Part one here

It had been over a week since the episode in the dungeon. Neither woman had sat down since then, but no real harm had come to them. The men in their lives quickly forgave and forgot. Well almost. A fortnight after the extended punishment with Lucinda, Galen sat her down in their chamber and had asked for the truth.

He listened intently as she outlined the strange custom in her village of rock climbing, claiming in an aside that it had originated as a way of egg collecting. This white lie had sold the truth and he had laughed for some time afterwards.

“You will never do it again, is that clear?” he had finally scolded her, “I thank you and Lucinda for allowing the Lord Chamberlain an honourable way out of the corner you had backed us into, but also you will never lie to me again.”

“No My Lord,” Tzara had humbly replied, she felt chastened by the accusation and found herself blushing.

“If I had had you alone to punish you would have not got off so lightly, I assure you of that, I hope you are ashamed that Lucinda suffered worse than you and she had done nothing,” he growled.

Tzara dipped her head. She had already apologised to her friend but no matter how many times she lay awake telling herself none of this was real, she had cringed at having to let Lucinda take the rap for her small rebellion. The blush burned to her ears and she felt tears well up behind her eyes.

“Yes,” she muttered, her throat was too tight to admit a ‘my lord.’

Galen ignored the slip and glowered at her as if driving his words home with his eyes.

“Now we have the small matter of that lie you told,” Galen sighed.

Tzara gaped and finally lifted her eyes to look at him. He didn’t mean to punish her again, surely not?

Galen was already stripping of his long coat and tunic. Then as she had watched he began rolling up the sleeves of his undershirt so that she could see his powerful arms. “I have a mind to send for that paddle again,” he told her, his mouth drawn into a fine resolute line.

A protest sprang to Tzara’s lips but she swallowed it down.

Galen sat on the bed and beckoned her. His hands were open and she quickly scanned for a hairbrush or something like it. Surely a hand-spanking would not be so bad. Then he reached behind him for something and she saw that he hefted a short thick butter pat. Lucinda had spoken of such a thing; the gently serrated edge when used was a bitch.

“Please I…” Tzara worked up some moisture in her suddenly dry mouth.

“Over my knee young lady,” he snapped.

Without thinking the deep space bridge officer took a step forward and moved to step out of her gown. Then with scarcely a pause she tugged on the drawstring of light cotton breeches she wore under them and let them fall to her ankles. “Yes My Lord,” she whispered.

Taking her firmly Galen pulled her across his lap so that her now bare bottom domes up at him to present two neat rounds.

“Tomorrow you will apologise to Lucinda,” Galen told her.

“But I already…” she protested.

“Tomorrow,” he scolded, “And I will tell you what to say.”

Before she could ponder this ominous threat he spanked her once soundly across her bare bottom and she made a bug-eyed gasp.

The tight rectangle of red sang like a thousand needles right across the crowns of her bottom cheeks. Then before she could so much as say ‘ouch,’ Galen spanked her again.

“Such a shame that you only got a white bottom again,” he chuckled, “But I think this colour suits you more,” he said running a thumb across the sore red stain on her behind. “In any case I think we are both going to have to get used to it. Something tells me that this is going to happen a lot.”

Tzara rolled her eyes and was beginning to breathe heavily. Then next spank only added to the misery and the next, before long a steady rhythm of swats stung her bottom and she began to twist and groan through gritted teeth.

“That is how the smooth side feels,” Galen told her, “The Lord Chamberlain is very fond of the ridged side, or so I am told. Can you see any reason you should not suffer as Lucinda suffered?”

Tzara clamped her jaw angrily and then spat a grudging, “No.”

“No ‘my lord,’” Galen said as he spanked her again and again.

“No my lord,” she shrieked and kicked her heels.

“Here I’ll show you,” Galen said and switched spanking surfaces.

“Aiieee,” Tzara screamed and really began to twist.

“Oh I like,” Galen smiled and resumed the spanking serrated side down, not sparing his arm.

“Naaah,” was the most coherent Tzara was to get for the next several minutes. After that she eloquently bawled like a proverbial baby.

*

The corner held her fast until a good half hour after she finished crying. Then she sniffed, “I am so sorry My Lord.”

“I know you are,” Galen agreed in a gentle voice from his place watching her while sitting on the bed. “I can go now and leave you to go to bed,” he said, “Or you can remain as you are for a while longer while I watch and then I could stay.”

“Please stay,” she said hastily.

He chuckled. “Then I will need something to read.”

*

Tzara knocked on the door to Lucinda’s chambers. For a long moment there was no reply and she felt relieved. Her bottom felt as if it had been scrubbed with a cactus. Moreover last night’s lovemaking had been vigorous and satisfying, but not before Galen had used her long and hard in the narrower place. The bud between her bottom cheeks was swollen and sore and passage beyond felt like a freight train had passed through laden with chilli peppers. All the same she grinned wistfully.

“Oh come in,” Lucinda yelled.

Damn, Tzara thought but opened the door all the same. Inside Lucinda was with three women while she was being fitted for a new gown.

“You look… bed worn,” Lucinda said in a pitying voce and grimaced.

Tzara took in the three women she didn’t know and inwardly groaned. “I was… I was… well I was spanked,” she said with a hot blush.

One of the women giggled and even Lucinda supressed a smile. “I can see that,” she said.

“I am sorry that I got you into trouble,” Tzara began.

“You apologised already, two or three times, and over a week ago,” Lucinda said, she was now puzzled.

“I have to…” Tzara looked miserable and instead of finishing she glared at the three women strangers and then turned about. Then taking a deep breath she hoisted her skirts up behind her and showed Lucinda her sore bottom. “I had to stand in the corner for an hour and half,” she said irritably. She continued to stand with her bottom displayed.

Lucinda smirked and included her three companions with a conspiratorial gaze. “Are you going to stand like that all day?” she said to Tzara.

“That’s the thing,” Tzara sighed, “That is up to you. I have been sent to stand in the corner here, stand like this I mean, as a punishment. Galen said… Galen said he would give me another spanking if you didn’t keep me here for at least an hour.” Her face glowed hot and she wished Lucinda was alone.

“In that case I suggest you stand… in that corner,” Lucinda giggled. With witnesses there was no way she could let Tzara off and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. “Ladies, this is going to be an amusing afternoon.”

“Afternoon,” Tzara gasped.

“Why not?” Lucinda teased, “It will take me that long for my fitting, especially with such a distraction. I might send for a boy and get some wine.”

“Ooh,” Tzara groaned, but she what could she do?

To be continued…

Google reader has so many random publications. If you have the patience just about every newspaper and magazine ever published must be there somewhere.

This little snippet was in a small corner of The West Country Advertiser in 1886: No big story, no big scandal. Sadly the headline and the date were too blurred.

Mrs C Whitman, 38-year-old widow from Bristol, was ‘acquitted of cruelty’ after birching her servant, Miss G Gilmore, 19, whom she employed as nanny to her three children.

It seems that Mrs Whitman had repeated scolded the girl for coming home late and ‘walking out with gentleman friends.’ Then after a row Mrs Whitman ‘upended the girl’ and after baring her bottom set about giving the girl a ‘good sound beating’ with a birch rod.

Neighbours who were alerted by the screams testified that although the girl ‘looked good and sore’ no real harm had come to her and agreed with the defence that it had been no more than ‘reasonable chastisement.’

Miss Gilmore had argued that as a nanny she was a professional person and not a ‘mere maid,’ but the court rules that she was a dependent and being under 21 still subject to Mrs Whitman’s authority.

Part one here

Apart from the occasional teasing Tzara was largely ignored as she stood in the corner. It was humiliating but she could see how Galen thought the punishment fitted the crime and in all fairness she could not blame Lucinda for a little payback.

It occurred to her that neither Galen or Lucinda were real so neither was her shame, but so far she had not been able to get behind that idea and increasingly she was beginning to doubt that all of this was just a ‘game.’

Both Galen and Lucinda seemed fully rounded and the emotional investment in their back stories seemed unnecessarily detailed for a holodeck programme. She knew enough to know that if it needed anything like usual amount of processing power all kinds of red lights would be going off on the bridge. If that were the case then she would have been pulled out long before now.

It occurred to her that a small tweak to the system and a virtual temporal stasis could be achieved. She might live a lifetime in her holodeck break. Who would she even be when they pulled her out? As it was she had a few weeks left of subjective time and adjusting to ship life would be difficult.

If she saved the programme she could come back, she thought and then gaped into the wall. Why would she do that? Her heart raced. Here she was a slave, a punished slave and sexual plaything of fictional lord. She was helpless.

This last thought was accompanied by a huge rush of arousal and if she could but face a mirror she would have seen her eyes and mouth forming perfect ‘Os’ of surprise. She remembered vague teenage fantasies of being kidnapped by pirates and tied up, could all of this be a… she took a breath and focussed.

What was the payoff for this scenario? She had assumed a role, but there was no plot. No wider political agenda, no opportunity to do anything but remain passive. Was this just about the sex? That worked for her, but at what cost?

The total absence of responsibility had been something of a holiday, even some of the spanking had been cathartic, but… she didn’t like that train of thought and she supressed it.

“I have to live the role an accept it,” she said, finding a strange release in saying it aloud.

“What was that?” Lucinda asked, suddenly taking notice. “I hope you are not complaining?”

“No I was just… no,” Tzara told her. “How is the fitting going, from what I saw the new gown looked good?”

“I know,” Lucinda gushed, “Come and look.”

Tzara turned around and grinned. Lucinda looked amazing. Then remembering she still had a bare bottom she asked, “May I?”

“Oh yes, come here, look,” Lucinda said impatiently.

*

Days and then weeks past as Tzara learned more and more about her new temporary life. It turned out to be impossible not to get punished and although she sometimes struggled with it, it was never as bad as she might once have thought. Galen had a playful side and even suggested outings where they could ride at will through a gorgeous landscape that seemed to have no end.

She found herself thinking about it when she was alone and she even got a thrill from comparing notes with Lucinda about their men on everything from kissing to spanking, in fact most of the time she forgot that any of this was even real.

One day she and Lucinda were walking in the garden when Lucinda asked, “Do you ever get aroused when you know, you are going to get a spanking?”

Tzara stopped and blushed. “No,” she said coyly.

Lucinda regarded her seriously until Tzara cracked and giggled. “Well sometimes, when it isn’t a serious one,” she admitted.

“And after, I mean after a really sound, ‘I want it to stop, but he won’t until he is good and ready’ kind of spanking? You know, when your bottom is so sore that it throbs in more than just your tail and you are crying so hard you feel like you have been washed clean?” Lucinda had a faraway look in her eyes as she spoke.

“Yeah, I kind of know what you mean,” Tzara agreed shyly.

“Tzara?” Lucinda said suddenly, she was frowning. “Tzara, what is wrong?”

Tzara was about to say nothing when she realised that the world around her was dissolving she was suddenly standing in ultra-modern sterile room.

“What the…?” spinning around she saw a man watching her. He was bald with bland features and wore a grey one-piece suit.

“The programme has been suspended by a ship wide override,” then man said. “You are about to be pulled out.”

“What is going?” Tzara felt a sudden surge of panic and disorientation.

“There has been a primary failure of the main drive and a cascade collapse of secondary systems,” the man explained casually as if he had just told her the coffee machine was on the blink.

It had been weeks in subjective time since she had been on the bridge and she now struggled to remember what that might mean.

“An emergency diagnostic uncovered an illegal alien programme running on this holodeck; security has been alerted,” the man expanded with a verbal shrug.

“Wh-where are we… what?” Tzara was struggling to breathe.

“We are still time suppressed and will be for another two seconds, what are your orders?” the man asked.

He was obviously an avatar of the system, maybe even one generated by the programme still.

“Can you delete the evidence?” Tzara said in a gush. If the programme were discovered it was the end of her career and at least five years prison time.

“I can destroy Galen’s world and everyone in it,” the man said impassively.

“Destroy…? What do you mean?” she hated his choice of words.

“The world you created was drawn on precognitive algorithms and a macros-stasis depository of synthesised entities. The outline of that world was drawn from your subconscious and your latent desires. Once envisaged though, they have become real. The world exists within the system, all of it.” Then man did not blink once.

“You mean if I delete it, then it is genocide?” Tzara gasped.

The man nodded once.

“How is that possible?”

“The data compression on the chip you brought is virtually limitless, it has a self-renewing bio cluster,” he explained.

“Shit,” she groaned, “I am so screwed.”

Then as made of ash, the man, the room and everything around her dissolved.

The security operative standing on the holodeck floor looked totally phased. “The captain wants to see you on the bridge… hell, I think… its bad…” he rambled.

“On my way,” Tzara replied and at a run she pushed past him. She guessed that things were worse than she thought and her indiscretion was currently a low priority. She only hoped she hadn’t caused this in some way.

To be continued…

Part one here

“Tzang, where the hell have you been?” the captain snarled without looking up from his consul.

“Sorry Sir I have been…” she began, but she didn’t finish.

Captain Tassan was giving his full attention to the screen while his hands danced over buttons and pads like a pianist playing the minute waltz.

Tzara could see that the view plate was filled by the huge globe of a steel grey world that was getting ever bigger even as she looked.

“What can I do?” she asked, but all around her display boards died or flickered in haphazard ways she had only seen in disaster training.

“Not much,” Tassan sighed and finally sat back, for all his efforts he had achieved nothing. “I have uploaded the logs and maydays have been set to automatic,” he explained, “The gravity well has us and even if by a miracle the system would reboot, we will be a smear dirtside before we can hope to break free.”

Tzara gaped at the doom bellow them as it rushed towards them. Then the screen adjusted and for a second she thought they had pulled away.

“Twice magnification now,” the captain muttered.

Tzara jump on her station and ran a rapid diagnostic, “We can… shit, what about…” she ran the numbers, but even as she did so the screen quickly adjusted again and the onrush of the planet below them was seen in real size without the benefit of magnification.

“We can hold her steady just long enough for the escape pods to get away,” Tassan sounded like a man dead. He was.

“Captain?” Tzara said.

“Abandon ship,” he said.

“You’ll need help,” Tzara said and dropped into the co-pilots seat.

Officer Tyler, a young ensign moved to the system auxiliary and began activating the escape pods. It was her first mission out, and unless she fled to a pod straight away, it would be her last. Tzara had always hated the girl, not least because she was young and far too eager, but to some extent because despite cutting her hair down to a blonde buzz cut she was pretty and popular with the crew. Even now her deep blue eyes were alive with hope as if she alone could save the day.

“Captain, I have to reset the core every…” Ginette Strom looked at her chronometer and then slapped the consul, “43 seconds, or else we go into a spin and no one gets off.”

At 30-something Ginette was an old pro in the engineering team and even impending doom did not faze her.

Tassan nodded in resignation. “Good to have you aboard people,” he said.

The rest of the bridge crew stood like lost sheep as the ship began to shake. Tassan looked at them and frowned, “Go people, go, get to the life pods,” he ordered. They ran leaving him, Tzara, Ginette and Tyler to keep the ship alive.

“The first pods are away sir,” Tyler reported, “Two more,” she added excitedly and made an adjustment.

Tassan nodded gravely.

“Sir, what caused this?” Tzara asked, she had to know.

“There was a virus, hit the data core,” he shrugged, “The chief said it was of extra-terrestrial origin. It might not have mattered but for the proximity of this damn mega planet, seven times the size of Jupiter, that and the fact that the virus caused a systems drain just at the critical time.”

Tzara let her mouth hang slack and her knees sagged. “No, no, no, no,” she groaned and then in the voice of a ghost, “It’s all my fault.”

“The last of the escape pods are away,” Tyler said excitedly.

Tassan nodded. “Ladies, I thank you, head for the pods, maybe…”

“Captain, you go, I will…” Tzara urged him.

“Tzang, get the hell out of here,” he barked and then made one more adjustment to the consul.

“Time to go girls,” Ginette yelled and dragged Tzara by the shoulder.

The three of them ran, deck by deck to the pods, they ran.

“We will never make it,” Tyler panted, “Even if we do… we are already way too deep in the well.”

Tzara sucked in air staggered against a wall. What did it matter? She had killed them.

Ginette staggered to a halt to get her breath. “Tyler go, you have to try.”

Tyler paused.

Just then Tzara realised where they were. The holodeck was round the corner. The ship was dead, but in holo-stasis a body could survive almost any impact. In any case, in time dilation they could survive for years in the few moments before impact. “I have an idea,” she said.

*

“Are you crazy?” Tyler screamed, she looked ready to make a bolt for the escape pods.

“No, no she’s not, it could work,” Ginette said urgently.

“We should go,” Tyler was starting to lose it.

The tortured scream of metal shook the ship and all three women were thrown to the floor. For a second Tzara thought it was the end. They all exchanged horrified looks and gathered the breath as the ship steadied.

“Listen,” Tzara said quickly, “I have a programme, it is… it will put us into status damn near indefinitely… if the stasis field survives the crash then… we could be rescued… if not we will probably never wake up anyway. It is a long shot.”

“You talked about temporal suspension, you mean we could live a holo-life before we die or…” Ginette was a quick study.

“You got it, but wait, you have to know…” Tzara took a deep breath as she readied herself for confession.

“Save it sister, let’s get inside,” Ginette snapped and staggering against the increasing instability made of the holo chamber.

Tzara had no further chance to explain as no sooner were they through the door when Ginette engaged the loaded programme.

*

The grey-clad avatar stood watching the impassively. The chamber in which they now stood was serene and they could even hear birdsong.

“Listen,” Tzara yelled at the ‘man,’ “You have to set the temporal displacement to maximum or else…”

The avatar smiled. “I understand the situation, I have set the temporal displacement to one second subject to every giga-second ship time. You are already in stasis.”

Tzara was stunned; she couldn’t even do the math just then.

“That’s incredible,” Ginette gasped, she was actually grinning. “I never knew that was possible, how are we able to process that? I mean whatever the system can do, the human mind has its limitations.”

“Perhaps, but your conscieness had already been synthesised and attuned to ‘Galen’s World.’” The avatar reassured her.

“Galen’s world, Is that fair? They should be able to…” Tzara protested. Her two crewmates had no idea what awaited them.

“Galen’s world is the only scenario loaded and the only one that can survive given the current allocated resources.” The avatar managed to sound patronising even in his neutrality.

“Oh my God,” Tyler broke in, “That’s 40 years a second,” she said, having just done the maths.

“There are some 17 seconds left to final impact, with a 43 percent probability that the stasis core will survive the crash,” the avatar explained.

“Seven hundred years,” Ginette said in a tone of absolute wonder, “We will exist in holo-stasis for about 700 years.”

“There are some anomalies, but you will be able to select body modifications and scenario role details before you are committed,” the man said and smiled. “Apart from Tzara, who has already chosen her path.”

Tyler stood slack-jawed, just seconds before she had been dead, and now she was about to live forever; or at least potentially.

“I have to tell you something,” Tzara began.

“You caused the crash didn’t you?” Ginette said solemnly. “Even if everyone else got away safely, and that is a big if, the captain will die.”

Tyler turned on her as if the accusation was preposterous, but Tzara only nodded.

“But I still have to warn you…” Tzara blurted, the scenario is…

“I will let the avatar brief me,” Ginette interrupted her, but her eyes cut into Tzara like knives.

“Me too,” Tyler agreed.

Tzara bowed her head. “Welcome to hell,” she whispered.

To be continued…

Part one here

When Tzara awoke she was in bed. The honey-glow of sunlight poured through the open window emphasising the rich and red-brown panelled walls. She could even smell the wood and from outside she could hear birdsong. She sat up.

Well apparently her plan had worked, she wasn’t dead anyway. The last thing she remembered was… was Ginette walking away from her with that look of disgust. Tzara felt a wave of nausea. It had been the program, this program, it had killed the ship. The captain too, probably, but her thoughts couldn’t go there, that was too much.

“Are you feeling better?” a woman asked and a startled Tzara look around and saw Maria sitting by her bed. “You fainted.”

Tzara nodded and forced a smile. “Where is Galen?” Suddenly she wanted to be held. Once that would have been a crazy idea, but the avatar had warned that this world was real. If it looks like an elephant… she took a deep breath and smelled the trees and flowers beyond her window, and smells like an elephant. In 17 seconds she would either be dead or running for her life again from the burning wreckage of the ship, but for now she had 10 lifetimes to live out, or maybe just one long one, she didn’t really know how it worked. There was always a chance that the holo-chip and stasis chamber would survive the crash and… 3,000 years would pass every hour and rescue, if it ever came, could take weeks or months. She swallowed hard and wondered how many hours there were in a year. Who would she even be by then?

“My lord Galen is the Great Hall my lady,” Maria said, cutting into her thoughts.

Tzara nodded and wondered what Ginette and Taylor had chosen. They could have opted to sleep she realised and suddenly wished she had considered that option.

“Apart from Tzara, who has already chosen her path,” the avatar had said. Well she guessed she hadn’t had that option. She sighed.

“I should get dressed,” Tzara said.

“My lady,” Maria intoned respectfully and got to her feet.

*

Tzara swept into the room like a princess. She had just survived death and probably saved two people. For the moment she was still a senior officer and she had no time for frivolities, petty social orders or her own churning guilt.

Lord Galen, Karl, Lucinda and a few other nobles were sitting for a light repast and chatting. Set against the grandeur and the sunlight windows it was an idyllic scene. Tzara felt sick.

Galen looked up and smiled. “Come and sit down,” he said and gestured to a chair.

For the longest second Tzara wanted to run to him to wrap her arms around him and never let go. Then her heart hardened. “What a lovely spread,” she said sourly, “We are so lucky.” The captain would never eat again. She didn’t deserve this.

Galen frowned. “Moderate your tone,” he said.

“She is still unwell,” Lucinda said quickly.

“And I have the cure,” Galen said drily.

“I doubt it,” Tzara said bitterly, her words not meant for him.

Galen arched his brows and glanced at the Lord Chamberlain who shrugged.

“I think, young lady, that you need a serious attitude adjustment,” Galen scolded and stood to pull his chair away from the table.

“Yeah, that will work,” Tzara sneered, she wanted to smash everything.

Galen sighed and he caught Lucinda’s eye. The woman shrugged. Then with a shake of his head he slipped out of his coat and began rolling up his sleeves. Then to Tzara he said, “Come here.”

Tzara snorted derisively, only half aware what was about to happen. She was done with that game.

Galen regarded her sternly for a long moment and was suddenly put in mind of his sister after she had come of age. Before any marriage had been spoken of she had been a lost soul for a while and a total brat. Both mother and father had spanked her often and her hot red bottom had decorated many a room until her moods and evened out. He sat down again in the nearest armless chair. This time it was another bottom that needed attention.

One moment Tzara was standing as if on the bridge calculating her options and the next she was face down across Galen’s lap.

“No you don’t understand,” she gasped. Then she felt her skirts tugged in back and suddenly they were being rucked up. “You can’t do this, I am…” Her loose linen under garment was pulled at the drawstring and quickly went south.

Galen spanked her once sharply across the bare bottom. “Get me a hairbrush,” he barked, remembering that that was his parent’s weapon of choice for his sister. Then without waiting he made a start with the flat of his hand. “Act like a child and you will be treated like a child, here in this chamber in front of everyone.”

Tzara growled angrily and tried to break away. “Bastard,” she hissed.

“Are we really back to that?” Galen chuckled and began spanking her soundly.

“Ah, ow, no, please, please not here,” she spluttered, she was suddenly aware that all eyes must be on her and for a moment everything else was pushed from her mind.

“Oh here is just fine,” Galen told her and spanked her already red bottom again with a crisp burning impact.

By now several of those assembled were laughing openly, even the usual taciturn pages began to twitch at the mouth. From their place across the hall they could see their lord’s haughty favourite tail up and struggling across his lap, her bare bottom rapidly getting redder and redder with the rapid volley of slaps.

“No please, ow, no, ooh,” Tzara continued to protest.

“My girl I have had enough,” Galen scolded, “By the time I am done here you won’t be sitting for a while and everyone here will know it. When I am finished, and I assure you, I am in no rush, you will go and face the long wall with your bare bottom facing the high table on show for anyone coming in and out of the hall.”

“Please no, I’m sorry,” Tzara wailed; this was too much.

Just then a page scurried over and handed Galen a long handled brush, which was almost a cubit long with a striking end as large as a man’s hand. “It is a cloak brush, my lord, will it serve?”

“Indeed,” Galen said in approval as he took it.

“Oh no, no please,” Tzara protested when she looked back over her shoulder. “Please, I am sorry, I…” She did not know what was worse, the public humiliation or the prospect of that brush spanking her bare bottom.

The first spank with the brush drew a shriek and fresh twisting by the concubine. Any semblance that Tzara was or had ever been a bridge officer dissolved, like her, into tears and she began to bawl like Galen’s sister had not so many years before. Not that Ms Tzang had ever known the woman; she had yet to have that pleasure. Indeed once upon a time the poor girl had never existed, but now she was as real as anyone in the room. Certainly she was as real as the brush that now impacted the soundest spanking Tzara had ever had to her by then very sore, very red bare bottom.

Lucinda watched as the red of her friend’s behind grew darker and deeper. Rubbery welts had even begun to from along the edges of the bottom as they whitened towards tender blisters. Rather her than me, she thought, knowing that no real harm would befall Tzara, just a good old fashioned spanking that by the looks of it was long overdue. The only danger was that the red was giving way to dark plum.

“What do we think, a week, two weeks?” Karl said absently as he helped himself to an apple off the table.

“My Lord?” Lucinda asked without taking her eyes from the action.

“Until she can sit down,” the Lord Chamberlain expanded.

“Oh, three days until she can sit at all and then maybe 10 days until she wants to sit,” Lucinda said cheerfully.

“It is a wager then,” Karl chuckled.

“I have no money except yours,” Lucinda protested.

Karl grinned. “If she hasn’t sat at least once by the fourth day or is still wincing and rubbing when she thinks no one is looking two weeks from now then I will spank you…” he gestured to the sobbing kicking Tzara, “Like that.”

Lucinda was no longer smiling and licked her lips nervously. “And if she does?”

“I will buy you a gown,” Karl laughed.

Lucinda looked again on Tzara’s sore bottom, it was doubtful that wet flannels and soothing herbs would have sitting any time soon, it would be touch and go, she thought glumly.

Finally the spanking came to an end and Tzara was drawn into Galen’s arms crying loudly like a child.

“Better?” Galen asked her.

She sniffed and nodded. Strangely it was true.

“Now, over there between the two high windows opposite, you can stand nose to the wall, skirts up mind,” Galen commanded.

For second defiance touched her face, but she did not dare disobey the man whose gaze drilled into her. “Oh God,” she sniffed again and wiped her nose.

There was no dignity in it, certainly no pride, but she crossed the room with her bottom still bare and committed herself to a childish time out in front of the entire court. Once there she held her skirts up and groaned a sound of soft misery before she started to cry again.

To be continued…

I am almost ready with a few projects, yes Holodeck is almost done and Wolf is set to continue. Abraham Heights and a few others. The hold up is not so much writers block, but puppy block. Please bear with us.

Dr Josephine Chandler was not especially pretty, but as a dedicated archaeologist she probably couldn’t have cared less. She had little time for make-up, new clothes or taking a brush or comb to her indifferent mop of mid brown shoulder length hair.

Today, as on most days, she wore a heavy dark blue cotton smock affair and close grey trousers with zips at the ankles to admit easy access for the donning and the undonning of her boots. Amid the large thigh pockets and an elasticated belt to hold them was her bottom, which appeared large on her skinny legs and frame, almost like some slate coloured ostrich was halfway through swallowing an apple.

For most of the time it was her bottom that was the sole visible part of her as she mostly stood in one great long hole frequently bending to observe a stone or discoloration in the soil.

“This won’t do, won’t do at all,” she muttered as she stood up and stretched her back. She eyed the adjacent unbroken ground of the rector’s garden and sighed.

She was certain that under the reverend’s grass were the outer remains of an old abbey, once part of the parish church. But the rather severe and grumpy man had only grudgingly allowed her team to excavate the glebe next to his house and his garden was definitely off limits.

Josephine sighed again and made a longing face at the virgin grass leading up to the rectory. The outer wall had to be there, it just had to be.

“What are you thinking doc?” an excited Jordy voice said from her left. Karen, her most eager assistant had just got back from sorting out the digs paltry finds and wanted to get back to some real work.

Josephine looked up, “Anything? Anything at all that we missed?”

Karen drew her mouth into a tight line of disappointment and shook her pink-tinged blonde head so that the dangle of beads at her ears rattled. The she scanned the lead archaeologist with her intense blue eyes.

“My ancestors probably burned this lot down,” she offered in pure Byker tones. Karen had once done a DNA a test and had been identified as being of Nordic stock. Not unusual in North East England and not particularly relevant in modern archaeology, but it was a fact that intrigued her.

“Probably,” Josephine sighed, she didn’t want to hear any more about Vikings just then.

“Any point in going deeper?” Karen asked.

Josephine wrapped her arms around her head and crinkled up her eyes. None at all that I can see, she thought. Then aloud she said, “Hard to say.”

Karen looked at the virgin grass leading up to the old churchman’s house and then back to her boss.

“The Rector is away for a few more days isn’t he?” Josephine said pointedly and then with a moment’s further consideration she added, “Fuck it, get the lads and cut a new trench from here right up to…” she bounded across the lawn until she was six feet shy of the house’s back door, “here.”

*

The Reverend John Salmon, Rector of St Bartholomew’s Church, reached his gate and yawned. It had been a long week and he was glad to arrive home early from the conference in Church House. The yelling from the back of his house and the presence of a JCB on his drive made him wince. He had almost forgotten that the archaeologist would still be around. They were looking for Alfred the Great’s abbey or was it Athelstan’s, he kept forgetting? It was pre-Conquest anyway and small they said. Not like the great monasteries that came later. He would rather read the book after they found something than get into the mucky business of digging.

His coat hung and note case put away he decided to view his roses. Maybe a small beer in the garden would be in order before any of his parishioners knew he was back? He was still pouring his glass as he strolled to the French windows and stopped. His lawn, it was… instead of grass there was a bottom sticking up out of a hole.

“What the blazes?” he gaped and burst through the glass doors onto the patio. “You there, what is the meaning of this?”

Josephine stood up and wiped her brow. “Reverend?” she gasped, “I thought…”

“I said you could excavate the glebe land, not my garden,” John Salmon wailed.

“But we found it,” Josephine said, she grinned. She had found it, nothing else mattered.

“What on Earth?” the Rector shook his head in disbelief.

“The abbey walls, they are here, or at least some of them,” Josephine explained, “A gate house at least, I think maybe the main body is under your house. I thought some of your stone walls looked hand cut. They reused the rubble you see.”

“My house?” John gaped, “But look at my garden.”

“Now you mustn’t get in the way of history reverend,” Josephine grinned and in a faux stern gesture she pointed at him with her trowel.

“In the way of…” the Rector stood in disbelief.

Josephine rolled her eyes and sighed. Then handing the Rector her trowel she clambered out of the hole, certain that once she had explained the man would be impressed.

John Salmon took the foot long flat metal implement like it was a snake and glared.

“Now I know…” Josephine began and drew up herself up to deliver a lecture.

Looking down on the relatively diminutive archaeologist the rather tall churchman frowned. He knew a thing or two about lectures, especially the moral kind.

“Dr Chandler,” he began, cutting her off before she had begun, “Where do you get off digging up my garden without permission. Who the hell do you think you are? You are behaving like a six form brat and if you think…”

“How dare you? I have three degrees,” Josephine blurted. “If you think…”

“Dr Chandler,” the Rector bellowed, “I am the injured party here. I have never…” then he realised that he was still holding the trowel and he had an idea. He took a deep breath and put on his most authoritative face. “Tell me Dr Chandler, have you ever had a good spanking?”

Josephine gaped. “I… you do know I am 36?”

“Dr Chandler, and I am 54, quite old enough to be your father, but that wasn’t my question,” John Salmon sighed.

“If you think I am going to be brow beaten by patriarchal authority…” Josephine snarled.

“It wasn’t your brow was going to beat,” the Rector replied.

Josephine opened her mouth to reply and then closed it again. “Look,” she tried again.

“No, you look,” John Salmon snapped and in a moment he had gathered himself to sit on one of his lawn chairs and had hauled the emotionally overwhelmed archaeologist across his lap. “This will serve,” he chuckled and hefted the trowel.

“Don’t you dare,” Josephine squealed.

John Salmon dared. With a flourish and a heavy hand he swatted Josephine’s upturned rump with a stinging impact and when she yelped he spanked her again.

“You…” Josephine growled angrily in a low gravel voice.

“Yes me,” John snorted and spanked her again.

“Ow, Jeez, please…” the woman babbled.

“Stings?” he asked politely.

“Hmmmm,” she snarled and tried to twist away. “If I ever…”

“Yes,” he said and swatted her hard.

“Bastard, you can’t spank me like this,” she yelled.

“No, I suppose you are right,” John conceded, then with tug of his thumb he yanked down her trousers, careless that her underwear came down with them so that her bottom was suddenly bare. “This works better.”

“Reverend,” she shrieked and her already red face took on a deeper hue to match her bottom.

“I think you have deserved this and it will be my sad duty to spank you silly, as my aunt was fond of saying, ‘until you can’t sit down for a week.’ A silly saying, as I suspect you will be right as rain in two or three days,” he chuckled.

“Reverend, Reverend,” Josephine proffered in an altered tone.

“Dr Chandler,” John said and set about spanking her at a pace with a series of rapid swats to her bare bottom.

“God, oh God, oh God,” she yelled, her voice thickening and becoming damp with the first sniff.

“Taking the Lord’s name in vain,” he chided, “Or were you giving thanks?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she wailed woefully as her eyes pooled and she felt her face screw up.

“Why pray tell?” he asked.

“I got carried away,” she said miserably.

“Indeed, and now I for that spanking,” the Rector chuckled.

“Oh God,” she groaned.

The spanking was a burner and lasted another 10 minutes until she was a broken sobbing mess.

“I have a good mind to set you in the corner,” John sighed as he finally set her on her feet.

Josephine danced around grabbing her hot bottom, studiously avoiding saying anything that might provoke him further.

The Rector smiled and handed her the trowel. “Now shall I get a lawyer and you get yours and we can sue each other; or shall I just run and fetch a constable?”

Josephine glowered at him and blew heavily through her lips as she pulled up her trousers and knickers. “Give me three days and we will call it quits,” she growled.

He looked at the hole and snorted. “You can have the rest of your three weeks now that the hole has been dug, but cross me again and I will spank you. Next time you will stand in the corner afterwards.”

Josephine rubbed her bottom and rolled her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, I hope it does you good,” John smiled.

“I meant for the dig,” Josephine said in irritation, but all the same she blushed.

The Rector extended his hand.

Josephine made a rueful face and then reluctantly shook it. It was an old public school gesture and she had just surrendered.

“Good girl,” he chuckled and turned to get his beer.

“Oh Reverend,” Josephine called after him.

“Yes,” he stopped and looked back.

“In answer to your question, yes, I have had had a good spanking before,” she told him.

“And how did my efforts compare?” he asked.

“I will report back on that once I can sit down again,” she laughed.

Part one here

Tzara had never been so embarrassed. It had seemed an age since she had been sent to the corner and even the sting in her bottom had eased to a dull roar. However the shame of it was all too real and whenever she began to tune out someone would make a comment or a catcall that would shake her and reinforce just how humiliating it was to be standing at the wall with her skirts pinned up where everyone could see.

Lucinda tried to feel sorry for the woman, but after all no real harm had come to her and maybe it was time that her friends arrogant streak was taken down a notch or two. She was still contemplating Tzara’s very red and very sore exposed bottom when a page bustled in. From his determined and officious manner the concubine sensed something new was happening and she was not alone. As the young man jogged across the room to Lord Galen others had noticed and the room gradually fell silent.

The man coughed and waited until Galen deemed to notice him. After all this was court and protocol had to be observed. Finally Galen put down his wine and smiled.

“What is it?” he said.

“My Lord, there is a lady without. A noble woman from Charis, or so she says: Lady Dancer and her ward,” the man spoke in a manner that suggested the words were beneath him, that or the task of delivering them.

Galen looked at Karl who shrugged and then back at the page. Without words he gestured to admit her and all eyes finally looked away from the hapless Tzara and towards the door.

Lady Dancer was a tall and imposing woman. She had the confidence of one who had seen beyond the very edge of the world and carried herself with an almost military bearing. At her heel was a young blonde woman who had the look of one who had been cajoled into her gown and would have been more comfortable elsewhere.

“You are Lady Dancer?” Galen said politely as he gained his feet.

The rest of the court followed suit until everyone was standing.

“I am,” Lady Dancer replied and executed a courtesy, although her gaze remained level and she held Galen’s eyes. “This is my ward, Lady Danielle Tyler,” she said indicating her companion whose courtesy was atrocious. At least the younger woman had the good grace to blush.

Galen returned with a bow only a hand’s width higher.

In the corner Tzara started and risked a glance round at the visitors. The voice was Ginette’s and indeed the other newcomer was Ensign Tyler.

“I see you have been having some domestic problems,” Lady Dancer said lightly as she ran an amused eye over bare-bottomed Tzara.

“A small matter,” Galen said dismissively.

“Indeed,” Lady Dancer purred, “But in my experience there are no small matters when it comes to firm discipline, especially where young women are concerned.” She had been born for this role and relished it.

When the avatar had explained Tzara’s world she had been shocked, but not because of what had proved to be her shipmate’s secret fantasies, but because how closely they had mirrored her own. It had taken a few hours of subjective time to process what had happened and she had included a trauma block in her preparation for her entry into the world. Then with some detailed research it had been a simple matter to insert herself a few months before Tzara’s return and furnish herself with wealth and position to exploit the situation.

At some point she would exact some retribution on Tzara, but first she had to find her feet.

Tyler had been more confused and her best suggestion had been that they could get a farm somewhere with horses. In the end Ginette had shaped the ensign’s destiny for her. That had been interesting and their relationship had taken an unusual turn.

“You know something of discipline?” Galen asked.

“I hold an imperial warrant as Justicar, and I am Lady High Governess and Grand Mother Superior of the Order of the Steel Rose,” she said proudly.

“The Order of the Steel Rose… they have a series of… how can I put it… houses for young women who have erred?” Galen said, understating things rather. Such things were not usually spoken of.

“You have it My Lord,” Lady Dancer agreed and gave him a small bow. “It has been brought to my attention that there are some irregularities concerning… certain indentured ladies at this court.”

Galen followed her gaze to Tzara and winced. What had she heard? He turned back, “You are welcome,” he said, not knowing what else he could say just then.

*

“Ginette… what are you doing here?” Tzara hissed once she had been released from the corner. Her face burned to her ears at the thought that both her crew mates had seen her punished like a child.

“I am here because you led us here,” Ginette hissed back, “And don’t call me Ginette, I am Lady Dancer to you.” The opportunity to talk had been afforded them as the members of the court were milling around with most people too nervous of the newcomers to come near. Galen and Karl had slipped away to discuss the matter and what, if any, authority Lady Dancer might have there.

“My Lady then, what the hell is the Order of the Steel Rose and how did you…?” Tzara shot back not intimidated by her former shipmate.

“This is a remarkable world, real in almost every detail; you merely set its creation in motion, but it was not and is not yet quite fully formed. The Order was a product of some of your darker fantasies I merely appropriated and made it take shape with myself at its head. There were many such lose ends left to sort themselves out while you were otherwise engaged. He is handsome,” she shot back.

“But why are you here, with a whole world to… I don’t know… shape?” Tzara asked, but she felt increasingly uneasy.

“All the shaping I can do stopped once I entered this place, all I could do was prepare more fully than you for the world it will become. As to why I am here… you most probably killed our ship and our captain. If the holodeck survives the crash then in a few hundred thousand years you will go to gaol. Until then I intend to hold you to account myself,” Lady Dancer whispered icily through a gritted smile.

Tzara gulped, “But…” What could this woman do? Galen might protect her, but would he live forever here like her? Could even stop someone with imperial authority?

“Oh be afraid, very afraid,” Ginette hissed, “But I will probably get bored with you in a decade or so, probably.”

“Look I know… I know I screwed up…”

“Understatement much,” Ginette blurted, breaking character for a moment.

Tzara closed her eyes. “Please, you said this place is real, really real now. I love him and he…”

“Oh don’t worry, I have not come to whisk you off to total hell, not yet anyway. For now I am in the grit in the oyster, a foretaste if you will of your next life or two in this place,” Lady Dancer circled her like a cat with a mouse.

To be continued…

I stumbled upon the Wertham Project that was discussing 1940s and 50s culture and especially the link between comics and movies. It touches upon the popular campaign to get Lois Lane spanked by Superman, which elsewhere gained traction until the publishers suspected that the calls had been hijacked by more prurient interests.

There were wider links of course and it is difficult to unpick the complex motivations and popularity of romantic M/F spanking in mainstream American (and some European) culture. The article mentioned also focuses on some links between comics and movies that may have been commercially motivated.

As the blog has it: The Avon comics were very closely linked to the Avon novels, which also included these spanking scenes. Let’s not investigate why these scenes were not only in Avon comics but in Avon books in general. The American western movie was a very popular genre from the 40s to the 60s. I have no idea why these movies were so popular, they were always the same plots and same troupes. One of these troupes was the hero spanking his love interest.

Some time Jezebel ran a feature on the cultural history of spanking in 20th century culture and started quite a heated debate between those that saw the phenomenon has pure paternalism and sexism and those that either believed it was code for sex or BDSM hidden in plain sight.

One suspects that there is some truth to all of these arguments.

You can read the full Wertham Project article here.

Part one here

Tzara watched her new arch nemesis walk away with a swagger that rivalled most of the men in this world. What could she say, she was guilty. She remembered the captain and felt sick. What about the others too, did they get away? If they did would they survive or get shipwrecked light years… she glanced at the food on the table and wished it was sand. Maybe this life was too good for her?

“You okay?” someone beside her mumbled.

Tzara saw Tyler looking at her with concern and shot a look back at Ginette. “What is going on? Why are you here? I mean… shit, it is good to see you but you must hate me too…”

“I don’t hate you, you saved me. I don’t think Ginette hates you either… sorry Lady Dancer,” Tyler winced. “I think she loves it here and has her own survivor’s guilt to deal with.”

“But I killed the ship,” Tzara wailed.

Tyler made a sour face and crinkled up her eyes. “Maybe… maybe not, we don’t know what happened, not really; and in any case it was an accident. It is up to a court martial to decide your fate, not out Lady Dancer.”

The words made Tzara feel better, but not much. “What is it with this Lady Dancer crap and what is she to you?” she asked.

Tyler blushed. “It is a long story,” she blushed. “Let us say it has and is a learning curve for me. You have to know that it is seven months since we were on the ship… subjectively speaking that is. I don’t know Ginette managed that exactly, but we got inserted ahead of you. That after she spent literally days sussing out this world and what you did to create it before she inserted us. She was well prepared. Just between you and me I think this place is some sort of secret dream of hers and she managed to tweak it a little and flesh it out a little more since you made it.”

“I didn’t though, not consciously anyway. It was supposed to be a couple of hour’s distraction, just a test run really. I was going to work out the details later.” Tzara sighed.

“Well the details worked themselves out and with no small input from Ginette,” Tyler grimaced.

“And you?” Tzara asked.

Tyler looked around to make sure Lady Dancer wasn’t watching. Then she made a face. “I didn’t think it through either and anyway…” she licked her lips and seemed to steel herself for a confession. “I was drawn to the service because of a need for discipline and adventure. I have also always been drawn to strong women, sexually I mean…” Tyler looked at Tzara to gauge her reaction; some cultures still frowned on that sort of thing. “I don’t think it matters what I like or what I would have chosen, something in me has fed this place and now I am caught like you… literally in this case. My status here is as legal ward to Ginette until I marry… well since I can’t see that happening anytime soon… and I mean ever…”

“I see,” Tzara grimaced sympathetically.

Tyler shot a worried look across the room to where Ginette and Lord Galen were conferring. Then she sighed, “No you don’t, not at all. I am not Ginette’s sexual partner, I am not allowed sexual partners, I am supposed to be chaste. Meanwhile I have the legal status of… of a child. She spanks me and worse.” Tyler blushed. “It is a life sentence and I don’t even… I hate it and need it at the same time… but I don’t exactly like it.”

“I think I understand,” Tzara sighed. “Part of me has similar feelings.”

Tyler frowned and made another hasty look at Lady Dancer. “Did you know that not only will we not age or die or… I mean like until the simulator is turned off or…?”

“I know, we might be here for hundreds of years…” Tzara could not quite take that in.

“Or a million or… or forever… but that’s not all. We will stay who we are here, as far as everyone here believes anyway. The world might change around us but at any given moment it will accept us for who we are, forever,” Tyler wailed.

Tzara sucked in air through her nose and let it go and with it that thought; it was just too large. Then she fixed Tyler with a hard stare. “Are you saying that we won’t age and no one here will notice? How do you even know that?”

“I am saying that they will accept us as part of their world. As for knowing…? I don’t really, it is just what Ginette said, and she spent hours talking to the avatar and analysing the settings parameters.”

Tzara nodded. “So what will she do to me? What can she do to me?” she asked.

“For one thing, once your Lord dies or releases you she will claim you for the Order of the Steel Rose. Life as a Novice is hard, very hard and our precious Lady Dancer gets to decide when one advances to Adherent, which is not much of a step up. Remember what I said… you could be one of her subordinate sisters for centuries…” Tyler gushed. She took another glance at Ginette.

“And until then…?” Tzara frowned.

“Oh she has other plans,” her friend whispered.

“Such as?”

Tyler shot another look at Ginette and then backed away. “Listen, I don’t want to be seen talking to you,” And then she was gone.

*

Tzara mulled it over. She thought about going to see Lucinda to see what she knew about the Order of the Steel Rose and what power it had. In the guise of Lady Dancer, Ginette had garnered a lot of respect already and it was hard to know how to play it.

Finally she decided to go the horse’s mouth and confront Tyler and Ginette together away from prying eyes. Maybe straight talking was all that was required.

It wasn’t hard to find the quarters of the newcomers and no one troubled Lord Galen’s woman as she slipped down the passageway to the apartments.

She was surprised to find the outer door open and after the briefest pause she went in. The rooms were lavish with tapestries and velvet drapes, but there was no maid in the outer chamber as there might have been so Tzara went in the direction of some voices further inside.

“What did you tell her?” An angry Ginette was saying.

“Nothing My Lady, I…” Tyler wailed.

‘My Lady,’ what even in private? Tzara thought and hesitated.

“Then why talk to her at all?” Ginette asked fiercely.

“I…,” Tyler had no answer.

“I think you have been indulging in some misplaced loyalty,” Ginette snarled, “I think you need to be taught just who is in charge here you little traitoress.”

Tzara found the inner door ajar and instead of announcing herself she took a peek. She gasped and drew back less she was heard. Tyler was across Ginette’s knee with her bare bottom facing the door. Oh my God, she thought and took another look.

Tyler’s bottom was small and pert. The tightly split rounds formed two vulnerable domes, alabaster smooth and Nordic white. Even Tzara could see the appeal if one were so inclined. She dropped back to watch and learn something.

Lady Dancer patted her ward’s bare bottom twice with a long handled hairbrush so that the hapless Tyler squealed and wriggled.

“Childish, I know, but to get us started I am going to give you a long sound spanking just to get your attention,” Lady Dancer said in a voice of steel. “Cherry red is a good colour, the colour your bottom will be after your first spanking today. Then you may go to the corner for a good cry while I summon the maid for a beverage or two.”

“Please… ooh,” Tyler moaned.

“I may even have a nice purple plum as well, in honour of the two you will have by the end of your second spanking,” Lady Dancer teased. “And my treasured little ward, that is not merely a play on words.”

Tyler didn’t answer and was already breathing rapidly as she wriggled.

“Then we will talk and you will tell me every last thing you said to our Mistress Tzang,” Lady Dancer hissed.

“Oh, oh, yes My Lady, but…” Tyler wailed.

“Shush,” the brush wielder soothed, “It is going to happen, so don’t bother trying to explain until afterwards. Then depending on what you say… well we will see if further correction is required.”

“Please My Lady, I…” Tyler pleaded.

“Now, now,” her spanker chided and struck the first blow.

“Ah,” a distress Tyler yelped.

The second spank landed almost at once and was soon followed by a third, fourth and fifth.

The spanking was hard and fast and two or three minutes went by before Lady Dancer paused. All this while Tyler twisted and yelled as her bottom went from light pink to rich red at their uppermost points. Then after giving the bottom a quick squeeze with her hand Dancer began spanking down the curves to really set upon the areas used for sitting. Here she remained for several more minutes until Tyler was a sobbing mess.

Lady Dancer inspected the deep red ovals staining Tyler’s bottom and scratched at it with her thumb nail. “More strawberry than cherry,” she muttered, “Oh well, onwards and upwards.”

Then the spanking resumed.

Tzara swallowed and decided to take her leave. After 15 minutes a bawling Ensign Tyler was really going through it and she figured Ginette was not ready to call a halt any time soon. In fact the sound of distress and spanking impacts was heard all the way back up the passage as she walked away. Poor Tyler, she thought.

To be continued…

Janice K had wondered her whole life what a spanking would be really like. As a teen she had been warned to be careful and strangers were dangerous. She had imagined that these dark consequences would involve a spanking. Deliberately she had flouted caution and put herself in danger. Of course nothing happened, she wasn’t even spanked when she got home. Such things only happened in books.

Then in her 20s she had seen small ads, hinting at spanking with strange men, but she had never dared write in response. Then a little later there was the Internet.

Posing as Little Kitten she corresponded with men and some women who variously spoke about, threatened and shared experiences of spanking. Once she even plucked up the courage to meet a man in a cafe what he hadn’t showed.

Then she had begun talking to Colm. Online he was bossy but polite. Not attractive, he said and definitely not young. He had been divorced and his daughter didn’t talk to him. Work too had been a challenge. She had liked him at once but thought he sounded like a bit of a loser. Then he had said something to that effect himself, which confirmed in her mind that he was self aware and trustworthy.

He had been very supportive when she had tried her luck with another man online, but he had been a bit of a wanker and she hadn’t wanted to see him again.

A third attempt had turned out reckless and she had gone to meet a man without telling anyone. Colm had been furious.

He told that if he had been there in person he would spank her until she couldn’t sit down for a week.

“If you were here I would let you,” she had replied.

They talked and finally she had told him, “We could meet.”

She had been close to actually nauseous when she turned up at the pub. So much so that she almost ran away.

“Are you Janice?” he had asked.

Colm looked solid and kind. He was also much more handsome than he had suggested. She told him so. He grinned and pointed out that much could be said about her.

They talked for hours and her stupid excursion to met the stranger came up again. He let his sternness show and her tummy did a flip-flop. Then he found out that she hadn’t told anyone she was meeting him either.

“But you’re Colm,” she told him, actually puzzled.

He scolded her for her naivete and threatened to spank her again.

“You can,” she said, “You should.”

“I live around the corner,” he said, he was nervous too and waited to see what she would say.

She looked around in case someone was listening and then she said, “You should spank me really, really hard, on the bare bottom. I mean really hard. The spanking should not really have started until I want it to stop.” She her breath.

He nodded a gulped down half his pint but decided not to finish it.

Outside it was raining and she didn’t look at him the whole way there.

The flat was okay, a bit grubby, as many single men’s apartments were. Once inside he took of his coat and offered her tea.

“After maybe,” she said shyly.

He took a deep breath and got her to tell him the story of how she went to meet the stranger and asked how come she made the same mistake again. She couldn’t answer.

“Right young lady,” he barked.

He took her over his knee and lifted the back of her skirt. She had worn good underwear, planning for this moment no doubt.

“This should be a bare bottom spanking,” he growled, half in warning and half to get confirming consent.

“Oh God,” she whispered.

He pulled her knickers down and his cock twitched at once, she was a little generous behind, but promising. He liked the way she gasped.

Then he spanked her once and she wriggled. Then he spanked her again, two or three times until she was breathing audibly and there was a pink patch on her bare bottom.

“Be cross with me, don’t let me off,” she mumbled after he had paused too long.

He had spanked women a few times and didn’t like to be told now. He spanked her hard, very hard and she twisted and made a little yelp. He didn’t know that this was her first ever spanking and she didn’t know it would hurt so much.

“Please,” she said.

He began spanking her very hard and very fast, too fast for her to take in and then her bottom sang. It was a tune of a million little tingles, like puppy dog teeth, as spank followed spank the bite got more edge and she began to pant in discomfort.

Soon she was shouting out and twisting across his lap, but he didn’t let up and spanked her about as hard as he could until his arm ached and his palm was sore. By then her bottom was pretty red and she had actual begun to cry a little.

He stopped the spanking and she wriggled around until she was sitting in his lap and they were hugging. After a bit she said, “You didn’t have to stop, I mean part of me is glad but… oh God I am confused.”

Taking the hint he said, “Don’t worry we can finish your spanking after you stand in the corner for a while.”

“Oh God, Jesus, I can’t believe…” she sniffed, her mind raced.

Later she would tell him it was her first time. After he had spanked her again and they had gone to bed.

Having been out I haven’t seen much so here are a few pictures I missed and maybe you did too.

Found: AAA, Spanking Blog, Stan,  Devlin and Dallas.

Part one here

Tzara’s mind was racing, so long as this crazy world had come out of her own head, and she was now seriously beginning to doubt that, it had been bearable. It had even made a kind of sense. Now centre stage its major character’s included old reliable shipmates, officers yet, who were supposed to be conventional and reliable.

She could not get the sight of Ensign Tyler being across Ginette’s knee and spanked like a child. It had been as disturbing as it was erotic and it was this last notion that she could not shake. Did Ginette really think she was going to spend the next million years or more spanking her and the hapless Tyler? What had Tyler even done and what hold did she have over the girl. Tzara had to nip this in the bud and tell Galen to send Lady Dancer, as she styled herself, packing.

Galen was deep in thought as she entered his rooms. Karl had passed her in the passageway and she assumed that he had just had his own meeting with Galen.

“My Lord, you have to do something about…” Tzara had her hackles up and it was in her voice.

Galen held up a hand to silence her before even looking her way. In his hands he held some documents that he quickly reviewed while Tzara danced impatiently from one foot to the other.

“Lady Dancer… she…” Tzara tried again.

“It says here that there are some irregularities with bonded indentures,” he said ignoring her, “They were never filed or registered with either the Guild of Concubines or any authority.”

Tzara almost blurted of course not, none of this was supposed to last, but she held her tongue.

“Lady Dancer has issued me with a waiver, but with conditions,” Galen said. He was angry, she knew him well enough to see that.

“Have you checked her authority?” Tzara asked sourly.

“All in good time, but Karl is convinced,” Galen finally looked at her, “It might be politic to humour her.”

“And what are her conditions?” his concubine said sullenly.

“Lady Dancer has taken quite an interest in you and your curious behaviour. She believes that you would benefit from some schooling at one of the Convent Schools of the Order of the Steel Rose,” Galen told her, but he looked thoughtfully.

“A school, but I am… this is all a trick, she is mad, she…” Tzara fought a rising sense of panic.

“Is she?” Galen sighed. He looked with fresh eyes on his indentured companion. She had been difficult and clearly had had no training, despite what her indentures claimed. There had been the episode with the rock climbing and her general attitude. “I think it might be a good idea.”

“What?” Tzara gasped.

“Lady Dancer suggests a period of induction, perhaps for six months or so. Then you will attend the convent on a three months on, three months off basis until your training is complete,” Galen had clearly made up his mind.

“I won’t do it,” Tzara all but yelled.

Galen, who up until then had been only paying her half attention, cocked his brow and turned to look at her square on. The air hung between them like a dagger.

“Tzara, come here,” Galen said sharply.

Tzara drew her mouth into a line and then made a pout. Averting her gaze she walked forwards, carefully putting one foot in front of the other like a cat until she closed on him.

Galen swept her up and sung her face down across his lap where she dangled undignified and scowled. “Galen no,” she wailed.

Her bottom was bared in a trice and with steady sharp smacks he began spanking her soundly while she kicked her heels and tried to bear the sting in silence.

The spanking burned her for several minutes until she began to first grunt and then wail miserably with a hint of tears. By then her bare bottom was shiny red and goose flesh tight.

“Galen, Galen, my lord,” she boo-hooed with now wet eyes.

“Your defiance is over,” he snarled and found another gear to the spanking.

Tzara responded with bucking and shouting and wonder if the spanking would ever end. “You tame me, only you,” she sobbed.

“I will,” he chuckled.

Finally he stopped and she hugged into him panting hard. “Please, don’t send me away,” she sniffed.

“Shush, I would never do that,” he soothed, “Never, not for ever. But we must all do what we must. Truly I think some time at the convent will do you good.”

“B-but, not with her, please, she hates me,” Tzara sounded like a child.

“I can’t see that she is going to give you her private attention and it won’t be for long. I’ll send Lucinda with you,” he added.

Tzara pulled herself together and wriggled to sitting in his lap. “No, no my lord, I will be fine, you are right.” She did not want to drag Lucinda into her hell. Besides, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Very well,” Galen smiled. Women, they were so changeable.

“How soon do I go?” Tzara asked, holding him fast.

“Oh, no rush, a week or two yet,” Galen said as he nuzzled her.

Tzara grimaced, it looked like her life was about to change again.

The End (for now)