When a beautiful young ticket inspector forgets to announce the Duchess of Belminster’s stop, her first week on the Midland Line suffers a painful derailment. Within a plush private compartment, she finds herself turned-over an aristocratic lap. A First-Class Spanking is an express journey en route to thorough discipline!
The Midland Line's junior ticket inspector, Nancy Briggs, straightened her cap, admiring her reflection in the gleaming window of the first-class carriage. She looked as though she’d marched straight from the uniform catalogue, freshly minted pride stitched into every seam. Her navy-blue jacket, nipped at the waist, underlined the generous curve of her breasts, and the snug, hip-hugging skirt was guaranteed to turn heads. Upon her belt, her brass ticket-punch hung like a ceremonial sword of office.
Having been promoted from the ticket office just a week before, Nancy was eager to set her new role on the right track. At only nineteen, she was the company's youngest inspector, and was determined to prove herself punctual and reliable beyond her years. As per uniform regulation, she had made every effort to pin her brunette hair into a formal bun, although one rebellious curl insisted upon flirting with her rosy cheek.
When eager saleswoman Laura ignores a No Cold Callers sign, she soon discovers that door-to-door marketing can be a perilous profession. Upended over a stern gentleman’s lap, she learns the hard way that clothes-brushes have more than one practical use. Cold Caller Hot Bottom is a saucy suburban frolic of misplaced confidence, simmering embarrassment, and the rueful consequences of a thoroughly spanked bottom.
There were several signs along Victoria Avenue which Laura felt she could manage without. Mind the Step, Please Close the Gate, No Junk Mail. They were common sense, although a nearby electricity distribution box bore a Keep Out – Danger of Death sign, which she grudgingly admitted might be justified.
At number 42 the commandment No Cold Callers caught her gaze, but she dismissed it with breezy indifference and pressed her finger to the doorbell. It was a decision she would soon look back on with a rather different outlook. A hot and smarting bottom would be a salutary reminder to take proper notice of such notices. But of course, she didn't know that yet.
In a quiet corner of a provincial museum, Evelyn discovers a meticulously preserved 1950s classroom. Desks stand aligned, rules are unbending, and a crook-handled cane rests with menace on the teacher's desk. When the enigmatic Miss Hartley offers her a hands-on lesson in history, Evelyn must decide how far she's willing to surrender to her deepest longings. Custodian of the Cane is a tale combining discipline, ritual... and desire.
Act 1 – Echoes of Discipline
The Living Museum of Yesteryear was a tapestry, each exhibit a thread woven with meticulous care to transport visitors to another time. These whispers and echoes of the past were not merely remembered, but breathed and lived. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the faintest must of relics, as if the walls held memories of generations.
Evelyn wandered through the corridors, her tummy fluttering with a mix of curiosity and something else. Something closer to a thrill of anticipation. A miner’s cottage, a bathtub before a coal fire, a butcher’s shop with an apple-cheeked actor behind the counter. Each of these scenes provoked only passing smiles. But then she turned a corner and stopped.
When spoiled heiress Chloe Buckingham hires a feng shui consultant to “fix the vibes” in her luxury apartment, she expects a few crystals and a mirror or two. However, discovering balance across a stern lap wasn't part of her plan. Consultant Joanne Parker understands that some energy misalignments stem not from the furniture, but from the client herself. This playful tale explores modern privilege, unconventional remedies, and the surprising art of hands-on recalibration.
Act I: The Chaotic Space
The scent of designer candles and freshly steamed curtains filled Chloe Buckingham’s new apartment as she flounced dramatically onto the overstuffed sofa. Her slim fingers flicked idly through her phone, sending bursts of emoji-laden texts to her friends. Oversized sunglasses perched atop her honey-blonde head, a signature affectation even when she was indoors. Across from her, Joanne Parker adjusted the angle of a floor lamp, pursed her lips, and tried her best not to sigh.
Joanne was used to demanding clients. She’d Feng Shui’d penthouses, country manors, and on one memorable occasion – even a yacht. But Chloe Buckingham, heiress and professional socialite, was testing her patience like no one before.
When Miss Fenella Devenish checks into a country inn with swan-towel expectations and impeccable standards, she’s not prepared to encounter a chambermaid whose idea of turndown service resembles a laundry accident. But after a frank discussion involving chocolates, apron strings, and a well-handled shoehorn, standards are restored in style. Turn-Down Service is a tale of poise, presentation, and the curiously instructive charm of a properly folded towel.
There was a quiet perfection about The Brindlecombe Arms. The hydrangeas beside the entrance bloomed in a manner that exuded class. Dappled afternoon light filtered through antique lace curtains. And somewhere, from speakers carefully hidden among the cornices, the strains of harp music completed the regal ambience.
Miss Fenella Devenish arrived shortly after three, precisely on time. She was the sort of woman who travelled with her own pillow mist and noticed when a doily had been rotated ninety degrees off-centre. Her reservation was for a junior suite—the “Elysium Suite.” The poetic reference to Greek mythology had appealed to her, although she privately suspected the motif of heavenly tranquillity would not extend beyond the door plaque. Still, it would do.