following the law, especially since he was a law enforcement officer himself.

He could, and he would. That became all too clear to her, when he met her at the door with his arms folded across his broad chest and his face set in a scowl.

“You promised to call me,” he said. “Do you know how worried I was when you failed to do it?”

“And I tried! But I could not find a legal place to stop. It wasn’t my fault.”

“You could have called before you left your mother’s condo. If you failed to do that…well then, I think a punishment is in order.”

“With your belt?” she whimpered, tears coming to her eyes.

“With my bare hand, since this is your first time.”

“But you know I’ve got back problems!” she wailed. “I can’t bend over or I will really hurt myself.”

“I’m not asking you to do that. Just turn yourself across my knee…before I change my mind.”

She hurried to obey him as he sat down on the floral chintz sofa, since she realized he would only get angrier if she tried to delay. Squeezing her eyes tight shut, she felt his left arm clamp down like a steel bar across her shoulders, while his right hand pulled her panty hose down to her ankles and dragged her pleated plaid skirt up to her waist.

For a moment, she felt the air conditioner cooling her bare bottom. Then her eyes sprang open, as she heard a crack that sounded like thunder, as her bottom was struck by a lightning flash of pain. That lightning bolt lit a fire that became a blazing inferno, as his merciless hand rose and fell, faster and harder each time.

Fearing that the neighbors were listening, she clasped both hands over her mouth. Soon the smacking sound was rising over her muffled cries. “OW! OW! OW!” she whimpered. “Please forgive me, I will never do it again, I promise! OW! OW! OW!”

“And I will be sure you keep that promise,” he answered, as the punishment went on. Glancing behind her, she saw that her backside had gone from bright red to violent crimson. At the sight, she burst into helpless tears.

The weeping continued, along with the spanking, until she realized that his hand was now still. Barely able to believe her good fortune, she looked back to see that he had removed his restraining arm from her shoulders.

“Can I stand up now?” she sniffled. For answer, he helped her rise to her feet, where she stood gently stroking her bruised backside.

“So now I hope you will remember to call me any time you are going to be late.”

“Oh, I will, I WILL!”

“And just to make sure you do, you can spend the next fifteen minutes sitting on one of those hard kitchen chairs…”

“Oh, NO!”

“…unless you want to make it thirty minutes instead.”

Soon she was sobbing again, as she squirmed against the hard vinyl seat. She was sure of one thing, though…she would never again come home late without calling him. And despite everything she had suffered, part of her was very glad that he had worried so much about her that he felt it called for a punishment.

***

Recalling that night as she sat on her cushion in the City Council hearing room, she remembered how many times he had spanked her since then. The truth was, she had lost count. Most recently he had used his belt, as promised, leaving her sitting on pillows for a week.

She had known they had to come here, though, ever since the weekly newspaper had told her about the upcoming hearing on Spanker Hills. Based on the description of the planned community…with its soundproof houses, one-acre lots and very suggestive name…she would be able to cry and scream to her heart’s content while he spanked her own pink hills, without any curious neighbors to worry about. Even if they heard her, these new neighbors would not be at all surprised.

***
The future neighbor sitting beside her had no such concerns. Juliet Gardner was in no danger of crying and screaming loudly enough for anyone to hear her, since she thoroughly enjoyed her so-called punishments. As a good reporter, Linda Lawrence could see as much, from the gleam of excitement in the woman’s great black eyes when she heard the community’s name.

Juliet had sent had sent a subtle signal to the world, by changing her name from “Barbara” to “Juliet.” She did it in honor of the heroine created by the Marquis de Sade, whose noble title had given sadism its name.

She had met Peter in an on-line chat room that was officially dedicated to discussing the Marquis’ literary works. Of course that was not its real purpose, as they soon realized, when they noted that most of the posters were just like them. They were mostly interested in hooking up with each other, to fulfill their unconventional desires.

Following the safety rules they had also read on line, Juliet and Peter had agreed to meet in a public place accompanied by their friends. The four had accordingly shared the kung pao chicken, pork lo mein, shrimp with lobster sauce and beef with broccoli, before they opened their fortune cookies.

“Your luck is about to improve,” Juliet read. Gazing up at her new acquaintance, she said, “I would say it already has.”

“Mine, too,” he told her, reaching for her hand, as their friends smiled with approval.

As the couple walked out of the restaurant together, Peter asked, “Have you ever done this before?”

“What, you mean go out on a blind date with someone I met on line?” she teased, batting her great dark eyes from under her long black hair.

“I mean, have you ever gone out with an SM lifestyler?”

After hesitating for a moment, she decided to tell him the truth. “No, I have just indulged in fantasies about a sado-masochistic romance. But I finally decided to take the plunge, because you seem like a nice guy. Except for being a sadist, of course.”

“And you made sure your friends would see us together, in case anything happened to either one of us. That shows you are a pretty smart girl. But I must warn you I live alone, so you can’t expect any roommate to come along and rescue you.”

“Well, I should HOPE not! We wouldn’t want anyone barging in on us while you are handcuffing me to the bed. You DO have handcuffs, don’t you?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Sadist!”

With a bow and a grin, he answered, “Thank you!”

***
He didn’t waste any time before proving it. As soon as they walked into his condo, he led her into the bedroom, where he opened the drawers to reveal a thick leather strap, a broad-handled hairbrush and a pair of plastic handcuffs, of the kind that were often sold in toy stores, but usually not to children.

“Wow!” she said, her eyes gleaming. “You really are ready, aren’t you?”

“I have been ready for a long time,” he responded, as he placed the implements on the bedside table.  “I hope you are, too.”

“I sure am!” She gasped with both pleasure and surprise, when he pushed her face-down onto the bed, cuffed her wrists and ankles to the posts, tugged her tight blue jeans to her ankles and pulled her panties down after them. Her laugh turned to a shocked cry, when the strap struck her bare bottom.

“OW!” she cried. “I haven’t given you the safe word yet. It’s ‘Marquis.’”

“I’ll try to remember.”

“Well, you’d better not forget! Not that I think I’ll be using it, after the way I’ve waited for tonight.”

She didn’t have long to wait, until the thick, broad strap came crashing down ten times, raising bright red welts across her thin white bottom. Soon she was crying OW! and “Damn!” and “Stop it!” but without ever adding the magic word “Marquis.”

The whistling of the leather belt was soon followed by the smack of the paddle, as he dropped the strap and picked up the wooden-backed hairbrush from the bedside table. Once again, she screamed and pleaded, but without adding the safe word that would have ended her agony.

She did not even think of saying it when he pulled her up on her knees and used his own knees to push her legs apart. He felt sure that the bruising of her bottom would only add to her delight. Her warm, moist vagina told them both that he was right.

He was right once more, when he showed her the newspaper article about the planned community of Spanker Hills and said it would be their perfect place to live, surrounded by people who shared their tastes.

Since those big houses would require both of their incomes, they would get married before making out the mortgage application.  But first, of course, they had to go to the City Council meeting to show their support for the project.

***
Once in the hearing room, they knew that one other couple came close to sharing their inclinations. They could tell that from the close-fitting silver chain the woman wore around her neck. Based on her own reading, Juliet felt sure that this lady had used a small first letter in signing her name to the list of spectators.

After going back to the table to glance at it, she saw she had been right. “You must be ellen, with a small ‘e’,” she whispered to the woman, who kept her head submissively lowered until her Master leaned down and whispered that it was all right to nod agreement.

“So you are a Slave Girl of Rog,” Juliet added. Like all good masochists…and some vanilla sci fi fans as well…she knew all about the series that had created the imaginary planet, where men were sadists and women were slaves. Like many other avid readers, those Rogean stories had inspired her lifestyle. Obviously, ellen would fit right into Spanker Hills, too.

***
Not surprisingly, George and ellen Rudolph had met at a slave auction. At his first sight of the tall redhead with her green eyes and creamy skin, the bearded bookstore owner had been carried away, to the point of making a $10,000 opening bid, which represented all his profits for months. She had been swept up in turn by this sure sign of his passion.

“I am so glad you bought me, Master,” she exclaimed, as they were driving home. “It was my first time, so when I read about the auction, I was afraid to go.”

“You had no need to feel that way. We all know that our women’s slavery must be strictly consensual, and you can leave at any time. Otherwise, we’d be committing a federal crime, and we are all well aware of it.”

“Oh, I know that. I am an attorney myself.”

“An attorney! I thought you people were the ones who made everyone else do what you wanted.”

“During the day, yes certainly. That’s why I needed someone to make me do what HE wants me to...at night.”

“Weren’t you afraid that that might be rather confusing?”

 “That did not concern me at all. I was too busy worrying that no one would buy me.”

“How could you even have thought that, as pretty as you are? I feel sure I’ll get my money’s worth, starting tonight.”

“I will try to make certain that you do, Master!”

 To prove it, she spent the evening broiling his steak, frying his potatoes and tossing his salad. Then she knelt beside his chair as he enjoyed his meal, before putting his plate on the hardwood floor so she could consume the leftovers. When she had filled the dishwasher, he nodded his approval and led her into the bedroom. She fell happily asleep there, lying on the carpet beside his bed.

***

Linda Lawrence had read about consensual slave auctions too. Seeing the woman with the chain around her neck, she had realized at once that this couple were part of the Master-slave lifestyle, and would undoubtedly soon be part of Spanker Hills as well.

That left Richard Brewer, the attorney who had argued in favor of the community before the City Council. He had obviously done a good job, since by the time the meeting ended at 11 p.m., he had won their unanimous approval. Linda suspected that he was in one of the lifestyles himself, whether it was domestic discipline, sado-masochism or Master/slave. Her only question was…which one?

This was only one of the questions she would have to answer, when she exposed the Spanker Hills homeowners for the perverts they were. And she knew she had only one way to do it. She would have to go undercover by joining the new community herself.