Scenes From An Italian Restaurant-Finale

(Continued from Scenes From An Italian Restaurant- Three)

Antonio lay the spatula across her back and held it with his left hand. With his right, he cupped her bottom gently. “This is going to be good one”, he said.

“I know”, she peeped.

“But when you’re done-it will all be over.”

“Clean slate!” she said softly to the floor.

Marie saw the first swat coming and still jumped, startled by the sound at impact. She hadn’t settled when the second landed in the same place; fully on the right globe which after only two smacks was flushing pink. The third landed more in the middle of her butt resonating down her shallow crack and between her legs. Then the other cheek. Marie’s eyes wandered nowhere else but she kept her hand at her breast as if to keep her heart inside.

Connie, for her part, hung on gritting her teeth and trying to dig her fingertips into the hard floor tiles. She was surprised that her eyes were stinging already. Yes, his hand was heavy, yes his hand hurt, yes her ass was burning. But not enough to make her cry. She blinked when a smack landed low, where the bottom meets the leg, and a tear splashed delicately between her hands. Her mouth, already open, betrayed her with a small cough. Then another and finally a whispered “Ouch”.

“Well” said Tony, “I’d say that’s enough for the warmup.”

“Oh Dear…” thought Marie and, with no thought of sitting, slipped behind the bar table as if behind a battlement protecting her from what she was seeing. And what was she seeing-or feeling? It was strange how her own bottom was itching. Connie gave no outward sign of crying, just the drops that were sprinkling silently onto the floor. She felt his movement and the spatula was gone from her back.

“Are you ready for this Constance?”

“Yes, Chef. Please.”

She exhaled and relaxed, softening her clenched bottom.  At the first stroke of the spatula she allowed a wall to buckle and cried “Owww…” Then, after the third, began crying in earnest. The swats burned and she reacted to each with a yelp or a twist but all under the soft veil of tears that had seemingly come forth unbidden-on their own.

Chef Tony was nothing if not precise. The welts he was leaving on her bottom were adjoining but seldom overlapping. Connie was not a kicker but couldn’t stop her legs from scissoring nor her toes from dancing, bundling her jeans and panties at her ankles. As she cried beneath his hand, Antonio twisted his arm around her waist and increased the tattoo on her aching bottom to a loud fast “Rat-tat-tat”. Marie’s hands had moved from her breast to her face. When she told about it later she would swear later that Chef’s arm was a blur.

“Tony!” she called to him after another moment. “Tony?”

He stopped what he was doing and looked up as if surprised to find someone else in the room. Without the loud cracking, slapping and wailing, a silence colored only by Connie’s soft sobbing, settled over the room.

“Yes Marie?”

She was holding out a handkerchief toward Connie’s head. Antonio nodded. She approached and held the hanky down where her friend could see it. The floor between her hands was puddled.

“Thanks”, snuffled Connie taking it and drying her eyes as best she could. Marie stood a moment next to the furnace that was Connie’s backside. No longer pink, it was a mottled red and burgundy-the color of spilled wine. She retreated back to her spot behind the table but there was no need.

“Are you done sweetheart?” asked Tony softly, gently cupping her bottom.

She took a deep breath, thinking about it and wiped her nose. “Yes, Chef.”

He patted again. “Good. Come on….”

He helped her up and she stood shakily beside him patting her bottom. He stood and wrapped his strong arms around her squeezing. Her rear glowed like a brazier in the dim light and Marie eventually looked away. “Beautiful”, was all he said kissing Connie on top of the head.  “Now pull up your pants…”

“Can’t I leave them down?” she sniffled, patting her glowing butt.

“No you can’t”, he said lightly. “Not that kind of place.”

He turned his attention to Marie.

“Now, you….”

“What?” she asked in a gasp. He said nothing else. She felt a need to fan herself but didn’t move.

“What Chef?” she asked again having slid back behind the table.

“You’re never too old you know.”

“For what? For…no way Chef! I’m too…” she stopped herself.

“No you’re not.”

“Chef. Tony. I couldn’t…”

“Then why are you here?”

The truth nearly escaped when she opened her mouth, but instead she said, “For her!” and waved her hand toward Connie hoping for some support. Her friend was seemingly paying no attention, engrossed in gingerly pulling up her panties then her jeans, trying not to scrape unduly across her hot skin.

“Connie?” she asked.

“I think you should,” she said in a small voice not looking up.

“What?! I…Chef…”

“If not now, when?”, asked Connie finally looking up.

“O Jesus”, she said to herself. The room seemed to be moving around her.

“Take off your jacket Marie…” said Tony, feeling that she needed a direction.

Words died in her mouth. She desperately wanted to tell him that she did want this-that she’d wanted it for a long time but couldn’t imagine how to ask. She might have been able to live her whole life out without this if he and Connie hadn’t started playing like this. Was it their fault? Was it hers? Was it anyone’s? This is what she was thinking as she was saying nothing…and unbuttoning her jacket.

Chef Tony sat back down and beckoned her over. She slid out from behind the table dragging her hand across the top. It took an hour to cross the three strides. She waggled a finger and Connie who was now, fully clothed and watching. “You, you….”

Connie smiled through her tear streaked face and leaned against the bar.

Marie stood before her seated boss with her hands at her sides not resisting as Tony reached out and unsnapped her jeans. He unzipped them and worked them down over her hips.

“You might need a bigger spatula for me.”

Connie giggled…

“I think my hand will cover enough ground.”

He helped her into position. “I don’t fit as well as that one…”

“You fit fine. Now lift up”.

“Tony-Really?”

He patted the tight cotton encasing her bottom. “Really.”

She lifted up, and squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment as he slowly pulled down her underwear. She mouthed a nasally “Ooohhh…” to convince anyone listening including herself that she wasn’t giving into this easily. She breathed deeply as the cool air washed over her naked bottom. Then she felt his hot hand on the back of her thigh.

“Tell me again what I’ve done to deserve this.”

“Lived too long without it.”

She relaxed and felt her body form to his lap. He wasn’t in a hurry. “Yes…Too long…” she sighed just loudly enough to be heard by both.

Those are beautiful sandals she thought absently as she grabbed Antonio’s ankle and waited.

Scenes From An Italian Restaurant- Three

Uncredited from Tumblr

(Continued from Scenes From An Italian Restaurant – Two)

At six sharp the staff was gone, the door locked, house lights out and the bar dimmed. Connie and Marie moved through the room staying busy-wiping the clean bar or counting cheese in the fridge for the fifth time. At 6:10 Connie looked at the clock and sighed, untying her apron.

“Jesus, Tony”, she whispered.

“Yeah, right…” Marie answered tightly peeling her tongue from the roof of her mouth. She couldn’t have been more nervous if she were the one awaiting a spanking.

Then, ten minutes later, they heard the kitchen door swing open and their eyes settled on Antonio striding into the room. He had changed into a white logo-T that clung to his chest and shoulders and carried a long wooden spatula with three holes drilled down the center. Every time Connie happened into the kitchen she would glance at that particular tool hanging innocently above the stove with all the other utensils at the ready to stir a deep pot of sauce or anything else the chef saw fit to do with it.

Antonio pulled an armless wooden chair into the open space behind the barstools. “Good day today, Ladies. For a Sunday. Everything turn out OK?”

“Yes, Chef”, they echoed.

“Money?”

“All good”, Connie answered with a wry smile. “Counted and in the safe.”

“No more broken glasses?” he looked at Marie and she almost jumped-she had forgotten that.

“No Chef.”

Antonio sat. “Good, good…One question Connie”, he said looking up, seemingly taller than she even when sitting. “Seriously. And the truth. Were you drinking last night?”

“No!” She said quickly. Then, “well no more than usual…a glass of wine at close. Same as always.”

“That’s no problem. You’re a forty year old woman, if you can ‘t have a drink what’s the world coming to?”

“I’m thirty seven”, she chirped knowing she was being teased.

“So I round up.”

“You could round down to thirty five, you know.”

“Thirty seven, thirty five-what’s it matter? You run rings around the twenty five year olds.” He nodded over to Marie, “Between you and Sophia Loren over there you’re the best I got. Best I ever had. Without you two, I close down and go back into retail.”

Marie nodded a small bow. “Thanks, Chef”, said Connie standing like a penitent before him, eyes downcast.

“But that’s why what happened last night is so wrong. You know better-you know what to do but you don’t do it!”

“I do most of the time”, she said almost whining with her head down. Marie, watching intently, almost expected her to kick at the floor.

“People don’t come here because we’re good ‘most of the time’ do they? This is not a forgiving business. We have to be on the razor’s edge all of the time, right?”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Sometimes I have to help you focus, right? To…help you keep your thoughts on the tasks at hand right?” Then, when she didn’t answer, “Right?”

“Yes Chef”, she said softly.

“You have to be…what is it? ‘In the moment?’ Don’t think of something else until the one thing is done. Right?”

“Hundred percent right Chef.”

“Oh, you agree then…”

“Yes, Chef.”

“You weren’t in the moment last night were you?”

“Jesus”, thought Marie. She might cry if she were ever scolded like this. Antonio might yell-but she never knew him to lecture. She glanced at Connie who looked for all the world like a chastened, naughty child and felt tremendously uncomfortable. She had slipped into a memory that she couldn’t exactly remember, but could feel.

“No Chef.”

“Why not?”

“I…don’t know, Chef”, she said miserably. “I’m sorry….”

“That’s OK. I’m going to make it right. See? I’m focused. I’m in the moment. The only thing I’m thinking about right now is paddling your bottom. Only thing on my mind.”

“Mine too, as it turns out.”

“Come on then.” He waved her over with the spatula that Connie was trying to avoid seeing. She moved to his right side and unsnapped her jeans. She would typically lay over his lap and he would pull them down when he was ready-usually well into the spanking. But now, “You might as well take them down”, he said.

“Oh, OK”, she said with nary a pause but a small gulp. She unzipped them and let them slide, with little prompting into a pile around her feet. He had put the spatula down and reached up to take her hand. Gently, as if leading her onto a pitching boat, he helped her settle across his lap.

“I don’t know Connie,” he said patting the back of her leg. “It seems like a long time since you’ve been here but you fit so well.”

She shrugged a rueful smile that no one could see, staring as she was at the ceramic tiles and Antonio’s leather sandals. It was true though-she had been with him for close to twelve years and two restaurants-started when she was twenty five. How many times had she had this view of his footwear?

But it had never gone beyond that. When she was married-which happily she hadn’t been for six years now-her husband never knew that her boss spanked her. He would have assumed what everybody assumed; that a good spanking was a prelude to a good fucking. It had never been like that for her. Or for Antonio.

“It’s probably been too long”, Connie said upside down.

“Probably. I’ve been neglectful…Forgive me. ”

She wriggled as he pulled her panties down easily over her slim bottom. “Oh, oh”, she thought. He had never started in on the bare-he always worked up to it. He pushed them all the way to her knees leaving her exposed in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Oh, oh”, thought Marie from the pub table where she leaned. The generalized flutter in her chest grew into more of a drumbeat. Without realizing it she had lifted her hand to her breast like an old woman with the vapors. She had told herself that she was here to support Connie-maybe comfort her in her time of need. She had told herself that to make it seem like she was here for more than to watch her friend being spanked. But now, seeing her bare bottom just feet away, she wasn’t so sure her intentions were all that noble. She suddenly had trouble trying to figure out where to put her eyes.

To be continued…

The Norwegians – Part 1

(Continued from A Visit to the Clinic)

Jessica’s phone buzzed with a text. It was about 3:15. She had avoided Dr. Greene for the day which wasn’t hard to do. She was a competent hustler and other staff were happy to make use of her when they were busy.

She read the text “Meet me at Dish at 4.”

Jessica didn’t recognize the number.

“Who?” she texted back.

“Most spankable ass in the state,” came the reply.

Jessica actually let out a low moan. She had almost…..no, forget that. She hadn’t almost put it out of her mind. Her little escapade in the exam room this morning had roiled her brain all day.

“Don’t know if I can get free.” She texted back with a frowny face emoji that was definitely for effect only.

“You’re shift is over at 330”, came the quick reply. “Steph told me.”

Jessica sighed long and deep, rubbing her temple which should have been worn raw by now. Before she could type anything, came the message: “No choice. Dish 4.”

Finished with her patients at 3:15 and still trying to make herself scarce, Jessica ducked into the locker room. She normally came and went in her scrubs but something about meeting somebody-anybody-at Dish, a high-end Italian fusion restaurant, called for something more than work clothes.

She quickly stripped and jumped in the shower careful not to wet her hair. Within 20 minutes she was in a short, denim skirt, bright floral top and sandals. She checked out with Selena in front and was on the street heading a short four blocks uptown.

The small dark bar was full even at four with sleek young men and women wearing shades of blacks and blues. Grey was the new white with this crowd and she suddenly felt like a Christmas tree light with her red and yellow top. She scanned the side tables and there she was-golden hair glowing in the sun peeking through the front window. Jessica was half-way to the table when Angie looked up and flashed her bright smile zapping her with the eyes. Jesus! Jessica thought and almost stopped walking. But didn’t.

Angie was writing in a small hard backed notebook with a slender golden pen. How long had it been since she’d seen someone writing in a notebook and not picking at a phone? A bottle of imported mineral water stood open at the table with a small glass-no ice-floating a lemon wedge. “You made it.” she radiated.

“I had no choice did I?”

“Nope. None.” She closed the notebook and lay the pen atop it.

“What are you writing?”

“Documenting my day-if it’s not written down, it didn’t happen.”

“Oh, well about today…”

“Some things I don’t have to write down to remember…”

Jessica felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I know…but I feel I should apologize.”

“For what? Not to me. Don’t be silly-sit.” She nodded to the seat across from her. She seemed taller in her short skirt than she did in her scrubs. Her long coltish legs showed well as they slid beneath the table. She was no sooner seated when a waiter appeared at her elbow with a matching glass and lemon wedge.

“Thank you Bobby…” Angie said pleasantly. “Do you want a drink?”

“I can have what you’re having,” she said nodding at the water.

“Sure-that’s fine. But you should have a drink. A cocktail-something.” When Jessica hesitated, “I will if you will.” Angie watched her trying to decide. The girl seemed to be in a constant, if varying by degree, state of fluster. “Bombay and tonic”, said Angie prodding.

“OK. Same.” Said Jessica. “Sorry…I’m just…it’s early. I wasn’t sure…”

“It’s never the right time, sweetie. Always too late or too early. Best follow your own clock. And a drink would be good for you right now.”

“Why? What do you know?” Angie sipped lightly at her water without answering. “Am I getting fired? Dammit!-I knew it, all day I had a feeling…”

Angie poured water into the fresh glass and slid it across the table. Jessica took it.

“You’re not getting fired…”

“Do you know that? I…I love that job…and Dr. Greene. It was just a…..”

“Would you stop? You’re not getting fired.”

They went silent and leaned away as the waiter set the drinks down in front of them. “Thanks, Bobby”, said Angie as Jessica grabbed hers and swallowed thickly.

“Was Dr. Greene mad?”

“Hmmmmm….I’d say extremely pissed would be more accurate.”

“Ohhh…” She rubbed her temple again. “How am I not getting fired…?”

“Come on! You’re great at your job-they love you there. You just had a lapse. That’s all. I’m sure firing you never came up.” She paused and sipped at her drink. “Besides, there are other ways to punish naughty nurses.”

It took a beat or two before Jessica actually registered the words and her eyes widened. “What? What? No…”

Angie moved her head almost imperceptibly to the side-what passed for a shrug. Spankings around the clinic were few and far between. But they did happen. During her first week she had seen a nurse in the locker room with a bruised bottom. She had almost panicked and looked away quickly but could never settle in her mind how the sight had made her feel. Frightened maybe? Apprehensive? She did know that even now she could recall the dark spots and marks in perfect detail and she never saw that nurse again without imagining…

Then there was the time she almost died, when she barged into Dr. Greene’s office to find the receptionist-the one before Selena-laid out across the Doctor’s lap with her pants and panties bunched at her knees. Carrie, the receptionist, was a big redhead-not fat but substantial-with beautiful alabaster skin much of it on display just then. Dr. Greene looked up with flashing eyes and pointed a wicked hairbrush in her direction. “A knock might be nice, Nurse Raymond!”

“Yes, Ma’am-I’m sorry…”

“Doctor.” She hissed. “I’m not your home room teacher.”

“No Ma’am. DOCTOR, I mean….” She stopped speaking, her eyes pulled to the freckled white hip where it bent across the doctor’s knee. From where she was standing Jennie could see the edge of a bright pink smudge on the side of the unfortunate’s bottom and, despite her embarrassment, suddenly wished she could see more of it. Carrie’s hair hung as a thick curtain hiding her face but Jennie saw the woman’s fingers clawing and squeezing the carpet under her hands.

“Can I help you Nurse Raymond?”

“Uh…no Doctor. It…can wait. I’ll be back later…”

“Good idea…”

She slipped quickly back out into the hallway realizing that she’d been staring and that she’d been noticed staring. Standing outside the door she heard a muffled word or two then the unmistakable SWAT! of paddle on skin. She jumped then heard it again, then again, each time answered with a small grunt.

The hallway was oddly empty for the time of day and anyone passing by would hear what was happening. And, with the receptionist desk untended, it would be no great stretch to understand who it was happening to.

After the fifth or sixth smack from inside, Jessica heard a whimper then a soft coughing cry. She suddenly felt conspicuous outside the door and couldn’t decide if she were spying or standing sentry. Either way, she didn’t want to be noticed out here and skedaddled down the hall to hide in the locker room for fifteen minutes.

That’s where her mind was when Angie reached across the table and touched her hand. “Are you still here?” she asked.

Continued here The Norwegians-Part 2

Meanwhile…back at the office

(Continued from Roles Can Change…)

Rebecca slipped her red coupe into its’ spot in the front next to Charla’s Beemer and hustled through the glass doors. The downside of designated premium parking is that empty spots were impossible to miss. The desks on the executive level were empty as she knew they’d be with everyone in the daily 9 a.m. briefing that had been going on for twenty minutes. She rushed-but didn’t run-to the conference room door, grabbed the handle, took a deep breath, and pulled it open.

Twelve sets of eyes tuned to her and nodded, winked or otherwise acknowledged her presence. “Sorry, sorry…” she said moving to an empty seat in the back-which wouldn’t hide her as Charla was in front of the room at the white board.

“So nice of you to join us Rebecca!” she said heartily with a bright, wide smile as if she meant just that. All Rebecca could do was raise her hand in an apologetic wave and sit. Charla went back to the presentation and all eyes swiveled to the front. And Charla usually drew all the eyes with her wide smile, deep mahogany skin, straight hair pulled back in a pony-tail that cascaded down her sloping back. She wasn’t really that tall-about Rebecca’s height-but something in her presence made her feel towering.  Something besides the 3” heels she usually wore, that is.

Rebecca did not know any of the details of what transpired at that fetish ball north of London over a decade before. She was sure she could know if she wanted, but why? What she did know was that the bright, young Harvard MBA on holiday was thoroughly swept away by the rakish older guy with the quick mind, soft fingers and apparent bundles of ready cash.

They were stateside less than a month before they had gotten together to start planning and building the unassuming empire that had made them-and all close to them-if not rich, comfortable. OK, rich. Everyone who worked at Swansea & Middleton’s wide-ranging organizations shared not only talent and a hunger for success and money, but a….particularity (the preferred term around the offices). And this particular particularity varied widely by degree.

Just to be clear, there were people who’d been in the organization for years that had never tasted the cane, paddle or hard palm against bare cheek. They either worked hard to avoid it-the class Rebecca sat in-or had worked out “special arrangements” with the boss. What those arrangements might be and who might have them was never clear. But as the companies grew and more and more people were added, the spanking pool definitely increased and there was something for everyone.

Years before Rebecca had started at the bar but that was a little over the top for her. She liked to keep the number of people seeing her bare bottom to a manageable number. She had taken her licks on the real-estate side and the marketing agency, before being “graduated up” to the holding company.

But no matter where she had been, what she had worked through, here she was now. Sitting in the back of the room her belly roiling knowing that she had put herself right in the deep end of the pool. And everybody in the room knew it too which was doubly mortifying. A senior partner, probably older (skip the probably) than anyone in the table…her cheeks reddened. Damn Franklin! she thought.

Lost in her reverie, she didn’t even notice the meeting breaking up until partners were pushing away from the table and walking out the door. When she snapped to, Charla’s eyes were on her. “Can you join me in the office to go over some numbers you missed?” she asked in a way that really wasn’t a question.

“Sure”, Rebecca answered with a slight, rueful smile.

She followed Charla into her large widowed office right off the conference room. She moved to the supplicant’s position before the desk while her boss went to the closet.

“What is it with you this week?” Charla asked rummaging through things stacked out of sight.  “I covered for you and told everyone at the start that you had an early meeting at Real Estate but you simply cannot show up late for…without letting me know…a text an email…something.”

“I know, I’m sorry. This morning….”

She froze when she saw what Charla had picked out of the closet. It was a piece of nasty looking gray conduit-a hollow tube used to run wiring. I looked unspeakably licky in her boss’ hand.

“Jesus, Charla!” she gasped, almost backing away…

“Oh-this?” Charla whipped it through the air. “Something huh? Picked it up on the uptown job last week.” She whipped it again through the air smiling at the sound it made. Rebecca’s knees quivered slightly. “Don’t worry. Not for you…” said Charla and Rebecca breathed again.

“You know Bill Lake, right? The new kid in finance?”

Please, thought Rebecca. Everyone knew Billy, even those who didn’t work directly with him. Tall and blonde with a dancer’s build and eyes the color of a June sky. “Sure I know who he is…”

“I think I’m putting him on your team. I’ve given him too much responsibility right off the bat and he’s been sloppy. Or he’s incapable of what we need. I’ll leave you to sort that out.”

“But that…”Rebecca cut her eyes to the nasty piece of tubing.

“His work on the Nettles Proposal was bad. Incorrect-beyond sloppy. I caught it-and for the life of me, I don’t know why Catherine didn’t.” Charla was working herself up into a decent snit. “I’m putting her on your team too. Get her squared away.”

“Cathy? That will be….I’m not sure that will….” Rebecca stammered.

“What?”

“We don’t work together on too much. She…doesn’t really care for me, I’ve heard.”

“Of course she doesn’t! Not my problem. Imagine how much less she’ll like you laying over your lap with her pants down. And that’s your first order of business-I’m going to take care of young Bill here”, she flicked the rod for emphasis, “Catherine’s your issue. “

Rebecca froze in thought for a moment. She always thought that Catherine Musto was on the list of players immune to the corporal inducements of Swansea & Middleton. Or had she been and wasn’t anymore? Rebecca wanted to ask Charla a few questions but her assistant, Moliere, interrupted over the intercom.

“Char? Bill Lake’s here.”

“Very good…” Charla said under her breath.

“I should go…” Rebecca moved toward the door. It was good to be scarce when Charla’s blood rose.

“You will sit right there”, her boss sternly nodded to a chair off to the side. “He’s on your team now-you need to be in on this.”

She pressed the button on the phone. “Send him in,” she said and, staging, placed the wicked gray rod in clear view beside her and leaned against the desk facing the door. She allowed the edge of the surface to dig into her buttocks as she crossed her arms and greeted the opening door with a grim smile. Rebecca’s stomach fluttered-she had seen that smile a few times herself.

(Continued in Work Process)

Lucky James-Mrs. Fortescue

Continued from Sweet James – The Letter

Absorbed in his raking, James was facing the lake and didn’t hear her approach. Caitlin Milan was in no hurry to interrupt him, content to watch the muscles in his back twist and flow as he labored shirtless in the creamy afternoon sun.

“Well, I must say, someone’s been very busy”, she said.

He smiled widely, straightened, and turned to face his benefactor.

Caitlin positively glowed in the sunlight that gleamed over James’ shoulder. Her hair, styled short around her face but falling over her collar, was streaked in honey shades-darker buckwheat to glimmering wildflower-to offset her piercing hazel eyes. She was tall-almost as tall as James-with wide swimmer’s shoulders and perfectly round small breasts. No real secrets there as she wore a tight fitted shirt that clung to her frame before disappearing into the waist of tight black slacks.

“It’s coming along, I think”, James said looking admiringly over the grounds.

“’Coming along…’ I would say so. Your secret has been blown, Mr. Cooke. Jane has let me know the sad state of affairs here when you came aboard. Your sanguine reports to the contrary.”

“I saw no need to trouble you with something as insignificant as the truth when you were on holiday. Figured given enough time you’d be none the wiser when you returned.”

“Most people in your position would have made the situation seem worse than it was-so that the reward upon finishing it would be greater.”

“Truthfully, couldn’t have been much worse…and to the other…just happy to be here. Thanks for thinking of me. “

“Tut”, she waved her hand dismissively. “Should have thought of you sooner…but…your recent….what do we say-episodes? Escapades? Debauches? All round reputation…” she raised a finger as he tried to protest. “Recently as I said…put me off I suppose.”

“Yes, well. Not much in the last month or so…since I moved into the boathouse.”

“So I’ve heard as well…Let’s try to keep that up.”

“Yes Ma’am”, he said. “Working on it…”

“Very good”, then with a final sweeping look around the grounds. “Very nice…Well, I’ll leave you to it.” she turned to head back up the hill. “Please meet us in the library at 5:00, James”, she called over her shoulder. She strode in a way that made James believe that she knew-and didn’t mind-that he was watching her ass undulating up the walkway. He regretfully broke off the stare and bent back to the rake.

The old brick house, shaded by towering black walnut and oak, kept the cool of the forest glade that it had been built in two hundred years earlier. He didn’t usually have cause to enter through the large front door but it gave easier access to the library than the roundabout side entrance. He paused inside a moment to let his eyes adjust to the perpetual dusk. A quick shower, fresh chinos and a dark shirt prepared him for dinner, drinks or more likely, tales of Tuscany from the returned matron.

James followed the voices murmuring down the hall. Straining, he only heard two-Caitlin and Mrs. Fortescue. As he got closer he could pick up the tone if not the substance of the conversation-Caitlin calm and steady, Jane a little…not strident exactly, but forceful and loud by comparison. As someone who has no control over a situation might be. He entered the room during a lull in the debate, knocking on the door frame as he came in.

The women paused. “Oh, great…now he’s here too”, Mrs. Fortescue griped in frustration.

James froze halfway into the room, one foot suspended in the air like a heron eyeing a minnow. His heart raced a little as he beheld the tableau in front of him.

“Now Jane, come on…” said Caitlin.

Caitlin was at the window holding the drapes aside looking nonchalant-as if there wasn’t enough going on in the room to hold her attention. Jane was standing at the table-one hand on the surface but not leaning. Just two women talking-nothing untoward about that. Until, that is, one looked around the room and noticed the armless chair sitting in the middle of the room. And behind the chair, on a low table, a round wooden paddle.

This was it. This is that whispered-about thing that made Goosington a scandal or joke in some quarters. Why few locals wanted to work there. Anyone who joined the staff on any level was made to understand that mistakes made in the employ of Caitlin Milan had consequences. Maybe not one mistake-maybe not even the second-the lady could be flexible for sure. But always, the threat was there. And, as with any threat, sometimes it had to be carried out or it stopped being a threat.

Caitlin would narrow her eyes and point-“those are grounds” she’d say. “For a spanking” went unsaid. Many had felt ice in their belly at those words. Sometimes she’d say you “goofed”; a simple, sweet word that had such a painful connotation at the Manse.

Not that it happened all the time. James had only seen one spanking in his previous posting. That had been a young serving maid who was woefully unprepared for her job. He thought she had been taken on as a favor. As he recalled, Caitlin had stood for what seemed to be dozens of shattered glasses and cracked plates-enough that the rest of the staff was murmuring about it-before she had to act.

The staff had all gathered right here in the library-of course there were eight of them then-with the same chair in the center. The spectacle of the spanking lost some of its charm as the young girl-nineteen tops, slim of hips and flat of bum-blubbered from the time she entered the library and wailed through her punishment. Caitlin gave her reason to cry, no doubt-she never held back-but it got so that even the staff who had been whispering about ‘favoritism’ were wriggling in their seats before it was over.

Truth is though, he never heard of so much as a chipped saucer after that and two years later the girl left Goosington to join the staff of a posh country club with a strong recommendation from the Lady herself. Who knew what motivated people?

His reverie was interrupted by the ongoing negotiations in the room. He guessed that everyone in the library knew this was going to happen eventually. This was the ‘little conversation’ Caitlin had mentioned and she was wasting no time in having it.

”You were charged with the management of the property, Jane. You didn’t have to really do anything but pay attention to what others were doing.”

“Look, I….”

“How could you have let it get that bad?”

“It wasn’t that bad when I checked the first time…when they got here…”

“And when did you check the second time? Was it before or after you gave them the money to buy materials for the dock?”

Jane shrugged and threw up her hands. “Caitlin. I’m not saying I don’t deserve…what you’re going to give me. Not saying that. I do. I’m so sorry for this.” She paused and swallowed. “I know I let you down. I know it. And I’ll take my medicine. OK? All I’m saying is that I don’t want to lie across your lap. I mean really, that’s for children and young ladies. I’m old enough to be your….”

“You are not Jane Fortescue-don’t even go there!”

“I was going to say aunt!”

Caitlin smiled at that. “My aunt, huh? I have one of those and she’s a pistol-I’ll tell you. Could probably benefit from a good spanking herself.”

“Look-Caitlin”, Jane had both hands on the table. “I’ll bend over here-however you need me to-and you can have at it. Just me bending over.” She had her back to James as she demonstrated. Her slacks were not tight exactly, but well fitted. James made excuses to visit the main house on the days when Mrs. Fortescue wore slacks that looked to be painted on. The contours of her hips and backside pushed every seam just to its fullest capacity.

The Lady of the House gave one last gaze out the window as if the answer were out there somewhere written on the clouds. Then, letting the drapery drop, she turned into the room and Jane.

“I get what you’re saying. I do. But let’s just do this the way we’ve always done it. OK?”

Jane dropped her chin, her gaze and her shoulders all at once. She had seen enough of these punishments in her years at the house to know what was coming-no use in fighting anymore. She deserved it, she accepted it, but she was NOT looking forward to it. After eleven years this would be her first.

“Let’s get on with it, shall we? James you are not an umbrella stand. Come away from the door. Sit.”

James took a few steps toward the couch that would put him directly across from Caitlin on the chair then redirected. He sat instead in the overstuffed lounge to Caitlin’s right, giving himself a view that he might enjoy more. Because yes, he had to admit he would enjoy this.

He had no particular antipathy toward Jane. On the contrary, he rather liked her-in addition to the carnal interest that he had in apparently all women. He knew of people who had worked at the house who were made uncomfortable by this whole drama-and some left employ here not because they were spanked, but because they had to watch others being spanked. That wasn’t James.

Jane noticed exactly where he was sitting and James might have imagined her small head shake before she turned to face the seated Caitlin for the recitation. It was the same with every spanking-something that made it all seem somehow more official and right. Jane stood and waited.

“Do you deserve this punishment, Jane?” Caitlin asked looking up.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Do you accept this punishment that I am about to mete out?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And any other I deem necessary in the course of your employment here?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Very good then. Step around.”

Jane stepped to the side, turning her back to face Caitlin’s lap. James was back to was admiring the shape and imagining the feel of her bum when the pants went loose at the top, Jane having opened her belt and unsnapped in front. As if watching a curtain rise in reverse, Lucky James saw the pink silk of her panties revealed-sharing a similar snug fit to the pants.

With only a slight pause she caught her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear and rolled them down to settle at her knees with the pants. She was no slim-hipped serving maid, that’s for sure. Jane Fortescue’s bottom was a woman’s bottom-wide and strong, heavy and creamy, gloriously if sparsely dimpled and bisected by a deep crevasse that James knew she holding together as best she could.

James crossed one leg over the other and settled sideways as Jane lowered herself slowly over Caitlin’s lap, the younger woman leaning back to make room. When she was down, Caitlin moved her backwards a little so that her bottom was positioned right over the rise of the Lady’s thigh almost exactly in James sight-line.

Without warning she raised her hand and smacked Jane’s right cheek as hard as she could. “Ouch!” the woman jumped, surprised. Then another hard smack in the same place raised the woman onto her toes. “Ow, that stings.” James, as unobtrusively as possible, shifted himself and crossed the other leg over.

“I bet it does. This”, she reached back and picked the paddle from the table “Will sting more, I’m afraid. Are you ready for this Jane?”

“Yes, Ma’am”, came the muffled reply.

Jane had braced herself on her toes with her hands flat on the floor. She was as ready as she could be. Caitlin raised the paddle and swatted her firmly on the right cheek. Jane jumped forward but said nothing. The next swat landed in the center of the left cheek and she again managed to hold off crying out. Not until the fifth swat landed loudly in the middle of her left cheek did she grunt.

On the sound, Caitlin paused to give her friend a moment to collect herself. Her bottom was splotching pink and the small of her back glistened slightly. For her part, Jane dug her fingernails into the carpet. She had promised herself to take this in silence but she didn’t know if she’d be able to. Her bottom was burning but her head hurt almost as much from clenching her teeth. Maybe it would be better to let it out.

“Go ahead, Caitlin” she said in a hoarse whisper that he couldn’t quite make out. The next three smacks landed hard in the center of her right cheek. Her butt was just as solid as it looked and absorbed the swats but it wasn’t much longer before she reacted with a sharp gasp. Caitlin’s only answer was a group of rapid smacks alternating cheeks and splitting them dead in the middle. Jane writhed on her lap and finally choked back a sob. “Caitlin! Christ, that hurts so much!” Another landed with a SWAT! “Ahhh…please….OW!!!” From his seat James couldn’t see Jane reaching back to grasp Caitlin’s ankle.

Over the next few moments-or minutes as the perception of time passing was very different for the three people in the room-Jane’s crying became more subdued as she tried to muscle through. She was doing her best to stay in place but the tiny kicks with her knees-almost running in place-had loosed her pants from around her knees down to her ankles. Without the tourniquet keeping her legs together, Jane’s writhing was exposing more than she would have wanted to show.

Caitlin, for her part, began backing off on the paddle judging the completion of the punishment by the dark red shades of the older woman’s bottom and the heat rising from it. To test, she slipped the paddle into her left hand and lay her right gently onto the glowing cheeks-cupping one, then the other. Time stood still. There was no sound-nary a sniffle-and the only movement was Caitlin’s hand gently patting her friend’s bottom.

“I think we’re done here”, Caitlin said huskily.

James, realizing he’d been holding his breath, exhaled and leaned back recrossing his legs yet again. Jane watched a tear drop and spread out on the carpet below her before pushing herself up-accepting a hand from her employer to help her stand. He beheld the glowing sunset colors of her backside for as long as he could.

Caitlin, wishing to spare her friend the final indignity of squatting or bending to pull up her pants, leaned forward herself and-with her cheek close enough to Jane Fortescue’s thighs that the older woman could feel her warm feathering of her breath-unrolled and lifted first the panties then the slacks up to where Jane could take them.

“Thank you”, said Jane softly.

Nothing more to be said or done, Jane turned and walked briskly, if a little stiffly to the door. She wished at this moment that her slacks had a looser fit. James opted to look away not wanting to catch her eye just now and not wanting her to catch a glimpse of his crotch.

When he looked back, Caitlin was back at the window. She knew her cheeks were flushed and she breathed deeply to still her shaking hands.

To be continued…….

Busted

 

Uncredited on Tumblr

Brittany Jonze glided smoothly through the large open bullpen that was the physical-as well as creative center-of Brilliant! Advertising. She had been with the firm for nine years and was on her way to partnership but eschewed a glassy office along the interior wall to keep her desk among the twenty other desks and tables carefully scattered about. Strategically positioned couches and comfortable chairs coupled with low partitions of curving walls of glass block directed the flow. Everything random was by design.

Whether measured by client list, billings or awards, B!A was the top agency in the City and certainly the one everyone wanted to work with. Or for. They were high-tech, tightly run and paid very well for the very best people.

Annie Lemon was a typical new hire. Bright, recruited right out of college, what she lacked in sophistication and experience she more than made up for made up for in enthusiasm and an uncanny ability to read a customer’s wants-even when they weren’t sure what they were. Brittany had decided to hire Annie as her assistant within fifteen minutes of meeting her.

Right now though, as Brittany approached her desk, Annie appeared to be in a dither about to graduate to a full-blown tizzy. Brittany gave her space knowing it best to let her work things out herself and if she couldn’t, she’d come to her. It took no time at all.

“Hssst!” She whispered loud enough for everyone near to hear. “It’s gone!”

“What’s gone?”

“The Hanson proposal-the whole thing! The new deck, the talking points, the budget, everything!”

Brittany shrugged. “Pull the backup and touch it up.”

Annie hissed the two words she didn’t want to say aloud, “No backup.”

“No backup?!”

The girl shook her head slightly while staring at the screen as if she had missed it on her pristine desktop. Or that it might just appear from the cosmic black hole it had slipped into. She felt hot, then cold then a prickling between her shoulder blades. She didn’t have to turn around to know her boss was staring holes into the back of her head. Jesus, the lecture was coming-and she dreaded it.

“Didn’t we just talk about backing up daily….hourly when you’re working on something hot? Didn’t we talk about that…when, Thursday?”

“Yes”, she said in an impossibly small voice that she hated to hear coming out of her mouth.

“And you said, what was it?…Let’s see…’You just couldn’t think about running backups when you’re ‘in the zone’ “, she made the big air quotes behind Annie’s head but put enough inflection into the phrase to know that she could feel them. “Are you in the zone now?”

“This was no white paper, this was no blog post, this was no brainstorming session. This is a proposal that will mean thousands of dollars in billings that was entrusted to you when you’re not even out of your probationary period. Entrusted to you. By me. By Carol” she waved her hand at the agency head’s office at the corner of the room.

Inside the glass box Carol had her back to the room gazing at the skyline outside the window. She was on the phone, her sandaled feet on the credenza behind her. Her feathered blonde tresses fell back over her collar as she leaned back a study in relaxed informality.

“Turn around and look at me…”

Annie spun her chair slowly but couldn’t lift her eyes from Brittany’s shoes. God, she was going to get fired. She was going to get fired right now and would have to clear out her desk and walk out of this big room that she had already felt a part of.

She wanted to cry but didn’t dare. Everyone was so excited when she got the job here-most couldn’t believe it and a couple counseled her against taking it. There would be too much pressure, was she ready to play at that level…Now, a scant three months later she would have to tell them all that they were right. Dammit! And it was so stupid.

“You let us all down, you know that?”

Annie’s eyes stung. “I’ll just have to tell her…” she said limply.

“You will. It will be painful, but you have to…”

“Do you think she will fire me?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I think the best you can hope for is a good spanking.”

Annie was silent a moment, trying to process what she had just heard. “Wait. What?”

“A spanking. A caning. A paddling…she has all the tools there in her office.” Annie’s head snapped back toward the room where Carol was just spinning back to her desk and taking off her headset. “It’s in your employment contract” Brittany said. “You signed it.”

“I…I thought that was a joke! My girlfrie….my friend said it had to be a joke!”

As a matter of fact, Brittany had a hand in writing up the employment contact some years ago. She and Carol and a couple of others after a boozy lunch had inserted the spanking clause as they called it into the sand-dry document as a bit of a lark. Then they left it there as a sign of the irreverence that B!A was known for. Most took it as a joke. Some took it seriously. All were dealt with in kind.

“You’ll wish it was a joke. The first time she spanked me…”

“You? Wait a minute. She spanked you?”

“Girl…” she paused and took a breath. “Yes. The first time was right over there-over that table. It was for something stupid I did…it wasn’t even that bad-nothing like losing a proposal. I was late on timesheets-for the second time. I just forgot, you know. But I was new here and she wanted to teach me a lesson.”

“What did she do?”

Brittany looked at her junior for just a moment-long enough to see that her eyes were wide and she was leaning in, her cheeks coloring.

“She came out of her office and came marching right up to my desk here. I felt her coming but didn’t look up, hoped she would keep moving, but she stayed right here. Looming. I looked up and she had this wicked hairbrush in her hand…”

“Oh Jesus-are you serious?” she asked gasping, real fear creeping into her voice.

“Serious.” Brittany spun the tale with gusto and feeling. “She’s like: ‘Get Up’ I thought I was going to pee myself but I got up and she’s like: “Get over here’…and I walked around the side of the desk here but I was shaky-my legs were actually shaking! I couldn’t believe what was happening.”

“Was everybody here?” she waved her arms to take in the whole of the bullpen.  “We were half staffed that day-and the half that were here scattered when they saw what was happening. Some stayed-kept their heads down. But I’m sure they looked.”

Brittany slowed in her memory-Annie waited a moment, then pressed. “What happened?

“What happened? You know what happened. She grabbed me by the arm. Right here”, she said grabbing her own bicep, “like she was my mother and I was a child-though we’re almost the same age right? Lecturing me the whole time about punctuality, respect for deadlines, I swear, most of it I don’t remember. She marched me over to the conference table, and if I had any doubts about what was going to happen they went out the window when she said, ‘Bend Over’. “

“Oh my God”, Annie said a little breathlessly.

“Indeed. I kept waiting for her to say something-like, ‘just kidding’ you know? Nothing. So I bent over, put my hands on the table and she flipped my skirt up over my back.”

“Weren’t you embarrassed?”

“Of course I was embarrassed. What do you think? But all the embarrassment and mortification went out the window with the first swat. SMACK! That hairbrush landed and I’ll tell you-I never had a coal pressed against my bottom but I can’t imagine it hurt more than that. Jesus…” she trailed off at the memory.

Annie looked furtively around the room. It wasn’t packed-there were offsite meetings today and many were still at lunch. “I should go tell her. Now, I mean. I’ll be able to recreate it all…but not by today…”

“Not by the deadline…”

“No”, she said dejectedly.

Annie stood and moved slowly toward the office in back, dragging her hand along every table top on the way-as if looking for something to hold her back. She seemed carried on a breeze as her steps were almost imperceptible. Lynette Cullen, a graphic designer had kept her head down during the exchange one desk away. She looked up to watch Annie’s solitary gallows march to what awaited her.

“You are evil”, Lynette whispered to Brittany.

“Deliciously so, don’t you think?” she answered with a wicked smile.

Carol was intent on the laptop on her desk and didn’t see the junior assistant to the creative director approach until she was tapping on the door. The woman looked up, her eyes wide behind her glasses. She wasn’t a beauty like Brittany but a good looking woman-well put together with a bright smile that lighted the office when she saw who was at the door.

“Come in Annie, come in…”

Annie gulped and entered pushing the door closed behind her. She felt as if she was trudging up hill and her mouth was so dry she had to work at loosening her tongue.

“Carol, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh?” The woman removed her glasses and leaned back in her chair.

“The Hanson proposal.”

“I can’t wait to deliver it tonight at dinner…

“Oh, at dinner….”

“Yes-Mr. Hanson and I have reservations at his club this evening. I’ll deliver it there.”

“You won’t be able to and it’s all my fault.”

“It is?”

“There must have been a power surge last night because it’s gone and I had no backup. Now you have a dinner and no proposal. I can fix it-I can reproduce it from work notes, but not by tonight. I should have had a backup-I know that. Brittany has been telling me to back up….but I didn’t. God, I wished I had. I will from now on. But for right now, that’s no help and that’s on me. So…” She was babbling in a rush. She took a deep breath. “I know I have to be punished for this. I know that. I’m sorry and I should be. Sorry, that is. And punished.  I haven’t been spanked in years but whatever you need me to do. Bend over your lap, over the desk…”

Annie froze at the bemused look on the older woman’s face. Her heart sank. “You have no idea what I’m talking about do you?”

The smile that had slipped away during Annie’s confession returned to brighten the boss’ eyes even if it didn’t register on her lips. “Oh, I’ve got the gist of it. Honey, you’re pranked, not spanked.” Carol spun the laptop around so Annie could see that she had been studying the proposal. She had it! The relief washed over her like a cold shower. “I needed to see it this morning before you got in-Brittany gave it to me. Excellent work, by the way.”

She pointed to the wall of windows with her glasses and Annie turned slowly to see her team looking at her wide-eyed with delight, their mouths large O’s and their hands cupping their cheeks silently hooting in unison.

“I’m sorry….I….” Annie stumbled for a magic word that would make herself disappear.

Carol was slipping her glasses back on. “Yes, run along now…” Then, as she was almost out the door, “But wait, had it played out the way your evil director suggested, and you were to be spanked-what were you going to do?”

“Whatever you asked-but hoping you’d drop the blinds.”

“Good to know…..”

She flopped into her seat next to Brittany. “Can I call you an asshole without getting my ass beat?”

“Just this once.”

“You are such an ASSHOLE!”

They all roared with laughter and Annie, deflated with relief was surprised that she felt a little…was it disappointed? As if a train had just left the station and she thought maybe she wanted to be on it….

Odd Tuesday

 

Continued from Jenna…

At 10:00 sharp the lights in the already dim bar darken another shade focusing all attention to the large television screens hanging on the walls. The regular TV feed had been switched to what looked like a swirling collage of pictures and images moving too quickly to focus.

Mike the doe-eyed security man was below the largest TV with a hand mike. “Ladies and Gentleman! The time has come, to see who might have to spend the rest of the evening standing” a loud spatter of laughter and hoots interrupted him, “or at least sitting gingerly. Are we ready to see?” A loud “Yes!” and he pressed the remote in this hand. There was a fantastic whirl of swimming colors on all the screens which eventually slowed until the pictures and names stored in the chips of everyone’s ID’s began to focus. People strained to see themselves spinning by on-screen. “There I went”, thought Colleen Palmer relaxing as she saw the red top she had worn for her ID photo zip past. She ignored the knowledge that the displays were random and she could come right back.

Between her and Kendra, Pat Jensen watched intently, squeezing his drink, unable to disguise his nerves. This wasn’t really his scene-or being a part of it wasn’t. He was more of a lurker. He enjoyed watching Corrine or Mike paddle the errant waitress now and again but….Damn, he was so hot for Kendra who was rubbing his right thigh as she watched the screen he hadn’t left before this.

Then, the display slowed to make all the sliding pictures visible and everybody watched like the spinning dice on a chuck-a-luck wheel some shouting as their own image flew by. Mike had set the remote aside to allay any fears that we was manipulating the drawing. The screen froze with the visage of a twenty-something guy smiling widely into the camera, the name Jason Biggs superimposed over the picture. “Jason Biggs! Are you in the house?” The question was unnecessary as, at the end of the bar and girl was jumping up and pointing at the unfortunate Jason, no doubt her date. She punched him in the arm and laughed since this evening was his idea and his plan was to have her picture show up on the screen not his.

Mike pressed the button on the remote and the spinning began again. Given the crowd, there would be three more names chosen. The display slowed and slowed…”Megan Hess” he said as the picture of the raven-haired forty-something temptress appeared. No need to look for her as Megan jumped up at her stool raising both fists high in the air. Her breasts threatened to pop out of her blouse which had lost another button in the course of the evening. Beside her Bethany shook her head smiling. “You win…” she said. Megan pointed at Mike, who nodded-accepting the assignment- and pressed the button again.

“SHIT!” Colleen Palmer hissed as she saw her face smiling at her from the screen. “Shit-shit-shit!”

“Oops”, said Kendra. “Sorry about that honey.” She released Jensen’s thigh to reach across and pat her friend’s hand.

Colleen sighed…”It’s OK. Just my luck. Wow” Her heart was pounding…”Would you…?”

“Let Pat…” She said. “You guys are friends right?”

Jensen looked to his left and patted her knee in a way much different from how he had been patting and rubbing Kendra’s. “If you want, I will. I won’t go crazy, you know.”

“Ok, sure….”

“The last one”, Mike said as he pressed the button. Half of the room knowing they were one face away from being saved for the evening and the other half knowing they would have to wait for their secret fantasy to be fulfilled, leaned forward.

“And our final winner is…”

She didn’t look up-kept her eyes glued to the floor almost knowing what was coming- “Jenna Redmon!” She shook her head grinning ruefully. One chance in 10, she thought. Why was she so sure she’d be picked?

“Oooohh…Jenna”, Molly said beside her in something like sympathetic wonder.

“Yep.“ Jenna said without looking up-didn’t want to see her picture on the screen. “Got me.”

Mike flipped the TV back to its regular feed and moved down the bar to get the paddles. He paused beside Kim Chen who was putting her coat on to leave. “Stick around”, he told her. “No need to run off…” She smiled brightly and patted him on the cheek. “Early day tomorrow.”

“You know…” he started, ignoring the warning bells sounding between his ears. “You don’t have to wait a couple of weeks to see if-by chance-you can get what you…want. I can…”

“You’re sweet…”

“No so much. No really. Kim-anytime. Anything.” He slid easily from hesitancy into a firm assertion-finally getting the hand he had be waiting for, he pushed all his chips into the middle of the table. “Only what you want. Only when you want. Seriously. Completely at your service.”

She paused, coat over her shoulders, and looked into his eyes for a hint of anything that wasn’t true. “You want to run in the morning?”

“I don’t get out of here till two. When’s morning?”

“I can wait till ten. Meet you at the pump house at the reservoir?”

“I’ll be there.”

She smiled and kissed him a quick peck on the cheek. “Wear your fast shoes…” She turned and walked away leaving Mike feeling light and about sixteen years old.

At the end of the bar, Corrine was comically begging Jenna. “Can I do you? Can I, huh, can I….?”

“Probably not” said Jenna. “You want to too much…”

Corrine saw her looking toward Mike as he walked by. “Naw, not him. He’ll swat the MILF.”

“Jesus!” said Molly.

“Here”, said Jenna jabbing at Corrine. “How about Molly?”

“Molly’s not playing tonight”. Corrine said quickly. That was all she would need-Having Molly up front having not run her card. “Aw come on…somebody has to…”

“Oh, all right.”

“Yesss!” Corrine hissed pumping a fist.

They stood across the wall of the back room on a riser meant for a band; four pairs, each with a chair behind them.

Jason Biggs was first in line, his wife Sharon a slight honey-haired girl standing beside him paddle in hand. After he turned around, the crowd howled at his wife’s pantomime as she pretended to wind up like a baseball batter lifting her leg to feign a vicious follow-through. Whatever it was exactly, this was the kind of domestic drama that always played well at The Club.

Next was Colleen, looking uncomfortable but smiling gamely. She couldn’t wait to turn around so she wouldn’t have to look at anyone. She strangely remembered an ex-boyfriend who had told her, “that’s kind of odd, isn’t it?” when she had asked him for a birthday spanking a couple of years back. Wonder what he would think of this?

Beside her, Megan continued to play to the crowd with Mike, the dutiful straight-man, smiling beside her. Without prodding she raised her hands pulling all attention her way, then slowly brought them to her belt. With overwrought motions she slipped the leather overlap from its loop and unclasped it. The crowd whistled. In answer, she unsnapped her corduroys.

Jesus, thought Mike, the older ones are always the crazy ones. As if they don’t give a shit who thinks what, they are going to do what they want. Megan had tried to get Mike to come home with her a couple of times and he’d be lying if he said we wasn’t intrigued.  But he knew on some level that she might be more than even he could handle. If she got him into her lair she would spank him purple and probably snap his dick off like a rotted twig. Then where would he be? Better a gentle dalliance with Kim Chen that promised….he didn’t know what it promised but he was looking forward to it.

On a signal from the bar all four turned around. With her back to the bar, Megan unzipped her fly and pulled her pants open. Then with a slow undulation she pushed first one side then the other downward-working carefully so her panties didn’t slide down too. The crowd whistled their appreciation as her pants slid below her bottom revealing a pair of black panties with the words “SPANK HERE” emblazoned across them. She pointed them out as if anyone could miss them.

Jenna grinned over at Megan who caught her eye and winked.

“So, Jenna…” Corrine asked. “You want to drop them?”

“Naw, that’s OK. This will be fine.”

“You won’t let a girl have any fun.”

“I don’t think you do anything but have fun.”

Corrine grinned and touched her hand to Jenna’s shoulder, bending her over. She grabbed the seat of the chair and arched her back, filling the denim with her backside. There was a twitter in the crowd as Corrine lifted the shirt tail up and over her back. She waited and glanced to her left but Megan’s hair shielded her face.

The first swat landed and stung a bit-more of a thud-muted by her jeans and underwear. The last time this had happened to her, she was bare and she remembered the terrific burn she felt from the paddle. The second swat was a little harder and landed fully on the left cheek, Corrine spreading it out.

Megan absorbed the first swat with nary a twitch. She pushed her bottom backward spreading the SPANK and HERE a little wider. “Come on Mike….” She whispered over her shoulder. On the count from the bar, he patted her with the paddle then pulled back-further this time-and let fly. All four landed in a crackling fusillade. “Better”, she said.

Jason caught his breath after the second swat and squeezed the chair tighter. He couldn’t believe how hard she was paddling him and wracked his brain trying to remember what he might have done to deserve it. His thoughts were driven to the winds though when Sharon actually did wind up like a baseball player and delivered a harder swat than she even thought she could right across is backside. His mouth fell open in a gasp but he said nothing. Jesus! That HURTS! he thought.

After the third swat Megan raised her hand and, with approval from Mike, stood slowly. This was a break that would normally earn her another swat but an exception would be made in her case as the crowd again howled. She placed her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and slowly unveiled her ample bottom to the room. Mike took a step back and with both hands-the right still holding the paddle- pointed Vanna-style at the round pink backside. “Ta-DAAAA!” he seemed to be saying.

Before going back over she whispered, “Make this one count, Mikey…” When she bent, Mike was happy to see that her cheeks were full enough to shield and cover everything else down there. Again, on the signal he lay the wood against her skin that we saw was sprinkled with tiny goose bumps then pulled back. He put more of his arm and shoulder into this swing.

The sound of the paddle hitting bare skin was a loud “SPLATT”, distinctive from the other three cracks. Her cheeks spread and quivered with the impact. She jumped upright and clapped both hands to her bottom rubbing and dancing in place as the crowd roared their approval. To Mike’s relief she didn’t turn around to give the room the full frontal but stood proudly displaying a pulsing bruise on her right globe that closely matched the cranberry color in her blouse. She then bent-everything was done slowly and theatrically-and pulled up her panties, smoothing them over her reddened and finally, happily sore backside then followed with her cords.

Jenna took solace in the knowledge that, bent over in the shadow of Megan’s show, nobody would remember that she was up here tonight. She took the last swat stoically and stood up. “That was OK. Right?” said Corrine standing close, her eyes a bit glassy and her cheeks flushed. “Not too hard?”

“No, it’s good.” Jenna gave her the small smile that she thought she was fishing for. “We’re good.”

Colleen stood red-faced and rubbed her bottom quickly smiling at Jensen, knowing he had taken it easy on her. Yeah, he was a sweet guy. Why hadn’t they ever hooked up she wondered looking up at him. Then her eyes cut to Kendra across the bar who raised her glass in salute. Probably because I’m not tall and blonde she thought.

Jason Biggs kneaded his butt through his khakis knowing how hard she had hit him-how hard she had meant to hit him. He looked at his little Sharon who returned a tight smile that belied the fire burning in her eyes. He wasn’t sure he was in a hurry to go home.

“Those of you going home with someone who swung the paddle tonight, remember there is no retaliation allowed! That would go against the spirt of our game here. You will just have to wait for the next Odd Tuesday.”

 

Molly At The Club

John squeezed Molly’s forearm with a “be right back” look and left her at the bar. She saw that he had made eye contact with the bartender so she knew she would not be alone long. She followed his glance and saw the woman behind the bar flowing toward her. Her eyes cut left and right on the way seeing which of her charges might be ready for another, who was low and who might want….anything.

Compared to herself-and that’s the way Molly measured all women-the bartender was long and lean as a leopard. Tight jeans hugged her hips below a flash of flat midriff which was covered above the navel by a white silky tank top layered under a weathered denim vest.

Tattoos sleeved her bare left arm, circling and curling from the wrist to the shoulder and across her shoulder blade. Looked like leaves from down the bar but as she got closer Molly could make out that they were vines and entwined with the vines a bright multi-colored snake circled her bicep climbing seemingly toward her head. Her right arm-closest to Molly-was clear below the elbow but above, there was another snake. This one glistening black and wrapped.

“I’m Corrine”, she smiled reaching a fist across the bar.

“Molly”, she answered with a quick fist bump.

Now in front of her, Molly noticed another tattoo. This was a necklace-looked like a thin leather strip-circling around her neck and crawling across her collarbones just low enough so any shirt would cover it. Centered on the brown strip, hanging in the center of her breast plate was a tiny paddle-tiny but obvious for what it was. Deep blue outlines-highlighted a burnished gold wooden color-with three holes dotted in the center.

Molly stared for a moment then realized it could look like she was ogling the woman’s breasts so she lifted her gaze northward to Corrine’s laughing green eyes.

“Welcome to The Club, Molly. What can I get you?”

To drink? Molly had given it no thought…To avoid looking like a stammering, staring dunce she turned the question back “What do you like?”

“Me?” she tilted her head slightly as if thinking, “I’m a whisky girl. Bourbon specifically.”

“OK-make me something. Surprise me.”

Corrine’s slight head tilt became a smiling wink. “I’m sure I can do that.”

Molly watched the woman work-watched her hands move quickly and surely. Ice in the martini glass to cool it, ice in the tall mixing glass, then a thick draught of bourbon followed by a liquor she didn’t recognized. She, of course, flipped a mixing spoon into her hand and stirred the drink quickly but carefully all the while maintaining a lively patter with the folks to Molly’s left and right.  Molly realized she was being introduced around…”John’s friend”….”our newest friend…” and she nodded smiled and shook the hands offered. She caught or remembered no names.

Corrine’s smile was quick, wide and open-then small and pursed-then wide again, expressing all she needed to express wordlessly. Her raven hair flowed around her shoulders as she whipped her head around following all the conversations in her circle.

She tossed the ice out of the cooled martini glass and strained the drink into it. She presented it in front of Molly and with a slight flourish swished a large dark cherry into the glass.

“Black Manhattan”, she said.

The drink was dark befitting its name and seemed to pulse behind the droplets that ran down the outside of the glass. Molly imagined the cherry as the heart beating life into this new being that had been created for her. And because its creator was standing before her in anticipation, Molly raised the glass to her lips and allowed the cool darkness to flow into her mouth. The heat filled her throat and rolled through her chest while the sweetness lingered on her tongue.

“Wow”, Molly said genuinely surprised. “That’s wonderful!”

“Thought you’d like it.”

Molly hadn’t been sure. She was a gin and tonic, white wine sort. To say this dark liquor was a departure was an understatement but well in keeping with the rest of her day.

Corrine was still standing in front of her with her hands corralling the drink. She seemed to be leaning in a little…searching.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Molly allowed herself to be a tad flustered reaching for her purse.

“No-don’t worry about it.” He hand covered Molly’s with a warm pat. It was-contrary to what you’d expect given what she was doing behind the bar-warm and dry. And comfortably strong. “John’s orders. We are all at your service tonight.” She looked around the bar. “I’ll be back to check on you. Enjoy.”

Molly watched her walk away and without meaning to-at least at first-let her eyes be drawn to the contours of her perfectly sculpted ass rippling under jeans that could have been painted on. Then she caught herself and took a deep sip of her drink.

A small unassuming guy with a shaved head and earing slid into the spot to her left and began to speak to her. The music was starting to pump and hearing what he was saying was difficult. She leaned toward him smiling and realized that he was asking her to dance. Something about he knew the DJ and could get him to play whatever she wanted. She kept her smile and shrugged that she wasn’t much of a dancer. He persisted and leaned in noticing that her glass was empty. Before he could offer to buy her one, Connie swooped in with another perfectly made cocktail that she clapped on the bar before her.

“Come on Tommy, give her a break. She’s new here-let her get acclimated.”

He smiled and bowed with his palms up as if in supplication, “Acclimate away” he said and drifted off toward the dance floor.

“He’s harmless”, she said smiling. “Nice actually-works here…” she whirled and went back down the bar.

“Thanks!” yelled Molly to her retreating back trying not to let her eyes slide down to her retreating backside. She smiled and shook her head quickly as if to clear her vision and her thoughts. What was with her tonight? She did not usually feel comfortable among strangers, let alone a whole room of them but here she was. It was a real mix, this bunch-from fashionably torn $200 jeans to khakis and polos to a couple in understated but unmistakable leather.

She felt someone slide in beside her and turned to see John. She smiled widely and punched him in the arm. “Where have you been?” she asked.

“Mingling”, he answered returning the smile.

“Mingling.”

“Had to see a few folks…Corrie been taking care of you?”

“Yeah-she’s great!”

“She’s something alright. What do you have here?” He reached for her glass and sipped.

“Oh, that’s good.”

“What are you dinking?” Molly asked but before he could answer Corrine appeared in front of them with a cocktail that she sat in front of John.

“John’s an Old Fashion guy…at least in his drinks”, she told Molly as a loud aside and moved away again.

“Thank you…” he called after her as Molly stole a glance at her retreating backside. Her glance settled there a beat too long and John busted her with a smile. “Enjoying the view, are we?” Molly blushed hotly as John laughed. “I’ll never tell…”

By 11:00 the dance floor had filled up as had most of the room. Corrine was joined by two other bartenders to help with what had become a constant crush of people. One was the Tommy who had hit on her-he winked and gave her a wave-and a tall blonde woman with a pony tail and splash of freckles.

Waitresses carried trays of drinks to the tables against the wall and to the game room in back-with more tables and a couple of pool tables and dartboards. It was a dizzying crush of people and activity made more so by the fact that Molly was starting to feel the drinks and probably didn’t need the one Tommy had just set in front of her.

She and John talked past midnight with Corrine taking advantage of her help to linger with them a little. With subtle exchanged smiles over the rim of the glass she even sipped a little at Molly’s drink knowing that she was probably a tad over her limit. “I’ll try to catch up with you….”

Corrine’s shift ended at midnight and she was just getting ready to leave the bar to the other two when a crash back by the pool table rose above the general din. And as always happened since high school cafeteria, a round of mock applause from the surrounding patrons let everyone know that someone had dropped a tray of glassware or, heaven forbid, drinks. Molly saw one of the security guys moving back there with a broom and shovel.

Then, just as the cheer in back seemed to be fading, it morphed into a chant-low and scattered at first with one or two voices then rose to a cheer: “Corrie! Corrie! Corrie!” The Corrie in question, leaning against the bar with John and Molly, smiled slyly. “Duty calls!” she said and headed up the bar.

Molly thought she had to go back and help with the clean-up but Corrine stopped at the cash register and reached into the dark shelf below it. Her hand emerged clutching a paddle that looked like the model of the tattoo around her neck. It was around two feet long, burnished light brown-almost golden-with three holes running down the center.

The denizens at the bar cheered when they saw it and joined in the “Corrie” chant. For her part, Corrine held the paddle high like the sword Excalibur just pulled from the stone. The chant for her grew louder as she moved to the back pumping the paddle up in the air like a drum major’s baton. Wide-eyed, Molly grabbed John’s wrist.

He smiled, “Poor waitress…”

“She’s going to paddle her? Right back there? In front of everybody?”

“You want to watch?” John asked.

She was pinned in her seat; frozen there by the block of ice that had seemed to settle deep in her stomach. Did she really want to see what was going to happen back there? Yes, of course she wanted to go see. But she didn’t want John to know that she wanted to see. Was she that drunk? She looked at him in confusion but he read her eyes pretty easily.

“Come on”, he said grabbing her wrist.

The crowd made room for them as they slid there way along the back wall to the game room. The room wasn’t exactly spinning for Molly as she feared it would when she got off the stool, but it was a little off kilter. Whether that was because of the drinks or the crazy buzz she was feeling in her stomach and below, she couldn’t say.

The crowd had cleared a spot back in the corner of the game room beyond the pool tables where the unlucky waitress was standing, her eyes studying the floor. The security guy had already swept up the glass and Corrine was brandishing the paddle as if it was a gavel at an auction.

“How many?” she called out.

“Ten!” came an answer.

“Ten?!” the waitress looked up, stricken. “They were empties!”

Corrine pointed the paddle at the guy who had suggested ten. “I’ll give her ten if you come up here and take ten yourself. Whattaya say?”

He smiled and waved her off amid hoots from his table.

“Nine!” someone called out.  “Eight!” came another.

“Eight-nine…You don’t have many friends back here, do you Meagan?”

Meagan looked around with a slightly exaggerated pout. She was smaller than Corrine-about Molly’s size-but a little thicker. Wider in the hips and across the bottom which might be an advantage here. The crowd kept yelling out numbers-high numbers-and Molly, in her state was having trouble seeing who in the mob was yelling what. Meagan was looking around too, her tight blond curls bobbing left and right as if looking for the winning bidder. Finally, Corrine raised the paddle above her head and the mob quieted.

“I was going to give her four…” there was a grumbling and one “only four?” from the floor. “But you are particularly blood thirsty tonight. You want your pound of Meagan flesh tonight don’t you?”

“We do!”

“So I’ll give her five!”

“FIVE!” the crowd assented. “Five! Five! Five!”

Clearly relishing her role in the drama, Corrine pumped the paddle to the chant of the crowd. They settled quickly when she turned to the waitress. Molly was sucking air in little gasps. The crowd was obviously not new to this sort of show but she didn’t know what to expect from one minute to the next.

“Meagan?”

The girl turned away from the room to face a chair that had been placed against the wall. She bent over the back placing both hands on the seat. Her jeans stretched tightly across her ample bottom. She arched her back, presenting herself further, and waited.

If Molly was expecting some kind of stylized pantomime of a paddling that you might see on stage in a play she was disabused of that notion quickly. Corrine stepped back-measured once with a pat on the girl’s bottom-then swung hard. Molly jumped when the paddle landed with a loud “CRACK!” John, standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, squeezed gently. The crowd cheered the swat.

At impact Meagan had raised on her toes but settled back just in time to absorb the second swat. “Two” a couple had called out. Again-up on the toes and back down. The third swat cracked right across the center of her backside and she bounced on her heels a bit and broke her knees just a tad. Corrine gave her a moment to gather herself then delivered the fourth to loud cheers.

“Now”, Corrine addressed the mob. “She would be done now. Poor Meagan and her bruised bottom would be free to go…But no. You wanted MORE!” her eyes flashed and her teeth gleamed as she spun slowly taking in the whole room, obviously enjoying herself. “So this…” she settled back into position “this last swat, is not on my conscience. This is for you…..ANIMALS!” She smiled wickedly and stepped into the swing.

The paddle landed with a loud “CRACK!” that was drowned out by the cheers of the crowd. Meagan jumped up reaching back with both hands to clasp her burning backside to general applause. She hopped in a circle with an exaggerated pout pushing her overly red lips. Her eyes glistened and her cheeks were flushed a bright pink. Which made Molly wonder for a quick unbidden second what her other cheeks looked like.

Corrine pointed around the room with the paddle. “Don’t forget to tip your waitresses. They work hard for you….or else.”

John turned Molly around to head back to their seats at the bar keeping her hands on her shoulders. She was grateful for his touch and steadying presence as the room spun slowly left to right. She dragged her hand on the paneled wall as they moved along to steady things a little. “What do you think?” he asked in her ear. How could she explain what she felt? The butterflies in her stomach had turned into eagles, she was sure she was wet between her legs and her knees trembled.

“Wow…” was all she could manage.

When they got back to their seats Corrine had collected her cash drawer and tips. Her night was over. “Give me a few minutes to get this straight and we’ll get out of here.”

We? Molly thought. Molly knew that she was too tipsy to drive and assumed that John or a cab would be taking her home but Corrine was coming with them? Her chest tightened in a good way.  She sat back at her seat and watched the room swell around her until Corrine joined them.

“Come”, she said and they slipped around the back of the bar and out a side door. Molly was happy to be lead through a dim storage room full of boxes and broken chairs and out a security door into a dark alley where John’s car was secreted behind a dumpster. They bundled Molly into the back seat and and jumped up front immediately talking about where to go eat.

“Paddling always gives me an appetite”, she joked.

“You really gave it to her”, Molly piped up from the back. “That had to hurt.”

“Oh, it hurt alright”, she answered, letting it go at that.

“Meagan’s the kind that if she doesn’t get spanked in public every so often she gets a little squirrelly…” John filled in.

“A bit of an exhibitionist”, said Corrine eyeing Molly intently in the rear view mirror. “As we all are, I suppose.”

“Plus”, said John, “That little performance probably netted her an extra hundred bucks in tips which is no small thing for a single mom trying to raise two kids.”

“A hundred bucks?”

“More”, said Corrine, “If I made her take her pants down.”

Molly caught Corrine’s eyes in the mirror and searched for a hint that she was kidding. Their eyes locked as Molly slid down into the plush leather seat. Corrine’s lidded eyes were the last things she remembered as she slipped off to sleep.

The Appointment

The room didn’t look “sterile” by any means. That was what she had called it in preparation for his first visit months ago. She had warned him that it was “a rather sterile looking office”. It was as large as the conference room at work, a desk, more of a work table really, near the rear center-with enough room for a credenza behind it under the window that overlooked the street from three floors up. There were a couple of armchairs and a short couch all situated on a soft mauve carpet that took up most of the room but was offset to the left allowing a gleaming swath of polished hardwood floor exposed against the wall.

If there was anything sterile looking about the place it was this hardwood peninsula. A stout looking armless wooden chair and matching small oak table were situated next to an upright digital scale. Beside the scale was a full length mirror affixed to the wall and an oaken clothes tree-complete with three wooden hangers.

He knew his way around well enough by now but still couldn’t avoid a little flutter in his chest when looking at the spare furnishings on that side of the room. Still, he moved in that direction and watched himself in the mirror as he doffed his sport coat draping it over the highest hanger. Standing sideways to the mirror he slid his hand along his stomach, sucking in a small gut that he noticed more than anyone else. Truth is, he hadn’t lost too much of the body he’d had when he played college baseball a decade earlier, but he’d lost enough. Enough to bother him.

He absently loosened his tie but didn’t feel a need to take it off. Shoes? He glanced toward the door. He’d wait for her before taking off his shoes. She was in the habit recently of making him wait and he didn’t feel like standing around in his socks. He’d definitely have to take them off though.

He looked at the scale the way he might eyeball any adversary. The read-out screen was dark and he knew that it was turned off. There were few real rules of protocol in the office but the single immutable one was that Doc Bethel was the only one who could turn the scale on or off.

He walked over and sat in one of the armchairs. The waiting was part of her program he knew, but oddly it was the one that bothered him the most. He sat back and crossed his legs-right ankle over knee. Then uncrossed. Leaned forward with his elbows on the soft chair arms, then leaned further back again.  Lifting two fingers of his right hand to his mouth, he perfectly pantomimed taking a deep drag on a cigarette. He filled his lungs with air and, eyes closed, exhaled deeply relaxing into the breath. He sat still, breath coming in shallow swallows until he lifted his hand once more for a light drag. Then, with sense memory born of a habit he’d had longer than he wanted to remember, he swung his arm slightly out to the right and with his thumb flicked the imaginary ash off of the tip of the imaginary cigarette. He relaxed deeper into the leather.

Without looking he knew that the chrome pedestal ashtray that had been beside the chair during his first couple meetings was gone. Had been for a while. That was something anyway. He heard the door open and stiffened slightly. He shook out his right hand to erase any evidence of the illusory cigarette.

He turned his head and half rose to acknowledge Sidney Bethel’s entrance. “Hi Doc”, he said.

“Good morning Ben. Stay where you are. Don’t bother to get up.” In passing she pressed her hand onto his shoulder to push him back into the leather. “How are you today?”

“Good, good…beautiful morning.”

She lay a warm hand against his cheek and caught his eyes the way she did. He knew better than to look away. Her green eyes probed deeply as if looking for the lie in his simplest answer. Looking for anything below the surface. His most begnine answers were always questioned. She believed if you learned to be honest and completely open in the small things the larger things would take care of themselves. Her gaze was warm and searching-helpful, not accusing, and he relaxed into her without moving.

Then, satisfied, she straightened and moved to her desk. She didn’t move behind it to her chair, instead chose to pop herself up and sit on it. This put her closer to Ben but still above him, something sitting on the chair beside him wouldn’t have given her. That thought hadn’t necessarily occurred to him, but she knew it. She was a master of non-threatening informal authority. The “Doctor” title was a bit of a stretch. There were no framed diplomas or certificates on the walls-just some tasteful abstracts and one painting of an amusement park carosel. At one time medical school was in her plans but she happily had found her calling before that investment. Some called her Sidney, some Ms. Bethel, not many “Doc” but whatever worked for him.

Her “uniform” in her office was always a variation on what she wore today. Black slacks that rode low on her hips and flats. Even then she was a strong 5’ 10” and taller than most of her patients. She wore a tailored white oxford shirt that cupped her breasts and bloomed upward opening at the neck revealing a small silver chain. The sleeves were rolled precisely twice, crisply revealing tanned forearms.

When Ben had first met her he thought she was a “knockout”. That was the word that actually bounced around in his head. If he had told anyone about her he would have said his therapist was a “knockout”. But that wasn’t the phrase he had rumbling in his mind these days. Her looks hadn’t changed-she was still striking with the dark hair flowing to her shoulders, her perfectly pearly orthodontia, high cheekbones and deep inviting eyes.

The word he might use to describe her now was “comfortable”. Which was odd when you considered the type of therapy she practiced. Her office small talk was never forced and always pulled him into a conversation. She talked about running with her dogs and training for one of those muddy-trail runs or whatever leaving enough holes to allow him to tell her that he had done some running too. “Oh? On the trail or road?” and she would listen and prod and want more detail.

When the conversation lulled finally she reached into a wooden in-box on her desk and pulled out a file. She opened it on her lap and snapped it closed again. “Today was supposed to be 183, right? That was the target.”

“Yep.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I should be fine” he said with a tiny cloud passing over his eyes that he thought he hid but she saw it as easily as she would a mannequin in a window.

“Really?” she said simply with only the slightest lift at the corner of her mouth.

“No”, he looked away quickly then back, “yes-it was tough over the weekend-did some traveling. It’s hard to watch on the road. But since has been good….I should be fine.” This last he told to the floor before finally looking up to allow her eyes to lock his again.

“Let’s have a look then”-she lifted her hand over toward the scale.

“Let’s lose these first”, he said bending to untie his shoes.

“By all means”.

Her patients could weigh in however they wanted as long as they were consistent. Some stayed fully dressed, shoes and coats. Some decidedly did not. If they missed their goals, then there were prescribed measures and penalties that sometimes dictated how “dressed” they remained. The key was making the weight and doing whatever had to be done to do that.

Ben had always weighed in “airline style” No belt, shoes wallet. He did that, placing his items on the table. Then, before stepping on the scale he nervously took off his shirt. He smiled sheepishly and said “what the hell”, as if in explanation.  Sidney had moved over beside the scale and turned it on. The screen winked to life then settled into a soft blue glow.

He paused-actually froze. He didn’t feel good about this. He really didn’t. She took a half-step back as if he needed more room. He looked up and gave a nervous half smile before exhaling (as if the breath in his lungs weighed anything) and stepped gently onto the rubber pad. The number on the read-out flashed at 189.

“What?” he said as if the machine had spoken.

“Ben, that’s more than last week.” She had given him a modest goal of four pounds for the week.

“I know, I know”, he flustered. He was rubbing his hands on his thighs. “Wait a minute”, he took off his T-shirt and lay it over the chair. Then he sat on the chair and rolled off his socks. He stood and stepped back to the scale. Again, he exhaled and tip-toed up. 188.

“Dammit”, he whispered watching the number as if waiting for it to change.

“Step off Ben.”

“Wait, I get one more chance.” That was the weigh-in rule. Three tries to make the weight.

“Do you think your trousers weigh five pounds?”

“Look…I get…I get another chance, right?” he was stammering. She was silent and he was avoiding looking at her. “I mean, do you mind?” He waited for her answer. “Is that OK?”

“You get a third chance”, she said flatly.

He stepped back from the scale and unbuttoned then unzipped his pants. He slid them down and stepped out of them, one leg then the other. He lay them over the back of the chair then paused as he was stepping toward the scale. Still not looking at Sidney he hooked his thumbs in the elastic of his boxers and slipped them down. Bending, he flipped them onto his shoes.

Looking up finally he gave a little shrug. “That’s it…”

She regarded him carefully as he cut his eyes away again. He hadn’t been nude in here before-pants down yes-but that was it. He wasn’t in bad shape-strong across the chest and shoulders-a little settling through the waist and hips but not bad for a guy his age. She could see clearly where he could lose the twenty pounds he had talked about when he first visited but the solid thickening in his cock as he stood before her made it clear that losing the weight was no better than a secondary goal of coming to Dr. Bethel. Which sort of ticked her off-though it shouldn’t.

“Scale”, she said.

He flowed slowly past her and paused before stepping gently back on the pad. She stepped beside him closely enough to catch his scent and feel the warmth radiating from his body. He in turn kept his eyes shut feeling the butterflies careening around in his stomach and his dick getting harder. She noticed it-couldn’t NOT notice it-as she looked down at the read-out.

“185”, she said with an impatient sigh. “Get off the scale Benjamin.”

He stepped back and stood before her eyes downcast. They stood a moment before Sidney broke the silence.

“What are you doing here Benjamin? Why do you come to my office?” He had nothing to say. “More to the point, what am I doing here? I’ve put time into you haven’t I? Haven’t I done my best for you in trying to help you lose the weight that YOU wanted to lose-that you ASKED ME to help you lose? Haven’t I held up my end of the bargain?”

“I’m trying,” he said miserably.

“Yes, I realize that. But eventually trying has to become doing, right?”

He said nothing. “Again, I ask you-have I held up my end of the bargain?”

“Yes”.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, you’ve held up your end of the bargain.”

“And you Benjamin. Have you held up yours? Have you?”

“No.”

“No, indeed.” She stepped a little closer but not by much to avoid his engorged cock thrusting itself forward like a jousting lance. “Look at me”, she commanded. He lifted his eyes to hers slowly.

“I’m so disappointed in you Benjamin. So disappointed. You’ve let me down. Let me down. And more importantly, you’ve let yourself down. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry”, he said quietly-almost breathlessly.

“You’re sorry.”

“I am. I’m sorry that I…let you down.”

She let that hang in the air for a moment.

“I’ll venture that you’re about to be a lot sorrier.”

“Yes, mam.”

She stepped to the side. “Go over to my desk, Benjamin. Stand in front of it.”

He did as he was told. Standing on the plush carpet and gazing at the scudding clouds out the window gave him a chance to take the first deep cleansing breaths he had attempted since she started scolding him. His chest felt light and the fluttering in his stomach had settled a little further down.

She stepped into his line of sight on the right and opened the door to a slim cabinet mounted on the wall. On the back of the door hung a wooden paddle he had never seen before. It was two feet long, about four inches wide and polished to a bright golden color. She regarded it carefully and gripped it tightly-slapping it gently into her open left palm. “I think this will do the trick.”

His heart began racing a bit again.

“What do you think, Benjamin? Do you think this will do the trick?”

“Yes, mam”.

“Indeed…”

She moved back out of sight behind him and he cut his eyes back to the clouds trying to recover that sense of calm he had just a moment ago. No dice. She was standing behind him now.

“Spread your legs a bit, Benjamin.”

He did as he was told.

“Now bend over. Put your hands on the edge of the desk.”

He did that, concentrating on the close tight grain of the wood below him.

She took advantage of the breathless anticipation to regard the smooth white bottom which he was offering up to her. She knew what he was expecting right now but her plan-as always-was to go beyond expectations. Regardless of what she told him in their session, Ben not reaching his goal twice in the last two months was almost as much on her as it was on him. She resolved this would be memorable for him but she was piecing together a plan….

She placed the paddle gently across his cheeks, patted once then reared back watching him tense. The first swat landed with a resounding SMACK fully across the center.

“Owwww”, Ben yelled and jumped up grabbing his bottom with both hands. “Ow-Jesus!” he said, rubbing and kneading. “That HURT!”

She crossed her arms sternly holding the paddle upright on display. “It absolutely hurt-it was supposed to. It’s a shame you couldn’t hold your position because it didn’t count and now you get sixteen more.”

“Sixteen? I never got more than six!”

He had turned slightly toward her still rubbing his backside. She could see that, while his cock wasn’t waving as proudly as it had been, it was still thick-still in the game.

“Do you really want to argue with me right now?” she asked grimly through tightened lips.

He deflated a bit and without another word turned back to the desk. He bent-putting both hands on the edge of the surface and arched his back slightly.

“No”, she said. “Elbows and palms on the desk.”

He did as she ordered without hesitation feeling the slight twinge at the top of his hamstrings as he bent a little further. She patted again the cheek that was a touch mottled from the first swat and swung again smacking the same spot. Ben was better prepared this time and not surprised by the intensity. He managed to keep his mouth closed and made no sound. After the third he rose on his toes and after the forth, slapped the desk with is hand. She was taking enough time with his punishment to allow the heat to rise from one swat before blistering him with the next.

He gritted his teeth and pressed his eyelids tightly enough that he saw flashed of red and gold. The shit I get myself into he thought.

Sidney Bethel paid close attention to what she was doing. Being right handed, most of the power of the paddle was landing on Ben’s tortured right cheek where a small plum colored bruise had just bloomed. She took a half step backward and delivered the next blow squarely on the barely pink left cheek. Then another quickly. Ben rose on his toes again and bounced on his heels trying to dissipate the burn which felt like a hot iron pressed against his backside. She swatted him twice more while he was hopping and he yipped behind his clenched teeth.

“Breathe, Ben”, she said pausing.  “Just breathe and relax…”

He did, dropping flat footed and allowing his knees to bend slightly relaxing his butt. Both cheeks were now balanced in color-deep reds and pinks with only the single bruise on the right. The skin looked dry and hot as he reached back gingerly to touch it. “You OK?” she asked?

“Yeah-fine” he said his voice hoarse and low. “Was he crying?” Sidney wondered suddenly nervous. She didn’t want that to happen. Maybe she had gone a little too far-God knows he wouldn’t ask her to stop. “How many was that?” she asked him.

“I’m not sure”, he said-his voice stronger. She relaxed a little. “I quit counting around eight or nine.”

“Thirteen. That was thirteen.”

“Jesus…” he stopped rubbing taking her count to be the order to resume. He bent slowly back over and arched his back offering his tight tortured bottom back to her. She stepped away and lay the paddle on the desk beside him.

“Stay where you are”, she ordered. Ben wasn’t sure what she had in store for the last three swats but was comfortable in thinking that anything would be preferable to the paddle.  Sidney picked a small bottle of lotion off the table and brought it over to where Ben’s ass was glowing like a hot brazier. He tensed feeling her behind him.

“Relax”, she said. “Just relax. We’re calling you done.”

“Really?” he said looking over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“See? I’m not so bad…”

She squeezed a dollop of the special mix aloe and vitamin E into her right hand and touched it to his bruised right cheek. He jumped as it she had stuck him with a needle.

“Shhh…” she said. “Just settle.”

He did as he was told enjoying the soft cooling of the lotion and her massaging hand first on his right cheek, then on his left. Up till this instant a handshake had been their only physical contact. He spread his legs a little further to give her further access to anything that she wanted. She saw the move, of course and slapped him lightly on the cheek.

“Don’t get any ideas, big boy.”

“No!” he said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it…” She rubbed the lotion deeply into the skin from the top of his legs across both cooling hemispheres. “Here is what I’m thinking…You come back in two weeks, right?”

“Yes-two weeks.”

“OK. I expect you to weigh 178 then, understand? That’s seven pounds in two weeks.”

“I can do that.”

“I know you can-and I know you will. Because we’re going to change this up a little for your next visit.”

Ben was listening as best he could but the blood rushing to his cock as Sidney rubbed his sore bottom was almost drowning everything out. He was wishing she would reach between his legs but afraid knowing that if she touched his rod at all, he would spew all over her desk like a thirteen year old.

“For you next visit, you will weigh in naked, just like today. If you don’t make the weight-if you are not 178 or less-you will get dressed and leave. We’ll try again for the following week.”

“No penalty?”

“Not like that-more like an incentive. If you DO make weight, I will sit on the couch over there put you over my lap and spank you with a hairbrush. Would you like that?”

“I think I would like that…” he said breathlessly.

“And…I’ll wear a skirt that day. A short one. Would you like that?”

He moaned almost inaudibly and dropped his head. “Yes.”

“Very well…” she stepped away from his glowing butt and but the cap on the lotion. “I have another appointment upstairs that I’m late for.” She moved a box of tissue to the front of the table. “Take as much time to…compose yourself…as you need and I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“Thanks, Doc”, he said but by the time he stood and turned, she was gone, pulling the door closed behind her. “Oh man…”, he sighed rubbing is bottom absently.

That afternoon, his assistant Moliere stuck her head in the door of his corner office where he sat gingerly on one cheek watching the three screens in front of him. “I’m running down for a Danish and coffee”, she announced-ready to take his order for his three o’clock sugar fix.

“Not for me, Molly.”

“Really?”

“Have to lose a few pounds.”

“Sure-I know, but one Danish. A donut?”

“No-this time I really have to lose it…”

“OK-how about just a coffee then?”

“Black”.

“K!” and she was gone as he tried with a wince to settle onto both cheeks.