The girl was gently mouth-breathing while her glassy eyes failed to focus. It was odd that Dominic should have been drawn to her face at a time like this. After all, the woman was naked and on her knees; the epic curves of her bare bottom jutting skywards in submission.

“Your words, your tone, your very gestures are important here,” the leader was saying.

The leader was a runt of a man; balding and podgy. On anybody else the black suit would have looked cool, but on Leader it seemed out of place. Apparently he had degrees in sexual-psychology but calling him Leader had seemed pretentious, or so Dominic had thought. Now Dominic felt uncomfortable as if he had been missing something and had only just awoken. He shifted uneasily in his chair, actually embarrassed by his erection lodged tightly in his trousers.

Still on her knees the woman groaned and ever so slightly wagged her bottom like an eager dog.

This was when Leader struck her exposed bottom with a short thick leather strap and she groaned. Only the sound was almost a gentle sigh.

Leader ran his hand along the side of the woman’s face and she turned her head as if to lick his hand. The man whispered something that seemed to animate the woman and she bucked her hips as if to invite more attention from the strap. She got it.

There was a fierceness in what followed, which at any other time might have seemed brutal. The woman rolled and took her spanking as if she were dancing. Her bottom was shiny and strawberry red, sore beyond all normality. She was crying too, but only on the surface, as if the leak of moisture only served to moisten the glaze in her eyes.

“If you get this right,” the leader was saying, “Then you will never need your safe word, but always remember you have it.”

He spanked the woman again and let the sting roll into a burn.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he whispered gruffly into the woman’s ear.

The glassy eyes focussed for an instant and she seemed to panic, “Please don’t stop,” she gasped.

“Shhh,” Leader soothed, “No of course not, but tell me your safe word.” He ordered.

She seemed to come back to herself before breathing, “Bus Stop.”

“Do you see how her demeanour has changed?” Leader addressed the gathered men, “She has slipped out her head space. Let us restore it, remember…”

Leader played both the woman and the watching men like a fine instrument. Even the cynical Dominic went with it, even as he cursed his own lack of skill.

Gabrielle had suggested this course and he had hated the idea. She hadn’t actually threatened to withdraw her participation in their games, but the implication was there and he was at least smart enough to read her. She was good; at no point did she compromise him or his imagined authority over her. She had merely ‘petitioned’ him to think about it, leaving him the illusion of choice.

He knew now that she was far better at the game than he. A true submissive, liberated in what she wanted. He had been an ass.

The realisation sickened him and he felt his taught manhood wither even as the show came to an end.

That night he hit the books and actually read them this time, instead of cherry picking lines he liked and scanning the tasteful photographs. Only despite Leader’s class and avidly reading and rereading the texts he could not get to the heart of headspace, subspace or any real psychology of the thing.

By three in the morning his head ached and he slipped out of the building for some air. Leaving the accommodation after lights out was forbidden as was phoning home at any time in the three days. Well he wouldn’t then, he winked to himself; Gabrielle wasn’t at home.

“You awake?” Dominic asked the voice on the phone.

“No, I am still asleep,” Gabrielle yawned.

“Sorry, I didn’t think,” he winced.

“That’s okay,” Gabrielle mumbled through a second yawn, “Hang on, are you supposed to be phoning anyone? I thought…”

“Forget it,” Dominic snarled and hung up. He immediately regretted it. You ass, he thought.

The phone rang.

“Sorry,” they said together.

“No, I’m sorry, you’re right and anyway insomnia is a bad reason to wake you up,” he said.

“Don’t worry, I had to wake up tom answer the phone anyway,” she said mischievously.

He almost missed the quip before he laughed.

“Not going well?” she said.

“Hmmm, not sure. I don’t get it, not really,” he said, “Well I do, but…” He sighed.

“At least you gave it a go,” she offered.

“Yeah,” he sounded unconvinced, “Not good enough. Man I am really shit at being a top, aren’t I?”

“Yep,” Gabrielle agreed. Then she laughed. “Only a top would ask that or even think of it like that. You aren’t mending a car or running a race. You are thinking about this the wrong way.”

Dominic hated the touchy feely psychobabble she served up now and again. “Really, I thought a real top wouldn’t doubt himself; or ask his sub if he was doing it right?”

“You really are making my point for me. Why do you say that? You are not superman,” she told him.

“No I am really not, but I think Leader is,” he groaned.

“Who?” Gabrielle snorted.

“This Leader guy running the course, Dr… Marcus… eh… anyway he calls himself Leader,” Dominic explained.

There was a croaking noise on the other end of the phone and he realised Gabrielle was laughing. “Now he does sound like an arse,” Gabrielle said interrupting her mirth.

Dominic cracked and laughed too.

“Dom, maybe you should just jack it in,” Gabrielle suggested.

Dominic frowned thoughtfully. “No, I think I will stick it out,” he said, “I already know what I don’t do, maybe I have half a chance of getting some hints on the rest.”

“You’re the boss,” Gabrielle said without a hint of mockery, “Have fun, but my bottom is getting cold.”

Dominic felt his cock rise again. He used to think he might be in love, now he knew he was.

Part I here

The night was still but it was not the owl screech that woke the man. Sundance inclined his head and sniffed. There was a tang of metal in the air. It was a bitter smell admixed with sweat, adrenalin and gun oil. Nothing about the smell should have been strange to him around the compound and it took a second of two for him to process. Some sixth sense tickled the back of his brain as he realised the scent in the air screamed strangers.

Outside, while the Navajo paused to drag on his pants, a line of people at a low crouch ran out of the trees towards a part of the fence part shaded by a tree. The moon, such that it was in its current phase, had yet to rise and low cloud shrouded the ranch in near dark.

Had she been looking that way Marsha McLeod might have seen the glint of light on a scope of the gun carried by the lead man, but her senses had kicked in time to alert her to the road beyond the gate. Given her previous failure she didn’t wait and grabbed at the gate phone to call it in.

The snip of wire to her right gave her pause but before she could spot the intruders Sundance burst from his room in the bunk house and gave out an unearthly scream.

Stacy heard the shout go up and immediately lunged for the window. It was hard to make out what was happening, but the sudden shot told her it was not good. In perhaps a minute she was dressed and half into her boots as she fumbled with the lock of her door. A wad of paper had previously jammed it unlockable, a trick she picked up in preparation for an unscheduled departure. Maybe this was it.

Alice was less alert and by the time Stacy reached her room the lawyer had yet to even scrub the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand.

“What’s happening?” she hissed once she knew the person at the door was Stacy.

“Get dressed, it is time to go,” Stacy told her, only pausing to look over her shoulder for one of the others.

The roar of a shotgun and several screams convinced Alice that Stacy was right.

Two minutes later both women were running between the outbuildings trying to keep to the shadows while chaos reigned all around. Mostly there were shot guns and the odd pistol fired, but before the two escapees reached the fence some fool had opened up with what sounded like an AK-47 on full automatic.

“This way,” Stacy hissed as she spotted where the hunters had cut the wire, “We can get out.”

Alice stopped dead and wished she had hidden under her bed. The compound was a war zone and it was impossible now to know who was who in the darting shadows and screams. “Omigod, omigod, omigod,” Alice babbled and made to run back.

“Alice,” Stacy yelled as she seized the lawyer’s arm, “We have to go, now.” She gestured wildly at the dark patch in the grey that marked the fence.

The howl shuddered Alice’s soul; a long unearthly scream that hinted of hell and the wild, wild woods. It was enough. With one last look back Alice staggered after Stacy and in a moment she was running. All the while she muttered, “Omigod, omigod, omigod…”

*

The two women reached the wooded ridge in a stumble and Stacy pulled Alice down half under some shrubs. Behind them someone had let off some fireworks over the compound, or so it seemed to Alice. The sky was dancing with them scattering firelight every which way so that the melee of people fighting in the compound below cast violent shapes amid shadows that crossed and re-crossed. There were screams too, shrill enough to be heard over the explosives and gun fire. Alice turned to Stacy to ask what was happening but as she looked back for a second what she saw standing amid the fray made her freeze.

Like a hound from hell the wolf dominated the compound. Heedless of bullets the huge beast surveyed the chaos for a second and then with seeming relish howled.

“Alice, let’s go, let’s go now,” Stacy shook the lawyer into movement.

Alice nodded. Anywhere was better than here.

The next timeless age was lost in crashing through whip-biting undergrowth as they fled only God knew where. Alice was almost glad she could not see as she followed her friend.

“There must be a road,” Stacy asserted in a hopeless voice.

Alice agreed. The sounds behind them once fading now seemed to have become a pursuit as something crashed through the trees behind them. Alice thought of the wolf and ran onwards.

Somewhere there was another rattle of machine gun, but this time it ended abruptly, choked off unnaturally in its prime. In fact it only took a moment for Alice to realise that all the gunfire had now stopped altogether. Only ghostly howls and very human screams were left hanging in the night; screams and something heavy and fast crashing through the trees after them.

“Alice,” Stacy swallowed down her terror, “Alice,” she repeated, “Alice, run.”

They ran.

*

By the time they hit the hard forest road they had nothing left. Both Alice and Stacy collapsed in an air-sobbing heap onto the hard surface and clawed down every breath.

Somewhere above the half-moon had risen and was now playing hide-and-go-seek with the clouds. The sliver light caught the hard jet chips encased in the asphalt making them shine like gem stones. Only Stacy was aware that the sounds of pursuit had receded, although it was hard to miss the distant serenade of wolves. Whether in lament or triumph she could not tell. She wanted no part in their world. Instead she sniffed the air savouring every texture of pine and the deep brown earth the trees drove their roots into. By the time she was aware that they were not alone she was very calm.

The sudden burst of light from the jeep hurt her eyes and she sat up. The glare lasted only for a moment and then it went off.

“Well, well what have we here?” The voice was thick like bitter chocolate. It came from a large man hanging back next to the car, but from his smile Stacy knew he was Black.

“You’re Brady aren’t you?” Stacy felt her head pounding and somehow despite his smile she could taste his fear.

The man ignored her and turned his attention to a walkie-talkie. “Coleridge, come in,” he sounded desperate. “It has all gone to shit, I don’t know what the fuck is happening.”

“I think they are dead,” Stacy said, but her voice was off and she began choking.

“You’re gonna be dead soon, or worse,” Brady snarled, “When I find the boss I am gonna take you two bitches…”

Alice clawed her way on to all fours and began crawling away. She thought Adam and John and wished they were there.

“Going somewhere missy?” Brady chuckled, but was still more focussed on his walkie and hit the call button for another try for back-up.

Stacy hadn’t moved and was still coughing. The flight through the forest had left her hot and sticky and despite the night’s chill she began tugging at her clothes, removing any that she easily could.

“Get back here you dog-struck bitch,” Brady called after Alice, who had barely gone anywhere on her hands and knees as she slowly crawled away.

“Leave her alone,” Stacy choked, the smoker’s cough had claimed her by the sound of it and she sounded like a man or some ravenous beast.

Brady turned to curse her but something stopped him. Something wasn’t right; the girl was half naked and dark somehow, even in the moonlight. She looked bigger too, much bigger. As he watched the young woman seemed to spasm in a coughing fit as she shucked off the last of her clothes, some of them tearing even though she did not use her hands.

The moon hid behind a cloud and Brady thought about the gun at his hip. When the moon once again emerged to light the scene Stacy was gone. Instead, regarding him with red baleful eyes was a wolf.

Brady gulped, all colour draining from his face. The waklie-talkie was useless in his hands. Coleridge could not help him now. He dropped it and found his thoughts twisting between jeep keys or gun as he hung for a long moment in indecision between fight or flight. He chose the gun.

The gun fired and Alice, who still on her knees, whirled around to look back. Terrified for Stacy, she was in full panic after the shot, but her friend was gone. Instead she saw Brady wrestling with a large wolf.

What happened next would stay with the young lawyer for the rest of her days.

For a long moment the battle between wolf and the large man seemed an equal one. Brady was still on his feet and still able to keep the thrashing wolf at arm’s length. Then perhaps in the struggle or because his strength failed he dropped to one knee and the wolf closed.

Whether the gurgling came from man or wolf, Alice could not tell, but a rapid twisting of the wolf’s head as it closed with Brady’s throat resulted in a hot dark spray that splattered the road. Alice could smell the stench and retched. But the wolf did not stop. As the man went down the beast tore at him, tossing him about like a dog might a stick, each motion accompanied by a wet tearing sound. There was no screaming; only the persistent growl of the wolf gave her any sound track as the life bled out of Brady.

Then Alice remembered to breath and began to whimper. She had no idea where Stacy had gone, and if she could only guess then she would run.

At the sound of the woman the wolf dropped the man and slunk low as it faced her. Alice was easy meat. It sniffed as if to confirm this and licked its blood dripping maw.

“Please,” Alice whispered, “Please go away,” she made a shooing motion with her hands.

The wolf crept forward as if suspecting a trap, all the while drawing in the scent of the night as it zeroed in on its new prey.

Alice whimpered again and thought better of running. Instead she backed away in a reverse crawl as she looked about desperately for a haven or something.

The wolf stopped a dog’s length from her and bared its teeth. Perhaps there was something in its eyes; confusion maybe? It hesitated.

“Alice, don’t move, there is a good girl,” a firm voice told her.

The timbre of the man’s words was confident and reassuring and Alice sobbed with relief.

“Alice, keep quiet and don’t move,” Garrick told her as he took careful steps to stand alongside her. Then he addressed the wolf. “Hey girl, shush, it’s all good honey, shush,” he said, his voice was smiling, although Alice could not see it.

What she did see was that the old man was naked. More than that his arms and face were darkly smeared. Alice could smell the blood.

The wolf growled, but hopped back a pace or two, its eyes never leaving Garrick.

“That’s it,” Garrick reassured the beast, “That’s it. Nothing to fear here,” his voice was soothing and he stooped and reached as if for a dog.

Only there wasn’t a beast. The wolf was gone. Shivering on the ground sat a blood-painted Stacy. She was naked and confused and looked as if her world lay dead on the ground like Brady behind her.

Alice could only gape and she made no sound or movement as Garrick hastily scooped up Stacy’s jacket from the ground and wrapped it around the girl’s shoulder’s.

Suddenly there were men all around them, some half naked; Jared among them.

“It was her, the lone wolf,” he gasped in genuine surprise.

“I suspected as much,” Sundance said sagely and nodded his head.

“You knew?” Jared accused his father.

Garrick nodded. “And Augusta, we knew it almost at once,” he agreed.

Jared looked about him at the other men in the shadows as if to reassure himself that he wasn’t the only one not to have known.

Only Sundance looked un-phased.

“The man is dead?” the Navajo tossed his head in the direction of the jeep.

“Yes,” Alice murmured, “Oh yes.”

“She is in shock,” Garrick sighed.

The group held their peace for a moment as if communing with each other or the night as the clean wind stirred the pine in a low shushing sound. In the pale silver light, unmoving, they all looked like pensive statues. Then the moon hid again and Garrick seemed to relax.

“Take the women back to Augusta,” he said.

“All of them?” Jared asked.

Garrick frowned and looked at Sundance.

“We captured some of the hunters. The man will die, but there are two women,” Sundance informed him.

“There are others dead?” Garrick asked.

Sundance looked grief-stricken. “Many, but some fled, we can’ find their leader.”

“I mean our people?” Garrick asked.

There was a long silence and even Jared looked strained.

“None dead so far, but three may yet die,” Sundance breathed, “Marsha among them. She was the only one wounded while in human form.”

“We should kill them all,” Jared growled.

“Perhaps,” Garrick snarled, “but this is not over.”

“What if they run?” Sundance interjected, he did not like where this was going.

“If they scatter then let them go, all but Coleridge,” Garrick told him.

Sundance nodded and looked relieved. “And the women?” he suddenly remembered.

“I will talk to them myself and see what they know. Let us see how cooperative they will be,” Garrick grinned evilly and Jared matched him. “Let’s wrap this up,” Garrick sighed.

To be continued…

“Ignorance is the road to nowhere,” ran the legend around the Saint Chad’s school coat of arms.

Roland D Denston eyed the noble words with a sense of pride. Of course the words were in Latin, and he doubted half the staff, leave alone the student body could read them. He sighed. In the old days they would thrash two dozen boys for failing a Latin test. That was before the school had admitted girls.

The head had tried to reassure him that because only the Sixth Form had girls, or young women as he insisted, that the school would not be compromised.

“We must change with the times Denston old boy,” he was given to saying.

Denston would only smile and say nothing in return.

With a nostalgic shake of his head Denston turned back to balcony overlooking the hall below. His hawk-like nose complimented his image of constant watchfulness as his steel grey eyes scanned ceaselessly under a harshly shorn rash of blue-black and white streaked hair. The black traditional gown only added to the picture.

Somewhere there was a commotion and he saw some grinning boys milling around below him all looking the same way; out to the entrance hall.

For a moment Denston considered intervening, but what was the point, it seemed there was always a commotion these days? Sooner or later any miscreant would come his way, if the situation warranted it.

He was about to turn away when he saw a rather harassed Miss Parish fighting her way through the gaggle of boys and trying to gain the stairs. The normally fierce woman was as usual armoured in tweed and grim of visage. However, just then she looked so out of sorts that she made no move to reprimand the boys but pushed on through heading Denston’s way.

“Mr Denston, oh Mr Denston,” she gasped when she saw him. “There has been a dreadful to do on the hockey field. The home team have got themselves into a dreadful row with the visitors. It took several teachers to separate them.

“Good God,” Denston spluttered, he had never heard of such a thing. If fact he hadn’t even known that they had had a hockey team. “Get these hooligans up here at once, all of them, my God if I don’t make them rue this day…”

“But Mr Denston I don’t think…” Miss Parish blustered.

Stupid weak woman, he thought, she was too soft, he didn’t wonder.

“All of them I say,” Denston snapped.

Miss Parish made to say more but then with a look of further consternation she turned back and scurried down the stairs to once again brave the melee.

“You boys,” Denston thundered from above, “Get to your classes.”

He did not need to tell them twice.

*

It was sometime later that he heard a knock at the door.

“Come,” he bellowed.

Miss Parish entered with some measure of composure and gave him an uncertain smile. “You wanted to… eh… see the hockey team,” she ventured.

“The rowdy brutes who have been roughhousing with a visiting team, was it?” he asked, in case there were two hockey teams in Miss Parish purview.

Miss Parish pursed her lips and nodded.

Denston shook his head and stood to straighten his gown. “A good thrashing all round will settle the matter,” he said.

“But…” Miss Parish started to say.

“Not going soft on me are you? You know how we do things? Or am I missing something?” Denston asked in a tone that didn’t expect a response.

“As you say,” Miss Parish sighed and backed out of the door.

Denston turned to his trusty rack of canes and ran his eye over each as he considered the best. Ordinarily he would match stick to boy, but a whole team required a one-size-fits-all type of affair. Six was too meagre for the offence, he pondered, eight at least or even 12. He reached for a medium cane that was longer than the rest.

The knock at the door was bravely done and confident.

“Come,” he intoned. Yes a dozen each he decided as he made his choice.

When he turned he was confronted by a young woman in a starched white polo-style shirt and a neat navy skirt extending demurely down her thighs. Her hair was dark blonde and mostly neat and tied up off her shoulder. For a moment he thought she must be a new games mistress, he had heard there was one. But what had she to do with the boys’ hockey team?

“You are…?” he began and gestured at her impatiently.

“Mason, Sir,” she said in a soft plummy voice. She stood at attention with her hands clasped behind her back.

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” he said, “Why…?”

“Mason, Sir, Captain of the Upper Sixth Women’s Team, Sir. As for why, Sir, they insulted the school Sir…” Mason said crisply and with some pride.

“Oh,” Denston said pointedly as the penny well and truly dropped.

It took him a moment to consider his options. He knew that strictly speaking girls weren’t exempt the cane, but usually, he supposed… he had no idea. He only knew that girls were not generally his province unless they sat at the back of one of his classes.

“How old are you Mason?” he asked in astonishment, genuinely puzzled by her lack of boater and pig tails. He wondered if the senior girls were permitted to paint their faces, but thought better of opening that can of worms or he would be there all day.

Mason eyed the cane in Mr Denston’s hands and drew in her cheeks with a small flush. She tried not to show any emotion, but she could hardly say she was surprised.

“I’m eh… 18 Sir… we are the senior team I am afraid Sir,” she made a face of regret and grimaced, “Should know better shouldn’t we? I… I’m sorry Sir, I know it was an awful dust up and all that, my responsibility entirely,” she said in an even voice.

Good for her, Denston thought, and nodded sagely as he might if she were a proper student and not a girl. Damn it all a breach of discipline was a breach of discipline. He had a job to do.

“All right Mason, any plea for clemency?” the master said sternly.

“No Sir,” Mason replied and drew herself upright.

“Alright, you know the drill,” he said and pulled a leather padded easy chair from the wall.

Mason shot the furniture a sideways look of horror and this time she swallowed. “Yes Sir,” she whispered, “Do I…?”

“Boys generally lower their pants and trousers and bend over the chair,” Denston suggested.

Mason’s eyes widened and she looked as if she was about to protest. Instead she said, “Yes Sir.”

As he watched the young woman removed her skirt, a wrap-around affair and folded it to place it on the seat of the chair. Then with only the barest of paused she thumbed her pants, thick tight shorts in style and the slid down her thighs to rest around her knees.

To avoid exposing her front she turned briskly and folded herself bottom upwards over the back of the chair.

A bottom is a bottom, Denston supposed, and steeled himself with detachment.

The bottom was round and firm. It was hard to equate it as belonging to a student at all. He stood forward and tapped Mason’s bottom twice with the cane and then he struck in the usual way.

The young woman gasped as stark white line on pale was drawn across her bare bottom. Then as the blood flooded the stroke mark it rose in a pink, then dusty red ridge. The pain with it, judging by the way she shook her bottom and made grimaced contortions with her face half visible from the side.

The second landed just under and made the girl grunt. Denston waited for two beats and the caned her again. He had decided on 12 and a dozen it would be. In any case the girl was taking it well and only the sudden panting breath belied any distress.

The caning was over in less than three minutes and then he invited the girl to stand.

“Yes Sir,” she sniffed, her eyes rimmed red and pooled with tears. She only made half a gesture to guard her front and Denston turned away until she repaired her dress.

“Let that be a lesson to you,” Denston said officiously.

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir,” Mason agreed and offered him her hand.

As tradition dictated he took it with a small perfunctory shake and bid her send the next girl.

*

Rugby being more his game, Denston had not quite realised that a full squad for Hockey had 20 or more girls in it and apparently they had all indulged in a brawl with the visitors. But there was nothing else for it as one after the other a parade of young women entered his office and lowered their underwear to bend bare bottomed over the armchair.

He marvelled at the variety of reactions each had. Although most indulged in hand-wringing reluctant to bare and bend, some were openly cheeky or even sullenly compliant, determined not to cry. One even made it and it was with a dry eye that one red head shook his hand.

Two begged and whined for a moment but soon yielded when he threatened to summon another teacher. The latter of these earned three extras, but she, as it turned out was the most gushingly grateful when it came to shake on it. She cried, sure enough, but was so slow in dressing herself that he had to scold her.

Smedley, she said her name was; and kept blathering, “Oh Sir, I am ever so sorry Sir, it won’t happen again,” all while shamelessly massaging her hind end.

He was still shaking his head in wonder as the cane-struck ninny blathered her way out of the door.

“Next,” she called once she was gone.

There was a long pause before the next girl came in and she had the audacity to be openly talking to Smedley over her shoulder as she entered.

This one reminded him of Mason, the first girl he had seen. Perhaps she was not as tall, but her chestnut brown hair was pinned up in a more mature style and again the girl was wearing far too much make-up in his opinion. Like Mason, she was also wearing the regulation school sport attire correctly, where so many had appeared slapdash.

“You girl, what is your name?” he bellowed.

The young woman gaped for a second and then shook herself into a smile. “Coolhurst, Amanda Coolhurst, but you can call me Manda, everybody does.”

“I most certainly will not,” Denston snarled, “Your behaviour was an outrage.”

“God yes,” Manda winced so that she was biting at the air and crinkled up her eyes, “So sorry.”

Denston glared at her for an awkward amount of time until finally he supplied a “Sir, you will call me Sir.”

“Oops, yes Sir,” she added a “sorry” and put an embarrassed hand to her mouth.

“Right, you know the drill,” Denston relaxed and took up his cane.

“The drill?” Manda said crisply and with puzzlement affixed to her face.

“Lower your under things and bend over the chair,” Denston ordered her.

“You want me to…?” Manda pursed her lips and eyed the door. Was it too late go back out and come in again? She had come to apologise but she hadn’t counted on this. Her parents had warned her that these provincial public schools had some funny ideas.

“Bare your bottom girl and bend over that chair,” Denston said in a slow firm tone.

Manda gulped and shot a look of horror at the chair. “Is this… I mean…” she became deflated and groaned, “Really?”

“Do you wish me to write you up and send for the headmaster? I might even call your parents,” he said, knowing he would do neither. No one ever defied him.

Manda remembered her last meeting with the head and had no wish to be on the carpet there again. That might very seriously impact her school career. As for calling her parents, what an odd notion, but God forbid they should hear about this debacle. They already had very definite views about her coming to this school in the first place.

“Nooo,” Manda said reluctantly. She looked uneasily at the cane and back to the chair.

“Then bare your bottom and bend over,” Denston said sharply, now steadily losing his patience.

“Can I ask… is it… is it usual to cane…?” Manda began.

Nothing was usual about this, he wanted to shout but instead he said, “Is it usual? Apparently so,” Denston growled “Now one last time, bend over.”

Manda gave a pained look and sighed. Then with a lick of her lips she turned to face the chair and reached under her skirt. The shorts came down with some effort and with a final roll of her eyes she lifted the skirt and bent over the chair to direct her bare bottom at the ceiling.

The feel of the leather pressed into her hips and she was acutely aware of the light chill on her bare skin and his as they must be, albeit professionally, scanning her naked bottom. She blushed until her ears burned.

Meanwhile watching Denston almost choked, good God, this girl was very much the young woman and recklessly careless of her modesty too, he thought with discomfort.

“Heels together a little more,” he coughed as he took up position behind her and to the side.

“Yes Sir,” she whispered and fixed her eyes on a particular spot on the wall. This was so embarrassing.

The cane tapped her twice across her proffered cheeks and she braced herself, her eyes not leaving the spot on the wall she had picked. It was an old trick learned from many previous sessions with the cane, although this was her first experience of bare bottom drill with a man.

The first swish and crack landed with a line of pain akin to a cut and her eyes almost popped out of her head. If this was a schoolboy caning then you could keep it. She was still rolling with it when the cut sawed in and became sharper.

“Oh, ah, oooh,” she whimpered. She had forgotten.

The second cut her across both bottom cheeks just below the first. Damn the man, he had waited until she had just got to handle the first stroke. This was worse and she barely held on to her tongue.

The third stroke completed the group and he waited a double pause before starting on the next set of three right where she sat, or still hoped to afterwards.

Denston tried to remain detached but there was something very… distracting about the six neat ridges that now emphasised this fully matured woman’s bare bottom. He needed to get out more, he decided, and he was suddenly disconcerted by the unfamiliar arrangement in his trousers. Maybe I should have delegated this job, but dash it all… he tugged at his collar and wiped his forehead.

Manda herself was panting like she had just come off the hockey field and had given herself over to inelegant mouth-breathing and tried not to cry. Big girls don’t cry, she told herself. But maybe she wanted to, she made a pout.

The next stroke cut higher again and taken by surprise, she yelped.

“Steady on,” she gasped, “That hurt.”

“That hurt,” he growled, “What?”

“Ah… I mean, that hurt Sir,” she blinked back the first trickle of water at her eyes.

“I mean, it is supposed to hurt, isn’t it?” he said pointedly.

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir,” she parroted. It seemed the right thing to… doooo! The eighth stroke was a bitch. No amend that to a ffffffffffff… “Bitch,” she grunted aloud.

“What did you say?” Denston snapped.

Manda sniffed. “Nothing Sir,” she replied.

“Three extra,” he told her.

“Ooh,” she whimpered.

By the time the next four strokes played out on her exposed behind she was crying and her bottom was on fire in lines of pain from the top of the cleft right down to where the thigh met lower curves of her seat.

“Now your three extras,” he told her and tapped her tender bottom with a little more force than she could quite handle. She hissed and wriggled under the faux assault.

At the next cut she screamed and quickly offered a “sorry.” That was a shock.

“Two more,” he said as he lay on the next.

Manda rolled with it but it was all she could do to hang on. The pain was killing. She was still hanging on when the final stroke made her let out one long groan.

“Jeeze,” she gasped.

“Up you get,” Denston sighed. “Are there any more waiting?” he added.

“Anymore?” she sniffed. Her face was red and wet from leaking eyes. Pulling up her tight hockey shorts was worth another two strokes. For tuppence she would have left them down. She executed an undignified jig as she smoothed down her skirt.

“Are there any more students, your team mates if you will, waiting for a swishing?” Denston asked irritably.

“Students?” she sucked in air and let it go as she massaged her bottom for England.

“Hey stop that,” he ordered.

“You think I am a student?” she gaped.

Denston stopped mouth open as if he were about to speak. Then he did. “Aren’t you?” He suddenly felt the walls of certainty crumble around him.

“I told you, I am Amanda Coolhurst… the new games mistress,” her words crashed into a heap as she realised his mistake a beat after he did.

“Oh Bollocks,” he said and closed his eyes so he would not see his career in pieces on the floor.

She looked at him open-mouthed for the longest second as she continued to claw at her tortured rear end. Then finally she managed an “Oh,” but her lips also found a smirk and suddenly she was on the edge of laughter.

“I thought…” he offered his arm in a placating gesture and shook his head as he trawled his personal lexicon for something more adequate than sorry.

“So I gather,” she blurted, laughter preventing anything more.

“I am so sorry,” he said, not thinking of anything else.

“No, actually I am sorry, my girls were outrageous, I…” she looked down at her attire and winced. At only 23 and dressed in school colours… the reason for his mistake was obvious. Then laughter overtook her. “Serves me right,” she giggled, “At least now I know the school isn’t completely mad. I wondered what the hell you were doing.”

“Miss Coolhurst, are you alright?” he said as he moved forward solicitously but then held back without touching her.

“I am fine. It was hardly my first rodeo, although it has been a while,” she laughed again.

This time so did he.

“What a way to meet,” he said tentatively. “I shall of course inform the head at once and take full responsibility.”

Manda stopped laughing. “Well…” she drawled, “About that… do you think we could keep this between ourselves?”

“Oh I assure you, the head is the soul of discretion. There is no chance that this will…” he protested.

“Not that so much,” she said in a brittle voice. “I haven’t exactly got off to a good start this term. Being new… I have already been on the carpet more than… if we could… maybe steady the ship about this afternoons events? And I promise I will try to keep better control.”

“Ah,” Denston said sagely, “I see. Yes I think…”

“Anyway with the threat of you I think the upper six might toe the line in future,” Manda laughed again.

“Right you are, anything to be of service,” Denston chuckled. “And any advice I can give you regarding… well you know…” he added.

“Right oh and thank you,” Manda said, then with an exaggerated extended arm she made to shake his hand.

He matched the gesture.

“Thank you Sir,” she said cheekily.

“Any time,” he responded and then realised what he had said.

Manda nodded and moved to the door. Then as she opened it she turned and said, “I might just take you up on that Sir,” and she winked.

There is a quick round this week. Again it has been a bit slow, but that may be more of a reflection of my own busy schedule.

Cassie emailed me to say hi and say how much she liked the blog. She put a bid in for more on the Good Old Southern Switch. “Hurts like a SOB,” she said and “regular companion right through college.” Her husband only uses it sparingly, a fact she is grateful of. She would rather read about it than experience it.

The riding crop seems to be a reoccurring theme this week, Devlin and the Spanking Blog both feature it.

I manged to view Real Spankings again and restored their link. To make up for the deficit they have a double plug this week in the images above.

Others from  AAA and Dallas.

Part I here

Garrick rubbed the bridge of his nose as he ran his eye down the line of corpses laid out in the barn, all of them hunters. Jared and Sundance had agreed that about a third of those that had come to town were now dead but that it most probably wasn’t over.

“A hard night,” Sundance said as he approached.

Garrick nodded. “How is Marsha and the others?” the old man sighed.

“Should pull through,” Sundance told him, but his eyes were on the dead. “Bad business and hard to keep quiet,” he said.

“That would be my next move if I were Coleridge,” Garrick sighed.

“Call the law, the real law I mean, yeah it figures,” Sundance agreed. “I already have a crew on it.”

“Take them deep into the woods,” the old wolf told his friend.

“What if Coleridge calls the Feds? I mean, we can clean up but if they get a warrant…” the Navajo eyed his chief with cold calculation. In the old days they would have scattered or at least farmed out the young.

“I am betting he won’t,” Garrick sighed; he wished he was as certain as he sounded. “The State troopers maybe, but what is he going to say?”

“It is what he will do next that worries me most,” Sundance intoned. His words sounded like a distant prayer and not addressed to Garrick at all.

“Nothing as unsubtle as last night that is for sure,” Garrick let out a long breath.

“What about the girl?” Sundance asked.

“Now that is an interesting problem,” Garrick replied, this time he was grinning. “She is with Augusta at the moment.”

“I will see to this mess,” Sundance nodded at the corpses. “The other problem is all yours my friend.” Then he turned to walk away and made a gesture to someone.

Just then there was a shout and someone backed up a truck as many began bringing in stretchers.

“Oh what about the other one?” Sundance asked as he paused and half turned back.

“You mean our troublesome Miss Eden, she is in good hands,” Garrick rolled his eyes. The lawyer was the very least of his worries and he was pleased to delegate.

*

Stacy sat on her bed in shock. There had been a man and some blood and she… she had been naked? The man was… she worked her mouth as if tasting something she could no longer taste. Why did that feel good? August had cleaned her up and given her new clothes. She lifted an arm to inspect the knitted sleeve of her borrowed sweater, trying to will into it some mundane importance; anything to recover normality. She remembered, she remembered it all, but it was just a story she had been told by someone else. It was too fantastical to be true so she could forget it couldn’t she?

Augusta came in with a tray and smiled. “Here eat something,” the woman offered.

“I think I already have,” Stacy replied and then giggled. The noise sounded overly high and strangled like she was an insane person.

“Why didn’t you stay here in the ranch where it was safe?” Augusta scolded.

“Safe?” Stacy giggled manically again and returned a cold grin under wild eyes. “They are all monsters here, didn’t you know?”

Augusta reached out and squeezed her arm.

“No, no, it is alright, I am a monster too,” Stacy continued.

“No,” Augusta said firmly.

“No,” Stacy laughed more naturally, she shook her head rapidly, “No of course not. It was just an old wolf. I think it attacked that man.” She switched to nodding woodenly as if that would make it so then her smile vanished and she looked stricken.

*

Not far away Alice sat on her own bed and stared at the wall. Okay, running was a dumb move, she decided. Stacy clearly has some issues and hadn’t been her best guide. She took a deep breath and ran through past events in her mind. This time she stayed detached and let her legal training kick in while she examined the evidence.

Coleridge had come looking for werewolves. Stacy had hinted at said werewolves and had been the one to call Coleridge. So two different people with past experience take this seriously; check. The town too, they are afraid of the Stones, they believe in this; double check.

“Okay,” Alice said aloud and took another deep breath. “Alice you saw both Adam Stone and Stacy Dane turn into wolves and then turn back again.” There she had said it. She could breathe again. “Damn it’s true,” she gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, this is incredible.” She had to talk to someone.

Alice leapt to her feet and made for the door. After her break out she half expected it to be locked but it swung open easily and she stood in the door way contemplating the passage beyond. Outside she could hear someone loading up a truck and the compound was once again alive with activity. Augusta, she could talk to her. Now that she believed and the secret was out she could ask some questions, my God, she thought, her head was still reeling.

The door to the outside was also unlocked and she emerged into the sunlight as if seeing the world for the first time. To her left the bundles being hurled into the back of a truck looked like laundry, but after looking again she turned away. She didn’t want to know.

Around the yard were a few men and women all either chatting or dashing to and fro. All of them, she wondered, could all of them be like Adam? Adam and John and Garrick and… Jesus H Christ, of course they were. She looked at them intently trying to look past the mundane and catch a glimpse of the lupine magic within. Everyone looked defiantly normal.

“Hey, Miss Eden,” said a gruff voice, “Go back to your room.”

The man was one she hadn’t noticed before, but his tone and eyes conveyed impatient annoyance and an attitude that she didn’t want to mess with.

“I want to see Augusta,” Alice stood her ground.

“Augusta is busy, hell, everyone is busy or else you would have a guard on your door. Didn’t they lock you in?” the man snarled.

“N-no, that isn’t necessary, I’ll go back,” Alice said hastily. Before people had ignored her now this man looked like he hated her. He wore an expression not unlike several others who looked in her direction. “Sorry, I’ll go back…” she repeated lamely and pointed unnecessarily at the door she had just come through.

“You do that,” the man said sharply.

Once in her room Alice sighed with relief. She had no idea what was going on or when she would be leaving but after the previous night she did not want to brave the woods again.

*

Stacy was quiet and hadn’t spoken for at least 30 minutes. Augusta was worried. She was about to try again to engage with the girl when Garrick walked in.

Augusta stood and ran to embrace him. She had heard he was alright but she hadn’t seen him since the fight. “Oh my love, I hate this,” she groaned as she crushed into her man.

“I’m okay, it looks like everyone is okay,” Garrick ruffled her hair.

“Marsha… she is still… she is in a bad way I think,” Augusta pulled away and addressed herself to pack business as she should.

“She will recover,” Garrick said confidently and smiled reassuringly.

“Save that for the others old man, I have seen death. I hope you are right, but what will be, will be,” Augusta chided him.

Garrick smiled briefly and then turned to Stacy. “What about our young fledgling here?”

“She is not coping too well,” Augusta whispered. “She is in denial for one thing. The gods alone know how she has existed before now or how anyone didn’t find out.” The matriarch drew in her brows in concern. “And in New York City,” she added in a tone of wonder.

“Leave me with her,” Garrick said in a reassuring tone, “I guess it is time to find out.”

“Garrick…” Augusta made to protest.

“Woman,” he warned, “Go.”

Augusta made an expression of surrender and shrugged. Then she left her husband and the girl to talk it out. Maybe Stacy needed tough love or maybe the man had something else in mind. His call, she supposed.

Once the door closed Garrick sat on the bed across from the dejected writer and smiled.

“How you holding up?” he asked.

Stacy shrugged indolently like a teen and didn’t look up.

“When did you first suspect that you were… different?” he continued.

Stacy made a pout which she drew into a frog face and then let her lips go with a pop. Still she didn’t look at him.

“It was easy for me, I grew up knowing. I couldn’t wait for my first hunt,” Garrick ventured. “Of course it was easier in those days. The frontier was new and the only people around were others like me.”

Stacy looked up quizzically. “I was born in New Orleans, my Mom always believed in magic and stuff. As a kid I used to hang with Indian kids, well Native Americans, you know in Arizona and then New Mexico. I used to learn all about the old ways, skin walkers… that sort of stuff. Anyway, we moved around a lot so I always felt different, you know,” she said.

“I can imagine,” Garrick said kindly.

“One day when I was… I don’t know, 15, 16… I woke up naked on my bedroom floor. I was covered in blood… like, like last night… there was a dead rabbit on the bed. God it was a mess. My Mom cleaned it up and we never talked about it. She knew didn’t she?” Stacy was looking down again and her voice was a monotone as if she was talking to someone far away.

“She must have,” Garrick said quietly, “It begins within a year or two of puberty; certainly by 16.”

“I ran away, well kinda, I went to New York, to college. I remember I rented this apartment with its own cellar storage. Mom told me I would need it. She gave me the money.  I think I kinda knew why, kinda…” Then she looked up stricken again and yelled, “But I didn’t. I had no fucking idea.”

Garrick winced. The words were coarse on his ears and usually not spoken by women in front of him. Not if they wished to go on sitting down. “But you were drawn to the supernatural?” he said, holding his temper.

Stacy nodded. “Always. I knew it was true, I just didn’t know why,” she said more calmly.

“That must have set you apart as a journalist,” Garrick said gently.

“That’s why I write books,” she snorted.

“I should read them,” the old man chuckled.

“You ever meet a vampire?” Stacy desperately wanted to change the subject.

“No, can’t say I ever have. Heard of them though,” he laughed, “They are very, very rare these days, but real enough.”

“I encountered one,” Stacy said, “Tracked him down. I wrote a book, but no one believed me.”

“Now you have encountered a werewolf,” he said evenly.

“Yah,” Stacy looked away again, but she nodded.

“Stacy, you know you are one too, don’t you?” he offered the words gently as if upon a plate of poisoned fruit.

Stacy startled and finally met his eyes. In an angry glare she yelled, “Fuck you, fuck you old man, I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want…” she continued to work her mouth silently as she searched for a lexicon of insults to hurl but instead she just looked like a drowning fish.

“You want to handle it that way, really?” Garrick sighed.

To be continued…

LSF have published an new collection of short stories, Disciplined! Volume Two. With around 75,000 words, this anthology of spanking fiction features the following 23 stories.

They have mostly been published before either on A Voice or the LSF library, some of which can still be found.

Taken in Hand: Following the death of her parents, Deborah goes to live with her friend Cassidy and her father, Tom. She soon realises that nineteen-year-old Cassidy is spanked regularly by Tom, and she decides that if she’s going to be a true part of the family, she needs to be treated the same as Cassidy. So she asks Tom to punish her in the same way as he does his daughter. Tom obliges with slipper, tawse and cane.

Three Sisters: Galen’s three daughters may be grown up but they still cause him strife. He has to cane his youngest daughter for a thoughtless error and then he insists his middle daughter’s suitor prove his suitability by spanking and caning her. Just when he thinks it is all over he catches his eldest daughter sneaking back into the house late at night after meeting a man, and he birches her soundly.

Safe and Sound: Amy has crashed John’s precious car and as a sign of her repentance, waits for him, bare bottomed, in the outhouse. John sets an old chair in the middle of the room and takes her over his knee and gives her a hard spanking with a hairbrush. She is spanked to tears – which is exactly what she needs.

The Transformation of Eloise: Eloise inadvertently witnesses one of the bosses spanking his secretary. She gasps, but continues to peek through the gap in the door. Mr Hadrian knows she is there, and soon it is her turn to go over his knee for a bare bottom spanking. From that point on, the deliciously decadent things she has dreamed about slowly turn to reality as she learns what submission to a masterful man really means.

A Spanking on Main Street: It is wartime, and when Brad says he might join the army, girlfriend Kathy is scornful and rude. When he threatens to spank her, she continues to taunt him until he follows through… with a public, bare-bottom spanking!

Honour Thy Father: Alice Templeton won’t honour a verbal business agreement her late father made with William Sturbridge. He confronts her at her late grandfather’s house, and a taste of her grandfather’s hairbrush and cane reminds her of what she never got from her father, and misses getting from her grandfather.

Schadenfreude: Ashlyn takes great pleasure in setting up other students and getting them punished by the college vice-principal. Her mischief finally backfires, and her many victims – and the sorority standards committee – ensure that lasting justice is done to Ashlyn.

The Devil Made Me Do It: The narrator has a strange and compelling dream in which he finds himself in Purgatory. He joins a very long line of beautiful young women slowly crossing towards heaven, every tenth one being subjected to extreme punishment with paddle, strap or cane. The narrator is invited to punish some himself, with chilling consequences.

The Girl of the House: Phoebe has come to Dangerfield to assist with a decorating project, but time has passed with no progress. Dhenry, the master of the estate, regularly spanks the other two girls who live under his roof. Phoebe thinks it is a very strange arrangement, but then she paints a wall without permission and it is her turn to be on the receiving end.

Venus and Mars: A man and a woman in a long term relationship satisfy their mutual needs. The merits and effects of paddle, cane, strap, hand and more are outlined, along with the lingering after effects.

Punishment: Helen is found guilty in a foreign country and must face a severe flogging as penalty. Rather than decry the sentence as barbaric and create unwanted publicity for herself, she accepts the first round of punishment from her ‘instructor’ Stefan. A spark of chemistry is ignited between the two, as well as a fearsome heat in her bottom.

Dear Mr Brandon: Lady Constance is attracted to her cousin’s tutor. When she learns that her cousin is leaving for boarding school, she comes up with a reason for Mr Brandon to stay. But, is it what she expected?

A New Understanding: The uppity Amy Holman has been hired to handle the more modern clients of a rather old-fashioned law firm. Her boss, John Hartman, does not appreciate her attitude, especially the way she has been rude to some of their best clients. He decides to teach her a lesson by giving her an old-fashioned bare bottomed spanking across his knee.

The Vicar’s Tea Party: Bella, a young widow, is given an over-the-knee lesson in discipline by the hairbrush-wielding vicar, encouraged by Mrs Fortitude who is also a firm believer in bare bottom discipline. Bella decides to heed the lesson and spank her own daughter from now on and Ruth soon gives her reason to do so. Meanwhile Mrs Fortitude has to make amends for overspending and faces her husband’s cane.

Gypsy, Tramps and Thieves: Toni is too old to be lazing around playing games as a beach bum, using her looks to attract the guys. But she isn’t ready to learn this lesson – not until she ‘borrows’ someone else’s boat. The owner quickly reclaims his property, and Toni learns she has to pay the price for her behaviour … on her bottom.

Rayne’s Landing: When she decides to take a job and stay at Rayne’s Landing, Kathy has no idea of what she is getting in to. She soon discovers that Rayne ‘collects’ women and makes them her own, spanking them, having sex with them and even renaming them. She, of course, is not into any of that… or is she? Rayne herself also submits to Mr Manners, who visits regularly to spank her.

That Corner Time and the Summer of 1973: Martin knows that spanking and corner time are the best way to handle his fiery-tempered wife, especially after a mishap with the car. So Harmony finds herself in the corner again, nose to the wall, on a breezy summer day. As she struggles to keep a penny from dropping from the wall, she recalls some embarrassing past spankings. When the neighbours question Martin about the noise they’d heard earlier, they discover the bare-bottomed Harmony on display. Can things get any worse for her?

Witchcraft: Erin casts a spell to summon a man for a job she wants done. But the man who arrives at her door doesn’t want to be there and is even unhappier when he finds that he doesn’t seem to be able to leave. He takes matters into his own hands…

I Dream of Spanking: The fragments of a dream reveal she is trapped but makes a daring escape. She is chased but caught and spanked. She is embarrassed but feels denied. It’s all just a dream though… isn’t it?

Committee of One: Addie agrees to spend the summer in Colorado with her room mate Fran. She looks forward to satisfying her curiosity because Fran lives in a commune, and all who live there are subject to domestic discipline. Although Addie has a general idea of what goes on, she doesn’t think she will be included in any of the punishments. Wrong. Her silly stunt when out riding earns her a hard spanking on her bare bottom, and when she takes pictures of someone’s spanked bottom, she gets a taste of the strap. And yet, over time, she begins to feel like one of the family.

The Sheriff’s Wife & the Material Witness: Sammie’s curiosity about spanking is enhanced during a long-term stay with her cousin Kathy and her husband Dhenry… who is the town Sheriff. Sammie becomes aware that domestic discipline plays a significant role in Dhenry and Kathy’s relationship. Sammie herself lets curiosity go too far, and it isn’t long before she too finds herself on the receiving end of a paddle and switch on her bare bottom.

The Contract: Candice is dismayed to find that a special kind of contract has been ordered for her as punishment for her many misdeeds. She tries to avoid the spanking she is due, but Mr Dade has no problem tracking her down and administering what he does best.

Grounded: As Marnie is doing corner time after her spanking from Steve, the phone rings and the answering machine cuts in telling everyone who calls that Marnie has been a naughty girl and is grounded for a week. But one of the messages gives her every indication that Steve is going to give her another spanking when he finds out what she’s done…

You can get it here.

Part I here

Garrick and Stacy stood facing one another by her bed. The old rancher was not tall, but he was near head shoulders taller than the diminutive writer and she had to lift her chin to eyeball him.

“I am not a kid, I am not one of your minions and I am certainly not…” Stacy didn’t finish on the W word, adding instead, “…what you think I am.”

Garrick’s nostrils flared and the old drew up on generations of frontier spirit and bestial nobility. For a moment he felt the wolf stir within but then he remembered another defiant brat from years before and he touched base with his humanity.  “Young lady I have had just about enough of your arrogant denials. You came looking for answers, even if you didn’t know it. It is hardly me and mine’s fault if you don’t like what you found,” he said.

“Fuck you,” Stacy snarled.

Garrick winced. “I have also had enough of your cursing. In my day men scarcely spoke that way to one another, let alone a woman. Let alone a spoiled arrogant young city girl like you speaking to me like that. We took you in, we protected you…” He steered his words like a plough in a gale lest he lose his temper.

“Double fuck you,” Stacy spat in her suddenly broad New Yorker accent; two inelegant fingers on each hand directed at the ceiling.

Garrick took a deep breath and looked at the floor for some inspiration. Then levelling his gaze he gave her a look that could curdle cream. “You ungrateful brat, I ought to take you out the barn and leather your bare bottom with my belt where everyone can watch. Then I ought to take two or three switches to what will by then be the sorest bare bottom in Montana. If’en you have any backside left after that I ought to turn you over to Augusta for latrine chores for a month with instructions to paddle your hind end if you so much as looked at anyone decent,” his words were calm and given in casual warning.

Stacy was about to go for another FU with a flourish, but she literally swallowed it. She remembered Marsha. Instead she gasped, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh I think you know I would,” Garrick snorted derisively. As he spoke he unhooked the buttons on his right sleeve and began rolling up the arm of his shirt. “But I think I’ll take another tack first.”

Stacy remembered her encounter with Augusta and took half a step backwards. “Wait a minute, if you think you are going to…” she blustered.

Garrick picked her up like a doll and dropped to sitting on the bed. Stacy flipped over his lap easily, her small pert bottom lost in the ill-fitting jeans Augusta had picked out for her.

“Mr Stone, what the f…” she yelped.

The old man did not stand on ceremony, but hooked two fingers in the loose band of her pants and tugged them down with regard to zipper or button. The girl wore no panties, hers having been reduced to rags by her earlier transformation. She was now helplessly exposed across his knee, her bare bottom a city-white tight split sphere, prominently pert atop her slender legs.

Garrick was unmoved by the now half-naked brat, he had a duty to do.

“What the hell are you doing?” Stacy gasped and futilely kicked her legs.

Garrick showed her with a sudden and sharp smack to her bare bottom that made her gasp. For a second she had no breath to speak and then he spanked her again. Her bottom was seized by an all over tang that sang on her flesh as she tried to process it. It was a double assault; shame-red at one end and burning hell-hot at the other.

“You bastard,” she managed and squirmed like a kitten in a sack.

“No more foul language,” Garrick barked, each word complimented by a spank on her bottom.

Bug-eyed and boiling, she spat a stream of garbled insults the gods alone could have understood.

Garrick didn’t listen or care. He spanked her bare bottom at a pace until it sang with sting and burned berry red. Then he spanked her some more.

Stacy wailed something that could have been another ‘bastard’ but her mouth was wet with spittle and tears and snot had already leaked from her face.

“This is a spanking you will never forget,” Garrick sighed, “And think yourself lucky I don’t take it out side so all the people you nearly got killed can have a good laugh. You are certainly not worth taking to the woodshed right now. That is the privilege of half-grown-up teenagers. You are just another silly brat of a kid getting a sound spanking.”

“I didn’t…” Stacy sobbed her denials.

Garrick paused and leaned down low so he could speak into her ear. “Who called Coleridge in the first place? Who broke out of the perimeter during the attack? Who had to get herself rescued under fire? You even put our friend in harm’s way didn’t you?” He spoke calmly but with vehemence.

Stacy lie panting over his lap and felt suddenly sick. It was true. “Please,” she whimpered, “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he said gently, “Now take your spanking.”

The rest of the spanking was as long and hard as everything that preceded it. Only this time Stacy bawled like a sorry teen, even apologising in occasional babbling under the bottom burning assault.

Finally Garrick set her on her feet where she hopped before him grabbing her bottom and bawling like a child.

“Now listen,” he said.

Stacy stood panting and clawing at her behind, snot and tears marring her face. She had never been so sorry about anything in her whole life. Even the spanking hadn’t stung that out of her. She suddenly wished it had.

“Tell me,” Garrick continued, “What are you?”

A doe just before the kill looked less confused and vulnerable. Stacy shook her head.

“When you 18 and first moved to New York,” he said quietly, “Did you ever wake up naked and alone in that basement you mentioned?”

Stacy remembered that first time she had woken up on the cold dark floor. Not just that first time. She had pushed it from her mind. Once a month she would party hard and finish the evening in the basement. It had been just a thing… she felt a surge of panic. Then there were the blackouts… booze, just the booze…

“Yes,” she groaned in answer to Garrick’s question.

“What are you?” Garrick whispered urgently.

Stacy gaped at him. Her eyes and mouth formed three perfect circles and she felt that she was drowning. “I didn’t kill him. It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me,” she wailed and suddenly she was lunging at Garrick and pounding his chest. “I’m not, I’m not, I’m not…” she cried now collapsed in his arms and sobbing.

“It is okay, it is okay,” he soothed as she rocked slowly in his arms.

To be continued…

I have been thinking about revamps and upgrades for A Voice in the Corner. It has been almost 10 years now with the same look. However I do like the clean lines and the design is no longer available so not many people use this template anymore. There is no point in changing for change sake unless I find a better design.

I might change the bookshop picture, see above. I am not sure if I will sell anymore books that way.

On the subject of selling books, I have had a few negative reviews lately and I have been accused of conning people. The reason being that because I have given away stories freely here, I should not also be able to sell them to people who want to support this project or who do not like reading spanking blogs. You can still get most of my stories from Amazon for free, if you are a Prime member so it seems like a hollow criticism. There some stories that either have never been published elsewhere or are no longer available for various reasons. The Russell Corner, The Exit Bureau and Magic, to name a few just off the top of my head. If you do buy or borrow them from Amazon, it would help support this blog and my writing to leave four (or perhaps even five) stars.

Also it is worth mentioning that if you are going to buy them, getting them directly from the publisher LSF because that way both they and I get more of the revenue.

In any case most of my stories, articles will continue to be available here and thank you for reading them and your kind comments. With almost 18 million page views, occasionally I must be doing something right.

Before I move on from discussing this blog, a quick thanks to Pang who busted the comment box with her novella. Seriously thanks, I might post your comment as a Reality Bites sometimes. In summary she said that growing up in Singapore spanking and caning was routine right through high school and college and a girl who broke the rules at home, college or even sometimes at work, was a girl who could expect not to be sitting down for a few days. “Really no fun unless somebody else was getting it.”

She added, “Really difficult to understand why something so horrible is so fascinating. It is only sexy thinking about it a long time afterwards. At the time and before there is just nasty churning in stomach. I really hated it.”

Thank you Pang and sorry the comments did not work for you.

I have added a couple of new links, including one to the English Headmaster and Spanking Brats.

Elsewhere I noticed Richard Windsor had an article about Natalie Wood and Hollywood spanking.

Other pictures are from: AAA, Spanking Blog, Spanking Blogg, Dallas, FHS, and Real Spankings.

Part I here

Stacy drew her mouth into a pout to form frog lips which she then let go with a pop. This time the sound was muffled by the corner of the room which was pressed up against her face. Her still bared bottom felt like two tight spheres flame roasted by a torch gun and it was all she could do not to either rub or cry.

Well this is new, she thought ruefully, she could not remember ever feeling quite so embarrassed, not even when Augusta had been spanking her. Soundly spanked and sent to the corner like a little girl, her mind whirled. She was a published author for God’s sake. Nonetheless, she did not dare voice a protest of move her nose from the wall.

Garrick hadn’t left but, was now sitting patiently on the bed behind her to allow her to ponder their confrontation, her part in it and the bottom-seared reality that she had been well and truly put in her place.

No, Stacy didn’t dare move; the man had been quite clear about that. However, strangely enough she felt an unfamiliar cosy feeling that wrapped around her humiliation like an oyster did around grit. She hadn’t felt anything like it since childhood and wondered if this was what having a father would have been like. At least the spanking had cleared the air and had given her something else to focus on. She would have hated to have admitted it, but she felt better, like a load had been lifted.

“Are you ready to talk now?” Garrick said at last.

“Yes Sir,” Stacy mumbled, a fresh surge of blood heating her face. “Can I…” she licked her lips and sniffed nervously, “Can I pull my panties up now?”

“No,” Garrick said sharply, “I am not at all sure we are done.”

Stacy bit her lip and wished she could merge with the wall.

“Now come and sit down,” the old man sighed.

Stacy cupped her hands to her naked sex and shyly turned around. She felt about 12 just then. “I think I would rather stand, if it is all the same to you,” she said quietly.

“Sit down,” Garrick ordered.

Stacy dropped heavily onto the bed and then immediately regretted it as her face broke into a grimace and she half stood up again.

“Tell me about your father,” Garrick said, ignoring her discomfort.

*

Alice was taking a shower when there was a knock at the door.

“Just a minute,” she yelled, but by the time she had grabbed a towel and stepped into the room she saw her visitors were already inside. The towel was painfully short and she tugged it down at the same time she hugged it to her breasts.

Adam was sitting on the bed fixing her with a glare. His jaw was set tight and he had eyes like flint. John had opted to stand and although his expression was softer, he was not smiling. “Hello Alice,” he said.

“What the hell? Get out of my room,” she snapped angrily and with more conviction than she felt.

“We have to talk to you and you are going to listen” John sighed.

Adam shook his head and offered his brother a withering look. “I told you we should just have sent some women to drag her to the barn,” he said.

Alice felt a surge of panic and looked at John for some sympathy.

He frowned. “We can let her get dressed and give her a chance to explain,” he said.

“To explain what?” she snarled and pulled the towel more tightly around her.

“”So let her explain,” Adam sounded bored, “It is not like we haven’t seen it before.”

John screwed his face up at his brother’s lack of tact and reached for the robe hanging on the back of the door and handed it to Alice.

“What is this all about?” Alice said impatiently once she had pulled on the towel robe.

“Adam, how is Marsha? John, did anyone else get hurt?” Adam said in a brittle voice as he mocked her.

Alice opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again. None of that was her fault. The hunters attacked, but for the first time she felt a pang of guilt all the same.

“Alice, people have been killed. Some of our people were hurt,” John said his voice mostly sad.

“I didn’t…” Alice began.

“You ran, you caused a distraction;” John snarled, “My Dad was almost killed going after you when he should have been focussed on the attack.”

Alice coloured and looked at her feet. “I was scared,” she whispered and could have cursed her soul for sounding so lame.

Adam didn’t meet her eyes. He knew full well that he and John had both deserted their post to go after her. Maybe…

“I’m sorry,” Alice mumbled and slumped into a chair.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” John said in a tone sharper than he had ever used with her before. “You will be even sorrier when I am done with you.”

“W-when…? What are y-you…?” Alice responded nervously, her eyes flashing in something between fear and another emotion.

John slipped out of his jacket and tossed it on the bed. Then he folded his arms and fixed her with a firm gaze. “I am going to turn you over my knee and spank you silly until you can’t sit down for a week,” he said in a determined voice.

Alice’s heart lurched and she felt an unfamiliar head rush. She even looked at Adam for help.

The older twin just grinned. “Oh don’t worry; after he is through, you are going across my knee too.”

Alice opened her mouth and shook her head. “Look if you think…”

“Jared suggested a bull whip, but Garrick thought a good stropping in the woodshed would suffice,” Adam told her. “I don’t think Augusta planned on being quite so sentimental. She likes you, which means she would quite happily deny you sitting rights for a month or two; and the chores…. Whew-whee!”

“You wouldn’t,” Alice wailed, “I mean it wasn’t my idea to come here…”

“Should we have left you to the hunters that night then?” John asked, but he was already advancing.

Alice stood up and backed away. She made a gesture of protests and began to babble. “This is a sex thing isn’t it? Well I don’t consent, in fact…”

“No, this isn’t a sex thing,” John sighed, “You city folks are so predictable. This is an old fashioned over-the-knee very sound bare bottom spanking thing.”

“But…” Alice squeaked.

She might have said more but John had already seized her and tucked her under one arm. Then without breaking his stride swung her around and dropped to sitting on her bed next to Adam. Like a rag doll Alice was tumbled face down across his lap and rapidly bared.

“J-John, please, John… I-I’m sorry… I…” Alice felt helpless and then the first spank landed and she yelped.

The insistent sting burned at her bottom for a moment and she remembered last time. She wanted to protest, but they were right, people had gotten hurt and she was getting off with a spanking. She blushed at the thought, revelling shamefully in its hidden meaning. The next spank made her gasp.

“Hey,” she gasped, and forgetting her previous resolve and added “This is… you can’t do this…”

“You think not?” John said sharply and volley spanked her so hard that she twisted and bucked on his lap until her bare bottom was cherry red.

“Please John, please,” she wailed tearfully. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Adam put in, “By the time we are done with you, you won’t sit down for a month. Embarrassing would be taking you outside and letting everyone watch.”

Alice gaped and rolled her eyes like a wild pony. “You wouldn’t dare you bastards,” she blurted, before she remembered who she was dealing with. Flushed and panting she quickly took back her outburst babbling, “I am sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“Didn’t mean what? That we are bastards or that we wouldn’t dare?” John grinned evilly, “Maybe we should take this outside at that.”

“Please, please don’t, I’m sorry,” Alice pleaded.

“Does that mean you will take your spanking like a good girl?” John said menacing her naked bottom with a claw-like hand.

“Spankings,” Adam amended thoughtfully, almost as if he was considering a minor domestic chore.

Alice lay helpless across John’s lap and blushed furiously. She considered her options. She was going to get a spanking and there was nothing she could do about it. It was going to hurt and just like last time. At the very least she was going to cry and be one hell of a sorry girl long before they were done with her. If she could look herself in the eye she would probably conclude that she had it coming. For second she focussed on the not unpleasant pressure of John’s thighs under hers. The she swallowed hard.

“I am sorry, I guess I do have it coming,” she admitted, “Please don’t take me outside like this.”

John made a face of apparent reluctance. “You know, the more I think about it, the more I think a good sound spanking in front of everyone will do her good,” he said as if to Adam.

Alice felt her nerves jangle and fought down the sudden panic of imminent social humiliation. “I’ll be good, please,” she wailed.

“Such a change of attitude,” Adam said cheerily, “I think she is actually learning a lesson.”

“I am please,” Alice pleaded.

“So a nice long hard spanking and some humbling corner time is called for,” John teased her.

Alice lay panting as her face burned with shame.

“Two nice long spankings and a time out,” Adam amended, “Agreed.”

Alice chewed her lower lip and gave a small nod.

“I didn’t hear you,” John said sharply.

“I agree to getting a spanking,” she whimpered. Her tummy tightened and something thrilled inside her as she surrendered. The contact her lower body had with John’s lap was suddenly very uppermost in her mind.

“That’s a good girl,” John said and began spanking her again.

“Oh my God,” Alice yelped and tried to suck down air. This hurt and she had a feeling that it was only just beginning.

To be continued…

The star cruiser was a long, long way from home. There were 237 souls traversing the void on the outer edge of space and they didn’t even have the satisfaction of knowing they could discover new life or territories. Their biggest enemy was boredom. They had been forbidden by High Command to even go within hailing distance of the neutral zone. Instead they had to navigate to preordained, usually secret, coordinates and complete a scan. After 18 months watching for breaches of Terran space, many of the crew had had enough. Lieutenant Tzara Tzang, for one, hated it. In her opinion there were far better uses her considerable talents could be put to.

At 36 Tzara was a capable, if sometimes overly officious officer. But with almost 12 years’ experience she had yet to reach the rank of sub-commander and had been reduced to playing second string to the navigation officer. Not that there was anything to navigate, an ensign could run the nav-station on factory settings.

Nor was Tzara particularly liked on board the Dunderhead, not least perhaps because her fiery temper matched her flame red hair. On duty she would chew out subordinates where others would resort to diplomacy and off duty she would don figure hugging jump suits to show just what she her crewmates could never have. Not that she was a tease as such; it was just that most of her crew did not measure up. As a result she spent most of her downtime in the holodeck, trading her spot on the duty roster during club-night and parties for extra holo-suite time.

The so-called holodeck was a VR facility that allowed various locations or scenarios to be played out for relaxation or physical interactions. Most used it to recreate a favourite restaurant or the beach, although no doubt the sexual protocols were popular too. That was the thing about the facility. It was strictly private and no one would or could interfere with another crew member’s usage.

This suited Tzara, not least because before her tour of duty she had purchased an illegal modification on the black market. One that allowed her to cheat the time limits on facilities usage. So far she had only used its standard settings, and its one key feature of temporal manipulation. But after 18 months she was ready to try something new.

Most of the crew were restricted to two hours in VR on days when they had duty, which in most cases was on most days. As Second Navigation Officer, Tzara was strictly forbidden exceptions to this regulation, which was a serious impediment to her VR time. For one thing, one of her hobbies was free climbing and most challenges needed hours, if not days to pursue. That was where her tricky little black market mod came in handy.

What most people did not realise was that time in VR was subjective. If one knew how, once locked in the suite the temporal settings could be adjusted to make two hours last two days or even two weeks subjective time. With her illegal mod it was time enough for Tzara to enjoy a long weekend every shift, climbing the Swiss Alps, a quick bit of skiing, an evening of apres ski and sometimes dangerously modified tryst with a VR ski instructor.

After a double shift, she should by rights hit her bunk, but there would be time enough to sleep later. She had just come off the graveyard shift and no one would swing by until she was well on her way to bed in… she checked her PT, 117 minutes. The cold blue light made the red panel lights purple, giving the corridor to the VR a surreal festival feel. Suckers, she thought, as she uploaded her latest mod.

The transition was as disorientating as ever and it took a moment.

Then she was in the room. The room was in a castle somewhere, Ancient Switzerland she guessed. The walls were of stone and the high window made it bright and cheerful with a breath-taking view of the mountains beyond. In time she would incorporate some climbs, but for now she still had to shake out the bugs.

“You came,” the smooth baritone voice greeted her.

Tzara turned to face Galen, a near two-meter tall hero of her scenario. It suddenly struck her that he had more than a passing resemblance to the captain, although Galen had jet black hair in contrast to her senior’s dirty blond. He was much taller too and the rendition of this man had firmer square-jawed features, although he did have the same authoritative piercing blue eyes. She wondered why, and indeed how, the program had incorporated this particular feature from her real life.

Then Galen frowned. “I was addressing you,” he said sharply. He even sounded like the captain.

“Sorry, yes, hello Galen,” Tzara said more pleasantly than she had ever spoken to this man’s counterpart.

“I don’t entirely understand,” Galen began, “But I gather we are to discuss the duration of your stay, your exact status here and which…” he frowned again and shook his head.

“Please go on,” Tzara told him. Normally a set-up routine would run smoothly no matter how anachronistically, but she knew that this VR mod had Tyson tech in it and had several layers of complexity beyond a normal such program. She knew it had something to do with advanced SI protocols and…

Galen shrugged and became amused. “Ah… as I understand it, we are to discuss which laws we are going to… pass? How is that possible? The law is the law, surely?”

“Please don’t let it trouble you, you will forget…” she coughed and decided on another tack, “Please just indulge me. Think of me as a stupid female and I just want to go over the laws and what is expected.”

While he pondered this Tzara took the time to notice her clothing. A ridiculous gown of heavy blue silk, she adjudged, with some kind of restrictive harness or stiff tight underwear closely cinching her between hips and breast with very little else. She was quite sure what the program was drawing on. She had selected a medieval pre-set and merely deleted the wars, social instability and most other negatives and replaced them with a random selection of pre-resolved add-ons from a list. It didn’t matter at the time, she would edit the core later and merely delete the options that didn’t work for her. She was still wondering whether the dress was authentic to the original historic period or a product of ‘fantasy world’ or ‘adult fun,’ two of the options she could remember randomly choosing.

Then Galen began talking. “Apparently days will be years,” he ventured as if wondering if the message he was required to pass on was a riddle. Then seeing no reaction or surprise from Tzara he continued. “Are you a noblewoman, artisan, courtesan or peasant?”

“I understand so far, except the bit about courtesan. I may need to look that up,” she said thoughtfully.

“As for the laws… do you consider them: natural, socially adjusted, a fantasy variant or…” he looked aghast, “Child rated?” His dismay continued and he made gestures of exasperation with his arms. “What is this?”

“Eh, which status would let me go to the bar and get some climbing in? Oh and maybe pursue some male contact?” Tzara asked.

“You intend to become a courtesan? But why would a courtesan go climbing? Climbing what?”

“Never mind,” she dismissed him. “I don’t think I want natural, historical accuracy is not my thing. Socially adjusted sounds like political bullshit to me, we will skip the kiddie blocks, so what is a fantasy variant?”

“Sweet, light or dark,” Galen told her, an involuntary act on his part and he became angry at having to blurt out such strange words.

“Oh, I may have to rethink for next time… but here goes, eh… one week, courtesan and eh… ah… sweet, no,” she shook her head in disgust, “Light, dark?” The safety protocols were in place, she remembered. “Dark, maybe? Yes.” Tzara thought, what the hell, I’ll change it later if it doesn’t work.

“So you are my new courtesan,” Galen said as if all that had gone before had been forgotten.

“Yes, it seems so,” Tzara smiled. “Here for the week,” she added brightly, “Where is the nearest pub?”

Galen fixed her with a stern glare and folded his arms. “No girl of mine is going near a tavern, and your indentures say you will serve me for 20 years, what is this week you are blathering about? Are you trying to be insolent?

Tzara felt a surge of unease. She wished she had opened up an exact dialogue box for the settings. She had 117 minutes, she would get pulled automatically the week up or no, it should just about match. Then she wondered… she had said a week… was that objective time? Days will be years… oh god, three years to a day… six weeks to an hour was it…? Shit.

“Just a minute, I just want a week subjective time… maybe next visit… Galen pause the program, reset…” she said hurriedly.

“What are you talking about girl? It is too late to change your mind now. Your father signed the papers. For the next 20 years I will own you,” Galen sounded angry.

“Program reset,” Tzara said in an authoritative voice and clapped her hands together three times as some protocols required.

“Girl, you are testing my patience,” Galen scolded.

“You don’t understand, I don’t want to be here for… three months is it? I just need to reset…” Tzara went to the door as if it might trigger the exit.

“What is this nonsense?” Galen thundered, then taking three strides he caught up with Tzara and pulled her back into the room by the arm. “Enough.”

The man was strong and suddenly all her training and physical prowess seemed clumsy next to him. There was something else too, she suddenly felt like a kid caught with her hand in a cookie jar, almost as if his anger was completely justified.

“Look, when I said a week, I meant subjective time, not ship time,” she gushed as if explaining something to some stupid shop girl.

Galen sighed. “A week?” He shook his head.

“Yes,” Tzara agreed hopefully.

“You ungrateful girl,” he barked and without warning he sat on a nearby chair and upended her over his lap. In a trice he had turned up her skirts so that her legs and bottom were now completely bare. Tzara instantly regretted the lack of underwear. “You owe me 20 years’ service,” he told her firmly.

“Listen you stupid man, the program will end automatically in three months your time anyway, whatever I agree to here…” she began.

Her words were choked off as his hand came biting down to sting her bare bottom.

“You young lady are about to get a good sound spanking,” he told her and spanked her again to extract a sharp gasp.

Tzara’s eyes were wide with shock and she tried to fathom where in an alien modification this scenario had come from, but for the moment Galen was real and she was about to get the spanking of her life.

“Oh God no, cancel program, cancel program, ooh,” she wailed as the spanking proper began.

For the next 15 minutes she was left kicking and struggling while Galen spanked her bare bottom to an ever deeper shade of red. She had felt pain before, but this was different. The sting was intimate and in short order she boo-hooing like a comedy dame and then bawling like a kid.

“Please, I’m sorry, so sorry,” she wailed, the spanking hurt and she was actually crying.

“No, no my girl, sorry lies a long way in your future, we are far from done. Sorry is what you are going to be,” Galen told her, his powerful arm belabouring her at an unrelenting an unnatural pace.

I can’t be harmed, I can’t be harmed, she desperately repeated in her head and then aloud she wailed, “Oh it hurts,” and began another round of futile struggles.

To be continued.

Part one here

At one point Galen pulled her up by her hair so he could see her face. “Am I getting through to you?” he snarled.

A woeful Tzara tried to catch her breath to speak and he spanked her already tender red bottom again so that she yelped.

“Yes sir,” she gasped.

“My lord, you will address me as my lord,” Galen told her sharply, “I am going to teach you manners if it takes 20 years to do it.”

“Yes Sir, I mean, yes my lord,” she quickly amended.

Three months of this, Tzara thought miserably, there must be some way to override the program.

“Better,” Galen sighed. “What kind of courtesan are you? Haven’t you been trained at all?”

Tzara sniffed, not knowing what to say. “I am not a courtesan, that was a mistake,” she pleaded.

“I am beginning to agree,” Galen rolled his eyes. For the next few minutes he added another round of sound spanking so that his new girl twisted and danced across his lap and then he let her stand. “Now you will go and stand in the corner until I have decided what to do with you,” he told with a heavy sigh.

Tzara looked in horror at the hard bare stone walls where he had pointed. This was an outrage. She was an officer of the fleet. She was a senior lieutenant with 12 years’ service to her name.

“Are you going to be defiant again?” Galen said in disbelief.

“Look, you don’t understand, I don’t want this, I am certainly not going to stand in any corner like a…” she told him angrily. “Like a child.”

Before she had been taken by surprise, no she was ready with a drop kick to his groin and an elbow slice to his neck. Even if she couldn’t break the scenario, she could easily go on the run and live off her wits for three months. Well not easily, she thought as she weighed up her options. Maybe she could turn the whole thing into an adventure game and do some hiking, or maybe become a bandit.

Galen looked amused and continued to shake his head in disbelief. The girl may have not been trained, but he had. Reaching for the bell he decided sterner measures were called for.

Tzara saw him tug the bell pull and wondered if he were summoning some guards. She had to act.

The drop kick failed. It was almost as if she had never learned one. Instead she fell heavily to the floor on her behind, which hurt far beyond any holo-suite injury she had ever experienced before.

“You have earned yourself a serious punishment already, don’t make it worse,” Galen let out a slow breath. “Just go and stand in the corner like a good girl before I lose my temper.”

Tzara drew her mouth into a determined line and got her feet. She hated giving him the satisfaction of rubbing her bottom, but just then the relief was needful. “You are not getting this are you?” she said in a tone that she always reserved for subordinates.

She lunged at Galen and tried to take him off his feet. It was like hitting a mountain and without breaking a sweat he turned her around and tucked her under his arm as if she were luggage.

“Get off me you… you…” she cursed.

Galen sighed and again took his seat on the chair. It was an easy matter to put the girl back across his knee and turn up her skirts.

“No, n-no, no,” she gasped.

His hand blasted her bare bottom like an oaken paddle. The searing sting took away her breath and despite her resolve she was yelling again in less than a minute. The first spanking had been bad, now she was going to learn what a spanking could be.

She did not hear the maid arrive and once she realised they had an audience she wanted to die. “This isn’t happening,” she yelled.

“Ah Maria, I am having some issues here with this one. Can you fetch me a paddle, a stout wooden one, a cubits length should suffice,” he told the girl casually.

Tzara was mortified and renewed her efforts to break the man’s grip.

“Yes my lord,” the maid executed a curtsey.

“Then make the upper dungeon chamber ready for use. Tonight it will have a guest,” Galen continued.

The girl cocked an eyebrow and looked the spanked woman over with a renewed interest. Who would defy Lord Galen? Indeed, who would want to, she wondered? Then she shrugged and scurried to obey. Maybe her lord would put her to use this night if the courtesan was in disgrace.

“Now where were?” Galen redirected his attention to Tzara.

“Look you don’t have to do this,” Tzara protested.

Galen spanked her hard so that she gasped. “Oh I think I do,” he grinned.

*

By the time the maid returned with the paddle Tzara was finally standing in the corner with her hands on her head. This time she resisted the urge to protest and stood fuming with her face just centimetres from two walls, her face almost as red as her exposed bottom.

“Thank you,” Galen said as he took the paddle from the maid. “Is the dungeon ready?”

“It will be my lord,” Maria said and curtsied.

Galen gave her a curt nod and tuned back to his new courtesan. “Are you ready to obey yet?”

Tzara made a pout where he could not see it and squirmed as she clenced and unclenched her buttocks to try and ease the sting.

“Are you still going to be insolent?” Galen asked her.

“No,” Tzara said in what she hoped was a neutral tone.

Galen thought she sounded somewhat sullen. He sighed.

Tzara, sensing his displeasure, began a moment of panic. “No my lord,” she said quickly, wishing she had remembered. He is the captain here, she told herself, lord equals sir; he rates a sir. A simple lesson, she chided herself, but one she had now learned.

“Better, but it won’t save you tail,” Galen chuckled.

Tzara’s eyes flew wide open and she fought to keep calm. What had she done? “Please my lord, I am sorry,” she pleaded.

“Good,” Galen said in a softer tone, “That is a start anyway. But you have to be punished.”

“But…” she began, I have been punished, she thought, “Please my Lord,” she tried not to sound whiney.

“You were rude and insolent and you must be punished,” Galen said as if explaining the obvious. Of course she had to be. “Show that you can take it like a good girl and I might go easy on you.”

Tzara gulped. There had been talk of a dungeon. She knew that during the Middle Ages in Earth’s Europe dungeons could be torture chambers. I can’t be harmed, she reminded herself. But she was already learning that the pain protocols were way too relaxed in this scenario, to say the least. Also so far there was no off button or exit procedure. “Yes my lord,” she said, trying to sound agreeable. It was a humiliating concession under the circumstances.

“Alright, come with me,” Galen said.

Tzara turned and finally lowered her arms so that her hands could massage her hot welty bottom.

“Oh, you take that gown off and leave it here,” he remembered. “The maid will take it to your room later; that is if I allow you one.”

Tzara made to protest but his face brooked no argument.

Once she had removed the dress he told her to leave on the corset, as the tight undergarment was called. She doubted she could have removed it without help anyway. The ridiculous attire was black and stiffened with what might have been steel as part of the fabric. It more or less supported her breasts, but from her hips down she was naked back and front. The corset only emphasised her lower nudity and she felt a rush of self-consciousness before this man.

Galen smiled in approval and hefted the paddle menacingly.

“Where are we going my lord?” she asked in as normal a tone as she could muster. Despite everything the man was strangely attractive and she wondered if now that she had ceased being confrontational they might move on to the sex part. After all, this was supposed to be recreational with her needs in mind.

Galen gave her a warning look and said nothing as he led her from the room.

Memo to self, she cursed inwardly: next time, read the small print and do the settings manually.

The walk down the hall was unsettling. For one thing she was acutely aware that not only was her bare bottom on display, but it had been clearly very soundly spanked. It was embarrassing. She thought about hiding her sex with her hands, but that seemed more undignified than toughing it out. Hey-ho, she thought, I just have to play the game.

She tried to relax for the moment and take in her surroundings. Knowing her way around might come in handy. Still it was hard to feel at ease when half naked in a strange place. She tried to focus.

The castle was clean and airy. Fabulous tapestries hung at pleasing intervals along the walls and there was even carpet on much of the floor. This was a story book version of a castle, she realised, a fantasy. What did that tell her? A hand strayed to her sore bottom as she wondered what kind of fantasy this was. The small act reminded her of her nakedness and she blushed.

Luckily they encountered no one in the halls or on the stairs. Although Tzara did hear voices beyond the great wooden and ornate doors that they passed. But Galen led her on down various winding staircases where instead of windows, flaming torches lit the way. It was almost romantic.

The last door was a heavy one. It was made of dark wood and iron, with great spikes protruding at out of brace work. The upper dungeon, she presumed.

Galen unlatched the swung the great door wide as he led her forward. Although Tzara hung back and wondered if she could run for it. Her tummy tingled like it did just before a test or a hyper jump.

“This way,” Galen commanded.

Tzara swallowed and braced herself. Keep your wits girl, she chivvied and reluctantly followed the man inside.

The room was not as dingy as she had expected. It had high vaulted ceilings of dark grey stone, but the edging to the vault supports and upright columns was cut from yellow-white sandstone, or something like it. There were cages to the back, some of which were suspended from the ceiling and looked barely large enough to hold a large bird, let alone a person.

Along the walls were manacles and chains, which were set next to hooks hung with whips, great paddles and items the use of which Tzara could only guess.

That was not all.

There was a great wooden diagonal cross that held restraints and upright crosses that clearly prisoners could be suspended from. There were also trestles and benches, the purposes of which were obvious even to Tzara. She shot a nervous glance at the paddle Galen had brought. She prayed to the stars that he did not intend that she bend over one of those.

Oddly there were too a few rows of wooden rails, some set diagonally so that the sharp edge was uppermost, and some of which tapered from a wide base and looked like elongated saddles. One of these had small spikes along sides near the top, but these were more like pins, she thought. Nothing here was intended for serious torture, not that she could see. It was all a teleplay version of a dungeon.

“Now this is where you will spend the night,” Galen told her. “Be a good girl and it won’t be too bad. But first you must kiss the paddle and bend over the padded medium trestle for one last spanking. Then all will be forgiven.”

Tzara glowered at him and worked her throat. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. This was too much. The heat rose to her face. If he was going to beat her then there was nothing she could do about it. But she wasn’t going to just surrender to it and cooperate.

“Please, don’t do this,” she said quietly.

Ignoring her social faux pas Galen extended the paddle. “Kneel,” he said.

Tzara shook her head. I won’t do it she thought.

Galen sighed heavily and closed his eyes in frustration. “Kneel,” he repeated sharply.

“No,” Tzara replied. Her tone spoke of resolve.

To be continued.

Some time ago Cherry Red was taken suddenly very ill. I have no idea how Cherry is faring, but I am sad to report that the site has now been taken down. Perhaps the end of an era.

Much new spanking activity has moved to Twitter it seems. As an addition this is welcome and much more about personal interaction. It also affords more action and candid shots. Whilst these can be very revealing. A very intimate spanking of a sorority girl was circulated some months back, or so I was told. It wasn’t up long. No doubt someone sobered up. The retweets and screen captures may surface somewhere, who knows? That is the point, with its soundbite approach it does however limit creativity. You are either there or you aren’t.

A few years ago the BBC approached me (yes that shook me at the time). They were trying to get some inside gen on the spanking scene, but in the age of social media were finding it hard to pin anyone down. Apparently A Voice in the Corner was reasonably highly positioned on Google. I had a nice chat on the phone with a vanilla researcher, who seemed to get it, but I had to point out that I was hardly a spokesman for the scene. But I think then that this was an early indicator of where things might be heading.

They didn’t use me in the end. Much to the researchers disappointment, they ‘went in another direction.’ As I recall they went down the ’50 Shades, dysfunctional weirdo route.’

Anyway, on with this show. Ronnie Soul has a list of new spanking sites.

Also the Spanking Blog has some stills from Starlet. A vanilla move from the early 1970s that sometimes used to surface on late night TV in the UK. It is not a great movie, it is a kind of sexploitation expose of the porn industry (oh the irony). But it has one whipping scene (pictured above) and a better, much more traditional OTK spanking-the-bratty-starlet scene. It has to have been the first bare bottom spanking I had seen in a mainstream movie. It is worth a glance but is no Secretary.

Contemporary Life has several images, I swiped a few above.

Others from BDSMLR, Devlin and Real Spankings.

Part one here

The padded crossbeam on the frame could have been made for her; it fitted so snuggly to her hips as she lay bottom up and head down over it. She was still marvelling at the speed and ease Galen had picked her up and thrown her across it that she was taken completely unawares as he hooked both her wrists with a springy band that pulled her arms outstretched to the floor. Something too had pinned her ankles so that she could not kick back against him.

“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled as she struggled against her impromptu capture.

“I am doing whatever I choose and you will do exactly what you are told,” Galen snapped.

“Look, I am sure we can discuss this. There is no way the program could serve up such a two dimensional oaf. There must be a trick to this,” she said in a strained voice. As she spoke she tested her bonds, but as hard as she pulled neither writs nor ankles would break free of her restraints.

The paddle struck her upturned bare bottom with a burning sting nothing like she had felt before and she gasped out a yell.

Mimicking her tone he repeated her words, “I am sure we can discuss this…” he spanked her hard, and added, “my lord.” Then he placed the flat surface against her skin and drew firm heavy circles with it. “As for calling me an oaf…” the paddle struck again and she grunted.

“Okay, I didn’t mean that I just meant… ahh,” the paddle interrupted her.

“I didn’t mean that…” he snarled, “my lord.” The paddle was all pain.

Tzara sucked in air and clamped down her jaw. This was way beyond all usual safety pain filters.

“Please… my lord,” she offered, her words were becoming wet.

“Please what?” Galen said sharply and spanked her again, suggesting “Please spank my bottom,” and again. “Please spank my bottom very hard,” he spanked her yet again, “Please spank my bare bottom, very, very hard perhaps?” The paddle bit down to impart a liquid sting.

Tzara could only yell and the ride the burn by panting like a dog.

“Look, I get it, I am sorry,” she breathed at last, mortified by the tear rolling down the side of her nose.

“Look I get it, I am sorry, my lord,” Galen yelled the last two words as he paddled her harder than he had yet.

“Ahmmmmmm,” Tzara grunted and bucked her hips to the song of pain for several moments. “My lord,” she finally managed in a strained voice.

Galen studied the fulsome curve of her hips and the strawberry red stain that was burned in two ovals on her bottom.

“Who is in charge here?” he asked.

“You are my lord,” Tzara panted, thankful beyond gratitude that he momentarily paused the spanking.

“Whom do you serve?” Galen pressed her.

“You, my lord,” she answered breathlessly, her face flushed with shame.

“How long will you serve me?” Galen asked. This time he lifted the paddle and held it to his chest.

Still panting, Tzara had to think. A hard task when her bottom fizzed like an oven fire. Then she remembered. “Twenty years, my lord,” she gasped.

Galen regarded her sternly, although given her head down elevation she could not see it. “Tell me, do you really wish to petition the manumission court at the next quarter assizes to be released from your indentures?” The paddle was again drawing menacing circles on her bottom so that she had to wince.

For a second Tzara sensed some hope and almost blurted yes. Manumission meant legal freedom. Then she remembered he had said quarterly. He was hinting at possible freedom in three months. The program would pull her out by then. Meanwhile he still held the paddle.

“No Sir,” she said emphatically, “I mean my lord.”

“So you accept the justice of your position?” he asked.

Tzara again sucked in some air and then nodded. “Yes my lord,” she said reluctantly.

“So what is all this insolence about, it was not my desire to punish you so?” Galen sounded genuinely put out.

Tzara tried to pull herself back together. It is a game, she reminded herself. She had a part to play. She swallowed down her pride and resisted the urge to curse him out again. “I am sorry my lord,” she offered. “I am just not used to this yet.”

Galen nodded. This was more like it. There was nothing like an attitude adjustment for a girl. “So your punishment is justified then?” he asked.

The heat surged to her face and she clamped her jaw defiantly. “Yes my lord,” she said grudgingly.

“Alright, up you get,” he said and went to put away the paddle.

Tzara gaped. How, she was restrained. But as she relaxed and stopped straining her bonds she realised that the cuffs were loose. She almost swore aloud at her stupidity and his deception. Then suffering a renewed blush she wriggled free and got unsteadily to her feet.

“You can spend the night on the rail,” Galen said casually and indicated on of the beams.

Tzara opened her mouth to protest and then swivelled her gaze to the frame. She was not entirely sure what he intended for her. It didn’t look too bad and at least he hadn’t pointed out the beam with the pins on it. She was still trying to fathom the situation when he seized her arms behind her and manacled her hands.

“Hey,” she blurted. She wheeled to face him only to be confronted by his hard warning stare. “I mean… my lord, you don’t need to…”

Without warning he grabbed her under the arms and then without effort he lifted her out the bean so that she was straddling it. There were two foot holds that allowed her to stand and lift herself off the sharp edge of the beam, which otherwise was uncomfortable pressed against her sex and the underside of her sore spanked bottom. By standing fully on tip toes she could relieve this pressure, but that strained her already sore thighs and bottom.

“I don’t understand my lord,” she said quizzically.

“Good night,” he replied and then reducing the lights he turned to go.

Tzara was confused. This was silly. But standing on tiptoes was worse than the discomfort of sitting astride the beam so she relaxed. It wasn’t exactly comfortable and the edge of the beam pressed into her.

“Well this is embarrassing,” she said to the empty chamber. At least, she thought, she finally had time to think.

*

At first it hadn’t been so bad. The discomfort of sitting on hard ridge pressing into her intimate places persisted, but it only actually hurt a little. It was also disconcertingly arousing, like riding or… the thought made things worse and was distracting. By standing on tiptoes she instantly relived the ache and transferred the strain to her thighs and calves. Oh I get it, she smiled. I am not going to sleep to easily like this. By morning I will be exhausted. Well it gives me time to think, she reminded herself. “Is really the worst you can do?” She asked the absent Galen.

It was dark, but not completely. As her eyes adjusted she could see the other equipment and realised that he really could have made her suffer more. The crucifixes had narrower sharper protrusions, she noticed. No one needed to be nailed but being hung by your arms with that pressing into your intimates… well it would be worse than the rail.

She thought about the paddle-spanking and blushed. She had backed down and her bottom would be sore for days to remind her of that.

Finally she had to sit back down on the ridge to ease her legs and the edge of the wood pressing into was worse than she remembered. Looking down she saw that the ledge she was standing on could be lowered or raised; to fit different women? It could also remove all hope of relief. She swallowed. She decided to let her weight settle and see how bad it could get. Maybe next time that will be my only option. She gaped to herself. Next time, what was she thinking? Then all too soon she had to stand again.

Okay, this is not so bad, she told herself, but she was beginning to panic. ‘Good night’ he had said. What time was it? It had still been daylight before they came to the chamber. The spanking had lasted less than an hour?

“Please, is there anyone there?” she called. She hated how feeble she sounded and that her cry had been involuntary.

No one answered. She sat back down and groaned. It was getting worse, she gritted her teeth; understatement. It was beginning to hurt. She began to pant.

“Is there anyone there?” she yelled and pushed her sex and perineum off the cutting wood to stand on tiptoe again. “Please help.”

To be continued…

Part one here

Hours, if not days past, Tzara prayed to non-existent gods for some kind of reprieve. She would never cheat the holo-suite again. She would even be nice to people in the crew. She would even apologise to the SI entity Galen and do whatever he wanted. To pass the time she tried to decide which hurt worse, standing or sitting. In truth she had no sooner sat down on the rail when she wanted to stand.

Then someone opened the door.

“Thank God,” she groaned.

“Having fun?” Galen asked her.

Tzara had no strength for defiance. She couldn’t even put up a show of polite bravado. Instead she burst into tears and began to beg. “I’m sorry, so sorry,” she wailed.

“Not having fun then?” Galen said without a hint of sarcasm. “I did wonder.”

Tzara felt the tears rolling down her face and realised she hadn’t cried like this since she had been a teenager. “No my lord, please let me down. I couldn’t spend another night up here,” she sniffed.

“Another night?” Galen seemed amused. “Just how long do you think you have been in here?”

“Isn’t it morning?” Tzara prayed that it was.

“I haven’t had dinner yet,” Galen laughed.

Tzara gaped at him. She almost howled in despair. Then it wasn’t over. “Please…” she began. Now it came to it she couldn’t quite surrender. Not yet. Damn her pride. You are a stubborn bitch and deserve everything you get, she berated herself.

“I promised you a night in the dungeon,” he chuckled. “But I reserve the whole night on the rail for witches and traitors,” he said.

Tzara didn’t know if to feel foolish or relieved.

Galen shook his head affectionately and moved forward to help his newest concubine down. “I trust you are beginning to learn your lesson?” he said.

Tzara glowered at him for a second and then cast her gaze downwards. “Yes my lord,” she said grudgingly.

“I wonder,” he murmured and gave her a steely gaze. “I have a cage for you. The question is… which one I wonder.” He glanced at the small ‘birdcage’ suspended from the ceiling. She didn’t seem tough enough, he thought.

The upright was nasty, not viciously so, but being constrained to stand all night… still it was better than being squashed up in foetal position. Then his gaze fell upon the kennel. It was five feet by three by three; not exactly comfort and quite humbling in its way.

“This one,” he said.

Tzara made a pout as she followed his gesture. This was too humiliating, she thought. She would have to crawl to get in and the floor looked hard.

“I promised you a night in here,” he warned. “Do you want another dose of paddle and a night in the pillory perhaps?”

She shot a look at the upright T-bar with holes. It was the paddle she feared more.

“No my lord,” she said sullenly.

Galen made a gesture with his hand. “Well?”

Tzara dropped to her knees and glowering at the floor in front of her, she crawled into the opening. It was smaller than she feared and she realised that she couldn’t quite sit up nor lie down flat.

“Missing supper will do you good,” Galen told her, “But eat this,” he added and handed her a small bread roll.

She took it and nibbled. It was good, very good and realising she was hungry she wolfed it down. It was only then that she realised how salty it was. So it was with initial gratitude that she watched Galen pour some water into a steel dish at the end of the cage, just where she could reach it.

“In the morning you will apologise on your knees for your behaviour and thank me for correcting you,” he told her.

Her eyes glared up at him and she neither acknowledged his words nor contested them.

“My father had a concubine like you once. She was a captive from the east. He tried to tame her for a whole month. I dare say she did not sit much during those weeks. But she was defiant like you and after this month I speak of… well my father gave up,” Galen shrugged. “Instead he consigned the girl to be a scullion for a year. She was so grateful to be reinstated as a courtesan after that, that she slept in a kennel like this one outside his room.”

Tzara remained sullen. If she were a scullion, whatever that may be, she might escape… or was that a foolish notion. On the rail she had resolved to be a good girl and play the game. Stubborn, she cursed.

“Think on it,” Galen said with a shrug and turned to go. Then he stopped and looked back. “I like you, it is not so bad being mine,” he said. “But I won’t take you by force. If it takes a month to tame you, then you can be a maid if you like… or go back to your father. I will sign the manumission papers myself.” Then he sighed and left.

Tzara realised that Galen was only doing what he had been made to do. This was all her fault, she supposed. It was her program modification. Then she worked her mouth and thought about the water. Damn the food had been salty. She tugged at the dish twice before she realised it was fixed to the side of the cage. The only way to drink was to get down on all fours like a dog.

“Galen, you bastard,” she yelled, remembering that he had given her the bread.

This time there was no reply.

*

When she awoke there was a narrow beam of light streaming through a small high window. The floor was hard and she had slept fitfully. She had rarely slept in a VR scenario before, but this one was like no other. She certainly felt more, she thought ruefully, and massaged her bottom. Then she tried to stretch and as if to remind her of the lack of pain filter she grazed her knuckles on the bars of the cage. Great, she thought, and then muttered aloud, “Another day in paradise.”

Tzara hadn’t been awake long when Maria arrived.

“You are to bathe mistress,” she said in a surly voice.

Tzara was only too aware that she was half naked and cramped down on her knees. Both her dignity and pride were in the toilet in front of this girl. She wished that she wasn’t ass-end to the cage door as Maria stooped to unlock it.

“Are you real?” Tzara asked the girl, wondering if there was any point being embarrassed in front of a tertiary NPC.

“Mistress?” Maria cocked an eyebrow.

“What is your favourite colour?” Tzara asked.

Maria gaped for a moment and then said, “Green, maybe,” she shrugged, “It reminds me of my grandmother.”

“What was her name?” Tzara said as she backed out of the cage on all fours.

“Heide Karlsen, she lived in Holtz,” the girl smiled. “She always wore a green dress and…”

“Have you always been a maid?” Tzara stood unsteadily and was finally able to stretch.

“I was indentured at 15, mistress, but they let me go home at Yule and Easter,” she said brightly.

“Do you like being a maid?” the star ship navigator was uneasy with this level of back story in what should be an insignificant character. How detailed were the SI routines in this modification?

“What else would I be?” Maria frowned. “It is better than most things and here I might meet a man who will buy me out of my contract.”

“How long is your contract?” Tzara rolled her neck and massaged the nascent sting in her bottom, very conscious now that from the waist down she was completely naked.

“Oh,” Maria shrugged as if it was of no importance and said casually, “I have a life bond.”

“You will be a maid for life?” Tzara gasped, forgetting that she did not consider Maria real.

“No,” Maria laughed, “I told you, I will meet someone, it is usual.”

As the two women walked back to the stairs and up to where Maria said a bath was waiting, they both chatted and by the time they reached the chamber doors, Tzara was convinced that Maria was as real as she was in this place.

“Your bath awaits mistress,” Maria said suddenly as she curtsied and reverted to her role.

Tzara nodded and mumbled her thanks. “Are these my quarters?” she asked as the door was swung open to reveal a four poster bed and a room that she had only seen in historical dramas or a museum.

“Of course mistress,” Maria smiled.

If you had played your role better you could have slept here last night you dolt, she berated herself. Again her hands massaged her naked behind and she winced.

“Is it sore mistress?” Maris asked in a concerned voice.

“Somewhat, yes,” Tzara rolled her eyes.

“I will get something to help when I fetch your… eh gown,” she offered, glancing significantly at Tzara’s nakedness.

“Yes, a gown,” Tzara cupped her naked sex and winced.

Maria giggled. “Good job none of the men saw you.”

“Yes,” Tzara agreed and wondered who else she would meet and how real they would be.

*

Tzara had never had a bath before. It was amazing and she couldn’t decide whether to douse herself with potions or lay back and soak. The only drawback had been the effects of hot water on her bottom. Lowering herself in slowly had initially reignited the burn in behind and several times she had had to leap up and gasp. But little by little she had adjusted and she even found that the heat helped.

For the first time she could relax and consider her situation. Unless there was a ship wide emergency, the program would not be interrupted for three months subjective time. Tzara let her mouth hang open as this sunk in. In any other circumstance she would revel in the situation. She took a deep breath and considered what she knew.

This was a medieval fantasy scenario, presumably intended to be fun for someone. Some sort of adventure where she had adopted the role of a high status sexual servant to a nobleman. Okay, it was a game, a mystery perhaps. All she had to do was play it and to do that she had to work out the rules.

The SI for this program was highly sophisticated and multi-faceted. It was running at least two fully formed individuals who, to all intents and purposes were real. That was why the program was illegal, no doubt. She took a deep breath. If she purged the program later then she would be destroying a world and everyone in it. If she didn’t then she risked some serious penal time on a punishment colony.

She let out a long slow breath. She had to ignore that for now. Once out of here she would figure that out. For the moment it wasn’t just her against the game, but her against various SI and AI characters and she neither knew the rules or the objectives. For the first time she realised that she might not be smarter than everyone here. Then how do I win?

She was still pondering the situation when Galen walked in.

How dare he interrupt her bath, she was naked. Then he saw his face. Better not to confront him, she reminded herself. Play the game.

“Did you sleep well?” he smiled.

“You know that I did not,” she replied and hoped she didn’t sound sullen. Then she remembered and quickly added, “My lord.”

“Have you learned a lesson?” Galen asked.

Tzara clamped her jaw shut and stared up at him darkly. Her next words were going to help determine the course of the rest of her day and maybe ultimately her time there.

“I hope so my lord,” she replied. It galled her to think that in a manner of speaking she had actually been taught a lesson.

“I am glad to hear it. Now let us put that to the test,” his voice rumbled and she had a sense that his patience was at an end. “Stand up,” he ordered.

She had already been wondering how much of her body he could see under the water. Now that was about to become an academic question. It was strangely challenging to do, but she grabbed at the sides of the bath and launched herself upright.

“Turn around,” he told her, indicating the motion with his finger.

Tzara felt the heat rise, but she obeyed.

Galen ran his eyes down her body, taking particular note of the red marking on her bare bottom. Once she had turned all the way around to face him. He smiled. “Alright, stand here.”

Tzara took a clear steady breath and stepped out of the bath.

Galen nodded in approval. “Now kneel,” he said.

Tzara wondered if she could attempt another drop kick. Her jaw tightened and she glowered up at him. If she obeyed then her previous defiance had been foolish. She reached back and rubbed her bottom. If she didn’t… she knelt down. Her face burned.

“You have something to say to me?” he said in a stern voice.

Tzara swallowed. Every fibre of her being cried out to her to be defiant. She was an officer in the navy for god’s sake. She averted her gaze and pursed her lips.

“Well?” he barked.

She jumped and thought back on what he had said. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her tone was unconvincing. Then with a deliberate delay she added, “My lord.”

“And?” he pressed her.

“Thank you my lord,” she all but grunted, “Thank you for… p-punishing me,” she added as she finally looked up to meet his eyes. Her heart raced then and she felt an emotion she could not name.

“Good girl,” he said and before she could react he pulled a band from his pocket and placed it like a collar around her neck. “Now you may get dressed.”

Tzara grabbed at her throat and wondered what the collar meant and if she could remove it. She might have asked, but Galen had gone as quickly as he had arrived.

Tzara sucked in air and sighed heavily. “Round one to my Lord Galen,” she said dejectedly.

To be continued…

Part one here

The gown chosen for her was of tightly drawn velvet over another corset. As she entered the great hall where the nobility had gathered for breakfast, she noted that most of the women wore headdress and gowns that covered their shoulders. Tzara realised that her naked shoulders and freely hanging hair was a mark of a courtesan and she blushed. All the same, she felt free and at last she could see some of the other characters of this world.

There were three tables set out as a large T-shape. The smallest, forming the cross piece was nearest the fire and had both the most food and the most table decorations. The second table set at right angles to this was almost as well decorated but the occupants sitting there were less finely dressed.

The third was full of young men and soldiers still in chain mail. There were no women at this table and the food was rather more basic.

This left Tzara with a problem. Scanning the empty seats, she had no idea which was hers or what table she should sit at. Galen was sitting in the high seat in the middle of the small table, but he had an elaborately dressed man at his right and well-covered rather demure older woman in a yellow silk gown to his left. Nonetheless, there were one or two obvious courtesans at the table and at least one empty chair.

That presented Tzara with her next problem. Her freshly scrubbed bottom still burned beneath her dress and given that she had had to stand to have her face made-up by Maria, she was pretty sure that she was still unable to sit down at all.

Then Galen spotted her and shot a glance at a vacant space on the bench facing him at his table.

Great, Tzara thought, and steeled herself. Then with careful steps she glided across the floor to the space between a man in a sombre, but nonetheless expensive looking frock coat and a woman with red hair who was obviously another courtesan.

“May I?” she asked as she approached.

The man sneered and continued to chew delicately on a drumstick. However, the woman smiled and silently bid Tzara to sit.

“I don’t suppose there is a cushion?” Tzara said ruefully.

The woman smirked and glanced at the back of Tzara’s gown. “Did someone displease her master?” she chuckled.

Tzara blushed and made a pout.

“It happens to the best of us,” the woman said in a friendly tone and turned and patted Tzara’s arm. Then she turned and signalled a maid. “I am Lucinda,” she told Tzara and motioned that she should stand and wait. Then after to some whispered words to the maid she loudly praised the food and made a recommendation as if that was what they had been talking about.

The cushion arrived discretely and although it did not exactly end the problem, Tzara sat on it with a wince and no small amount of gratitude.

“Who is you master?” Lucinda asked.

Tzara bristled but then remembered the game. “Lord Galen,” she said and glanced over at him.

“Ah,” Lucinda said, “All becomes clear.”

“It does?” Tzara winced again as she tried to settle on the cushion. In the end she had to use one hand to share some of the weight.

“He is a bit uncompromising, but you are in good hands and are now of high status,” Lucinda said reassuringly.

Tzara tried to look grateful but it was the food that concerned her at that moment. Never before had she felt hungry in a program. She wondered if she even needed sustenance, after all her body was in stasis.

“Do you belong to Lord Galen too?” Tzara was amazed at how she could even ask such a thing.

Lucinda laughed demurely has she had been trained. Then she shot a sidewise glance at the man in the sombre dress to Tzara’s left. “I am the noble Karl’s woman,” she said, adding in a whisper, “He is the Lord Chamberlain you know.” She seemed proud of this fact.

“And does he beat you?” Tzara asked in a disgruntled tone.

Lucinda smiled indulgently. “I get a jolly good spanking now and then, sometimes I even deserve them,” she said in a hushed tone. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Then she shrugged resignedly.

“And do you get the pleasure of a night in the dungeon too?” Tzara snarled out of the side of her mouth.

Lucinda tut-tutted and smiled wanly. “My, you must have been a naughty girl,” she said, “But since you ask… well not that often, once or twice ever if I am honest.” She sounded almost disappointed. Then she glanced at Tzara’s uncomfortable seating arrangement and rolled her eyes. “Although I have had to stand for breakfast more than once,” she added conspiratorially. “You have no idea how many times I have had to stand in the corner after a spanking,” she said ruefully, “That one during a public meal…” she sighed as she shot a glance at the corner to the right, “…more than once.” She was blushing.

Tzara gaped and her heart raced. She had no doubt that Galen would do the same to her if she continued to be defiant.

For the next few minutes both women were content to eat in silence, especially Tzara who would far rather enjoy the incredible meal that speculate on fresh tortures. Then she asked her new friend. “Do you know what my duties will be?”

Lucinda looked askance and for a second was lost for words.

“I mean…” Tzara was feeling a little foolish.

“You mean apart from sucking his cock?” Lucinda asked hopefully, surely the woman wa snot that innocent?

“Yes, apart from that,” Tzara said quickly. She had guessed as much, but it was disconcerting to hear it in such vulgar terms.

“I hear he is fond of the narrower road,” Lucinda put in mischievously. “Under your contract there are few limits,” the woman shrugged, “So mayhap most things are in store. But Lord Galen is not particularly partial to… some of the stranger games.” Her last words were said delicately and whispered as she glanced at her master.

Tzara followed her gaze and wondered what perversion Lucinda had suffered. Then turning back she said, “But he will… beat me?”

Lucinda laughed and clapped her hands. “Like all women in this world, not least those of our profession, your bottom will suffer often and at length,” she seemed genuinely amused.

“A dog, a woman and a walnut tree…” the Lord Chamberlain said absently, revealing that he had been listening after all.

“Indeed my lord,” Lucinda agreed ruefully. “Am I to be punished later?” she asked him in a hushed voice.

“Oh my beloved concubine following our little talk after breakfast, you are not going to be able to sit down for a week.” Karl did not even look around as he spoke.

Lucinda made a face and looked at Tzara for a hint of sympathy. Then in pleading tones she said to her master, “Please don’t… I mean… may I not be confined as I was last week?”

The Lord Chamberlain paused in his eating and pondered his response. “I can be… merciful,” he shrugged. “Instead, after your spanking you will stand in the corner of my office with your tail end on show while I work.”

Lucinda blushed. Visitors would come and go all day. But it was better than the alternative. “Thank you my Lord,” she said humbly. Then glancing at Tzara, she shrugged.

Tzara arched her eyebrows and sat speechless. This was a very strange world indeed.

*

After breakfast Galen, who up until then had largely ignored her, beckoned over that she should follow him out of the hall. Tzara, who had not quite finished her food, bid a reluctant farewell to the chicken on her plate with her eyes and then made to go after him.

She had to all abut run to catch up with her new master, who strode the hall floor as if marching to war, barely acknowledging the various bows, courtesies and salutes as he passed. By the time she caught up with him he had gained the door and they were walking on a wide balustrade set halfway up the keep. The view was breath-taking and Tzara stopped dead to take it in.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Galen said as he turned back to stand alongside her.

Tzara looked at him sideways, she hadn’t expected this. First take your opponent to the edge of defeat and then make concessions. This guy should have been a fleet captain, she thought wryly.

“That is one way of putting it,” she mumbled.

“What was that?” he said sharply.

Tzara focused and managed a polite smile. “I think you are right my lord,” she said.

He nodded and smiled back. “You do not find me appealing?” he asked.

Tzara looked him up and down and felt more than a little tightness where it counted. Something had reached deep into her psyche to pull this near perfect man from her wildest dreams. “I have seen much worse my lord,” she said lightly and then frowned. “It is just that I am not used to this life. I am not used to this… land in fact. Where I come from… well things are different.”

“You hoped for a settle life on a farm somewhere, not this adventure,” Galen said kindly and gestured at the view.

Tzara followed his gaze and sighed. “No my lord, I’ll take this any day.” Why had she said that?

“But not the other?” he chuckled.

“You…” she made rueful pout and rubbed her bottom, “It hurt,” she finished. You totally humbled me, she thought, but oddly she had to dig deep to even pretend to resent it.

“I will be obeyed,” he said in that tone.

Tzara bit her tongue and nodded. This is a game and I just need to follow the rules.

“If it is the bedroom that concerns you…?” he changed tack yet again, “I can be patient.”

Tzara drew her mouth into a line and took in a deep breath through her nose. For a moment she didn’t look at him. Surely sex was the best part and this was all part of the game. What had Lucinda said, he could do anything to her but that he wasn’t that perverted… she was almost sorry? This is pretty much just interactive erotica, she told herself, but was unconvinced. It was, however, doubtlessly sex without guilt.

“I am not a virgin,” she answered with a shrug.

Galen regarded her sternly for a moment. “Your father obviously thought you were,” he said, but he couldn’t help the wry smile.

“Does this void my indentures?” Tzara smiled back.

“No, I admire your honesty, but I guess I have to spank you now,” he said casually.

She gaped and snatched at her still sore bottom.

“Those are the rules,” he told her with a shrug, but nothing about his demeanour suggested he was sorry.

“Is it too late to apologise my lord?” Tzara said hastily. She hoped she was being amusing.

Galen gently but firmly took her arm. “It is never too late to apologise,” he grinned, “You will do so at length while we get acquainted.” Then he led her briskly away long the upper walkway to another tower with tottering along beside him struggling to keep up.

To be continued…

Last week a fair few nice pictures, that is to say nasty ones, were published. How can anyone spank these nice girls? It is a good job A Voice is her to report on this injustice.

Devlin wrote a short piece on red bottoms and various comparisons. He seems to think that red heads have a short temper. I cannot think where he gets that idea from.

Ronnie writes about a spanking on the Africa Queen.

Also a shout out for Grumpy Old Fart, who has been a fan of this site forever. He usually trails Vintage Sunday and published a cute picture of his own. (Vintage 1920s one above)

A few weeks back I gave a mention to the Spanking Blog that had a still from Starlet. As I mentioned then that there was a better spanking in that film and SB returned to the subject with a still. I remember the spanking being slightly more revealing than the still would suggest, but if you like brat spankings in mainstream movies, check it out. (see 1960s b&w above)

Contemporary Life has some nice pictures, others from AAA.

This week more In the Service of the Wolf and Holodeck Hell continues.

Part I here

Alice tried to grit her teeth against the onslaught to her bottom. John had managed to make the spanking, sting, burn and ache all at the same time and it was getting decidedly hotter. She was making a groaning sound in her throat and it was hard to keep still. All the same John kept up a steady pace, pausing only now and then to see that he was making an impact and to try and make eye contact with the woman.

“Stubborn isn’t she?” Adam chuckled as he surveyed her tender tail. “I have never seen anyone go so red, and at both ends too.”

John noticed something else. Alice had the sharp scent of arousal and he noticed the few hairs peeking between her legs were plastered wet against her thighs. “I think she is enjoying this,” he teased.

“Maybe you just need to spank her harder,” Adam suggested.

Alice felt her face melt at both comments and chewed down the urge to curse at them.

“Maybe I need to fetch a paddle or a switch,” John countered.

“Come on, please I’m sorry,” Alice gushed breathlessly.

“Apparently she is sorry,” Adam said in an amused voice.

John pretended puzzlement and shot his brother a mock plaintive look. “But she can’t be, I have hardly gotten started.”

“Maybe she is just waiting for my turn to be real sorry,” Adam laughed.

John spanked Alice in a rapid series of slaps so that she twisted and yelled. He was still spanking her hard as he said, “Maybe she is waiting for your turn to stop enjoying herself.”

Adam’s nostrils flared and her grinned. “I see what you mean.”

“This is getting us nowhere,” John sighed and stopped spanking her. “What do you think; more pain or more shame?”

Alice’s eyes flew open and she began to struggle against John’s grip. “Look I’m sorry, see it is working. You should spank me some more,” she babbled and pushed her bottom up obscenely.

“You are right, she is loving this,” Adam chuckled.

“I am not, please I’m not,” Alice wailed.

“Such a liar,” Adam sighed.

Alice was panting hard and her bottom was on fire. They were right, she had never been so aroused and she had no right to be. She was so ashamed. It would serve her right if they did spank her outside. “I am sorry I ran. Did people really get hurt because of me?” she sounded like little girl lost.

John and Adam exchanged glances and John shrugged where Alice couldn’t see.

“Probably not,” Adam sighed, “It doesn’t make it alright though.”

“I know,” Alice said dejectedly. It was odd having a conversation with two men while across the knee of one of them and her bottom bared to both. “Are you really going to…” she swallowed, “switch me?”

“We ought to,” John told her.

“The tradition is that you go get it naked and cut a switch or two for yourself,” Adam continued.

Alice looked round at him with undisguised horror.

“It is true,” John agreed.

“Please,” she gulped, “Maybe I…”

“Go stand in the corner,” John said releasing her, “We will think on it.”

Alice got to her feet with a pained expression which said, ‘do I have to?’ This was so embarrassing.

“Maybe a lick or two of my belt would be a good compromise,” Adam suggested.

“After, what 30 minutes in the corner?” John suggested.

“An hour I think,” Adam countered.

“Seems fair,” John chuckled.

“Oh come on guys,” Alice wailed.

John folded his arms and gave her a warning look. Then to Adam he just said, “Or maybe we could just switch her outside in the yard?”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Alice said hastily and went to the corner.

“I want your nose touching that wall,” John told her.

“And keep your hands on your head,” Adam added.

“Fine,” Alice muttered and plonked her hands to her neck like a surly teen.

“Good job bro,” Adam said as he studied Alice’s spanked bottom.

“Thanks bro,” John grinned.

“Bass’rds…” Alice muttered.

“What was that?” Adam growled.

“Thank you for doing such a good job,” Alice said quickly, “And for my…” she stamped her foot and then got a hold of herself and gave a heavy sigh. The most humiliating thing about this was that part of her felt that she might deserve it.

“I think she is learning,” Adam smiled.

John grinned and nodded and returned his gaze to Alice’s very red bare bottom.

*

Not far away in Stacy’s room, Garrick and the investigative writer were still talking. Stacy really would have preferred to stand, but confronted with the reassuring, if immoveable presence of Garrick she had begun to open up.

“You are saying that my Dad was a… was like you?” Stacy said with a frown.

“It is not the only explanation, but it is the most likely,” Garrick agreed.

“I thought you could get like bitten or something?” Stacy focussed on the generalities, it was easier that way.

“And were you bitten or something?” Garrick asked in an amused tone.

“No,” Stacy sighed. She would definitely remember that. But why would that have been preferable?

Garrick made his hands into a church and leaned forward. “Most of the Kin are born to it. If both parents are of the blood then it rarely skips a generation. But that is the other explanation. Your grandparents or one of them…”

Stacy considered this. It didn’t really fit. She shook her head. “They were all pretty normal I think… not that I knew them…”

“The only other way is to encounter aggressive or prolonged contact with one of our kind. That may be by surviving a mauling, a rare enough event, but it is not inevitable. Our kind have married ordinary folk before and they have lived together for years, as your mother and father may have done. It doesn’t mean that someone will turn.” Garrick considered this. “It has happened though, a wife or husband turning their partner. No one knows how or why this happens. Have you had any…?”

Stacy was shaking her head and she thought back on relationships she had had. “A few boyfriends in my teens… a few one night stands, an occasional girl.” She looked up for a sign of his disapproval and made a plaintive so-what gesture. “No one long-term and anyway… aren’t you saying my mother knew, so it was before, wasn’t it?”

“That is my belief,” Garrick agreed.

Stacy rolled her eyes. “So what? Where does this take us, I don’t want it any of this,” she said angrily.

“Yeah, I know,” Garrick sighed. “But that is where we find ourselves.”

“It is where you find yourself, I am out of here. I have managed up to now,” Stacy began to feel the rage again.

“Steady down,” Garrick told her. “You are not going anywhere until you learn how to handle this properly and we have dealt with the hunters.”

Stacy glared at him and stood up. Without regard to her nakedness she stooped and began to defiantly drag her denims back up. “Says you,” she said sullenly.

Garrick gave a sigh and then without breaking a sweat he grabbed the girl and swung her around so that he could drape her back across his knees.

“N-no, no, not again, come on,” she wailed.

Swiftly baring her bottom again Garrick swung the flat of his hand down with a sharp crack and resumed the earlier spanking as he had warned.

“Oh please, oh-ow, ow, ow, ooh,” Stacy protested angrily and began struggling.

The powered spanks soon turned gasps to grunts and yelps to full-bloodied hollering. In a minute flat she was bawling like sobbing child and very, very sorry she had crossed the man yet again.

“You will learn,” Garrick said firmly.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” she sobbed.

“I know, I know, but you need this don’t you?” he soothed without missing a spank.

“Yes,” she wailed, and she knew she did. If her dad had stuck around she guessed she would have gotten the same only much, much sooner.

The spanking lasted another three or four minutes and then Garrick pulled her into a hug so that he rocked her.

“I am sorry,” she cried.

“I know,” he soothed.

Then as the tears came under control she smiled and sniffed. “I guess I needed that.”

Garrick smiled indulgently and nodded. “Now young lady, back to the corner,” he told her.

“Yes Sir,” she said and gave him a rueful smile.

“You can stay there a while and think it over,” he told her in a scolding tone.

“Yes Sir,” she said ruefully and chewed at her lip.

“And if you even think about moving…” Garrick cocked a warning eyebrow.

“Yes Sir,” she repeated earnestly. The cosy feeling of safety that now surrounded her was an unfamiliar one, but she decided not to fight it.

To be continued…

Part one here

Tzara tried to catch her breath, and not only from the brisk pace Galen was setting. His threat to spank her had rattled her and a cascade of competing thoughts tumbled through her brain. She was so far out of her comfort zone that even her extensive xeno-training was no help. Also she was pretty sure that her discomfort was about to grow.

His grip on her arm was steady as he led her through a series of doors and up a wide twisting staircase to what appeared to be an opulent set of chambers. The walls were hung with vivid tapestries set against rich red wooden panels. However, the pace of their steady march left her little time to take in the décor.

Here and there were servants and soldiers and Tzara blushed as she was all but dragged past them by the arm like an errant child and forced to endure their smirks and sniggers. It was obvious that no one was in any doubt as to her fate.

“Look, we can talk about this,” Tzara complained.

Galen barely slowed as he turned to look at her mid stride. “Oh that is very much my intention. We are going to have a very long talk about your misspent past and your imminent future,” he said sharply. But he still seemed more amused than angry.

Finally they arrived at two ornately carved doors with a dozing token guard. The startled man came to attention and then hastily made to open the chamber.

Galen did not break his stride and as the doors parted he pulled a stumbling Tzara into the room.

The wall was more window than stone and the view was breath-taking. Even in her apprehension Tzara had to do a double-take. There was also a huge four poster bed, the four columns of thrusting twisted wood reaching for the ceiling. It was wide enough for three or four people to lie crosswise, she noted, and she suspected that they probably had at one time or another.

Galen let go of her arm and regarded her sternly. “I hope you were paying attention as to how to get here,” he said and then divesting himself of his long frock coat, he tossed it onto a chair. Then one by one he set about removing the rings from his fingers. “I will summon you often.”

Tzara swallowed, she hadn’t a clue which way they had come, but just then she was more concerned with what he was doing. With the rings set down on a small bedside table he began to roll up the sleeves of his white silk shirt.

“My lord, please, I am still sore from yesterday, you can’t really mean to…?” she licked her lips nervously and reached to the back of her gown. “I haven’t done anything,” she whined.

Galen regarded her quizzically for a moment and then went to sit on the edge of the bed. “I know your type,” he said, “Proud, and in your own way, accomplished. I bet you were the queen bee in your village. Even the men took note when you went by. Not just of your beauty, I would wager. I bet you always have something to say, ready to judge your betters and belittle those of a lower station.”

Tzara felt her mouth go dry. If by village he meant the ship then she had to admit there was something in what he said. “My lord, please, I…”

Galen crooked his finger at her and then patted his lap.

Tzara felt her mouth go dry and there was strange fizzing disconnect in her head. This wasn’t happening. She was an officer, for goodness sake. She should defy him and take the consequences, but that thought made her quail as she remembered the dungeon.

“My girl, you are going to go across my knee for good long hard spanking and there is nothing you can do about it,” Galen warned and beckoned to her again.

If I surrender now… not completing the thought, but her legs made a decision for her and she found herself taking two or three hesitant steps towards him. It was enough. Galen reached out and took her hand and this time instead of pulling her, he led her to standing alongside his right thigh.

“Please, this is so embarrassing,” Tzara whispered.

“I could take you back to the Great Hall,” Galen said sharply, “Then while the servants clean up you could go and stand in the corner.”

Tzara felt a surge of panic and blushed furiously. She remembered Lucinda.

Galen was merciful and without further debate he toppled her forwards so that she was bottom up over his lap.

“Ooh,” Tzara squealed. But she only began to struggle when he turned up her skirts to expose her bottom.

“A little sore, you colour up so nicely. Oh and I see we have some small bruises here,” he said commandingly. His fingers were tracing the intimate spot between her thighs where the beam and pressed into her. “Bruises are for here,” he added and spanked her once sharply and across both bottom cheeks.

“Ah,” she gasped. That one spank stung and she wriggled.

“You will be spanked and spanked often,” Galen warned her. “If you defy me then things will get a little sharper. If necessary you will spend some time in the dungeon and believe me, last night I went easy on you.”

Tzara was breathing fast and steadily while her eyes flicked back and forth. She knew protests were futile and anything else would be humiliating. She wished that she did not enjoy the sensation of his hand on her bottom so much. Then he flicked a single finger more deeply and she gasped.

“I am going to spank you,” Galen said leaning in low and squeezing her behind. “What am I going to do?”

Tzara worked her mouth and hoped his question was rhetorical.

Galen spanked her once and growled, “What am I going to do?”

She was panting now and her face glowed hot. Then literally swallowing her pride she rasped. “You are going to spank me my lord.”

Galen spanked her once more and she yelped.

“I am going to give you a spanking? What am I going to do?” Galen pressed her.

“You are going to give me a spanking my lord,” she panted.

He slapped her again. “I am going to give you a good sound spanking on your bare bottom, what am I going to do?”

Tzara squirmed and just then she wished she was anywhere but there. “Please my lord, I won’t…”

Galen spanked her sharply once and then thrice more. “What am I going to do?”

“You are going to… to give me a good s-sound… sp-spanking on my… my bare bottom,” she managed. She was mortified.

Galen gave her a 30 second burst of spanking that stung and she gasped and bucked. “Do you deserve it?” he asked her at last.

Tzara swallowed and then with a sullen pout she said, “Yes my lord.”

His hand spanked her harder than she remembered and she tried not to cry out. But after what seemed like hours she began to make a mewling sound. “What do you deserve?” he asked during a pause.

A tear rolled down her cheek and she tried to get her breath. “A good sound spanking my lord,” she acknowledged.

He ran a slow finger between her bottom cheeks and felt the moisture gathering deep between.

Tzara let out a gasp and began to squirm.

“You told me what you deserve, now ask me for it,” he ordered.

She lay mouth-breathing and almost enjoying close contact with a man. She arched her bottom and offered him her sex. Maybe she could distract him.

“Answer me,” he growled.

Tzara took a deep breath and whispered, “Please my lord, give me a good sound spanking on my bare bottom.” With those words she let go of something she couldn’t name that she had been holding too close for a very long time.

Galen spanked her sharply and followed the slap with another less than a second later. This set the pace for the next five minutes while Tzara twisted and groaned, not entirely from the sting as spank followed spank and her bottom stung until it burned.

To be continued..