Our story began here.

Dear Gerald, it was a good beginning to a letter, accurate and straight to the point. However Sylvia could not think what to put next.

Looking up she saw Tatiana on her knees on the lawn. It must be tiresome to have to cut the grass using only nail clippers, but after last night’s ordeal Tatiana must be finding it something of a reprieve.

Sylvia shifted in the window seat and squeezed her thighs together and not for the first time that morning. The thought of what Mary had done to the maid last night had so filled her brain that Sylvia was still fuzzy-headed from lack of sleep.

To so utterly submit like that… her heart lurched and she thought of Gerald. Tatiana’s ordeal had been totally degrading, painful, uncomfortable, humiliating and so much more, but despite some guilt, Sylvia had loved it. Yet the surprising thing was that when she had finally gone back to her room in the vain hope of slumber, looking in her mirror her eyes had carried the same wanton look she had seen in Tatiana’s eyes. Further, when she had tried to sleep her hands had kept straying as she run the events in the cellar over and over in her mind, but in her fevered dreams it was not the Russian maid who suffered but herself; and her tormentor was Gerald.

Sylvia glanced again at Tatiana on her knees in a harness. Her denuded bottom was sticking up in the most obscene way, the forward part of her body slumped into the grass as she worked at snipping green blades. The girl’s tongue protruded slightly from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on her task; almost eager was the maid to please Mary.

Sylvia cast her over the girl’s up thrust curves, astonished at how deeply and almost translucently red her skin was, it looked positively raw and not just there. Sylvia blushed to look at more delicate areas. Would Gerald ever make me do that? She fanned her face with her unwritten letter at the thought. What if someone came and saw her? She shifted in the window seat again and squeezed her thighs together.

Dear Gerald,

I miss you and I cannot believe how much time we have wasted. No, that is not fair; it is I who has wasted time.

That is just one of the many crimes for which I must be severely punished. No that is not enough either. I must be very severely punished and in any way and for as long as you deem necessary.

It goes without saying that you must put me across your knee and spank my bottom until it is very, very sore and I have a good cry. Then you will put me in the corner like a bad girl for ever such a long time. But then this would not be punishment as such, but only your just due and I must expect that at your whim whenever you require it of me.

No, I dare say the strap, cane and birch is my fate for a true punishment, but does that count as severe, or even very severe? Given my crimes, probably not, but that is for you to decide.

Tatiana has been very naughty too, but she at least is being properly punished. The other night she was secured in the cellar after a jolly good thrashing and then left there with an awful thing in her bottom. She did deserve it I suppose, but it must have been awful to be alone so in the gloom never knowing when your mistress will return to punish you more.

But I want you to know that if you wish it I will endure the same and much more if you will it.

For too long I have been too proud with very little to be proud about. And I do want you to be proud of me. For this too I must be punished, I shudder when I think of how you might tame and humble me. Perhaps you will do something like put me across your knee and spank my bare bottom in front of those hunt people. I would truly hate that, but it would do me good; especially if you made me stand in the corner afterwards with my naked red behind on show while people had lunch or something.

But there I go again telling you how to punish me. All this is for you to decide.

I love you and I am utterly yours.

Obediently, submissively and very sincerely,

Sylvia

There, Sylvia thought emphatically, that ought to do it. Then rereading her letter she blushed and squirmed not quite believing that she had written it and so very glad she had. She thought of going to her room, but then she decided that any such thing would be shameless and from now on entirely at her husband’s whim.

“Oh God,” she groaned, lost in excitement even at these thoughts.

*

It was three days later and Sylvia dined alone with Mary standing vigil by the door in the role normally reserved for Tatiana. The reason the maid was not serving in this capacity was that the house keeper had assigned her another task.

At first Sylvia had been shocked on entering the room as Tatiana was kneeling on a chair bent right over the back with her freshly strapped bottom upper most. But it was not the fresh shiny red stain that was so shocking; Sylvia had not seen the maid with a white behind in days. It was the candle that was inserted so neatly between the maid’s proffered cheeks that made her gasp.

Tatiana was facing the table, her face utterly miserable and a heavy paddle-taws device clenched in her teeth.

“That is for after,” Mary told Sylvia in answer to an unspoken question on the latter’s face. “And only if she is good. If she lets the candle go out or makes it flutter from undue movement then she will be more severely punished.”

Sylvia swallowed.

“I see,” she said, and thought ruefully about another sleepless night. Will these distractions never end? She thought, but did she really want them too?

“There is a letter for you, I regret that Tatiana being otherwise occupied it… was overlooked at breakfast,” Mary said impassively.

If Mary felt at all responsible for a late delivery of a letter then it did not show on her face. Seeing that the letter was from Gerald, Sylvia was suddenly annoyed, but was not ready to confront the house keeper, although someone should, she thought.

In any case, she was too eager to read the missive than to dwell on the others. She tore at it and pulled the single blue-masculine sheet from the Basildon Bond envelope.

Dear Sylvia,

Do not reproach yourself so. True you are not all that you might be and if you wish to explore being a No-thing for a while, then we may consider that – it can be very therapeutic. But you are so much more and although I am grateful for your submission and welcome it, I think there is little to be gained from fruitless recriminations about our past and that we should look instead to the future.

That said, when I see you, I will most definitely put you across my knee for a sound spanking on the bare bottom for your impious suggestions. But I most certainly won’t be doing it in front of the hunt. Not on this occasion anyway.

I love you and be assured we will be together soon.

There was one other matter that you raised that gives me cause for disquiet. Have no fear it does not concern you directly or us in general, but it must be attended to.

To this end Mr Drake will be calling and in this regard he has my full authority and it would please me if you cooperated.

Ever yours,

Gerald

p.s. Do not speak of the Spankman or the contents of this letter with Mary.

Sylvia clutched the paper to her thundering breast. Strangely it was the spanking threat that thrilled her most, but also the fact that she was in on a secret that Mary was not party to. Whatever did Drake want and what had happened?

To be continued.

domestic chastisement from the high middle ages as found in a church

spanking the wife while the rest of the family gets on with business

My girl is reading a book on the history of sex and punishment, she was hoping for more spanking subjects, but it is actually grim reading.

Motivated by her interest, a quick search found a vanilla blog about church decor.

If you are British you will know that there are hundreds of medieval churches in the country and many of them have ornate wooden carved gates and inside, pews with biblical or sometimes pagan scenes.

Flagellation is a common theme but usually the person punished is male. This is sometimes true even if a marital flogging or spanking is depicted.

Having actually studied this at college. The reason for these scenes is comedic satire. They are often subversive images that depict the exact opposite of what was usual, in other words it was the woman who was spanked.

It hard to think that this inversion was just for fun and some people think they were coded messages commenting on the orthodoxy of religious practice (nothing to do with spanking your wife which was de rigour and not controversial).

However many more were just cautionary illustrations like the one above that depicts a naked woman being switched by a fully clothed woman (a mistress or mother figure). This one is either to be found in Boston (the original town in England) or in Germany as both I gather have such depictions but from the text it wasn’t clear which one was shown.

There is some suggestion that the relative rarity of traditional marital spanking depictions in churches was because it had an ambiguous erotic dimension. While some poo-poo this, dismissing the medieval mind of being too innocent, it is true that engravings in books, which often proved to be the source of some of these carvings, (as in one from the 17th century depicted above) were much more likely to show a woman getting a spanking from her husband. So why weren’t these engravings on public display if one could show nudity as above?

The male-on-female flagellation scenes seem to be more common in Germany and the Netherlands, which might account for it and chimes with the picture above if German sourced. However it might just be that the more salacious images were kept out of sight and were the province of those that could read.

All this has to be put in context of course as many images were just the fancy of a local engraver who often secreted them away where only certain people would look. So the depictions and subject matter would vary from place to place.

This brings us back to the subversive hidden meanings on which we can only ponder.

John and Petra exchanged a narrow-eyed glance; neither were quite sure if the girl that stood before them was for real.

The girl’s ‘aunt’ had assured them that she was 25, but by her appearance, that of a 1950s school girl on her half-hols, she barely looked 18. She was short with well-groomed dark blonde hair drawn back in a plait down her back. In most regards she was petite although her short grey skirt did struggle to contain her prominent bottom and her over-plump lips were emphasised by her constant nervous worrying of them by the girls nibbling teeth.

The girl’s dark-haired corseted ‘aunt’ had no discernible blood-ties with the girl and in any case she seemed barely old enough for her role especially if the girl’s age was to be believed. They had asked her to leave while they interviewed her ‘niece’ and pondered on what they might do with her.

Neither of them were usually happy about working with anyone under 21.

John broke his gaze from his wife to study the girl.

“Tammy is it?” he asked.

She nodded and suddenly looked even more terrified.

“Your… eh… aunt seems to think that you would benefit by coming to live with us for a while? What do you think about that?” he continued.

“I would love to ever so much,” Tammy gushed, “Auntie says the… div… diversity is it? She says the diversity would do me good and make me a better girl.”

“I see,” John pursed his lips and glanced at his wife again.

At 34 she was much younger than him and still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He loved the way her casual ordinariness shone through without the assistance of hairdos or expensive clothes, although she had figure that most super models would die for. Sometimes he wondered what she saw in him.

He looked back at the girl. She still seemed far too young for their guidance, or too immature at any rate.

Reading his thoughts Petra said, “I think we should hear more Sir. I don’t think her aunt would bring her if she didn’t think she was ready. ”

“Oh Sir, please Sir, I am ready. Honestly Sir,” Tammy said eagerly.

“Very well,” John said thoughtfully. “Tell me about your aunt and your time with her.”

“I… I have lived with her for three years now when she sort of adopted me,” Tammy said shyly. “She is the only person whoever really cared about me.”

“What did you do before?” John absently arranged some papers on his desk, although they had nothing to do with Tammy. It would serve to distract her and maybe ease her nerves.

“I…” Tammy swallowed, “I was on community service… I had a bit of trouble when I left college…”

“I know about that, yes,” John reassured her, “But I didn’t know you were in college.”

“Two years… but I… messed it up,” Tammy admitted. “I mess everything up.”

“Don’t you think that maybe you should be with people your own age?” John asked.

“My own age…? Do you mean 25-year-olds? Or other girls like me who want a fresh start… Sir?”

“A fresh start?”

“I am not a child Sir, I know what I want. Auntie has offered me something special but she… she thinks… well that we are in too much of a comfort zone her and I… a rut if you like,” Tammy’s voice suddenly sounded more assured, “If you follow me Sir?”

John sat back. He was now certain that Tammy was all of 25, chronologically anyway. He looked at his wife who nodded. Her judgement was better than his in these matters.

“Tell me, if you come to stay for a while, do you think we will be stricter or less strict than your… aunt?” John leaned over to one side and seemed to pull his words from the air.

“Aunty is very, very strict, but she says you will be different; maybe stricter, maybe not. Why, does it matter Sir?” Tammy frowned.

“How strict is your aunt? I mean, does she smack your bottom?” John said quizzically. He knew that she did but it was important to measure the girl’s own response and attitude to it.

“Oh yes,” Tammy said earnestly, “She spanks me ever such a lot, on my bare bottom too. She says that a punishment must be as painful and embarrassing as possible and should put a girl well and truly in her place.”

Petra licked her lips and shifted where she stood. John remained offhand and relaxed.

“Talk me through a typical punishment,” John said in an academic tone.

Tammy blushed and looked at Petra.

Then she swallowed and said, “Yes Sir.”

John nodded encouragingly.

“Well last week I went out without permission and came back… very late…” Tammy rolled her eyes so that they looked at everything but John and his wife.

“Where did you go?”

“Oh… just to the library… I went online, I am not allowed to do it too often at home you see,” Tammy explained. “I forgot the time and the library had late closing…”

“I understand,” John pursed his lips, “Go on.”

“Aunty was ever so cross. She made me wait for my punishment and sent me to bed without supper. Then the next day I had to report to her fully dressed but without my… my lower things. I have to dress smartly but with my… bottom and…” Tammy gulped, “…on show, well it is embarrassing and I feel very… exposed.”

Petra wiped a hint of moisture form her lips and hugged herself as she didn’t know where to put her hands.

“Then I had to go and stand in the corner,” Tammy continued. “Not the safe corner, out of sight of everyone but aunty and her guests, but the one in the hall by the front door. We share that part of the house with Mrs Denver you see.”

Tammy blanched and then as she stood wringing her hands the blood flooded back to her face in an epic flush.

“It is sooo embarrassing Sir,” Tammy said in a hushed voice.

“How long do you have to stand there?” John asked conversationally.

“It depends Sir, sometimes only an hour or two, well usually that long in one go, but never the less than 40 minutes anyway; eh but sometimes… um… much longer.” Tammy lisped shyly.

“Does anyone ever see you standing there? Apart from Mrs Denver and your aunt I mean?” John wondered how amenable Mrs Denver was.

“Mrs Denver’s daughter… the postman sometimes, a delivery man once or twice and one time Mrs Denver’s son came to see her,” Tammy blushed. “There are of course aunty’s friends, but I am usually standing in the safe corner then.”

“I see,” John mused, “Is this before or after you are spanked.”

“Before Sir, well to start with. It is so I have plenty of time to think about what I have done and what I have coming,” Tammy said ruefully. “Then comes the spanking or whatever?”

“Or whatever?” John picked up on the aside.

“Yes well. Usually I go across auntie’s knee and get a very hard and very long spanking with the hairbrush. There is nothing like it and I always cry. Then I have to go back to the corner to cry and sometimes wait if I have another spanking coming and so on. Aunty likes to spank in instalments sometimes,” Tammy said in a reluctant voice, “But, well sometimes if I am really bad there is the strap, cane and… eh the birch.”

Tammy’s face glowed red and she dipped her eyes to the floor.

“Then there are the other things…” Tammy said shyly.

“Go on,” John said sharply.

“She has soap which I… if I lie, I mean and not just mouth soap… she has this thing… in the bathroom… please Sir…” Tammy began to wring her hands. It was too embarrassing.

“I think I see,” John said kindly. “Tell me do you like these punishments sometimes?”

“No Sir,” Tammy said in a puzzled voice, “I hate them, but they… well it is for my own good. I know that.”

“What about afterwards? Does getting a spanking give you… feelings?” John asked.

Tammy looked like a trapped bird and looked at Petra for help. The room became quiet and the only sound was the ticking of the clock.

“Sometimes,” she admitted at last, “But it is not that. It is the feeling of being all forgiven and clean, you know.”

“I understand,” John said kindly. “If you come here, do you think I should punish you or my wife? We can agree things now, but we can’t change things later.”

“Yes Sir, I mean, whatever you think best, but if you both… I mean that would widen my experience Sir wouldn’t it?”

“And the other things that you mentioned, that would be hard for you wouldn’t it?” John asked.

Tammy nodded.

“How do you feel about that?” Petra asked.

John gave her a sharp look, but again he trusted her instincts and let her interruption pass.

“Please… whatever you think Sir. Aunty is right, for a punishment to work it must be as long, painful and as embarrassing as possible. It’s what I need Sir; eh… Ma’am.”

“Very well, let’s see how we get on. Please sit over there, I am going to have a word with your… aunt,” John agreed.

He nodded at Petra who moved around the desk and went to the door to fetch Tammy’s mentor who was still waiting outside.

The woman entered as a picture of elegance, like a queen on catwalk. Under her immaculate chocolate piled-up hair her chestnut eyes danced and a small smug smiled played about her lips, which bothered John somehow.

Petra followed her through the door as an attendant, completing the picture of dominatrix royalty on tour.

“Ah Ms…” John had forgotten her name; it was one of those pretentious scene names, “Ms Dom…? I’m sorry.”

“Domina, just Domina, unless you prefer auntie you naughty boy,” Domina said in a husky voice that reminded John of a young Fenella Fielding.

He fixed her with his eyes and curtly bid her sit down.

“So how do you like my girl?” she purred.

“She seems enthusiastic enough and polite too. Tell me Miss Domina, why do you want her to train with us?” John asked deliberately using the junior title with her name.

“I should hope she is, or I will spank her bottom for her,” Domina said with a pout, not welcoming his challenging tone. “As for placing her with you, well we all need to step out of comfort zone don’t we?”

“Do we?” John said crisply, “Isn’t she a little old…”

He was going to say, ‘a little old for that personae,’ not that he thought so himself, but Domina cut him off.

“Oh a young lady is never too old for a good spanking,” she said, her husky voice rising an octave.

“A punishment should be ‘as long, painful and embarrassing as possible,’ I believe you said,” John looked at Tammy who blushed and looked at her shoes.

“Indeed, without a doubt,” Domina was blinking rapidly, irritated that this man should be questioning her methods.

“And from where do you derive your authority for such… intervention?” John said carefully.

“Oh, I think if one is of a certain disposition and experience and encounters one who willing seeks out their guidance then one has a duty to address the supplicant’s and indeed one’s own need,” Domina said as it were obvious.

“I see,” John nodded thoughtfully and shot a glance at his wife.

Petra suppressed a titter and shrugged.

“Can I be clear then?” John asked, “You have come here actively seeking my guidance with regard to educating Tammy here?”

“Indeed,” Domina said blinking again in frustration. Was this man dense?

“And you think this will enhance your relationship and Tammy’s future relationship choices?” John had a schoolteacher air now, comfortable in his authoritative verbosity.

“Exactly so,” Domina said pointedly.

By golly, the man has it, she thought, letting a smug smile cross her face.

“Good,” John said decisively.

He reached down and opened a desk draw and brought out a hairbrush. And then standing up he slipped off his jacket and began to roll up his sleeves.

Tammy blanched and licked her lips, but she wasn’t entirely surprised.

“That’s right, start with a spanking. Even if a girl hasn’t done anything much, it is as well to put a supplicant in her place at the outset of an arrangement such as this,” Domina giggled elegantly.

“I am so glad that you agree,” John nodded.

“Stand up Tammy,” Domina ordered.

“No stay where you are,” John countered her, “Miss Domina, it is you who must stand up.”

“Me?” Domina asked, puzzled.

“I think so,” John said sharply, “You are after all a supplicant here are you not?”

Domina blanched, “but I… you don’t understand, I’m not… I mean, I don’t usually…”

“Young lady, you have been impertinent and condescending since you arrived and furthermore you have been most eloquent in your request. So I am going to put you across my knee and give you a good sound spanking on your bare bottom,” John informed her.

“On… on what authority?” Domina gulped.

“Oh… let us say ‘I think if one is of a certain disposition and experience and encounters one who seeks out their guidance then one has a duty to address the supplicant’s need’ wasn’t that what you said?” John patted the flat of the brush menacingly across his palm.

“Yes but… I meant…” Domina, having stood up, backed nervously away.

“This is my domain and you have come here to seek my guidance have you not?” John intoned.

Domina blushed and could scarce catch her breath.

“Hoist by my own petard,” she squeaked in an attempt to make light of it. “It’s been a while for me but… at least send the girl away.”

“I don’t think so. After all you were quite impudent and you thoroughly deserve to be punished,” John countered.

“Yes but… look I’m sorry, but can’t you… please… just you and I… yeah?” her imperious and carefully crafted voice slipped as she reverted to a former time perhaps.

“A spanking has to be as long, painful and as embarrassing as possible, don’t you think?” John touched his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

Domina blushed as she hadn’t for years and breathed through an open mouth.

“Come here Miss,” John growled as he sat in an armless chair and crooked his finger at the usually dominant aunt.

Tammy gaped in disbelief and Petra clapped her hand to her mouth in glee.

The corseted and well-groomed Domina had lost some of her poise and flicked an anxious glance at Tammy. The professional aunt suddenly looked a decade younger. Then she meekly half tottered and half stumbled across the room to be taken across John’s knee.

“Bugger,” she sighed, and then with a reference to her early remark she added ruefully, “Definitely well and truly hoisted.”

Domina’s black pencil skirt conveniently zipped all the way up at the back and parted from her ample curves like curtains. Perhaps so as not to spoil the line of her skirt or perhaps for other more practical purposes, the insolent vixen wore no knickers, her only underwear being sheer black stockings attached by garters.

“Oh we are a naughty girl,” John chided.

“It is a warm day,” Domina blushed.

Tammy giggled and her aunt glared at her.

“Never mind her,” John barked, apply a short sharp spank to Domina’s curves with is hand

“God… this is… this is really quite…” she spluttered.

John had never seen someone colour quite so much. Then grasping the hairbrush he patted her bare bottom with it.

“When was the last time you were spanked?” he asked.

“I… well,” she swallowed, “Not like this for some years.”

“When?” he snapped, spanking her sharply.

“Ah,” she gasped and clenched her jaw.

“When?” He spanked her again.

“I see a friend, once a month or so,” Domina squeaked, “Please don’t, not in front of… oh, ooh…”

John didn’t pause but set about delivering a brisk spanking as he interrogated her.

“But not truly punished?”

“No Sir,” Domina agreed.

“Because a punishment in your eyes needs to be a bit more humbling doesn’t it? Like this.” On the word ‘this’ he gave her an almighty spank.

“Yes Sir,” Domina wailed, “You won’t, you won’t, you won’t… ooh.”

With no sense to be had out of her John settled down to give her an expert spanking he knew she could handle and suspected that she badly needed.”

“Has aunty been ever so bad?” Tammy lisped.

“I am afraid so,” John told her.

“Then I do hope you can help her as she helped me,” a wide-eyed Tammy said without a hint of irony.

Is this girl for real or just one hell of an actress, John mused, but with a shrug he supposed it didn’t really matter.

“I’ll be, I’ll be, I’ll be goooood…” Domina shrieked.

“What is your name anyway? Your real name,” John asked.

“Beryl,” Domina sobbed.

“And how old are you?” John asked.

“Thirty…” Domina sucked in a breath before letting out as a sob, “Four.”

“You know this is for your own good don’t you Beryl,” John had begun to really put it to her now.

“Yes Sir,” Domina wailed with broken sobs and seemed to beg, “But… please… I’m… I’m… call me… Domina.”

“Alright Domina, if you admit you have this coming,” John said in an almost kindly voice that was at odds with the continuing action of his arm.

“Yes Sir,” she sniffed.

“Say it then,” he ordered.

“Domina is a naughty girl,” she sobbed. She knew the drill, she had used it often enough.

“Are you still glad you came to me?” John asked as he brought the spanking to an end.

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir,” she said in a voice literally dripping with penitent youth.

“Now I want you to go and stand in the corner like all naughty girls have to,” John chuckled. “I haven’t finished with you.”

“Oh please…” she protested.

“Go to the corner to wait for the cane,” John said sharply.

Domina gulped, and with one final miserable glance at Tammy, did as she was told.

“Off you go Tammy, Petra will show you your room,” John said cheerfully.

“Yes Sir,” Tammy said gaping at her humbled aunt.

After they had gone John put the hairbrush away in the corner and reached for a cane.

“You and me are going to have a nice long chat,” he soothed.

“Yes Sir.” Domina sounded a little strained.

*

Domina, her displayed bottom still throbbing, was wild with the thought of being in the corner. It was shameful, embarrassing and thrilling beyond endurance. At any moment she felt she could break out of her compromising position and regale the b… regale John with a piece of her mind, but as she quickly realised the submission kept drawing her back until she was stretched like translucent silk .

It had been a long time since Domina had submitted to a man but submitted she had and there was no denying it. It was the kind of adventure she often secretly entertained in her most private fantasies, but to have them played out so suddenly and so unexpectedly in front of Tammy was a soul-burning event.

If any of her friends found out she would never live it down. She might even be drummed out of dom society. But oddly the shame of this thrilled her almost as much as the spanking had. She had always been torn by the dichotomy of her inner submissive and outer dominant and never having been able to balance the two she had always tended to go overboard in one direction or another.

Now she found she was too committed to Tammy and that world to more than flirt with submission, but perhaps John would show her the way. Her hand reached behind to cop a feel of her tender bottom. An extreme breach of discipline she knew. If he saw or even asked her if she had rubbed… she snatched her back and clasped it again in the small of her back.

And what of the cane, she had always struggled with it; a guilty pleasure when she had used it on others. She gulped and extended her fingers as far as she dared to brush the top of her bottom cleft and anticipating the cruel impact to the region below.

The door opened and someone, presumably John entered the room. Domina snapped her fingers back into a fist.

“Now young lady,” John said sternly, “I rather think you should visit us once a week to be apprised of your niece’s progress.

“Yes Sir,” Domina said meekly.

“It will also give us the opportunity to continue our chat,” John continued.

“Eh… you mean…” Domina swallowed hard.

“You know exactly what I mean,” John scolded her.

“Yes Sir,” Domina said quickly.

“Good,” John said in a firm voice, adding, “Now, turn around and bend over. We still have to address your earlier impertinence.”

Domina turned to see the cane and gaped.

“Look… I don’t… I mean this is…”

“Yes?”

Domina’s breathing was audible as she studied the cane.

“You are not going to argue with me are you?” John demanded.

“No Sir, but…”

“Bend over,” he said sharply.

Domina dropped instinctively and seized the back of the chair. The posture offered John a magnificent aspect of her bare bottom.

“That will do nicely,” John said appreciatively. “How many do you usually give?”

“Eh…” Domina swallowed, “It depends, not many…”

“Shall I ask Tammy?” John asked casually.

“Never less than a dozen, usually twice that,” Domina said quickly.

“Usually?”

“Mostly that or… more,” Domina croaked.

“What’s the most you have ever given?” John asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

“The most,” she squeaked the word from a very constricted throat, “What ever, or given to Tammy?”

John swished the cane and then leaned over to be level with Domina’s ear.

“If you continue to be evasive I will give you 24 to get us started and then twice whatever you have given Tammy in one go on top,” John whispered in a voice like ice.

Domina shuddered even as she thrilled.

“I once gave a hundred for a bet,” Domina rasped, “But the most I have given Tammy was… 30… eh 36.”

“I see,” John said pointedly. “So I suppose that justice demands that we split the difference, which would be around twice Tammy’s bill. Does that seem fair?”

Domina’s heart pounded so hard she could feel it between her ears. Seventy-something strokes she hastily calculated, omigod, it sounded sickeningly right, she realised.

“I… please…” she swallowed twice, “It’s fair I know but… please…”

“Put yourself in my place, or indeed your usual place. Give me the ideal answer,” his tone was suggestive, but it brooked no defiance.

“Please Sir, permit me to… humbly submit in any way you want…. Please I’ll do anything,” she spoke as tears filled her eyes and clung to her words as they dripped form her mouth, “But if… if it does not please you to be merciful… then… then please Sir, give me…” she couldn’t not do the maths, so she added in a whine, “As many strokes as you said… please Sir.”

Her submission was complete and the wetness under her bottom made that undeniable.

“Excellent, almost perfect,” John congratulated her.

His praise thrilled her and she blushed.

“Actually I make splitting the difference 68 strokes, but I am happy to round it to 70. But since you are so amenable and contrite… I think 24 plus an added six just because will suffice. What do you say?”

“Oh thank you Sir,” Domina gushed with relief,” a fresh tear rolling down her face.

“Excellent, shall we begin?”

Domina was about to say something; anything to delay when the first stroke bit in hard. She yelped.

“Oh I trust the interview is over and you have no further questions?” John asked.

“Yes Sir, I mean no Sir…” Domina groaned.

“And you are happy with our little arrangement?”

“Yes Sir,” Domina found herself saying.

“Oh good,” John said as the cane came bitingly down again, “Good.”

Ends

LSF have published another novella by yours truly. This time it is the socio-religious exploration of an alternative Earth where college girls have guardians and questioning the faith or the mysterious origins of their society can be seriously dangerous for a young girl’s bottom.

The publishers blurb has it:

Chelsea and Candida are lying in the sunshine trying to study the complex history of their country, Americana. They read about banned books and the World Beyond – a world which inspired their civilisation. Their own land is one that has a strict religious fraternity, based on the teachings of the Holy Church of Day and Night.

In this land, corporal punishment is the norm. Every infraction is punished, no matter how trivial – as Chelsea discovers when she arrives 45 minutes late for dinner. The girls are routinely punished whilst wearing the traditional garb of the penitent’s dress – demure at the front and cut out at the back! Even marriage ceremonies involve spankings in this land.

You can get it here.

Our story began here.

A Beast in their midst’s
A long time passed before Dniester finally dismissed the three students. By then, for them and their teacher, it had seemed like a geological age had passed. Worse still, as soon as they moved a tear-jerking pain flooded back to their still simmering bottoms.

Erin kept her head down even as she lifted her eyes to Dniester. It was their custom to exchange a few words; of dour wisdom on his part and contrition on hers.

“Cut along with you,” the wizard said gently nodding to the door.

Not needing to be told twice the three miscreants gathered up their clothes and made for the door with slow painful steps leaving Amber still facing the wall in humble submission.

It wasn’t until the witch and the wizard were alone that Dniester bid Amber to get dressed.

“I think you and I should talk,” he said in a hard but neutral voice.

“Talk?” she became a little wide-eyed and glanced towards the saddle-stool.

“Well assuming you don’t have any more sins to share then yes, just talk,” Dniester replied with a twinkle in his eye.

*

The three girls walked in silence until they were well clear of the Ivory Tower. Their painfully slow gate and pigeon-like steps drew a few smirks, but it wasn’t so unusual to see such a penitent departure near Dniester’s study, so no one lingered to mock.

All three were moist-eyed and open-mouthed with discomfort and at the turn in the path it was all Erin could do to point towards her quarters. She had another paper to write for Dniester on top of the rest; all of which he was sure to scrutinise thoroughly. As a general rule she had a seven in ten chance of escaping a reprimand with the Dragon’s Tooth. In light of the bite it still had on her, for the next day or so she existed only to improve those odds.

“Can you believe what Amber did?” Lucy gasped, finally able to speak.

“Well she deserved it every much as we did,” Tabitha said grudgingly.

“I know but… wow,” Lucy gaped, “And he kept her behind, you don’t think…?”

Tabitha shrugged. At that moment she didn’t entirely care. After all it had been Amber who had got them all in to such big trouble.

The path became steep and their going was more laboured for them and walking caused a flare in their tortured buttocks with each step. So it wasn’t until they reached a flat bit to the path that they felt willing to speak again.

“Poor Erin,” Tabitha said ruefully.

“Poor Erin?” her friend exclaimed, “It was you in there and not some doppelganger?”

“I know, but with luck we should be clear of another tail-tickling for quite a few days. Erin might not be so lucky,” Tabitha pulled a face.

“I don’t know about you, but I felt much more than a tickle,” Lucy pouted reaching around to grab at her behind and instantly regretting it, “ooh.”

“Did Dniester live up to your expectations then?” Tabitha said with a strained amusement.

Lucy nodded vigorously, “I can honestly and quite literally say that I won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

“Or in three or four days you’ll manage it fine with the aid of a pillow anyway,” Tabitha confided, “And in 10 days or so you won’t feel it at all when you sit down.”

Lucy stopped and gaped.

“At least that’s how it usually is for me. You, you have a little less to sit on. So maybe you are right,” Tabitha suggested ruefully.

“Oh please,” Lucy groaned, “I doubt if I can stay out of trouble that long.”

“And that is the other little problem,” Tabitha winced, “You know on reflection, we might never sit down again.”

*

The Dovecote and indeed all of Pandoria was still buzzing with the news that a witch had come among them. The part in played by Amber was particularly prominent in the news, although the fate of the three novices had scarcely been noticed.

But among it all life went on and the Dovecote’s library, the province of women novices was as busy as usual.

Katrin had opted to come here partly because she only needed a standard text and could not be bothered to walk all the way over to the Apprentice Hall to the main library and partly to be on hand when Tabitha and Lucy returned.

She had hoped to have a word with Fear about everything that had happened; especially regarding Tabitha. But he had been brusquely striding between his study and the Barbican all day. It seemed that on a day such as this, magus only spoke to magus.

“Did you hear?” a girl whispered behind one of the shelves, “The war has started.”

“Oh brother,” another groaned, “Not that again. It seems that that war is always starting. Yet why does nothing ever happen?”

Ignoring her friend the first girl whispered loudly, “And what about that witch? Some say she is a demonologist. I have even heard that she is a shape-shifter.”

Katrin rolled her eyes up. She thought of Peel, Demdike’s daughter who had turned into the creature. She hadn’t liked either of them. But Meredith had been more measured, Katrin remembered. I wonder why she is here, she mused.

But the witch too had been kept from the general populace. A guest they had said, but Mage William’s cadre of adepts had been on the prowl all day throughout the Dovecote. As security they were about as subtle as a fire ball.

Katrin snorted. What did they think was going to happen?

Just then the lightest of breezes tickled the leaves of an open book and Katrin felt a shiver down her spine. She glanced at the window and saw it was closed. She might have puzzled on it further but someone called out.

There was some general groaning to keep the noise down but the librarian wasn’t at her station. So whoever it was free to act the lout. Katrin bristled into monitor mode and turned to confront the noisy girls only to see her friends. Tabitha and Lucy looked the sorriest pair of students she had ever seen.

“Oh the Gods,” she gaped. “You both look as if you have been dragged on your arse through a fire thorn bush.”

“Tell me about it,” Tabitha said ruefully, tentatively rubbing at her bottom.

“What are you doing here? You should both be in your room with a bucket of ice on your… tails,” Katrin winced in sympathy.

“We needed some books. I don’t want to go up and down those stairs again anytime soon,” Tabitha groaned.

“How was it? As if I didn’t know?” Katrin whispered; conscious now that other people were looking with pained in expressions in their direction.

“Oh Dniester was on form and then some,” Tabitha grimaced.

“I won’t sit down for a month,” Lucy said proudly.

She was shushed and blushed to her ears that she had been heard.

The leaves on the book that had stirred before rolled over several pages and Katrin frowned, looking from door to window for a cause.

“Amber was there,” Tabitha said quietly, taking Katrin’s attention again.

“I bet Dniester didn’t like that. I hope he didn’t take it out on you?” Katrin groaned.

“No I mean…” Tabitha began.

“She took a thrashing too,” Lucy said in an excited whisper.

Katrin shook her head and frowned, not quite taking it in.

“She was making some kind of crazy point… and, well the old man obliged her,” Tabitha shrugged.

“It was pretty neat of her,” Lucy put in.

Another breeze swirled around the room and the book that had previously been disturbed slammed shut. Several readers noticed too and some had their own papers tossed about.

“What is that?” Katrin said in irritation.

Giving it her full attention she realised now that the disturbance was not just in the air. The patterns came easily to her and instead of random straight lines in a sea of chaos struggling for order; they were twisted into great circles.

“What the…?”

Tabitha frowned and slipped into pattern sight too.

Although Katrin had much better skill at seeing the patterns, Tabitha could see beyond them to more fundamental aspects as Fear had taught her. To shadings in the ether that had little do with elemental magic. Here she could see the dark undercurrent perverting all four elements. It was horrifically beautiful and held her spellbound.

Had she been more experienced she would have recognised that Wild Magic was supplanting the natural order creating the beginnings of a vortex.

Papers and books were scattered in all directions now and some tomes were even pulled from the shelves in the gathering roar of an indoor storm.

“What is it?” Lucy squealed, struggling now to be heard above the hum.

“I don’t know,” Katrin replied struggling to make sense of the failure of the text-book elemental states all around her.

Several students gathered up books and scrolls and began heading for the door.

“It’s like a whirlpool…” Tabitha was shouting now. “There is something…”

She screamed and all remaining eyes turned to look at her. When they turned back they could see a great looming dark shape forming in the middle of the library.

Tabitha stood transfixed by the apparition as if she could see more than the others. Not that anyone but Katrin and Lucy had waited. The room was suddenly full of screaming girls all making a break for the exit.

By now the swirl of nothing was tangible as a black liquid glass. Then one moment it was there and then as the gale died down it was gone leaving the creature that standing there.

Katrin felt sick, no worse than that. How does one feel when a creature from one’s worse night comes calling?

“Tugaal,” she choked, all colour drained form her face.

Next to her Tabitha could not comprehend what she was seeing. The ape-bear-like beast was black like a hole in the world, yet it had razor like fur all dripping with oily droplets that rained continuously but never reached the ground.

“Katrin De Lacy,” it hissed as if from the end of a long dark tunnel.

Its voice had no resonance, a dull dead sound yet hard and brittle like ice; a chill in which Katrin froze.

Tabitha could take no more and without a thought turned and fled for the door.

“Katrin,” Lucy screamed as she tumbled after, “Katrin come on.”

Then all courage banished, neither girl looked back as they ran.

“No, oh no,” the whisper strained at Katrin’s throat as she fell to her knees.

“You are mine,” the beast sang like death in her mind, oozing across the floor towards her as it did so.

It did not move fast, nor slow, but covered the ground as a man might do, with great purposeful lumber steps. Too quick to escape, yet slow enough to allow an understanding that it would take her and that there was nothing she could do.

“Katrin, get back,” a commanding voice spoke from somewhere behind her.

It was familiar, but far, far away in another existence. Too late to run, she thought idly. And then as the beast closed, Katrin remembered herself and gathered up the patterns and flung them at it.

Her gift tore impudently at the rock floor and with no water to hand the on rush of air barely slowed the creature who lashed back with a wave of pain.

Katrin was in the air and flying backwards, too fast, but at least she was moving away from the beast. Then she crashed hard into a bookcase that splintered like glass and tumbled with her to fall hard into the floor and eternal blackness. As she landed something broke deep in her body and her last thought was…

“Katrin,” Fear cried out in anguish.

Next to his beloved’s fate the beast was a pale shadow. Then useless observer that he was, the dull crunch twisted inside him as keenly as it had in Katrin.

“The body is a mere distraction,” Tugaal said conversationally, “I have come to drink her soul little man.”

Dr Arlon Fear let out a long anguished sob and fell to his knees.

“Pandoria is mine and all its petty power will serve we who are three,” Tugaal continued, its eyes scanning the world for the first time in countless millennia. “Were you not warned? Did the little witch not announce me?”

Fear regarded the little black-robed man dispassionately. His world was gone, not just a lover. So tragic that he only now does he know it, Fear pondered with his ober-mind. He watched the little magus tickle at the staff on which he leaned not even feeling the wood, nor the stone on which he knelt. The once noble Black Mage could not even see the patterns which danced in harmony all around him. Patterns that he could once have shaped at will. Who was he now?

“Fear, what a very apt name,” Tugaal hissed, “You were looking for me were you not? Scouring the world to… what? What would you do?”

No one could do it, the ober-mind considered. The Wild Magic was closed to him, or should have been. But that had always been his secret. He looked dispassionately at the life force ebbing from Katrin’s fallen body, its essence trickling like water towards the beast; like blood.

The little man lifted his eyes to the beast, his gaze hard and deadly. Behind them the ober-mind saw all that the beast was, saw all that Tugaal the hidden one, the raven, the seducer, Inlecebra… all that it was.

“Who are you to defy me?” The dead voice of the beast bordered on an emotional shrill now.

The Black Mage cocked his head, the ober-mind and he were one, all passion, all sensitivity set aside. Grief could wait.

“I am Fear,” he said.

The ancient hard stone floor rolled like an ocean wave towards the beast as in his mind’s eye, Fear altered the patterns to mimic water. Then even before Tugaal could react he whipped blue-hot fire balls from the air and sent them like comets across the room.

Tugaal brushed them off like snowballs.

“Pretty, pretty lights,” he mocked. “Is that the best you can do?”

Even so the beat struggled to keep its footing as once hard rock became like quicksand.

“Oh no,” Fear breathed in answer.

At his command a shaft of lighting tore through the window and drove Tugaal deeper into the rock.

“That tickles,” the creature hissed in a sneer.

Another blast of lighting punched it down to its neck as Fear launched himself into a better position, placing him between Katrin’s body the demon.

“Enough, I grow bored,” Tugaal bellowed.

But as even as he slid from the liquid stone it hardened and held him fast.

“I shall smash it as I smash you,” he screamed, cracks radiating from where his chest heaved in its captivity.

“You will smash nothing,” Fear said fiercely.

As he spoke the stone became again liquid and yet another lightning bolt hammered Tugaal back into the floor to its neck.

“Beneath you lies the bedrock of the mountain,” Fear spat, bolts of electricity pounding with his words all tearing at the beast. “I shall make it your tomb.”

Alternating with blasts, Fear liquefied the floor by turns so that Tugaal could not gain a purchase to escape. Little by little he sank ever deeper into the mountain until even the lightning could not reach him.

Then seizing his staff, Fear held it like a lance and drove it into the floor projecting waves of power in its train. At one with it he seized the mountain and tamed it to do his bidding. Then at his command it to sucked Tugaal into the depths of hell until he felt the beast no more.

*

When they found him Fear lay crumpled on the floor holding the lifeless body of Katrin in his arms.

“William, summon the Magister, I want Pandoria swept and fortified,” the Grand Magus ordered.

Beyond Davidus, his mustard robes stark like a caution, Gort the High Hand stooped to examine the scar in the rock. He was followed by Dniester and another.

The latter was Meredith whose face was ash-grey as with eyes closed she felt out the closure below them.

“Is it dead?” Gort asked.

Meredith shook her head.

“It used the last of its strength to pass beyond,” she said tersely.

Dniester nodded.

“It will be back then,” he said.

“Undoubtedly,” Davidus agreed, “But next time we shall be ready.”

He looked at Meredith and offered up a small smile.

“What for, why will it come back?” Amber sobbed, “It has what it came for.”

She was kneeling next to Fear now touching Katrin lightly on the head.

“No,” Fear said gently, “I at least spared her that.”

He too was crying.

“A triumph of sorts then,” the Grand Magus soothed.

“Not if the beast escaped,” Fear rasped angrily.

The library was a ruin. Here and there books and scrolls burnt like scattered bonfires. In places even shards of splintered wood lay smouldering. The floor was mostly flat, but it would never be quite the same again.

Around the room stood various mages and adepts, some of the latter guarding the door against curious students.

“Was anyone else…? Is everyone alright?” Amber asked.

Fear nodded dully, his eyes fixed upon Katrin in his arms.

“Here let me see her,” Meredith said quietly.

Fear hugged his lost love more closely and turned her away from the witch to shield her.

“It’s alright,” Amber said gently, taking his arm.

Coming as close as close as Fear would let her, Meredith examined the body. As she did so Katrin’s eyes flickered.

“Amber quickly, there is still time,” Meredith said sharply, “I knew there was a reason for me to be here.”

To be continued.

The pictures above were sent in by Sam.

He is not entirely sure what is going on but he thinks that they are from a Latin American college and that the girl has lost a bet.

He says he was told (his sources are not divulged) that the girl is a sorority girl who had a paddling coming from her Big Sis and made some kind of bet that if she won she would get out of it and if she lost she would do her bare-bottomed corner time in public. But he is not as sure about that part of the story.

As there appears to be no direct coercive element to the scene it is plausible.

In addition: Looking at the larger version of the second picture there is noticeable redness on her bottom as can just be seen above.

Our story began here.

The Traitor
Maxine Du Jared stood on the prow of the flag ship and scanned the horizon. Next to her the Lord Admiral of the Precips fleet paced up and down, occasionally throwing the woman an anxious look.

Although Prince Jason was nephew of King Peron he had been assigned control of the fleet on merit. So he very much hated having to consult outsiders about his conduct of the war, particularly when they were magicians.

Not only was this particular example of Pandorian Magus more exasperating than usual, but she was a woman; a species of animal that had no business being aboard ship.

“There are two great clusters of ships with a great many behind,” Maxine said imperiously neither acknowledging the Prince’s rank as commander, or the fact that he was of the royal house of Maelon.

It was only the first of these slights that mattered to Jason, but he was not so little a man that he would deign to notice. But the woman was infuriating nonetheless and he snorted derisively. Any fool could see there was nothing there, besides when there was then the lookouts would announce it.

“Judging from their spread and the water displacement I would say our fleet is outnumbered almost two to one,” Maxine observed dispassionately.

It was a crude estimate and she knew it. The patterns ahead reflect the displacement of water, but they also screened the further ships. Besides, despite her arrogance, she knew little of ships. Her expertise lay in the water. As a result she knew that she may have miscalculated. It was so hard to tell.

“If our reports are accurate then we may face a fleet that is more than three times our size. And if that is true then they will come at us in a crescent shape and try to encircle us,” Captain Timorous said aloud. “Also what worries me is that if they are there then they have the weather gauge.”

Jason glared at him. Don’t encourage her man, he thought bitterly, save your observations for me.

“What, pray tell, is a weather gauge?” Maxine said in a bored voice.

Jason winced. How was this woman supposed to help exactly?

“They will have the wind with them and it will be easier for them to manoeuvre,” the Captain explained.

“Oh we are not concern ourselves with that,” Maxine said dismissively, “But if they do outnumber us three or four to one, the how will we beat them?”

Jason planned to find the enemy first and then slice them up piecemeal before such a large fleet could bring their weight of numbers to bear. But this was a plan he had shared with only his senior captains and subordinate admirals. He wasn’t about to tell this woman.

“Let me worry about that,” Jason rasped.

“They haven’t seen us yet, but they are closing fast,” Maxine told him.

Jason looked again at the horizon ahead of them, but still he could see nothing. But he was no fool and had none of the complacency generally associated with his class. What can she see? He shot a glance at the crow’s nest but the lookouts were silent.

“This crescent thing, it would have ships further forward on both flanks would it not?” Maxine asked.

“Yes Ma’am,” the Captain agreed, “You see…”

“Yes, yes, they will surround us; a perfectly clever stratagem no doubt. That is exactly what I see,” she cut him off.

“No Ma’am, their fleet will be further north and trying to intercept us. We will get beyond them and then we can attack from bellow and behind,” Captain Timorous explained.

Maxine was about to correct him when the lookout screamed, “Challis fleet ahead.”

Jason ran forward and seized the gunwale with both hands scanning the horizon. Damn the woman, she was right, there were two small groups of ships attempting to flank them on either side.

Timorous didn’t wait and screamed out “Beat to quarters.” And then to the Prince Jason he said, “It could be their scouts… we might be able to…” he was cut off by another report from aloft.

“Enemy squadron signals ahoy. I see six, seven, no… nine groups of battle galleys,” the man above yelled.

Jason’s knuckles on the gunwale went as white as his face. While behind him the Captain muttered, “The gods, we’re doomed.”

“We could turn and outrun them Sir,” a young officer standing nearby suggested.

The young man had panic in his voice and his eyes were fixed firmly on the massive armada ahead of them. As if to confirm Timorous’ assessment a horn sounded among the enemy ships confirming that they had been spotted, a sound that was immediately taken up by others.

Jason knew there was no way to turn in time, but far from panicking, he calculated his odds of making a crosswind manoeuvre and smashing up the enemy’s right flank.

Steadied by his commander’s calm the Captain yelled “Stand by to manoeuvre.”

“Can we beat them sir?” the young officer asked eagerly.

“We can certainly give them a bloody nose as we make a fighting retreat,” Jason growled.

Maxine took a step forward and ran a magus eye across the watery terrain in front of them. Even she could see that the enemy would close before half of the Precips fleet could engage and at least a third of the fleet would be overrun. If Prince Jason of Maelon was as good as she had heard then under ordinary circumstances he might just downgrade a disaster into a mere defeat and take half his fleet home. But even taking an optimistic view, it didn’t look good for the man or the allies of the East.

Her mother’s country men would have a victory that would resound down the ages and Maxine could not resist a small bead of pride. It was almost a pity that this was not going to the way the clever prince was planning, Maxine mused.

*

Rachel Dvanjester stood quivering in the middle of the Grand Magus’ study. By now she had managed to stop herself crying, but she was surrounded by a small group of the Magister, including a terrifying looking Fear. He was not the only face in the room; the assembled mages were all staring at her in quiet appraisal.

The only other person there was Tabitha who had all but dragged her to see her master to fess up.

“This, this…” Sejanus Jacelon spat as he pointed at Rachel scarce able to speak. So outraged was he, that flecks of spittle rained from his mouth.

Rachel was skilled enough to feel the angry power in the room and she knew that most of the people there could end her with a thought.

“You will tell me everything you know,” Fear commanded her in an icy voice, suddenly seeming three yards tall as his presence dominated beyond all others.

“Sejanus, Arlon,” Davidus Grimm said quietly, “Let’s all clam down. I want to hear what this child knows.”

Rachel gulped. The Grand Magus’ unblinking eyes were suddenly more horrifying than a hundred Arlon Fears. It was an emotion perhaps shared by many in the room as a deadly silence fell and the terrified girl could swear she could hear her sweat dripping to the floor.

“Speak child,” Lucy Greystoke said in an almost kindly voice.

“Maxine…” Rachel swallowed hard, “She… she doesn’t approve of… of Dr Fear’s relationship with… with Katrin De Lacy. Leastways, that’s what she told me. She was trying to… to make him look bad. She said that if he had to leave Pandoria then… then it would be no bad thing.”

“What did she hope to gain by this?” Davidus asked, his voice somewhere between a threat and a warning.

“She said… she told me that you would probably not survive the war Sir,” Rachel could not meet the Grand Magus’ eyes. “She said that the fight would see a great many…” Rachel gulped, “’A great many jumped up fools know their worth.’”

There was gasp around the room and several of the mages took a threatening step forward as if to guard their leader from the apprentice’s words.

The Grand Magus appeared to weigh up her words carefully before replying.

“A bitter prophecy from a rather caustic woman,” Davidus acknowledge, “But hardly criminal; what else child?”

“She said with thinned ranks among the Magister and Dr Fear out of the picture… that… well. She said she would be one step closer to being Grand Magus and herald in a new era,” Rachel whispered.

“Quite the politician,” Davidus said with an easy smile.

He might have been talking about himself.

“What else?”

“She… that is… we…” Rachel indulged in serial swallowing now and looked frantically around the room for a friendly face.

“Speak girl,” Sejanus barked at her.

“Maxine showed me how to see the patterns,” Rachel said at last.

Was the girl a fool, of course she did? Davidus frowned.

“Wild Magic…” Rachel gulped, as she struggled to continue.

The room exploded into a babble.

“The dark arts,” someone said angrily.

Fear narrowed his eyes. So he was not the only one who knew the secret.

“Oh the gods,” Sejanus groaned, “That bitch has the fleet. If it should fail…”

“Why were we not told before?” someone asked.

“We didn’t know,” someone else answered.

“She has been a suspect all along. Her mother was from Challis,” William muttered.

“Indeed,” Sejanus agreed.

The Scroll Keeper looked like a cat with sour cream.

“Can we not…?” William began, but he was at a loss to suggest anything.

“We should send to Gort,” Lucy Greystoke said decisively, “Only he can reach the fleet before it enters battle. He is also one of the few who could hope to destroy Maxine in her element.”

“It might be done, but…” Sejanus said thoughtfully, “It would still take…”

“What choice do we have?” Lucy urged.

“It is already too late I am afraid,” Fear said sadly, “If Maxine is the traitor we must hope that Vosper, Gareth and the others can best her and that Prince Jason can defeat the Challis fleet without Maxine’s aid.”

Davidus Grimm listened to this discourse and weighed up all that he knew against the apparently devastating revelations. Then as if conducting a concert he held up his hand and brought all debate to an end.

“Arlon is right,” he said sagely, “If we drew away Gort from his mission we risk losing on two fronts for no gain.”

“But if the Precips fleet should fail then Pandoria is doomed,” Lucy said urgently.

“We are not defenceless,” Davidus intoned.

He didn’t add that they must trust in the Barrier, not now that it had been breached twice in as many days, but he doubted a conventional fleet could master it all the same.

“The Timbre fleet will be outnumbered and… the whole Timbre coast will be exposed,” Lucy cautioned him.

Now that was another matter, the Grand Magus thought glumly.

To be continued.

There was a random email from Clare (thanks Clare). She dropped a very brief line to say ‘spanking and corner time are good even when they are bad. I was once put in the corner at work with a colleague by our boss because we wouldn’t stop arguing. It was soooo embarrassing. Love the blog, keep up the good work.’

Let’s hope she gets back in touch in comments with the rest of that story. She is not the only one. I have it on good authority that Bunny girls were sometimes put in the corner at work.

The pictures above are from a range of sources and not the usual re-treads you sometimes see. Clare provided a hook and an excuse to run them out.

As I write it is hot. Why can’t we take the cool spring and mix it up with this summer and have it sunny and warm? At least the warm weather is an excuse to spend a Saturday on a pub jetty in the Pool of London while the waves crash under ones feet.

The beer was cool and the wine chilled, so we kicked back with a new fellow blogger and an old blog reader. One wonders what the other patrons made of our conversation.

Speaking of things getting hot; several more blogs have bitten the dust due to the current attack on the spanking community. Recently the successful More Than Hurts Me has reinvented itself as The Penitents.

In response to increased pressure from hosting comapnies I have deleted or edited a number of comments and I know that has offended one or two people. Just to give everyone the heads up – almost anything that comments on 18+ female spankees is cool. But remember robots are watching – so certain words can alarm their master’s in a search troll; these days ‘beware the troll’ is very appropriate advice. It is just a question of battening down the hatches until the storm passes. So let’s not have anything that involves under 18-year-olds (even our younger selves) and not wishing to censor anyone but consecutive long posts that are completely off topic run the risk of unbalancing discussion.

Just to complicate things further, some posts seemed to auto delete when I hold them for editing – hence the appearance and disappearance of some comments. It has even dumped one of my own in this way. It must be the heat.

On to more blogs: the pictures above are from Cutie Pie, Spank Bryan, Beauty and the Birch, the Penitents and Hermione, where you are invited to supply a caption.

For stories: Rollin has the Menace from Mongo and Kia has a short over at Acknowledging Imperfection.

“You are going to pay for that young lady,” he growled as she stood trembling in the middle of the room.

“What do you mean?” she gulped.

“You know perfectly well what I mean, I am going to bare your prissy little bottom and give you the spanking of your life. And if I don’t think you are sufficiently penitent, then you’ll feel the cane or birch or anything else I deem necessary do you understand?” His eyes smouldered just like her college mentor’s used to when he was dressing her down. Marcus even had the same strong jaw and broad shoulders.

“You can’t possibly… I’m over… 30-years-old… it’s outrageous…” she spluttered.

It was true. She was a big shot City lawyer, or so most people thought. Today she was even still dressed in her cool sharp charcoal pin-stripe skirt-suit. Her hair was still piled up in a sophisticated bun in an attempt to make her look older and with more gravitas.

Only that morning she had sat down with two company chairmen and a senior partner. That was her world not this. She blanched.

“As long as you are under this roof you will do as you are told and there are consequences for your actions. Do you hear me?” he growled.

“But…” she blushed and looked uneasily at the door. Was it still too late to flee? Not a serious question if she was honest, but still it bothered her that someone on the other side might have heard his words. The thought did nothing for her blush which grew like a forest fire on her face.

“You may well be embarrassed young lady, but you have a serious spanking coming. By the time I am done with you will know the meaning of being embarrassed. You are going to be one sorry girl,” he said sternly.

Marcus didn’t wait for her to argue further. He took two strides towards her and took her by the arm. Then leading to the couch he sat down and tumbled her easily across his lap.

“Please Marcus, I’m sorry,” she felt 18 again as she sprawled helplessly face down on his knees, her bottom feeling too large now as it domed up across his thighs.

She felt his hand on the zip of her skirt and draw it down with a zizz. The button gave him some difficulty and was wild with the thought that he might set her on her feet again and make her take her own clothes off. Then he managed and the skirt was free.

In a moment she was exposed above the tops of her stay-up stockings. Her knickers were brief and high-cut and lacy almost like a thong. She hoped he liked them, she thought incongruously.

Her pated her bottom lightly but didn’t linger. Instead he helped her off with her jacket until she was left in just her blouse and underwear. The hem of her work shirt barely covered her bottom, but even this comfort was quickly removed.

“Now young lady don’t tell me you don’t deserve this,” he said sharply as he tugged gently on her briefs, teasing her in a will-he-won’t-he way.

“You can’t do this,” she protested, “I’m over 21… you have no right.”

That might have made up his mind, for in a trice her knickers were down and sliding down her legs.

She gasped at the exposure and hugged into his thighs in a forlorn bid to hide herself.

“I am going to start with my hand and then move on to the hairbrush,” he told her.

“Please Marcus, you can’t…” she wailed.

It was to no avail. His hand smacked her sharply and she yelped. The sting and tingle on her bottom now exactly the shape and size of his hand. It hurt and the way she had bucked to perhaps reveal herself was mortifying, but part of her savoured it. He was going to put her firmly in her place and there was not a damn thing she could do about it.

The next spank hurt a little more and was quickly followed by several more so that she bucked and squirmed on his knee. The crisp impacts of his hand were loud and there was no way someone beyond the room couldn’t hear. What did they think about a 30-something brat getting her comeuppance? What if the girls in the office found out?

The spanking went on and on, burning her tail and setting her jaw to a clench as she struggled not to cry out or give him any satisfaction at all.

“Did you think you would get away with it? What were you thinking?” he scolded her in an exasperated tone.

“I’m sorry,” she wailed, her face screwed up and struggling with the blaze in her tail.

He could tell she was close to the edge by the way she was breathing like an Olympic runner.

“Let’s see if you are,” he said sternly as he took up the hairbrush on the coffee table.

She licked her lips and began to struggle frantically. His grip on her was formidable and way beyond her small frame to resist.

“Please Marcus I said I’m sorry, can’t we talk about this?” her voice was on the edge of tears now.

“I prefer to let this do the talking,” he barked.

At ‘this’ was an impossibly sharp impact of the flat side of the brush.

“Ahh,” she groaned.

It was the least of her expletives as the spanking began in earnest.

“By the time I am done with you, you won’t sit down for a week,” he promised.

The relentless spanks were untenable now and she snatched frantically at the seat and his legs finally chuckling to open sobs.

“That’s it, let it all out girl,” he soothed.

His words belied the weight of his arm which was merciless in its assault on her bottom. By the time he finally let up she was a bawling mess and ready to crawl into his arms.

“We are not done yet,” he whispered even as he stroked her hair.

“Please Marcus, not the cane I really couldn’t…” she began to babble and beg, it was liberating in a way no decision was required. She would beg her heart out and he would do whatever he wanted with her.

“I’ll think about it. I have another girl to see, so you can go and stand in the corner,” he told her.

“Please Marcus… don’t let her… it’s too…” she was babbling again.

“Be a good girl now or I will fetch that cane,” he warned.

She was thoroughly cowed and nodding meekly, she made her way to the corner where she stood facing it and unmoving. Her bottom felt like two hot stones behind her and if she could but touch them, she would have felt a hard leathery heat. She knew her bottom was more than a little red.

Marcus left her there for an age. Occasionally she could hear him talking; on the phone perhaps? Or was someone really there? Could they see? Her face glowed red to rival her bottom. God, if people at work knew about this, she thought, scarcely able to breath.

A good while later Marcus returned and released her.

“Was that okay?” he said.

She nodded.

“I didn’t go to the cane today… I mean I thought…” he said seriously.

“No, you did right I think… but don’t be so easy on me next time,” she told him as she reached for her clothes. “Is cash alright again?”

“Fine,” he said casually, “Do you want a drink or something?”

“No thanks, I have a client to see in an hour,” she sighed.

“Yes me too,” he said.

ends

Our story began here.

War Child
“I don’t care what that woman’s argument with me is, she has no right involving Katrin,” Fear raged as he swept into Amber’s cave. “What I want to know, is she the demonic traitor or not?”

Amber swallowed hard, since his encounter with the demon the Black magus had been acting emotionally, erratic even.

“Well if she has been… seduced by Praelium or Inlecebra for that matter, then she is not strictly speaking herself,” Amber countered.

“You think Tugaal could be at work here too,” Fear’s heart skipped at the mention of his arch-nemesis other name.

“No,” Amber said hesitantly, “I don’t think so. This has all the hallmarks of the Worm not the Raven. You see… oh the gods.”

Amber hated taking a lead in such matters and so far her research had been inconclusive. She had hoped that Lucy Greystoke would have got back to her with more of her own findings, but to date Amber had been on her own.

“Speak,” Fear said, as he struggled to rein in his anger.

“Praelium,” she lowered her voice as if speaking its name would summon it, “Can I just call it or more correctly her, for this creature described using the feminine in both the arcane and classic tongues, or better yet can I call her the Worm?”

“You speak of Praelium?” Fear said boldly as if daring the creature to appear, “Call it what you will.”

“It seems that Worm burrows into the soul of the corrupted and utterly enslaves them. As with the snakes and worms of legend, this creature has many heads, all aspects of the same demon,” Amber explained.

“You are saying that there may be more than one traitor?” Fear pressed her.

“In essence yes, although not necessarily more than one here at Pandoria. The Worm, or so the old stories tell us, finds a victim close to the ones or places it wishes to corrupt and then having done so moves on,” Amber continued.

“So if we follow Demdike’s prophecy… then this worm-woman creature may have first manifested itself in Challis and then spread to other courts and key positions like Pandoria?” Fear said thoughtfully.

“That would be my guess,” Amber agreed.

“So if it has taken Maxine… well we can kiss goodbye to the fleet… but others too maybe infected,” Fear sighed.

“I am afraid so,” Amber said through gritted teeth.

“You say the creature is female? Does it target women then?” Fear asked. “That would certainly explain Maxine.”

“To be honest, I know only that the feminine form in the old tongues is used when describing it. But given that the demon is born of Wild Magic, the area of magic most associated with women, then…” Amber shrugged.

“I see, then why not witches? I mean why doesn’t it target witches?” Fear asked.

Amber frowned and thought for a minute.

“Perhaps it has… although maybe witches and other Wild magic practitioners are in fact less vulnerable because they recognise the danger,” Amber suggested, “In any case, how many witches do you know are close to positions of power and influence?”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Fear groaned. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“To identify compromised persons you mean?” Amber asked him seriously.

“Yes,” Fear said urgently.

Amber ran her fingers through her hair and gave a heavy sigh. There was a way that just might render some results, she thought, but Fear was not going to like it.

*

Rachel Dvanjester stood nervously outside the Scroll Keeper’s office. The fact that the Grand Magus had denied a request from the Magister to convene a full hearing to assess her case was at least encouraging. Nevertheless, Sejanus Jacelon was a mean old bastard of the old school and taking up the slack he had referred her situation to lesser court of her peers.

Rachel, having made a full confession, had laid herself open to charges relating to failing to report her suspicions about Maxine sooner and eavesdropping on a meeting in the Grand Magus’ office, which in the heat of the moments she had confessed to. Frankly, she thought, it was only this that was unambiguously wrong, the rest was rather circumstantial. How was she to know there was a serious traitor in their midst until Tabitha told her about the rumours?

In fact it wasn’t until Maestro William Tulore had pointed out collaboration with a traitor in wartime was a serious matter, that Rachel had realised the extent of the trouble she was in.

“Come now,” Lucy had spoken up, “That is going too far.”

“She is a student for the god’s sake and as an apprentice she was in an impossible position,” Dr Fear had interjected. “It is Maxine who deserves our ire.”

“Technically we are not at war anyway and in this case Arlon has a point,” Davidus had said.

The debate had lost its force quickly after that and that was how she came to be outside the Scroll Keeper’s office waiting to be seen by… she heaved a sigh. She didn’t even know that.

The worst part was the waiting. Minute by minute her confidence deserted her and a speech rehearsed and polished in her head quickly sounded feeble and irrelevant until she had scrapped it and reviewed the matter over and over in her mind.

Then as with all such things the door suddenly opened unexpectedly.

“You are Dvanjester.” The young man at the door was dressed all in black and carried himself like a senior journeyman. “Your presence is required.”

The knot in Rachel’s tummy made her feel sick and she had feeling as if she was out of time and place and that it was someone else going to the gallows. She felt like a passenger in her own body.

She followed the man into the room and saw that the Scroll Keeper was already there sitting off to one side of the room. Her eyes were drawn to a row of faces sitting behind a long table.

There were four men and a woman all journeymen except for the man in the centre who Rachel recognised as one of William Tulore’s adepts. No doubt he was the chair of this disciplinary panel.

He was somewhat older than all but one of the others and he wore dark burgundy robes that signified he was a fire adept.

The woman wore white a robe that matched her pale blonder hair. It made her look noble somehow, like the personification of justice. Rachel offered her a small smile, but the woman was stony faced.

Also on the panel was a ruddy-faced youth with bad ache in a brown robe, a boy about Rachel’s age in blue like hers and a rather serious looking much older man with salt and pepper hair dressed in mustard robes. He looked far too old to be a student, but many such people populated Pandoria as teaching assistants. Also he may have received his calling late Rachel pondered.

The young man who had fetched her in moved off to sit next to the Scroll Keeper.

“You are Rachel Dvanjester?” the adept intoned.

“Yes, yes Sir,” Rachel said in a strained voice.

“We have been convened as a disciplinary board,” he said, “As you can see Sejanus Jacelon is present but he is merely an adviser and an observer here. It is we who will decide your… punishment.”

The white-blonde woman on the panel coughed.

“If punishment is warranted,” the adept quickly amended.

“Yes Sir,” Rachel said nervously.

“You need not know our names at this point,” the adept told her, “Know only that we have been chosen to hear your case.”

*

Katrin looked like a flour-drenched shadow as she sat in the corner. Her hair was tied back to reveal her face, which although still beautiful, looked drained and haunted.

“Are you sure… I mean if you are not ready for…” Fear said anxiously.

“No, I want to do it,” Katrin said urgently, although her voice sounded strained and husky.

“Are you sure?” Amber asked, concern was etched on her face, “These rituals are quite… challenging.”

Katrin’s eyes darted around the room as if she was expecting something to leap out of the shadows at her. Only Fear’s presence gave her any comfort, and that was scant enough.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she croaked.

“You have to understand that our only real connection to the demon is you. You may be able to give us an insight into the beast that attacked you or… well since it is also connected to the other one…” Amber sighed, “I really don’t know what will happen, but anything we can learn about that Triptych is…”

Useful, helpful, damning… any of these could apply or none. Amber was beginning to wish that she had not started this.

“What do we need to do?” Fear asked, seeing her doubt.

“I would like to involve Meredith and perhaps Erin and Tabitha,” Amber said lightly as if she expected Fear to object.

But the Black Mage only nodded.

“Where do we start?” Fear asked.

“Given our last encounter, I would like to start outside and well away from the buildings or anyone else,” Amber suggested.

“That makes sense,” Fear agreed, “Gather who and what you need. I will talk to Davidus and get his permission. He may want to put additional… arrangements in place.”

“There is a mountain clearing well beyond High Point,” Amber said.

“I know it, is that where we will meet?” Fear nodded.

Amber let out a long sigh and said, “Yes.”

*

Rachel had put up no defence and had thrown herself on the board’s mercy. What had followed had been a terrifying round of hard glances and muttered huddles. The words detention, suspension, demotion and expulsion had been bandied around in excited whispers.

“Expulsion is beyond your remit,” Sejanus had interjected at one point.

It had been the only bright spot in the proceedings.

A short while later Rachel noticed the woman in white and the adept-chair with their heads together whispering.

“I think given Rachel Dvanjester’s obvious contrition and the prevailing situation, suspension and other such sanctions will only serve to distract resources and see this affair drawn out. In any case, no charges have been brought against Maxine Du Jared as yet and it would not serve justice shift too much blame here,” the adept said bringing the panel to some order. “The only clear transgression is being out of bounds and spying on the Magister in conference. A relatively minor offence I would opine. So letting all other matters fall… after being noted of course, I suggest we proceed to a traditional Dovecote solution to resolve this quickly.”

The female journeyman on the panel sat back and chewed thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. She knew what was coming although from the small eruption of muttering from the men, they did not.

“What have you decided?” Sejanus asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

Next to him the black-robed journeyman who had first admitted Rachel sat scribbling furiously as he took minutes.

“I suggest that here and now, Rachel Dvanjester receive a corporal sanction on her person,” the adept-chair announced.

Rachel swallowed. Part of her had feared as much and she had harboured visions of being sent to Dniester. This might turn out being worse she thought.

“You mean…?” the spotty youth put in.

“How would we do it?” said the older journeyman.

“We should fetch a whipping stool and then have her disrobe,” the woman told them. “I suggest we use a senior grade paddle.”

“I don’t know where we can get such a thing or a stool for that matter,” the young man in the blue robes said.

“Oh I do,” the woman told him.

*
Rachel stood facing the wall dressed only in her shift. She had been ordered to place her hands on her head, an act that serve to raise the short hem of her linen undershirt and expose the lower curves of her bare bottom to the people in the room.

Luckily Sejanus had absented himself before she had been required to disrobe, but as she had complied with that instruction she had exchanged a mortified glance with the spotty youth who was wide-eyed and gaping at the slowly denuded beauty before him.

With her back turned Rachel felt exposed and very definitely on view. From the conversation that ran back and forth between the members of the panel Rachel learned that the woman in white had until recently been a monitor in another part of the Dovecote. If Rachel was right, then this must be Sarah Sojourn, the talented air magic student who had a reputation as being a harsh disciplinarian with the novices and initiates in her charge. They had never met as such, but they had been contemporary monitor’s together Rachel realised.

After a while she heard two men puffing and panting as they dragged something into the room. The whipping stool, Rachel surmised. A guess confirmed by the final scrape on the floor and someone muttering, “Put the paddle on top for now.”

“Who is going to do this exactly?” one of the men asked.

“We could take it in turns,” another said rather too eagerly. She knew from the voice that it was the spotty youth.

“I am not sure I want to… well beat a girl,” the first voice said.

Rachel decided it was the fellow water adept of around her own age. She found herself liking him a bit.

“It’s not a beating, it is a well-deserved spanking. She’s a Dovecote girl, she has had as much before I assure you,” the woman said.

“This almost never happens among the men…” the water journeyman put in, “Are you sure…?”

“You should do it Sarah, you have the experience,” the adept said with some authority.

“No… I think it would serve us all better and especially Rachel if… John does it. He is the oldest,” Sarah said.

“Agreed,” the adept said decisively and not without a little relief.

It sounded as if he was washing his hands.

The entire conversation was carried out behind Rachel’s exposed bare bottom and she had never felt so small.

“Alright, it won’t be the first time I have paid out a naughty wench,” John said with a sigh.

“Dvanjester, get over here and bend over the stool,” Sarah ordered.

Rachel blushed and could not help keep her eyes on the floor as she turned around. At least she could lower her hands now, which served to cover her naked front.

John looked like a man pushing 40 and standing up he looked even larger than when Rachel had first seen him and she could see now he was broad-shouldered with a barrel chest. His greying hair made him look stern, but nonetheless he had something of a kindly face. From the way he was holding the paddle, she could see he had experience as he had told them.

“Bend over here with your head down there and your… eh… sticking up here,” John instructed her.

Rachel swallowed and lowered herself to her knees facing the stool.

“I’m John Lassiter,” John whispered, and then in a reassuring voice he added, “It won’t be so bad.”

Rachel nodded at this, but she didn’t believe him. This was already quite bad enough. Still she had been well-trained to this, first at Shula’s hands and then Maxine’s. She had also suffered mightily under Gort as well as Dniester’s on occasion. Apart from the acute embarrassment of public exposure, she doubted that this would be any worse.

As Rachel bent forward she blushed as her bare bottom stuck out behind and everyone could see. The adept and the other four journeymen including the young man who had acted as scribe stood in a formal line watching.

“Do we have a count?” John asked.

“We’ll call it,” the adept replied.

He looked at Sarah who gave a curt nod in agreement.

“Present yourself a little more Miss Dvanjester,” John said in stern voice.

Rachel already felt as if her bottom was the centre of everyone’s attention and another surge of blood went to her head as she prayed to the gods to open up a hole in the floor.

“Miss Dvanjester, I will not ask you twice,” John growled at her.

Rachel steeled herself and shifted her knees further under the stool so that her bare bottom curved up a little more.

“Whatever else she has done, Maxine Du Jared taught the girl well,” Susan observed from somewhere behind.

The paddle landed with a firm splat that robbed Rachel of her breath. She was still contending with the growing pain when another blast of the paddle landed across both cheeks of her bottom. Maxine had taught her that undue fuss was unladylike but not acknowledge the pain was rude to one’s punisher.

But Rachel was five swats I before she could find the breath to yell.

“Oh the gods,” someone whispered.

“Now that is one red bottom,” Susan said cheerfully.

None of them spoke and the spotty youth shifted a little and adjusted the front of his robes.

John brought the paddle down fast even strokes, spacing them at four or five second intervals that left Rachel gasping for breath and healthy tears pooling at her eyes.

Once he reached around 20 strokes he paused to look at the adept.

“What do you think?” the senior asked Susan.

Susan pondered for a moment and then crossed the room to study Rachel’s plum-coloured bottom and then bent down close to the punished girl’s tear-raked face.

“Tell me, as monitor you handed out much more for much less didn’t you?” Susan whispered.

Rachel could scarce think as she contended with the intense throb in her bottom.

“Miss Dvanjester, can you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am,” Rachel sobbed.

“Do you agree?”

Rachel nodded.

“I think we can continue,” Susan said to the adept.

He looked surprised but he didn’t argue.

John moved behind the raw-bottomed Rachel and renewed his assault.

This time Rachel howled out at each impact until another dozen or so had been delivered.

This time John did not seek guidance but dropped the paddle beside the stool and turned to face his fellow panel members.

Susan looked ready to suggest another round, but the adept only nodded.

“I guess she is cooked,” he said. “I pronounce your punishment is complete.”

Rachel got unsteadily to her feet and tried to pull herself together.

“I would have preferred to meet you under different circumstances,” John said as he handed Rachel her underwear and robe.

“That makes two of us,” Rachel said through some heavy tears, “Oh… I should…”

Rachel extended her hand and John shook it.

“Thank you Sir,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” the older man chuckled.

To be continued.

Some time today this blog will have been visited 7 million times. the exact number of unique visitors is not recorded by my stats but even allowing for multiple home page visits the average visitor spends several minutes looking at two and half pages each visit. I guesstimate that there are around 10,000 regular readers of this blog and perhaps that many again who do not come back or only occasionally check in. Or put it another way, each post on this blog has been read an average of 7,000 times.

I don’t know where that puts A Voice in the Corner in the popularity stakes as set against other blogs, upper middle would be my guess. If that is so, then multiply that by the number of other blogs out there and you have some idea that you are not alone.

So thank you to all readers for making this project work. meanwhile here are some pictures.

Earlier this week a direct mail link was added on the front page to facilitate communication for anyone with a problem with this blog. That way it keeps some things out of comments and issues can be more quickly resolved.

This prompted a quick flurry of friendly emails, so a big thanks to those who did say hi.

Mini said she had been lurking for a while and loved spanking stories. She said, “I showed this blog to my boyfriend and got an unexpected spanking. My first! It hurt way more than I expected but I guess I broke the dam and I will be getting more. So thanks (I think).”

I clipped a couple for possible future use and found some others I had saved.

This one by Louise that I found some time ago. She wrote:

I had no clue about spanking and if I had I think I would have thought it bad or brutal or something. But when I was at college doing my master’s (so no longer a kid – well to a point) I moved into a shared house. To cut a long story short there was Steve, an older bossy guy among my housemates and he was always bossing me about, which I found secretly thrilling but I pushed back against it.

One day we had a row and I threw a vase at him. I can’t believe that I did that even now. Luckily it missed but went flying through an open window and smashed on the pavement outside.

“You brat,” he said angrily.

He chased me around the house until he caught me and then took down my shorts and knickers and spanked my bare bottom good and hard until I cried. I was so sorry and ashamed and could not stop apologising to him. It was also lucky that none of the others were in.

“Are you really sorry,” he said.

I promised I was. So he said I would have to do as I was told to be forgiven. He didn’t wait for an answer, but made me stand in the corner with shorts and knickers still pulled down. I had a really hot bottom and it really amazed and also (secretly) excited me.

Later I had to apologise to Catherine, whose vase it was and after some prompting I admitted that I had been spanked.

Of course Catherine thought that this was hilarious.

Steve said he would spank me when I needed it, but I thought he was teasing. He wasn’t.

I got spanked by him often, sometimes when others were around and was teased mercilessly by them. I must have been spanked a dozen times and sent to the corner before we went on a date and became an item.

This pouting naughty cowgirl was sent in by TipTopper. It is from a 1978 calender and you have to agree that the sub-text to this photo-shoot is highly suggestive.

LSF have published another collection of four DJ Black stories featuring various women who have one thing in common – from Ancient Rome through to a troubled Bogartesque romance set in the 1940s – these women are all spanked.

In Abacus, an amazing archaeological find leads to Anne travelling back in time. She is soon caught and branded a slave. After several years, she gets the opportunity to return to her own time, but will she take it?

In Exiles of the Medici, Eloise goes from a spoiled brat to having to dress as a boy and be an apprentice to Don Barbara, who punishes his ‘boy’ regularly. Meanwhile her brother has troubles of his own as he poses as tutor to two beautiful sisters, both of whom have quite different reactions to his disciplinary hand.

After the War is Over features a troubled couple’s relationship, showing how it is made stronger through a long absence and the hardship of World War II. The centerpiece of their reunion is a spanking.

The Trouble with Dames tells of how Marion runs off to marry a man her father feels is quite unsuitable. He hires Eddie Knight to bring her home, but Marion doesn’t give him an easy time. However, he has his own way of dealing with feisty dames, and has no hesitation in doing so.

Get it here

It is hard to say whether the spate of closures has abated. More blogs do seem to turn-up missing (and there it was – gone!), but it could just be that these are victims from two weeks ago and a response to the first round of Google closures. Why closed and not just finished? Well generally bloggers don’t take their work down and just fade out. These MIA blogs have been taken down the hard way. The missing blogs are mostly at least semi-monetised or picture blogs from Tumblr that are either hard core or have run afoul of copyright issues.

Nevertheless gentle reader, none of this has dissuaded new blogs from starting up; as is evident from My Bottom Smarts’ latest list.

Nor is it all doom and gloom elsewhere. Recently there have been several blogs celebrating publishing landmarks, as you may have noticed A Voice in the Corner just hit seven million. Stan over at Au Fils des Jours, which has been going almost twice as long as this blog has reached 13 million visits.

On the subject of new blogs, Kia with her blog Acknowledging Imperfection has hit the ground running and is fast cornering the market in short emotionally intense shorts. Check out her story this week.

Blossom and Thorn have a little piece on Spankenfreude, one of their many pictures on this theme is carried above.

Other pictures are from Devlin, All Things Spanking, Aunt Carla and Plector.

Our story began here.

Return of the Beast
The early summer breezes did little to warm the upper reaches of the Pandorian Mountains. And although it wasn’t exactly cold, each of those gathered there had good reason to shiver.

There were six of them in all; five of them forming a rough circle around a sixth sitting nervously in the middle. All about them were jagged peaks, the highest most still touched with snow like broken teeth of a great giant. Below them were endless chasms falling away for what seemed like forever interspersed with rivulets of silver water falling like steam between the dustings of green of the woodland far below.

It had been a long climb up from High Point, the uppermost level that usually saw the students of the Dovecote, and most were now tired from their climb.

At the head of the group sat the black-clad Arlon Fear, the only man present. He sat cross legged cradling his staff and waiting to begin. To either side of him sat Amber Sage and Meredith Greydove, who were at once both used to such rituals and afraid of the specific novelty of the occasion.

But they were not as afraid as Katrin De Lacy who sat ashen-faced at the centre of the circle starting at each gusting breeze, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow for hidden foes.

Facing the elder witches completing the circle sat Erin and Tabitha, who were the most relaxed of the six. Not least because this time the ceremony had been sanctioned by the Grand Magus and if anything should go awry one of Pandoria’s most powerful Mages sat with them.

“What happens now?” Tabitha whispered to Erin.

Erin had no idea and having no smug comeback as was her wont, she could only shrug.

“Be silent girls,” Amber scolded them.

The witch was tense enough without needless chatter and she was having trouble getting into an appropriate meditative state. It was left to the most senior witch, Meredith Greydove to offer her junior colleagues a reassuring smile, although the truth was she was terrified. A sensible person did not peer into the void least something peer back them.

Fear was more together than he had been in days. He had been to the void and back already and knew its power and his own. And that was what he feared most.

“Katrin, try to remember what you felt… what you saw that day in the library,” Amber said quietly.

Katrin swallowed and shot a glance at Fear who nodded reassuringly, and then she closed her eyes.

For a long time there was nothing. Katrin’s mind was blank and the only sound was of Tabitha fidgeting; that and the light breeze blowing from the valley below. The breeze, she remembered. She had been puzzled at first, even though part of her mind had known something was very wrong.

“There was… there was…” Katrin could scarcely speak.

Meredith touched Amber with her mind and together they saw what Katrin could see.

“That’s it,” Tabitha exclaimed, for she could see it too. “A void opened in space and time, it was…”

“It was nothing,” Fear finished for her, “An absence of the patterns forming patterns themselves…”

Erin frowned. She could see nothing

“Endlessly swirling and growing…” Amber whispered.

“Something was inside,” Tabitha wailed, recalling the horror.

“I see it,” Meredith gasped.

Erin began to see it too and wished that she couldn’t.

Fear withdrew from the vision and looked about him. The mountain was hard under him and the view unwavering, yet there was something…

Another light breeze kicked up a twirl of dust and set it down almost at once.

The Black Mage glanced at Katrin who was hugging herself with eyes clamped shut as she relived the horror of that day. She had begun to babble as she entered a trance-like state.

The lightest of winds danced around them, ruffling hair and clothing, clawing at them as if to push them away.

“I see it, I see it…” Amber whispered.

“And beyond it another…” Meredith said excitedly. “A woman… her face…”

“Is it Maxine?” Tabitha said excitedly.

“I don’t know,” Amber said slowly her voice drenched in doubt.

Fear started to see the patterns overlaying two at once and then began scrolling through them like a Kaleidoscope. There was nothing amiss and no hint of power, but yet he sensed something.

Gaining his feet he looked beyond the patterns. Dark tendrils were spinning about them getting ever denser; patterns that were not patterns, substance that was devoid of substance. The wind was strong now and owed little to a natural breeze.

“This is so vivid,” Erin said in wonder, “It is almost as if…”

“Break the circle, break the circle now,” Meredith urged.

Fear dashed forward and seized Katrin in one arm and then warding off the growing storm with his staff he dragged her from where she sat as far as the rocky clearing would allow.

“Get back all of you,” he called out.

Tabitha grabbed a petrified Erin and pulled her away while Amber and Meredith linked hands and began to spin a warding spell.

“It is too late, it’s coming,” Amber screamed above the noise of the wind.

“Much too late,” Fear said in a dead voice, for he could see what the others could not.

There where Katrin had been standing was a vortex of dark, and growing in the maelstrom was a grey-black shape comprised of a dripping void.

“Katrin, Katrin,” Fear said urgently.

Katrin shook herself and looked around her.

“It is coming again isn’t it?” she said in horror.

“Form another circle over there, put everything you have into a warding spell,” Fear ordered.

Erin turned to flee, but Tabitha would not fail twice and held her back.

“You heard the master, we must aid Amber and Meredith,” she screamed.

Katrin ran to where Amber and Meredith stood and began to add her power to theirs.

“What about you?” Meredith called over to Fear.

“Block its way, don’t let it escape,” he called back.

He watched until he could see a tight weave of patterns spun around the five women, four powerful witches and journeyman of Pandoria. It would suffice for a few moments. Then he turned to face the beast that now stood fully formed in the glade.

“Have you come to die little man?” Like a hole in the world, the beast with black dripping razor-like fur oozed dread words at the Magus.

“I was born to die,” Arlon Fear said calmly, “As are all things. But not today I think.”

“Give her to me so that I might be complete,” the beast spoke in an oil wet sigh.

“Most assuredly I will,” Fear said in a voice of command.

His tone was evocative and he spoke in the old tongue which was beyond the ears of the witches. The words were binding on some and an opening to a bargain.

“You will?” The demon hissed, but his tone was touched with surprise.

“I have but two conditions,” Fear offered.

“Name them,” the beast replied.

“Tell me of your companions,” Fear wove his spell.

“She who is among you is also far away. She is many as we will be all,” Inlecebra oozed words like they were compelled from him; “The other comes and commands much as we will soon command all.”

The demon twisted under compunction eager to be freed by his bargain and even as Fear considered the beast’s words and searched for a way to learn more, he sensed that the demon had met trick with riddle.

“I have spoken little man, what is your other condition?” Inlecebra who was also called Tugaal said.

Oh well it was worth a try, Fear shrugged.

“My second condition is that you defeat me,” the Black Magus said dismissively.

Tugaal screamed with rage and the spell now broken he lunged at Fear like a bear wading through treacle.

At their previous encounter Fear had summoned Earth power and Fire to send the Beast back to Hell. But these were elements that could neither bind the creature nor destroy it. Not for long. Had he a magic blade of legend the Mage might have pinned Tugaal in the ground and sliced off its head, if such a thing were possible. Who even knew what could be done? But he had no such weapon and anyway Fear demanded a more complete victory this time. And this time he knew how to do it.

As the Beast closed on Fear, the mage saw all four elements bound by a fifth, just as he had at Katrin’s bed side. Then just as he could spin fire to dance or rock to flow, the Black Magus seized the tendrils of nothing that made the creature and set them to unravel.

“What no fireworks little man,” Tugaal mocked.

“Oh how remiss of me,” Fear said in a cruel voice, “What is a fight without fire?”

Fear struck the ground with his staff and then raising it he sent a blue beam of light that was as thick as a man blasting at the demon’s heart. The dark tendrils that formed it danced in the air as they were pierced by blue flame; held together only with pure malice.

“A neat trick to be sure,” Tugaal verbally bowed to the Magus. “But no element can hurt me.”

No I suppose not Fear thought, but even as he held the beast at bay threads of dark unravelled like black silk and blew away in the fresh mountain breeze.

“Tell me Inlecebra, what can?” Fear sent out another great bolt of fire that smashed the beast to the ground.

By now Tugaal was veined by blue fire and very much reduced in size. For a moment his visage held an almost human expression of surprise.

“Who are you…?” it spoke softly, “It has been so long since… ah since… one such as you has trod the world.”

Fear did not quite know what the dying creature meant so all he said was, “I told you before. I am Fear.”

“So aptly named,” Inlecebra who was Tugaal said, and then he was gone.

Beyond where the witches stood in a tight huddle it took a moment to realise that the Beast was dead and then belatedly they all collapsed to their knees.

Arlon Fear crossed the space between them and gathered Katrin to his chest.

“Are you alright?” he asked urgently.

Katrin nodded and then heaving a sigh that became a sob, she broke into a thousand tears.

“Hush, oh hush my love, it is over,” Fear wept as he rocked his woman in his arms.

To be continued.

“He’s not joking you know,” Camilla said in a clipped public school tone without looking up from the laptop cradled in her thighs. She sat cross legged on the couch outside Braden’s office furiously typing.

Camilla was around 23 and very pretty in a bookish way; her heavy spectacles and serious manner completely at odds with her very brief cut-off jeans and wash-wear T-shirt.

“Excuse me,” Alice asked, for this was the first time that Camilla had even acknowledged her existence let alone spoken to her.

“The job, you are taking it I presume?” Camilla said in a bored voice, still not looking up from her screen, “Well of course you are. Question is: will you hack it?”

Alice took a breath and let it out slowly. This was all going so fast. At 36 Alice felt like an old lady since arriving at Brampton; the others were all so young. And then there was the fact that she had always struggled with her weight, where the others looked as if they lived on cumbers and water.

Brampton was a small seaside town in West England. Home to Ptolemy Braden and his rather mysterious business outfit. His business set-up consisted of a large house and some cliff-top tele-cottages and everywhere were nubile young girls bustling back and forth.

As the prospective, no actual new office manager she decided, Alice was waiting to see how the others would respond to her arrival. What type of women worked here? What kind was she, she wondered. Braden’s outline of the terms and conditions had been highly unusual to say the least. Camilla’s comment that ‘he wasn’t joking,’ well it was something that Alice would have preferred to pretend ignorance about, but it seemed that this girl had other ideas.

“You’re thinking that it can’t be legal or it is some kind of joke and that in any case it will never happen to you,” Camilla said wearily. “Under other circumstances you would have walked out in high dudgeon, but the offer of… what £40,000 a year plus bonuses, plus another £40,000 if you stay for a year and don’t breach the terms of the non-disclosure etc…? Well you think Braden is crazy and what the hell.”

“It was eh… £50,000 actually,” Alice shifted uneasily.

Camilla actually lifted her head to glance at the older woman.

“Well I am betting that you can actually do the job then,” Camilla said, almost sounding impressed. “That’s something anyway. I get £35,000 on the same terms and I am fed up with cute kids who can’t deliver or 30-somethings who can, but can’t handle… shall we say, Braden’s management style.”

“I have put up with all kinds of ‘management styles’ in my career. But no one has been upfront and as honest as Braden and I have never been paid for it before,” Alice said sharply, fixing the impertinent girl with a hard stare. “What do you do here anyway?”

Camilla knew ‘that look’ and shifted uneasily.

“I am the tech manager… I eh… I was just saying okay, you aren’t going to tell Braden are you? That I was rude I mean?”

“So if I let you off-hand manner pass, why don’t you tell me what you think Braden told me,” Alice said.

“He said that you can leave any time you like on full pay, but if you stay he will spank you if you screw up. He might have even told you that he will probably spank you anyway first chance he gets,” Camilla said with a roll of her eyes.

“Pretty much,” Alice admitted, “But since he has ample bimbos around here for that, I can’t see him bothering me too much. I am not exactly a looker.”

“The self-deprecating type, are you? You are not that bad looking from where I stand and you have submissive written all over you,” Camilla said with a shrug. “Like I say, he isn’t joking and it will happen.”

Alice flushed a little and felt a tingle in her tummy. But she put a brave face on it.

“Well in that case I’ll invest in a cushion for my desk chair,” she said with bravado.

“Good luck,” Camilla smiled, “I hope it works out, I really do.”

Alice nodded and made to leave. Then at the door she paused.

“Eh… Mr Braden said… he said it would hurt. Does it?” she asked tentatively.

“Oh yes and it’s embarrassing too,” Camilla said as she pulled a sympathetic face. “The younger girls take it then their stride, well kind of. I think some of them like it. I do my best to keep out of trouble myself.”

“Oh well… hey ho,” Alice said brightly.

*

“Mr Braden… I didn’t mean to… I-I eh just…” Kim spluttered.

Braden fixed the 19-year-old with a narrow-eyed gaze and then crooked his finger in her direction.

Ptolemy Braden was pushing 50, give or take a couple of years. He had the laid-back style of an entrepreneur with white denims and a tennis shirt that displayed his sporty tanned exterior to good effect. His sandy-white hair held only a hint of what must once been beach blond, but it was a look that gave him authority despite his casual dress sense.

Kim had been with him less than six months, but was already a favourite with her cute petite look and apologetic battiness.

“You young lady, always you seem to have your head in the clouds,” Braden growled.

“Yes Sir,” Kim lisped as she walked reluctantly over to where her boss and mentor stood.

Braden wasted no time in tipping her across his knee and slipping down her brief shorts and knickers. Kim coloured up fast as she blushed for England. For one thing they were in the open and only partially obscured from the public road just a 100 meters away. And for another both Camilla and the new office manager were on hand to watch.

Alice couldn’t help blushing herself as she watched her first example of Braden’s management style, but there was a strange entertainment to be had all the same. The young woman looked too girl-next-door to be picked entirely for her looks, although her small tight bottom was prominent enough as it was folded across Braden’s knee.

“Alice, if this girl gives you any trouble, refer her to me at once. It is the only way she will ever learn,” Braden said as he delivered a sharp smack to Kim’s bare bottom.

Alice worked her mouth trying for some moisture as she watched the impromptu spanking.

“Did you hear me Alice?” Braden growled.

His hand landed soundly half a dozen times until Kim’s bare bottom was quite red before he lifted his glare to take in his new office manager.

“Eh… oh, yes Sir,” Alice said hastily.

“Not too shocked I hope?” he added in a more kindly tone.

Alice swallowed and shook her head.

The spank was for real, even Alice could see that and just 20 spanks in Kim’s bottom was a tight hard red and the girl was panting hard.

“She has her head in the clouds this one,” Braden said in an exasperated tone, “Hasn’t she Camilla?”

“Yes Mr Braden,” Camilla agreed enthusiastically, “I have almost sent her to you twice this week already for leaving the stationary cupboard open.”

“Is that so?” Braden said sternly, returning his gaze to the squirming girl across his knee. “I think after I am done here, you can go and stand in the corner outside my office young lady. You can have something extra when I have the time to deal with you. And don’t think you are skiving. You’ll work Saturday to make up the lost time.”

“Yes Sir,” Kim wailed.

Her legs were kicking now and her breathing was really quite laboured. Her small tight bottom was the shade of a post box and almost as shiny.

“Now off with you,” Braden barked at the spanked girl.

Alice could see that there were real tears in Kim’s eyes and strangely she didn’t feel the least sorry for her.

“She is just one of the girls you will have to keep on her toes,” Braden said to Alice as he watched the scarlet-bottomed girl scurrying off down the path. “If you don’t, you will get the same.”

Alice blushed and felt her head fizz.

“Yes Sir,” she spluttered.

For a moment she was two women. One who knew intellectually that she had signed on for a spanking at this man’s whim and that it would happen; and a rather staid pre-Brampton self who could not quite believe it.

After that Braden left Camilla to show Alice around and had headed back to his desk.

“Don’t worry about Kim, she thrives on it,” Camilla chuckled.

“And what about you?” Alice asked the young tech manager. “You can’t tell me that you couldn’t earn £70,000 an easier way.”

Camilla shrugged and coloured a little around the ears as she pursed her lips.

“I like it here,” she mumbled, “And any way. I said I tried to keep out of trouble, not that I always succeed. Sometimes a girl needs to… fail.”

“I think I understand,” Alice said reassuringly and strangely she found that she did.

*

After the tour the two women returned to the main building. They found Kim still standing in the corner with her shorts and knickers at her ankles. The furious glow in her bottom showed no easing off and the embarrassed girl was well-displayed with her nose quite literally at the point where two walls met at a bend in the corridor outside Braden’s office.

“He didn’t really mean that she should stay there?” Alice gasped when she saw her, “I mean… just how long will he keep her there?”

Camilla shrugged.

“An hour, two… until he has time to spank her again,” she said, “Or cane her. Or…”

“Ouch,” Alice gaped, “Will it be in public again?”

“Probably not,” Camilla said dismissively.

Alice felt a pang of regret at this.

On seeing something in Alice’s eyes Camilla said, “You know, I think you are going to work out here.”

“There is just one more question,” Alice said quickly to change the subject, “What is it that we actually do here?”

“I run the computers and fix printers, install software and run IT security… well everything like that really,” Camilla said casually, “You make sure that the infrastructure works and that girls turn up for scheduled work on time. Hand out paper clips and the like.”

Alice knew she was hiding something.

“What does everyone else do?” Alice asked pointedly.

“I only have a scant idea really. Some of the women here are lawyers, others are financial people. There is an awful lot of publishing as well. Each girl has her own project and almost everyone reports directly to Braden,” Camilla said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t pry if I were you. You’ll get hints now and then. Just leave it at that.”

Alice was curious, but not that curious. As far as she could tell, her job would take up about three or four short days a week. As long as it wasn’t blatantly illegal… well she would take the money and anything else that was going and run.

In any case as the days went by she realised that there was no central coherent business going on; Braden had set up the operation to coordinate various business and personal activities and the devolved nature of the project meant that he could cross-check financial, legal and personal affairs. Or at least that was her best guess.

As for his famous management style, by the end of week two Alice had witness half a dozen spankings and had twice been called into see Braden herself to discuss team deficiencies. Although as of yet she had been given no first hand personal experience, which was pretty much what she had expected.

Then one day Braden had button-holed her outside the office during one of his rounds.

“How are you getting on?” he asked.

“Oh fine Mr Braden,” Alice replied.

“No problems?”

“No Sir,” she said with a shrug.

“Then how comes the photocopier in the main building is on the fritz, Becky hasn’t turned up for work two days running and there is a pile of crap sitting outside my office waiting to be put into the store?” Braden’s stern manner came on like a switch.

“I was just on my way to see about the delivery…” Alice’s voice tailed off, “The photocopier you say? It was alright this morning.”

“And Becky?” Braden folded his arms.

“I am not altogether sure I know who…” Alice grabbed the staff list from the wall just inside her office door and began to flipping through them. “Eh…”

“Rebecca James,” Braden supplied.

Alice found the name on the list.

“I… eh…”

“Not good enough Alice. My office in 10 minutes,” Braden snapped.

With that he walked away.

Alice gulped and fought down an assault of butterflies. It was the day she had been waiting for in dread excitement. Still she hated being pulled over her work and grabbed the schedule and checked names. She didn’t even know Becky, not by face or name. She was still looking through lists when she saw the time.

“Oh God,” she groaned.

Alice all but sprinted to the main building and knocked on Braden’s door with moments to spare.

“Come,” he called.

“Mr Braden,” Alice said in a flustered voice, “Shall I see to the photocopier and…”

“After we are through here,” he intoned pointing at a space opposite him.

“Yes Sir,” Alice winced.

Alice moved to a spot on the carpet and stood in an approximation of attention.

“Your work here has been good so far. Most of the girls look up to you and Camilla says you work well with her,” Braden said crisply.

“Oh… thank you Sir,” Alice said carefully.

“But I run a tight ship here and you know how I keep the girls up to the mark,” he said pointedly.

“Yes Sir,” Alice coughed down a thick voice.

“Any reason why you should be exempt?” Braden said leaning forward.

A deep pink stain pooled at each of Alice’s cheeks and she let her mouth hang open in a nervous ‘oh.’ She glanced sideways and she knew at once that it was the same gesture she had made when being told off at school or by her supervisor in college.

“No Sir,” she managed in a sticky voice.

“Your first spanking here. It should be memorable for both of us,” Braden put in lightly.

Alice swallowed.

Braden moved to an armless chair on one side of the office. It had the look of a piece of furniture placed for a particular purpose. Sitting down he beckoned his office manager over to him.

“You are a senior member of staff, but you are not too old for damn good spanking are you?”

“No Sir,” Alice gulped, her face beginning to melt now.

“If you have any objections then now is the time,” he announced.

Alice felt like a bunny pinned in car headlights. Why did he say that? Did she have a choice? Should she protest? She began to wring her hands. She wanted it simple not complicated. She was ready, wasn’t she? She had been prepared. Now he was discussing options? Wasn’t he?

“If not then please lower your…” he pointed at her suit trousers.

Alice began to fumble with the belt and finally the pin-striped tailored suit bottoms draped at mid-thigh.

“Should I…?” she waggled a finger over her white M&S knickers, still wondering if she should object.

While she dithered Braden took her firmly by the arm and pulled gently across his lap.

“Ooh,” Alice squealed.

Then her eyes went even wider as Braden hooked a finger into the elastic of her briefs and drew them over her large broad bottom.

“I am sorry Mr Braden, I didn’t mean to…”

Her words were stolen by a sudden and surprising sting to her bottom.

“Ooh… ah,” she yelped.

The first spank was followed by another and then immediately after by two more. In a few moments she was squirming and bucking over his knee in response to the stinging onslaught.

“You agreed to this, did you not? I made it quite clear, didn’t I?” Braden scolded.

“Yes Sir,” Alice replied in a strained voice.

“You had a chance to see it work and…” he spanked in hard with a volley and seemed content enough.

“Yes Sir,” Alice wailed.

“So you agree you have this coming?”

“Ooh, yes Sir.” Alice’s words were moist and edged in her discomfort.

She never knew a man’s hand could hurt so much, that a spanking could sting so. Worse still it went on and on.

“Now next time you mess up I am going to put you in the corner outside to await a second instalment. You will serve as an example won’t you?”

“Yes Sir,” Alice said miserably and tears pooled at her eyes.

“Today you can stand in the corner there,” Braden ordered her.

It was the first clue that the spanking was over.

Alice sighed and clawed at her sore red bottom.

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir,” she managed through clenched teeth.

She knew from the other spankings she had seen that corner time was bare-bottomed and that he would get to see his handiwork at his leisure. That was fair enough, she thought ruefully, for if a job was worth doing then it was worth doing well.

Ends.

Our story began here.

Mary rearranged the flowers in the hall for the umpteenth time before she was satisfied. It was one of the more relaxing tasks she had to attend to that day. She had tried teaching Tatiana in the past, but the girl had neither eye nor a feel for it.

In any case Tatiana was still standing penance with a well-crafted root of ginger inserted where it would do the most good. Mary wondered idly whether that particular spice had got the maid’s attention more sharply than the 15 minute heavy paddling she had endured directly before corner time and her latest treat.

Judging from the girl’s tearful fuss, Mary guessed the spanking would burn more than the ginger for a while. But the housekeeper knew from bitter experience that after a few minutes the spice would begin to bite and Tatiana might even look fondly in the spanking she had received. Mary certainly hoped so. For she intended keeping the little nugget fresh until the Russian girl pleaded for another spanking instead.

Then Tatiana would vigorously get her wish until she asked nicely for another round of corner time with ginger. And around they would go again.

‘If only I had such a free hand with Sylvia,’ Mary thought hopefully, the spoiled brat would rue that day.

Mary might have rearranged the flowers yet again but there was a knock at the door.

The housekeeper was about to impatiently call the maid, but then she remembered the girl was still indisposed.

There was another wrap on the knocker; this time accompanied by the old bell that hung by a chain next the door.

“Coming,” Mary called out.

Then with one final run of her eye over the flowers in the vase she nodded in satisfaction and went to answer it.

Drake had has his hair freshly cut down to a rash at the back and sides, leaving a short salt and pepper stubble on top. This renewed severe look only serve to emphasise his hard blue eyes that she found herself looking into. Mary’s heart skipped a beat and her tummy was assailed by girlish butterflies.

“Mr Drake… I-I wasn’t expecting you…” Mary twittered.

“So I gather,” he replied.

He didn’t wait for an invitation but strode into the hall and took it in with a sweeping glance as if seeing it anew.

“Have you come to deal with Tatiana? She has been a trial lately, but I do have matters in hand,” Mary said anxiously.

There were only two possible reasons for the Spankman’s visit and Mary liked neither of them. It was either a comment on her disciplinary skills or Gerald had decided to extend Drake’s attentions to his wife. Unaccountably this last reason filled Mary with jealousy.

“You have matters in hand do you?” Drake growled, “That is not what I have heard.”

Mary frowned, something was wrong.

“I have heard you have been reckless and overzealous in your treatment of the girl.” As Drake spoke his eyes swivelled to zero in on the housekeeper and fix her with a hard stare.

“I may have been strict but…”

“You left her unattended in the cellar,” Drake accused.

“I was with you,” Mary countered, letting her irritation show.

“Oh so you know what I’m talking about and you are making excuses now are you?” Drake bit back.

Mary opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. She knew better to argue and in any case he was right on all counts. She had indulged herself at Tatiana’s expense.

“No Sir.” Mary bit her lip, cowed.

“Where is the girl now?”

Mary let out a slow breath and pointed towards the dining room.

Drake indicated that Mary should lead the way and then followed her. They found girl where Mary had left her; facing the wall sporting two maroon bottom cheeks and crying gently as she struggled to contend with the intimately placed spice.

“Tatiana?” Drake began.

“Yes Sir,” Tatiana replied miserably not moving a muscle.

Inside she quailed, what more was she to suffer.

“Turn around.”

Tatiana turned about and stood up as straight as she could.

“Sir?”

“Have you been fairly treated?” Drake asked.

Tatiana licked her lips and studied the floor for a moment.

“Yes Sir… I was… I thoroughly deserve to be punished… I was warned and I…”

“I don’t want to hear it frankly. What I want to know is, were you left alone in the cellar for any length of time during the past few days?”

Tatiana looked at Mary and moved her lips to speak. Telling tales seemed wrong somehow. Surely this was between Mary and her. But on the other hand she couldn’t lie and what was just was just. Others would decide. She nodded.

“Can I just say…?” Mary began.

“No,” Drake shot at her. “You can remove your skirt and under things and bend over that chair.”

Mary shot a glance at Tatiana.

“Do it,” Drake barked.

Mary blushed, but didn’t hesitate. A spanking in front of the maid would be embarrassing, but she couldn’t deny it wasn’t deserved.

“Mary did a good job on your bottom,” Drake observed to Tatiana while Mary stepped out of her knickers.

“Yes Sir,” Tatiana replied ruefully.

She squirmed a little and described a circle with her right thigh as she grimaced at the continued working of the ginger.

“Fetch the paddle she used,” he ordered her, “I take it, it was a paddle.”

Tatiana nodded and scurried across the room with her sore bare bottom jiggling behind. The paddle wasn’t far. She handed it to him.

“Were you finished with this?” Drake asked Mary.

Mary was peony as she stood in her tight jumper and stocking tops with her hands cupped over her sex. She mouthed the word no.

“You were going to alternate the paddle and the ginger?” he guessed.

Again Mary nodded shamefaced.

“For how long?” he asked.

Mary shrugged.

Turn around and bend over the back of that chair.

“But…”

“Oh this is just a beginning for you,” he cut her off, “But I suggest you do as you are told.”

Mary swallowed and obeyed him.

“Tatiana, you know how to prepare ginger?” he said to the maid.

“Yes Sir,” she replied in as neutral a voice as she could manage.

“Do so. As many plugs as you can with what is to hand,” Drake told her.

Tatiana licked her lips, and then after a brief contemplation of her mistress’s bare bottom displayed prominently over the back of the chair, she went to the kitchen to comply.

*

“Ughhh,” Mary grunted as the paddle blasted her bare bottom again.

A fat tear rolled down the side of her nose and splashed onto the floor and it took a moment to get her breath.

“Seven Sir,” she finally managed to say.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Sylvia had joined Tatiana to watch her ordeal.

“When you are charged with a girl’s discipline, her training if you will; then you have a duty of care do you not?” Drake scolded her sharply.

“Yes Sir,” Mary said miserably among the ragged breaths.

There was a dull whoosh that touched her ears just as the biting paddle landed again with a thwack.

“Uh,” she spluttered in a wet voice.

The pain sang in her behind and continued to build for a long moment.

“Eight Sir,” she wailed; her voice hard on the edge of true crying now.

Drake regarded the glorious shiny curves of Mary’s polished burgundy bottom and paused. No part of her skin there was left unstained and a slight leathery welt was forming where the red met the unspanked whiteness on her tail. The second eight would be harder for her, he knew.

*

As predicted the second eight were a trail and although Mary had managed to take her spanking without breaking, she felt thoroughly punished. The worst part was having the other two women watching her ordeal, especially Tatiana.

But finally and after many, many decades of purgatory the last eight bit home and she had announced it with triumph admixed with gratitude.

Tatiana had done the honours when the time came for the first dose of ginger. For a moment Mary could have sworn that the girl and inserted her entire fist. The hard knot of root felt cold at first and only a minor irritant as she was gratefully put in the corner to struggle with the unabating throb of the paddle. But after a few moments the growing burn in her fundament began to compete with the blisters and bruises on her bottom.

“No rubbing now mind,” Drake warned.

“No Sir,” Mary gasped through a clenched jaw.

Wild horses couldn’t make her break protocol. Not considering the penalties. God the man was merciless. But secretly she wouldn’t have had it any other way. Then thoroughly cowed she drew one last breath and burst into tears.

To be continued.

sorority housekeeping from movie

1938 Sorority Girl Janet Shock from a contemporary news cutting posing being spanked by two frat boys as a good sport

Two modern college girls ‘bending and baring’

Actual sorority hazing c1950

Nervous sorority girls paddle shopping

More modern sorority hazing

sorority hazing

Although I get the odd eye-rolling from young ladies who are strictly M/F when it comes to spanking tastes, one of the most requested subjects for articles is sororities. Of course there is a limited amount of information in the public domain on this, but from time to time new anecdotes do turn up.

I have been sitting on a couple of short snippets for some future use, but then Sam (who has sent in interesting sorority stuff before) sent in an account and some pictures from J, a mature lady in his munchie group.

The other snippets are from the EP and are interesting because they speak of practices hitherto not heard of.

But first J’s account:

I was in college at the end of 1960s and into the early 1970s where I joined a sorority. In those days paddle spankings were the norm and as far as I can tell still are. The only difference now is that this great American tradition has been increasingly driven underground, which is not only unhealthy but from what I hear has greatly sexualised some of these practices and today young women (and men) are doing stuff that we would never have dreamed of doing.

Pleased with her sorority hazing paddles

Despite claims to the contrary, punishment spankings were a major part of the sorority regime and our chapter took regular delivery of short heavy paddles designed to hurt. The pictures are from the 1940s and 50s I think, but the situation was more or less the same in my time.

At our sorority paddle spanking was used for discipline at all levels and for hazing. It was often hard to tell where one left off from the other.

At one extreme we had the paddle parties, which were mostly larks and the paddle was usually applied over clothes. This included mixed-fraternity initiations and the like. At the other extreme there were formal ‘courts’ where girls had to explain themselves for major breaches of the behaviour code that could include stealing, bullying and in those days sexual misdemeanours.

To put this into context though as far as I know this happened once the year before I joined and again in my senior year, so it was not a common event.

More routinely we had housekeeping, which could be extended to all members of the sorority, but was more usually applied to pledges. This was where small breaches of discipline were dealt with.

This consisted of three or four girls being summoned to an upperclassman or Big Sister’s room and one after the other we had to bend and bare for several full-blooded swats of the paddle.

One never quite got used to the pain and embarrassment, especially if the one taking you to task was less than discreet, but it was usually something taken in one’s stride. However on one occasion I was punished with three other girls and one of them decided she had something to prove.

This particular girl kept sassing the two seniors with the paddles; determined to show it didn’t hurt. This meant that we all had to take extra until there was not a dry eye among us. Our bottoms were purple afterwards and I didn’t sit too well for a day or two.

A Paddle from J’s era (click for quaint jingle)

Putting girls in their place and team building was at the heart of the sorority in my view and this is why I would defend it. For the most part I did not sexualise this until much later, but I will come to that.

I remember one stuck-up legacy girl thought she was too good for everyone else. One night at lights out, someone played a prank on her and placed a bucket of something nasty on a door and she got sploshed in her best clothes. She kicked up such a fuss that she was given a roasting and given two minutes to get ready for bed. An impossible task but one for which she was punished for failing.

When 10 minutes later after a shower she reported in her PJs, she had to bend over and take three swats clothed and three swats bare for reporting late and then she was made to get dressed again and come back. She then got three on her skirt, three on the panties, then on the bare, then on the seat of her PJs again. All this at each stage of getting undressed. These were hard heavy swats and by the end she was bawling. All this under the eyes of a dozen wide-eyed young pledges and older girls.

She also had to report for housekeeping that week I think. But I think she learned a lesson and later was much less stuck-up.

On top of this were the much more intimate Big Sister spankings.

My Big Sister, C, was a brick and we had a lot of fun. She also got me out of a lot of scrapes. But if she thought I needed it she would make me bend over and bare my bottom for a sound paddle spanking. Sometimes this was followed or preceded by corner time.

This was never as bad as housekeeping, but there was no limit to what she could do and often she would keep me up to the mark for most of an evening in the room we shared.

Sometimes she would put me across her knee and spank me that way and this is where I first began to get confused feelings that I later recognised were sexual.

I think she may have enjoyed these sessions, but neither of us took it any further. I know that since then it is these days that have fuelled my kink, if I can call it that, but that was only in my head and on the whole at the time it was all just character-building and robust fun.

actual sorority paddling from the 1940s

I have spared many details, especially about specific rituals and secrets, but not having named names I hope that gives you a flavour of those days Sam. Feel free to pass this on so long as you don’t identify me or my college or sorority.

Thanks to Sam and J for this account and the photographs.

Susan wrote:

In my senior year my best friend got me a birthday paddle and everyone present got to spank my posterior and sign it. (It was an all-girls party) Their love pats provided a small amount of satisfaction, but not much -my posterior was hardly pink – I still wanted the real thing. So, I searched for a college sorority that still hazed with a paddle and not just for one traditional night, but all year long.

An Ivy League school in the South is where I found my heart’s desire. This sorority’s rule was that any member could haze any underclassman for any sorority infraction at any time (as long as you were in our sorority building).

Once a month the sorority would hold an open party where the big entertainment was the “Toughest Butt Contest” and all the underclassmen were required to participate, the winner could paddle any upperclassman in the sorority the coming month as often as they desired. A reward of revenge was a great motivator.

The contest was done in G-strings for entertainment purposes. It was a great fund-raiser, and open to the whole campus for both genders. I won several times and enjoyed my month of revenge. Now, since I have long graduated (class of 1980), I no longer have the means to fulfil my desire to give or receive.

A comment to this contribution ran:

We had freshman initiation that culminated with all of us freshman having to crawl on our hands and knees between the legs of the seniors who paddled our little bottoms until we were all howling. We all survived, and just looked forward to when we would have our own crop of freshmen. Imagine what a stir that would cause today.

There were many short snippets like this, but many were quite fanciful, but it seems the legend continues.