From the library of Murray Roberts:
Murray writes: In the late 1930s and 40s, a series of magazines was published with spicy titles like High Heels and Silk Stockings. These featured stories and ladies in not very alluring underwear, and the stories sometimes included a spanking.
The love-hate relationship between heiress and bodyguard was – and still is – a standard plot. In this story, things are settling down nicely when Larry makes a somewhat tactless remark…
His lips left her clinging mouth, and his deep voice was whispering in her ear:
“My darling, my darling, thank heavens you came to your senses –“
And immediately in that phrase, the spell was broken. She remembered all her humiliations at his hands, all the revenges she had planned.
“Dad!” she yelled, “Dad!” The blood-curdling shriek echoed through the house. J. Travis Newcombe burst from his study into the living room, his eyes starting from his head. His first reaction on seeing his daughter sprawled in the embrace of her bodyguard was one of surprise.
“What in the name of thunder is happening here?” he asked.
Larry rose to his feet, running a hand through his tousled hair. In his eyes was a look of mingled determination and triumph.
“Nothing,” he said, “to what is going to happen, Excuse me sir.”
He turned to Sherry like a tiger. In one movement he swept her across his lap and sat down on the couch. With his left hand he imprisoned her head, and with his right leg he snared her kicking legs. Then he raised his right hand and brought it down firmly and squarely with a resounding smack. The result was a little squeal of rage and pain from Sherry. But Larry was in no mood for sympathy, and the relentless hand rose and fell. Flimsy chiffon was no protection, and for the first time in her life Sherry was receiving a good old-fashioned spanking.
J. Travis Newcombe made no move to halt proceedings; rather, into his eyes came a gleam of pure satisfaction. Larry’s square, hard hand continued to meet yielding flesh in a dreadful rhythm, and at each contact Sherry smarted and burned. It was a tearful and doleful little Sherry whom Larry finally set on her feet, and who backed away with brimming eyes and hands on tender hips.
“Now, young lady,” said Larry, a little breathlessly, “do you give up?”
“This is what should have happened years ago,” said J. Travis Newcombe sententiously.
Sherry looked to her father for sympathy, got none, and turned towards Larry. She looked again at his tousled red hair, his clear blue eyes, his tall manly figure, and suddenly through her tears she smiled.
“OK. I give up. I’m beaten – in more ways than one. You see,” she said, turning to her father, “like a d-d-arned fool I went and fell in love with him.
“Splendid!” said J. Travis Newcombe, and smiled his rare and splendid smile.
Larry crossed to her and folded her in his strong arms