ublished by Accent Press Ltd – 2008

ISBN 9781906125899

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any

means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical,

photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written

permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, PO Box 26,

Treharris, CF46 9AG

Printed and bound in the UK by

Creative Design and Print

Cover Design by

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Twelve new titles to please and tease!

Bad Girl

Seriously Sexy One

Naughty Spanking One

Tease Me

Down & Dirty One

Seriously Sexy Two

Juicy Erotica

Satisfy Me

Naughty Spanking Two

Seriously Sexy Three

Down & Dirty Two

Seduce Me

For more information please visit

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Contents

The Guardian Angel

Carole Archer

Rubious

Marissa Moon

Bottoms Up

Kristina Wright

The Confidante

Roger Frank Selby

Shopaholic

Laurel Aspen

“But I

Meant To Pay For It!”

Teresa Joseph

After Party

Cyanne 63

Merrilee Gets Into Trouble In
The Park

Eleanor Powell

Ev’rybody Get Together

Landon Dixon

Mr O’Connor’s Office

Ava Rose Johnson

Victoria Pleases Her
Headmistress

Angela Meadows

Noisy Neighbours

Teresa Joseph

111

Adult Education

Elizabeth Coldwell

119

Aviatricks

Roger Frank Selby

127

A Taste Of Punishment

DMW Carol

139

Harsher Measures

Laurel Aspen

145

Pride And Preference

Roz Macleod

155

Domestic Discipline

Stephen Albrow

163

The Vendetta

Korben Rushe

173

My Husband’s Other Life

Eva Hore

185

The Guardian Angel

by Carole Archer

Sarah sat at her kitchen table and poured herself a large glass
of vodka, her third that night. She flicked through the photo
album and tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked at
photos of herself and Martin.

They were together for over 10 years – married for almost

nine of them – when he died in a car accident almost three
months ago. This had been Sarah’s daily routine since the
funeral, drinking vodka and looking at photos until sleep
eventually overcame her.

She turned the pages until she found the photos of the night

they met. It was at a fetish party. As soon as he set eyes on her
he asked if he could spank her. She agreed without hesitation.

There was a definite spark between them and from this

moment they were inseparable. They spent most of the
evening in a private room, playing and also getting to know
each other. They were both big players in the scene until now,
but no-one else got close to them that night. Neither of them
played with anyone else at that party – or ever again.

They spent lots of time together in the months following

the party and found they were compatible in every way
possible, especially their spanking desires. Within months they
were living together and were soon making wedding plans.

Sarah had always loved being spanked, but she’d never

gone in for the total domination that others seemed to crave.
She didn’t want a 24/7 partner, she didn’t understand corner

time or punishment spankings, but she soon found herself
exploring all of these areas with Martin and discovered she
loved it all.

She trusted Martin more than she’d ever trusted anyone in

her life, and she gave him her total submission, allowing him
to try anything new. She discovered she loved the cane most –
an implement she had always feared in the past.

He fulfilled all her fantasies and would try anything she

wanted. They had many an enjoyable play session with her
wearing large split bloomers, pretending she was a badly
behaved maid in Victorian times. They also explored the effect
of ginger inserted into a naughty young lady’s bottom, and
found this made her hornier than ever. They had a very
enjoyable sex life, especially after she’d been spanked.

She loved play spankings. She also discovered that,

although not enjoyable at all, she needed punishment
spankings. On the rare occasions she disappointed Martin or
made him cross, she felt really bad. He’d given her so much
and she hated to repay him with displays of bad behaviour.

She was prone to sulking, especially when she didn’t get

her own way, and she’d had some major tantrums over the
years. Martin hated swearing and when she got in a
particularly bad mood she’d swear at him deliberately. She
always felt guilty afterwards and couldn’t wait for him to take
her panties down and punish her.

She hated the actual punishments, and she’d often cry

before he even laid a hand on her, but she needed them. The
relief she felt after a punishment spanking, as she lay in his
arms and sobbed her heart out, had no comparison. Nothing
eased her guilt so quickly and made her feel loved again. Not
that Martin ever stopped loving her, but she didn’t feel worthy
of that love when she’d behaved badly.

She still didn’t like the terms Dom and sub – she preferred

to say that he was her Sir and she was his naughty girl or his
spankee. They didn’t live solely for spanking, but it was a big
part of their lives and they’d never been happier.

Snapping back to the present, she wiped tears away from

the album page then reached for her drink. Draining it quickly,
she poured another.

They’d been blissfully happy and she felt lost without him.

Some days she didn’t see any point in carrying on. She was on
long-term compassionate leave from work, but she had no
intention of ever going back. She rarely even got dressed these
days. She’d pushed away all of her friends and family and now
she was totally alone.

She poured another drink and realised she’d reached the

bottom of the bottle. She silently cursed. The shops would be
closed now. Maybe that was a good thing. She didn’t normally
drink quite this much, but tonight she was feeling worse than
usual, her grief almost as bad as the day she found out he was
gone.

She got up and walked to the cupboard. She knew she

didn’t have another bottle, but maybe if she checked she might
find something hidden away that she’d forgotten about. It was
obvious she had no more alcohol but she still searched through
the cupboards. What she did find was a bottle of paracetamol.
She shook her head and put them down, closing the cupboard
door.

Covering her face with her hands she started to sob. She

wanted to be with Martin so much, maybe this was the only
way. She opened the cupboard and took the bottle of tablets,
then walked back to the table.

Taking the lid off the bottle, she poured them onto the

table. She counted 30 tablets. That should be more than
enough. Her tears dripped onto the table as she pushed the
tablets around, counting them into groups of 10, then dividing
them into groups of five.

Counting five tablets into her hand, she was startled by a

voice behind her. She turned and saw a man sat on her settee.
She stood up quickly, dropping the tablets, and asked how he
got there. She was absolutely terrified but he spoke softly and
calmly and made her feel at ease.

He told her that Martin had sent him to look after her

because he couldn’t come himself. She started to cry and

angrily asked him to leave, but he kept on talking, very
calmly, never raising his voice, despite her shouting at him,
and she eventually stopped, feeling totally drained of energy,
and began to listen.

He said Martin was worried about her, especially her

drinking and pushing away everyone who cared about her and
wanted to help. He couldn’t visit himself, it wasn’t allowed.

Sarah frowned and walked across the room. She sat down

beside the stranger and touched his hand. He felt real. She
quickly pulled her hand away and asked if he was a ghost. He
shook his head and laughed. He held his hand out to her and
she reluctantly shook it, as he introduced himself as Andrew
Scott.

He told her he was killed five years ago and he now had his

wings and could visit those struggling to cope with the loss of
a loved one. He told her he’d been working with Martin,
helping with his training, but it isn’t permitted for him to visit
her, it would be too traumatic.

Sarah stood up and turned away, blinking several times

before turning back to the settee. Andrew was still there. She
thought her mind was playing tricks on her, but was intrigued
by this strange man. She asked him if he’d really said he was
an angel and he nodded.

She then got very abusive, she believed this man was

mocking her and she told him so. She said he was no angel,
they didn’t exist. He didn’t know Martin and she wanted him
out of her house immediately.

He smiled and said Martin told him she would react in this

way. He told her to go upstairs and look in Martin’s bedside
table, in the top drawer, right at the back. She’d find a small
box. It was her Christmas present, but as Martin died a few
days before Christmas he didn’t get to give it to her.

She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to leave this man

alone in her living room, not even wanting him in her house.
She eventually went upstairs, hoping he would be gone when
she returned and that would prove she’d simply had too much
to drink and was imagining things.

She looked in his drawer and was shocked to find a small

red box with a gold bow on top. She lifted the lid and began to
cry. She’d asked for an eternity ring and shortly before
Martin’s death they’d looked at rings. She’d fallen in love with
a thin gold band with a row of five diamonds. He said they’d
look again at a later date and choose one for their anniversary
in a few months time. What she didn’t realise was that he’d
gone back later that day and bought the ring as a Christmas
present for her.

She took it out of the box. It was more beautiful than she

remembered and she slipped it onto her finger. It fitted
perfectly. She smiled as she remembered how good Martin
was with gifts. Whatever he bought her always fitted perfectly,
and she always loved everything he got for her. He was the
rare type of guy who knew your size and knew what suited
you and what you liked. The voice behind her startled her. She
hadn’t heard Andrew come upstairs. In fact she’d almost
forgotten he was there.

She instinctively threw herself into his arms and sobbed.

She still couldn’t quite believe what was happening. She still
believed Andrew was a figment of her imagination. She cried
for a long time and he held her close, stroking her hair and
rocking her in his arms. When she eventually calmed down
she was slightly embarrassed and pulled away from him.

“What the hell did you do, how did we get down here?”

She looked around, startled. They were back in her living
room.

“I carried you.”
She glared at him, hands on her hips. “The hell you did, we

were upstairs and we did not come down.”

Smiling he replied: “I did carry you, just not in the way

you’re used to. Surely that’s further proof I am your guardian
angel?”

He laughed, trying to lighten the situation, but Sarah got

really annoyed and started to shout and swear at him, slapping
him hard across the face. He didn’t react to the slap. Instead he
stood up and took her firmly by the wrist.

Forcing her to look at him, he said Martin told him he may

encounter some problems with her and told him exactly what
to do if she turned into a brat. In a flash they were back in her
bedroom.

“Will you stop doing that, if you want to take me upstairs

then walk me there … in fact you have no right to bring me
upstairs. Take me down again now.” She was screaming now,
a mixture of fear, confusion and too much alcohol.

He ignored her and sat down on the edge of the bed,

pulling her across his knees with no effort at all. He raised her
dressing gown and she screamed loudly and kicked her legs,
embarrassed that he could now see her bare bottom.

“Let me up now or I’ll kill you, you bastard.” Andrew

laughed. “Sorry sweetheart, someone beat you to that.” She
screamed in frustration and kicked her legs harder.

“Let me go!”
Andrew responded with a smack to her right cheek,

followed by an equally stinging smack to her left. Sarah
squealed in shock. She’d forgotten how much a spanking
could hurt, but she couldn’t ever remember one that hurt quite
this much, especially not just with someone’s hand. She
momentarily considered apologising and promising to be
good, anything to get her up from this position, but instead she
kicked him hard in the leg.

He laughed and delivered another two hard smacks to her

bottom. She squealed again and swore at him. Sighing deeply
Andrew held her firmly in position and began a hard and fast
spanking, all over her bottom and down the backs of her
thighs.

Sarah fought hard to escape but it was impossible. She

kicked her legs hard, screamed and squirmed around as much
as she possibly could, but it did nothing to ease the building
sting in her bottom, and it certainly didn’t help her to escape
from his vice-like grip.

She was desperate to rub the sting away and reached back,

but her hand was immediately grabbed and held firmly against
her back. She was determined not to cry and continued with

her futile efforts to escape. Eventually exhausted she gave up
fighting and concentrated on holding back her tears. He would
not make her cry, she could promise him that much.

He delivered another six smacks then stopped. Gently

rubbing her bottom he asked if she was ready to apologise yet.
He shook his head and sighed as he was bombarded with foul
language and threats. Martin had said she was prone to
tantrums, but Andrew had seriously underestimated how much
trouble she would actually be.

“I’m sorry young lady, but you’ve brought this on

yourself.” Andrew continued her spanking, but this time with a
wooden paddle. Sarah screamed and struggled, twisting her
body and kicking her legs in her continued attempts to get
away from him.

He kept spanking her at a steady pace, never once breaking

his rhythm. The smacks were hard and her bottom, which was
already bright pink from her hand spanking, quickly reddened.

Andrew started to lecture her. At first she wasn’t really

listening, she was too busy trying to break free, but his words
eventually started to get through to her and she calmed down.
Her eyes filled up and despite her best efforts to hold them
back, her tears started to drip onto the carpet. Within seconds
she was sobbing pitifully.

He continued to talk to her, but eased off a little on the

strength of his smacks, telling her that Martin loved her and
didn’t want her to waste her life, and he certainly didn’t want
her to take her own life just to be with him again. She had so
much to live for. She had her memories of him and they would
never go away. She also had friends and family who wanted to
help her through this and Martin couldn’t bear to see her
pushing everyone away.

Andrew put the paddle down and continued to spank her

with his hand, but much gentler now. He was trying to calm
her down before letting her up. He continued talking to her
until finally she said she was sorry and asked him to please
stop. He immediately stopped spanking her and lifted her up.
He held his arms out to her and she gratefully threw herself

into his embrace, wrapping her legs around his waist.

He smiled. He was quite unprepared for this reaction. He’d

expected another slap around the face. He was already
mentally prepared to spank her yet again. Instead he held her
tightly in his arms until her sobbing had stopped, then he
gently rubbed her very hot and red bottom.

He stood up and she clung tightly to him, her arms around

his neck and her legs still wrapped around his waist. He
carried her around to the side of the bed, pulled back the
covers and lay her down, prising her legs and arms away from
him.

He kissed her tears away and asked if she was feeling

better. She nodded. She’d always struggled to understand why
a spanking made her feel better, especially a hard spanking
that made her cry so much, but it never failed to take away her
guilt. Hours of talking could never make her feel the way that
a hard and well deserved punishment did.

She reached for Andrew’s hand and asked him to stay with

her. He said he couldn’t. She asked him to lay with her for a
while and he reluctantly agreed. He laughed when she pulled
his hand under the covers and tried to put it between her legs.
He’d been forewarned that despite her hating punishment
spankings, she always ended up very horny afterwards.

Andrew removed his hand, kissed her on the cheek and

said it was time for him to go. Standing to the side of her bed,
he stroked her hair away from her tear-stained face.
“Goodnight Sarah, take care.”

He stepped away and she reached out for him. “Please,

wait!” He knelt down beside the bed so his face was close to
hers. He waited patiently as she struggled to find the words.
Eventually she blurted out: “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have taken
them, the tablets I mean. I was just so sad, I really am sorry …
I’m sorry you had to spank me, I’m sorry I used bad language,
I’m sorry I kicked you...” Sobbing again, she added: “Please
don’t hate me.”

Andrew smiled and pulled her close to him. “I don’t hate

you, and more importantly neither does Martin, and he never

will. He loves you, and that’s why he sent me to help you.”

Pulling away from him, she wiped away her tears and

smiled. “So am I forgiven?” Smiling brightly, Andrew nodded.
“Of course you are.”

He knew forgiveness was a big thing for Sarah. Martin said

when she felt bad about something and knew she deserved to
be punished, she always fought him, but eventually she’d give
up and let her tears come and allow him to punish her. She
always felt better after, when she was sobbing in his arms with
a very sore bottom, but she always needed to know that he
didn’t hate her and she was forgiven, it seemed to be the most
important thing to her.

It never ceased to amaze Martin how she changed from

sobbing uncontrollably and being desperately unhappy to
smiling and being blissfully happy in a matter of seconds, once
she heard those words of forgiveness.

Andrew kissed her gently, said goodnight and was gone.

Sarah was sleeping soundly the second he left the room.

Sarah woke up the next morning feeling bright and refreshed.
She sat for a while trying to remember her dreams. She
thought she’d maybe been dreaming of Martin, of how he used
to spank her. But for once this didn’t make her feel sad, it
made her feel happy. She reached down between her legs and
realised she was very wet, and she spent a very happy half an
hour or so bringing herself to countless orgasms.

But she had the strangest feeling in her bottom, she actually

felt like she had been spanked. She laughed, got out of bed,
got washed and went downstairs. Frowning at the empty
vodka bottle and the tablets on the table, she tidied up the mess
and put everything in the bin. She certainly didn’t need this
kind of rubbish anymore.

She sat down at the table, wincing as her bottom made

contact with the hard wooden seat, and started to slowly piece
together the events of the previous night. She felt very foolish
as she remembered how close she came to ending it all.

She remembered Andrew and the reason why she was

feeling sore. She reached back and rubbed her bottom. Had he
really been here or was her mind – and body – playing tricks
on her? She certainly felt like she’d been spanked.

She went back upstairs to the bedroom, turned her back to

her full length mirror, lifted her dressing gown and gasped
loudly. Her bottom and thighs were showing definite signs of a
very hard spanking. She glanced towards the bedside table and
saw the paddle. Looking again at her bottom she wondered
had she perhaps done it to herself.

A voice behind her broke her from her thoughts and she

turned around. Andrew was standing there with a smile on his
face. “I’m sorry I had to be so hard on you, but you were so
naughty.” She ran towards him and threw herself into his
arms, hugging him tight. “Thank you so much.”

He nodded. “That’s OK, glad to be of help. How’s your

bottom this morning?”

Pouting, she reached behind her and rubbed her bottom. “It

hurts.”

He smiled. “Well deserved spankings are supposed to hurt,

young lady.” Sarah’s eyes widened. She looked back and
Andrew was now gone. Standing before her, in his place, was
Martin.

“Martin!” She took a step back from him, excited but

afraid.

“I’m sorry, please don’t be frightened, Sarah. I needed to

see you, make sure you’re OK.”

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. Holding her hands out to

him, he reached out and squeezed them gently. They kissed
and held each other. Breaking away from her, he asked her to
turn around. Caressing her bottom, he chuckled. “Looks like
you still haven’t learned when to keep your mouth shut.”

She turned quickly to face him, giggling and intending to

come back with some cheeky reply, but she could barely
believe he was here. She was, for the first time ever, lost for
words. Martin smiled at her as her tears started to roll down
her cheeks.

Holding out his arms to her he said they didn’t have long.

Andrew might well lose his wings for allowing him to come to
her. It was totally against the rules.

Smiling she stepped forward and touched his face, running

her fingers through his short dark hair, smiling as his stubble
scratched her fingers. “I see there’s a shortage of razors in
heaven too,” she teased. She leaned forward and kissed his lips
gently, feeling those strong arms that she loved so much
holding her tight.

Martin stepped back and held her face in his hands. “I’m

sorry, sweetheart, it’s time to go. I love you. Be strong.”

Blinking back tears, Sarah smiled. “I love you too. I’ll

never forget you. And I promise I’ll be good.”

Grinning, Martin told her not to make promises she could

never keep. They laughed as he began to fade away, as he was
once again taken from her. But this time it didn’t hurt quite so
much.

“I hope you like your ring.”
She’d forgotten about her eternity ring. That was one part

of last night she hadn’t yet remembered. Looking down she
saw it sparkling on her finger. “I absolutely love it, thank
you.” Looking back, he’d gone.

Sarah turned away, confused. Half of her wanted to cry

with sorrow, the other half of her wanted to sing with joy. A
sharp smack on her bottom jolted her out of her thoughts. She
turned to see Andrew standing behind her.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t have any longer with him, I

shouldn’t even have let you have that. I’ll probably be in big
trouble but never mind, it was for a good cause.”

“Thank you so much, I hope you haven’t got yourself into

too much trouble on my account, but I really appreciate what
you did.” Kissing him on the cheek, she said she was ready for
him to leave her now.

Andrew nodded, patted her on the bottom and smiled. “Try

to keep yourself out of trouble, and be safe.” With that he was
gone.

Sarah raised her hand, looked at her beautiful ring and

kissed it. Martin would always be with her and she would

make him proud of her. With a smile on her face and a spring
in her step, she set out to begin her new life, starting with
getting dressed, getting back to work and rebuilding bridges
with friends and family.

Rubious

by Marissa Moon

I was a teenage Satanist.

In other words, I was a Goth embarrassment, a Sylvia Plath

fan, a pale, thin brunette sealed in black. Red was my second
favourite colour, particular the shade of soundly smacked
bottoms. Cane lines crayoned on white flesh. Red passion
flowers. Or perhaps it was the canvas on which they were
etched. Artists need a flat easel but those who work on flesh
prefer curves. This sort of work should be done as slowly as
possible, preferably on chubby buttocks, the sort one must
fondle before, during and after a punishment. Just to ascertain
whether the skin can take any more reddening, of course. One
wouldn’t want to besmirch the noble art of chastisement with
sexuality. At least not until the receiver has been allowed to
rub their bottom, perhaps while pouting defiantly, and after
they have spread themselves in whatever position in which
they like to receive oral sex. Or something a little more
invasive...

My teenage hobbies were mooching around and deciding

how suicidal I was. Usually while reading Sylvia Plath. I
would wonder who would miss me after I was gone. How
much I could hurt them. How they would rue the day they
upset me, the centre of the known universe.

Perhaps I just needed someone to thrash some sense into

me, fortunately I met a wise older woman. Her name was also
Sylvia, although, unlike Plath, there was nothing remotely

masochist about her. She taught me the benefits of a sound
scourging on a moonlit night. Black clothes, red wine, white
moon, scarlet bottoms and shared sighs – we were the cruel
sisters, taking it in turns to whip each other into a frenzy. I was
fond of my teacher. She whipped me well. She showed me
how to make money from my passion, helping me to become a
pro-Domme. She even taught me new words to describe a
beating, sometimes over her knee, with one spank for each
letter.

“Vapulation” – an obscure word for flogging – how it hurt

memorising that one! “Rubious” was another one of Sylvia’s
obscure words, one that would drive any Scrabble opponent
into a red mist rage. It took less smacks to learn that one,
perhaps because ‘the colour of rubies’ was poetic enough to be
memorable.

Now I’m on my fourth twenty-ninth birthday I still

persevere with men.

Heaven knows why, as they’re mostly useless. But I much

prefer spanking women. And the most recent jewel in my
crown was Svetlana, a Russian mafia princess.

She came into my life when I was looking for someone to

kill my ex-husband. Too much information? Well, it was only
a passing phase. I’d rather have him alive these days. That way
he’ll suffer much longer.

Geezer Hardnut, my boyfriend, when I can prise him away

from the Playstation, arranged for me to meet Svetlana. She
was a genuine female assassin. So he said. He might be a liar
but he’s killed more people than I have so I have to go with it.
Particularly as I spent at least a year wanting my ex husband
killed. Actually, I never got as far as discussing my husband’s
disposal with Svetlana. Some film noir heroine I would have
made.

Svetlana was my scarlet woman. You could use ‘rubious’

to describe her crimson lipstick and the broken veins in her
bloodshot eyes.

It was also the colour of her pert little bum once I had

finished paddling it. Svetlana was thin, chic, adorably scatty

and most probably insane. Her skin was as white as the paper I
write on, her bruises as black as my ink. Like my teenage self
Svetlana wore only black and red. Black boots, red leather
mini-skirt. Her conversation also had one theme: what she
wanted next. Apart from her blonde hair this was going to be
like spanking my teenage self.

“You talk too much! Beat me! I want to be flogged.

Flogged hard!”

Typical Svetlana. She can’t even be bothered to wait for a

proper introduction. I can hear her husky voice, too loud from
vodka and smoky from too many cigarettes. “Linear narrative?
Is for pussies!

Pull my knickers down and smack my bottom! Hard!”
Well. If you insist.
We had a few quick drinks, the quickest I had ever had.

Then I knew I wasn’t hiring her as a hitwoman. You can’t trust
chronic alcoholics. Especially not when they have a bad cold
in mid-summer and a need to visit the bathroom every ten
minutes. But you can still seduce them. As soon as we were
back at my place we kissed till our lips hurt. I dragged her
over my knee. One of her hands found the floor while the
other grasped my foot tightly. She started to kiss my ankles. I
slowly eased her white lace panties down, I was sopping wet
just from the sight of her firm, chubby rump.

“Lay still, my girl,” I told her. “You’re going to get the

spanking of a life time.”

She had no more hope of laying still than a landed fish

gasping for air. I smacked her hard as she wriggled and sighed.
I caressed her, fingering her openings, patting her firm, fleshy
cheeks. As the heat built up she moaned loudly but she wasn’t
going to beg for mercy.

They don’t spare the rod in Russia. She was probably used

to having her pretty little bottom striped hard. And she was
drunk enough to take a lot of pain. After a while my hand was
hurting too much.

Her bottom was red and glowing, yet still ripe for more

punishment. Despite the pain she still managed to stick it out

and up. Before continuing I took a moment to contemplate the
seat of pain and pleasure, the site of pride and shame. It was
the finest specimen I had ever had at my disposal. Much too
good to rush.

“I keep this heart-shaped paddle for those I love,” I said,

picking up my favourite implement. I watched her closely,
looking to see

if the word love terrified her. It often does. Because who

needs another needy stalker? After a certain age the fiction of
a mystic other or perfect lover can no longer sustain us.
Luckily our needs and desires remain as fierce as ever, perhaps
even more so with the realisation that there is less time in
which to indulge our desires.

“Who cares who you love?” she gasped. “Hit me!”
It was the right answer I suppose. Certainly the one to get

her bottom smacked as quickly as possible. I unleashed a
quick flurry of spanks. Which gave her something to think
about. And then I told myself off for losing control.

I usually ask a receiver to kiss the paddle before and after

use. Sometimes I douse the surface with water because it
makes an already tender bottom much more sensitive to the
smacking leather impact. And because moist, reddening
cheeks look even more enticing. I asked her to kiss the paddle,
already slightly warm from contact with her hot bottom. Then
I laid it one side and picked my tawse up.

This’ll make you tingle, you hard-arsed bitch. I gave her

three quick, hard whacks. She screamed and begged me to
stop. Finally! I was getting somewhere. She reached a hand
behind her to block my access but, like any mother since time
immemorial I merely grabbed the hand and jammed it further
up her back. I raised my left thigh to position her more
temptingly. She rewarded my efforts by sprawling lewdly,
showing me her shaven pout and releasing more of the scent
that drives me wild: freshly spanked, horny young woman. I
never tire of it.

I dangled the tawse between her legs, rubbing it back and

forth as she opened further for me. I smacked her bottom

harder, I used the tip of my middle finger right on her
puckered little anus and shoved two of my fingers in her
mouth. She sucked on them greedily, eager to show me she
would now do anything. Her bottom was red hot to the touch.

“Had enough, darling?”
“You call this pain? In Russia we birch each other.”
Bloody cheek! This is sometimes called bratting. Behaving

as a brat to provoke punishment. Some find it cute. I find it
annoying but a pretty bottom excuses a multitude of sins.

“Really?” I said. “I wonder if you have sampled a birch

made out of rattan. Lasts much longer than the real thing. Even
on an impudent rump such as yours.”

I showed her the birch, tied in a red bow. She was a little

frightened now, but trying not to show it. I prefer the birch
because canes are harder to control, however experienced you
are. It’s quite easy to miss and give someone an extremely
painful swipe just where they don’t need it...in the middle of
their thigh, for instance. No erotic benefit and a sting like
sulphuric acid. An exaggeration perhaps but it’s a sensation
you won’t forget in a hurry. As it was, the birch caught her
right on the sweet spot. With a few more whacks, just to keep
her yelping for more, I picked her up and took her to my bed.
It was high time she played with me, selfish little baggage.

We spent the next few hours making each other come,

rubbing our faces in each other’s bodies, snuffling up our
mingled earth and sea scents. Needless to say this sweet
ecstasy wasn’t enough for her. She needed coke and cigarettes
more than anything else.

As the bedroom filled with smoke time and time again I

decided that what she needed was a proper caning. I hate
smoke!

“Time for you to bend over properly,” I told her. I didn’t

have to fake the aggression or the cold hatred. She had been
boring me with coke babble and a little nicotine breath in your
face goes a very long way.

“Come on. Stand up, bend over and grasp your ankles. You

need six stripes across your backside, young lady.”

Her eyes glazed over as she stepped into the world I was

creating. She staggered to her feet, wobbled a little, wiped her
nose yet again, snorted down some coke-drenched snot, glared
defiantly and then bent over. I got up and picked out my
thickest rattan.

“Grasp your ankles and hold the position.”
She managed it somehow. Now it was impossible to hold

back. Her back was arched, her peach was ready and I could
resist no longer.

I tried spacing out the strokes, for maximum pain, but the

sound of her cries was just too exciting. All too soon I had
given her five beauties. She was panting but I still hadn’t
broken her.

I drew the cane back as far as possible and landed it with

maximum force. She jumped up squealing, hopping around the
room holding her bottom. She calmed down enough to kiss the
cane and then we feasted on each other.

I will always remember that day, long after the stink of

cigarettes evaporated. The frenzied love. The talk. The
laughter. But the instant she ran out of Marlborough she
vanished for good.

Maybe she found a rich Englishman. Maybe she annoyed

the wrong person. She could have drunk herself to death or got
into heroin.

I think of her often, my Russian ruby. But it’s a relief she’s

gone.

I’m old enough to know she would have been a disaster if

she had hung around. With age comes wisdom. Or perhaps the
fires of madness flicker a little softer.

I was a teenage Satanist. Now I’m twice as old as the little

girl who courted darkness. Whenever possible, I seek the light.
My skin’s still white, my hair is black, but in summer I wear
light colours. I still like smacking bottoms of course, all the
shades of red my hand can conjure. From the prettiest pink to
the deepest vermilion. Suicide now looks like a cop out and as
for Sylvia Plath? Thank God for Prozac...

Bottoms Up

by Kristina Wright

Cindy stood at the railing on the porch, watching the far corral
where Jake was working with the horses. It was her third
morning here on the ranch and she loved standing out here,
drinking her coffee and watching Jake.

She wore the dress for him. It was not the kind of thing

Shelley usually wore, this flimsy bit of pink fabric that clung
to her silhouette. The hem hit her mid-thigh, but every time
she sat down, it crept up, hugging the globes of her bottom as
if framing them. She smiled at herself in the bathroom mirror.
Oh yes, Ethan would certainly love this dress.

Ethan was waiting for her in the lobby because she had

wanted to make him wait. She also knew that if she let him up
to her apartment, they would never go out. Not that she
minded, but anticipation was everything with a dress like this.

He turned at the ding of the elevator doors opening and she

saw his slow appraisal and the way his eyes lingered on her
breasts. Her nipples hardened as if he were stroking them with
his fingers rather than simply his gaze.

“Ready for dinner?” he asked, taking her arm.
She nodded, though dinner was the last thing on her mind.
It was a fourth date. The sex date. That was only her time

frame, of course. The first date would have been the sex date if
she’d allowed it. But no, she relished the excitement of
looking forward to that event when all artifice and clothing
was shed and she surrendered herself to him. Not that they

hadn’t played around. She didn’t have that kind of will power.
They had made out like teenagers the first date, standing in
front of her building until she was sure they would be asked to
stop by some prudish passer-by. Even when his hands had
made their way up the back of her shirt and unhooked her bra,
then around to the front where he pinched and squeezed her
nipples, no one had said anything. She blushed thinking about
the appraising smile the doorman had given her that night.

Since then, Shelly had let Ethan get a little farther each

time, had even slipped her hand inside his trousers on their
third date and stroked his impressive erection until he groaned,
but she still hadn’t invited him up to her place to consummate
their mutual desire. Tonight would be different. Tonight she
would go all the way.

She was so preoccupied by her plans for the evening –

plans she didn’t share with him – that Shelley barely tasted her
dinner. Ethan stroked her bare thigh as they talked and the heat
of his fingertips against her skin nearly drove her out of her
mind. When the waiter asked if they wanted dessert, she
quickly shook her head, but Ethan had other thoughts.

“Of course. The lady loves chocolate,” he told the waiter,

then ordered a rich chocolate torte for them to share.

Shelley almost told him what she had planned for the

evening. Almost. She bit her lip as he smiled at her, holding
back as she reminded herself just how good it would be once
they were together.

Ethan fed her small bites of the chocolate torte as he

nibbled on her neck. She squirmed in her seat, getting wet, her
nipples poking against the fabric of the dress. The torte was
delicious, rich and creamy, but she wanted something else for
dessert.

“I know what you’re up to,” he whispered, as she finished

off the dessert.

She sipped her wine, watching him. “Do you? What am I

up to?”

He didn’t answer. The waiter brought their bill and then

they were on their way out of the restaurant, Ethan’s hand at

the small of her back, guiding her politely. Out on the street,
he was a complete gentleman. She furrowed her brow in
frustration. The dress was meant to entice him, to make him
want her and unable to keep his hands off her. She pressed
against him, her breast grazing his forearm, but he seemed
oblivious.

Perhaps, she thought, she had waited too long. Maybe he

had lost interest. She shook her head. It wasn’t possible. This
dress was pure sex. There was no mistaking what she wanted
tonight.

They were at her building again, having barely spoken a

word. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her firmly, his
tongue teasing her mouth. Then he pulled away too soon, a
distracted expression on his face.

“Well, thank you for a lovely dinner,” he said. “Good

night.”

She couldn’t believe it. The fourth date and he wasn’t even

going to try to go upstairs with her. “Wait!”

He turned, looking bemused. “Yes?”
Gesturing helplessly, Shelley said, “Wouldn’t you like to

come up?”

“Would you like me to?”
She couldn’t tell what he wanted and hated that he was

making her ask for what she wanted. “Yes, please.”

“Certainly.” The doorman had been discreetly watching

their exchange and held the door for them. Shelley stalked to
the elevator, angry that her plan seemed to be going horribly
wrong. Ethan caught her wrist as she pressed the button.

“Let’s take the stairs,” he said.
“Why?”
Still holding her wrist, he guided her to the stairwell door.

“Indulge me.” Shaking her head at his bizarre behavior, she let
him pull her through the door. With a slight bow, he let her
take the lead. She had taken only a couple of steps up the first
flight of stairs when he slapped her bottom lightly. It was little
more than a love tap and the sound was muted, but her yelp of
surprise echoed off the concrete walls.

She turned, looking down at him. “What was that for?” “I

told you I knew what you were up to,” he said, the severity of
his tone softened by his smile. “Playing the tease and deciding
when you were going to have your way with me.”

She blushed. It wasn’t as if she could argue. “Hmm. Well,

the sooner we get upstairs, the sooner I can have my way with
you – which I think we will both enjoy.”

“I’m rather enjoying the view,” he said, giving her ass

another smack. This one was harder than the last.

She hesitated on the stair until she slapped her again, then

she ran up several stairs to get away from his hand. “Stop
that,” she said, though there was no heat in her words. “You’re
distracting me.”

He had caught up to her on the landing for the second floor

and gave her another smack that was hard enough to make her
whimper. Her bottom tingled, the thin fabric of her dress
providing absolutely no cushioning from his spanking hand.
She rubbed her tender flesh, frowning at him even as she felt
the heat moving through her.

“Here, let me,” he said, tugging the back of her dress up

and baring her bottom. “Naughty girl, no underwear.” She
giggled nervously. “I thought you would like that.”

He put his arm around her waist and rubbed her exposed

ass. She could feel his erection and rubbed against it like a cat
in heat. His hands made circles on her rear, soothing the
sensitive flesh. She whimpered softly, resting her head against
his chest.

Suddenly, he spun her around and gave her three hard

spankings. “I do like it, very much,” he said, as she squealed
softly.

“You’re awful,” she said, scampering up the next flight of

stairs and cursing the fact she lived on the fifth floor. “I’m not
going to make it so easy for you.”

He was behind her in a moment, his long legs able to take

the stairs two at a time. He hooked his arm around her waist
and turning her away from him. In this way, she could feel his
cock against her ass, the fabric of his trousers feeling rough

against her skin.

“I’d say you’re making it quite hard.”
She knew what was coming and clung to the staircase

railing, making no effort to get away. In fact, she pushed her
bottom out toward him, silently urging him to spank her. She
was wet now, as wet as she had ever been, and she felt her
wetness trickling down between her bare thighs.

“You want it?” he asked, nudging her ass with his erection.
She nodded, tossing her hair back from her face.
“Which? A spanking or my cock?”
“Both,” she whispered.
He released her and she held her breath, not sure which she

would get. Then he was spanking her, hard and fast, reddening
her ass as she whimpered and squirmed. The sounds of his
hand against her bare skin echoed off the walls now, filling the
stairwell with sound. It sounded obscene, her sounds of
pleasure punctuated by sounds of a fierce spanking. The pain
was secondary to the pleasure and she bent over farther, giving
him every inch of her ass to punish.

Spanking her ass and thighs, Ethan landed a particularly

stinging stroke across her exposed pussy. The sound of the wet
slap brought him upright.

“You’re soaked!” he exclaimed, testing his assertion by

spanking her again. “Wet and ready.”

Her pussy was stinging from those too hard slaps, but that

didn’t change her position. In fact, the sting only enflamed her.
She moaned, pushing her ass out farther. “Again,” she
demanded.

He slapped her again, catching her across her swollen

pussy. “Naughty, wet girl!”

She only moaned.
The rasp of his zipper sounded as loud as his smacks,

though it was only because she had been waiting for it. There
was no need for preliminaries – she was as wet and ready as he
said – and he was inside her in one swift stroke. Buried inside
her tender pussy, hardness inside her wetness.

She moaned loudly, pressing back against him as he slid

out. Empty now, she waited for him to push back inside her,
but was rewarded with another stinging slap again. She yelped
and jumped, nearly falling before he caught her against him
and slid his cock back inside her.

“So warm and wet,” he whispered against her ear as he

fucked her.

One, two, three strokes and he pulled out of her again. She

clung to the railing, waiting for the slap and moaning as he
spanked her once more, harder than before.

“Tell me when,” he said, as he spanked her.
He smacked her three more times, landing one hard slap

across her pussy that also nipped her clit. She yelped, tears
springing to her eyes.

“Now,” she cried out and he was inside her before the word

had stopped echoing in the stairwell.

“Good girl,” he soothed, reaching around to knead her

breasts. “Good, good girl.”

She closed her eyes in sublime pleasure as he drove into

her, fucking her until she cried out, on the verge of orgasm.
Then he withdrew suddenly and began spanking her as hard as
before, if not harder.

“Tell me,” he demanded, putting the full force of his

weight behind the slaps.

She clamped her legs together, doing the best she could to

protect her sensitive pussy as her ass took the full brunt of his
spanking. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, intent on
taking everything he had to offer. She savored the anticipation,
knowing that when she told him she’d had enough he would
fuck her again and she would come. That thought, the thought
of his cock filling her, made her moan.

“Tell me!”
She knew that he was ready – ready to fill her and fuck her

– and that made her hold back. Shaking her head, she pushed
her ass out farther, egging him to spank her harder. Teasing
him. He growled in frustration, spanking her with everything
he had as she laughed and then whimpered.

Finally, when her ass felt as if it were on fire and her pussy

throbbed to be filled, she threw back her head and gasped,
“Fuck me!”

He gripped her hips and thrust deep inside her, holding her

up as he fucked her hard and fast. It took no more than a few
furious strokes and she was coming, her pussy tightening
around his erection and driving him over the edge, as well. She
panted like a wild thing, holding tight to the railing as she
pushed back against him, taking his full length inside her
quivering pussy and whimpering when he bumped against her
tender ass. The combination of sensations, the fullness and the
ache, spiralled through her and she moaned as her orgasm
went on and on, stroke after stroke, until he was biting into her
shoulder to quiet his own groan of release.

He held her up, his cock slowly going soft inside her, as

their sounds of passion quieted and their sweat-slick skin
cooled. Nuzzling her neck, Ethan chuckled softly. “I hope you
aren’t disappointed that your plan didn’t work out.” Feeling
relaxed, but far from satiated, Shelley wiggled her ass against
him. “Not at all. Just wait until I get you upstairs.”

The Confidante

by Roger Frank Selby

The sun beat down on the hide – heating young Lord Underhill
inside.

Damn! It was getting too hot for this game. Easing off his

jacket he picked up the binoculars to resume his watch.

No waterfowl in sight, but the river looked cool and

inviting as hell …

A flash of white.
Hey, what was that? Someone trespassing by the shore! A

damned woman on the bank. Sitting on a blanket. Picnicking,
no doubt. He fixed his elbows to hold the view steadier. What
was this? My God! She seemed to be undressing ... She was
already out of her top clothes. Looking around, to check she
wasn’t being observed she stood and began undoing her bra ...
It was off. His pulse quickened at the sight of exposed breasts
in motion as she folded up her clothes, keeping her knickers
on. She had a really cracking figure. Now she was wading in,
waist deep, swaying her body from side to side.

God! He was just not used to the sight of naked breasts in

reality. He’d only seen his fiancée undressed a few times, and
Amanda was a trifle on the skinny side. But this woman ... His
breath came a little faster as he watched. He would eventually
have to ask her to leave of course, but to see her splash and
play without any knowledge of him observing – it made him
feel … Well, this prey was far more interesting than bloody
ducks!

She swam right over to the central island, then around to

the far side to pull herself up on the landing stage, giving him
further glimpses of breasts and thighs flashing in the sunshine.
She lay down on her back to bask on the boards.

He would catch her red handed. He slipped down into the

punt, and with his head down, let the current waft him
downriver towards her.

To his annoyance he saw that without using the pole he

was heading for the riverbank, not the island. A new plan
formed in his mind. No doubt he would get a torrent of abuse,
but even in the 21st century he was just a bit old fashioned
about this sort of liberty in the heart of his estate.

Out of her sight behind the island’s willows, the punt

grounded with a scrape that was lost among the gentle sounds
of the river. He bundled her clothing into a plastic sack and
tucked it out of sight under a gunwale. He had her now!

He punted nonchalantly around to the landing stage.
“Good afternoon!” He raised his cap.
She screamed and scrambled back into the water,

swimming around the top of the island to escape to the bank
and her clothing.

“It’s no good; I’ve confiscated the lot!” He tied the punt to

a post and stepped out onto the stage.

The woman saw that her things had gone from the bank. He

half expected her to climb out and run away like a frightened
animal, but she turned in the water to face him, her white body
rippling sensuously beneath her in the crystal water. No abuse,
just a silent frown. She waited for him to speak again.

“I’m afraid you are clearly trespassing on my property.

This is my estate and my river. You have no right to be here at
all. There are plenty of signs.”

“I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t know this was private. I’m

new around here.”

The handsome, shapely woman was in her mid-thirties, but

she spoke oddly. “I don’t get it... are you a gypsy – or should I
say a traveller?”

“I don’t mind being called a gypsy, sir.”

“Well, I should really phone the security company.”
“I’m sure there’ll be no need for that, sir. Perhaps I can

make this up to you somehow.”

“Well, I don’t see …”
The woman had swum up to the stage and pulled herself

halfway out, as wet and naked as a mermaid. ‘But, you do see,
sir!’ She laughed at his obvious embarrassment. She
completed her exit, where shapely thighs and a dark triangle
under wet knickers, showed her not to be a mermaid.

Confronted with her splendid, dripping body in the

sunshine, he felt his own body stirring. But at the social level,
the mood was moving from confronting a trespasser to
something else – looking after a guests, perhaps?

“Ah, would you like to dry off? I have a fresh towel in my

bag …”

“That be nice, sir.”
He leapt down into the punt, nearly capsizing it, and

dragged the emergency bath towel out. He handed it over and
she dried off in front of him with much shaking of her
delightful breasts, patting her bottom and mopping between
her legs.

It took a good minute, during which he had to turn away

and carefully arrange the worsted of his heavy shooting
breeches to hide his growing arousal. He glanced around. He
and the woman were completely screened from the bank.
There would be no one around for miles, anyway.

“Look, I may have been a bit hasty taking your clothes like

that, but even in this day and age you can’t just...” He
suddenly laughed at himself. “My great-grandfather used to
horsewhip trespassers.”

“Not the women, surely sir?”
“I don’t know – I expect he would have spanked a woman

like you.”

“Spanked?” Her dark blue eyes widened suddenly. “Could

he have done that?”

“He was the Lord of the Manor – as I am. In those days, he

could do more or less as he thought fit. He was the law – but

times have changed, of course.” He smiled, then his eyebrows
furrowed at her thoughtful look. “What?”

“Pity, ain’t it – that you can’t do that no more... But we

could go back in time, sir.” Her country voice was softer but
deeper, her manner, mischievous.

He looked intently at her. “Yes, we could ...” Quite

gloriously bare-breasted, she had gone back in time. She thrust
her perfect, brown nipples out at him in an insolent flaunt. He
felt his face flush as his heart raced. “How dare you come on
my land and swim naked in my river, you brazen woman!”

“I’m not quite naked – I kept me knickers on, for modesty,

like ... and I’m really very sorry, sir.”

“I’ll make you sorrier, woman! Come with me.”
“All right, sir.”
He grabbed the towel from her hand and clamped her arm

in his grip. Then he marched her, breasts bouncing at all
angles, to a secluded bench among the willows of the island.
He felt his body respond with each jiggle of her mobile body.

He sat down quickly, doubled the towel over his lap and

beckoned her across his knee while loosening the tight worsted
at his groin. She draped herself over his lap. Her breasts hung
down, brushing his left thigh. He positioned her wide bottom
on his right, the stretched knickers still damply sticking to her
skin.

“Please don’t spank me too hard, sir.”
“I will spank you as I see fit, young lady.”
He raised his right hand, aiming for a spot just above the

dark patch nestling between her bottom cheeks.

“And please don’t smack my bare bum.”
“I won’t bare you completely, young woman, but you will

feel my hand hard against your skin.” He eased the material
up, over the globes of her bottom, and rolled it into the valley
between. It pulled tight around the dark bulges of her labia
lower down, a few wisps of hair escaping each side. That
would add some extra protection. He didn’t wish to sting her
there ...

Smack!

“Ow!”
At the fist hard slap of his hand on her buttock, she knew

him to be a natural – but inexperienced. This was the fist time
he’d ever spanked a grown woman, she felt sure. Somehow,
this fitted in with his quaint shooting clothes.

Smack! Each one hurt a little, but he varied the impact

point each time, often taking her by surprise, and sometimes
his hand would linger and clench a handful of her buttock, or
shimmy her cheeks around a little. At each smack she would
utter a small yelp – more of surprise than pain as he worked
over her rump. She felt a wonderful tingling warmth from her
bottom, which was probably glowing a little pink by now. She
wanted something more now ...

Smack!
“Oh! Can you bare me properly now, please, sir?”
“Right.”
She wriggled a little to help him as he pulled the material

down and out from between her buttocks and down her legs.
She felt the coldness of her wet puss between red hot cheeks.
She kicked off her knickers. Naked at last!

He spanked her a few more times, but with less resolve

than before. Perhaps he was becoming distracted with the
more open view? He ran his hand all over and around the full
width of her bottom, his fingers lingering in the valley
between. She felt a finger draw down and across her anus.

“Oh!” He touched her wet lips ever so gently. She felt them

separated and lightly probed. Then his fingers slipped up
inside her. She moaned softly.

While he moved deeper, she reached back across his lap

and found the great tension under his trousers.

He unbuttoned the heavy breeches single handed, and she

put her hand inside. She curled her fingers around the hot,
broad member she found lurking there.

“You got a nice cock there for me, sir!”
“You think he’s there for you, do you, young woman?”
“I don’t see no other bare-arsed girl around here, and he

seems that ready for one, sir.”

“He certainly is!”
From the fumbling, they stood up. She released him, and

while he stood with his cock pointing up at her, she pulled his
trousers down. Breathless, she knelt and took him deep into
her mouth. Her tongue licked around his shaft.

“Ah!”
He seemed to like her doing that. She felt his body jerk

with the movement of him tearing off his shirt. She began to
bob her mouth on him, moving her lips backwards and
forwards along his substantial length.

“Ahhhhh!”
She tasted him. He was ready – she was too; she had never

felt such urgency! Her mouth released him. “Now, for God’s
sake; give it to me now – fuck me!” She spread the blanket on
the ground and got down on it on her hands and knees. He
kicked off his remaining clothes, but he seemed a bit
nonplussed at her position. He touched her shoulder as if to
roll her onto her back. It suddenly dawned on her how
inexperienced he probably was – he’d never done it like this
before. “Come up behind me, sir ... Let me have it from
behind, like.”

“Oh, right!”
Here was her delightful heart-shaped bottom again –

glowing pink from the spanking. He smacked it again once or
twice more, then spread her wide with his hands, separating
her lips to be touched and opened wider by the freshly licked
head of his cock.

She sighed deeply as he slid up inside her. He felt the

enveloping warmth inside.

His hand ran around the fullness of her behind and settled

around her neat waist. She wiggled and rotated her hips below
his hands as if skewering herself deeper upon him.

He sensed that she was revelling in it just as much as he

was. As the sun warmed his naked back and buttocks he began
his long, deep thrusts into her. Sometimes they were slow and
gentle, sometimes faster and harder, making her cry out with
each firm impact against her bottom. She moaned as she

moved. Her moans began softly, then louder as she moved
against him, her buttocks quivering with each impact.

For long minutes they fucked. His hands wandered over her

back and reached under to cup and squeeze each swinging
breast. Then he felt her increasing pace, and the spasm of her
inner muscles that seemed to be milking his cock. They both
came together in a howling climax as he hammered into her,
shooting his seed deep inside her, releasing in long spurts of
satisfaction, her encircling muscles squeezing him hard ...

He lay back too long in the afterglow, still inside her. He

may have dozed off. Then he became aware of the sound of
the punt being pushed away from the stage. He jumped up.
“Hey, don’t go!”

“But I have to, sir,” she shouted across the water, still half

naked; “I have an appointment.” She poled the punt as if she
had done it before.

He looked around for his clothing. Gone. Everything.

“Hey! What about my clothes?”

“Just a minute ...” She reached the bank wearing just her

knickers, but rapidly dressed from the contents of the plastic
bag. Like a fool he waited until she finally put her shoes on.
“Your clothes are in the boat,” she yelled, running off.

“What’s your name?” he called after her, but she may have

been out of earshot as she disappeared behind the willows.

Ah well – he could see from here that the towel was also in

the boat. He needed a dip. He would swim over, dry and dress
at his leisure, and the current was in his favour ... But the punt
was already drifting downstream. Without her weight it had
re-floated. No problem, the current would move them both at
the same rate – as long as he reached the punt before that
faster-moving shallow stretch. He carefully walked barefoot to
the landing stage and plunged in.

On surfacing, the punt looked a long way off, but he set off

strongly towards it. Still twenty yards away it began to
accelerate in the shelving waters. A moment later his knee hit
a submerged rock and his foot scraped the bottom. It was
getting too shallow to swim. He stood and tried to wade

though the rapids but the sharp rocks were hurting his feet ...

“Ouch!” He’d stepped on something really sharp. He

hobbled to the bank, looked at the blood welling from the sole
of his right foot, then at his punt, receding into the distance.
“Damn!”

Back at the hide he wrapped his feet in strips of old

sacking, and then covered his modesty with more of the same.
Feeling like a pale fakir he somehow made his way across
country, diving into hedgerows whenever a car came past on
the estate roads. He got through the big gates, along the drive
and up the house steps unseen.

He rang the bell. It seemed to take an age before anyone

came.

“I’m very sorry, this is … My goodness – it’s you sir!”
“Of course it’s me Forbes! Now can you smuggle me

upstairs before anyone sees?’

Forbes glanced behind him briefly. ‘The coast is clear.

Follow me, sir!” Forbes seemed to be enjoying this.

“Has this anything to do with your interest in Buddhism,

sir, may I ask?” Forbes ventured, as they ascended the stairs.

“No, it bloody well hasn’t!”
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
It felt very odd sneaking about his own house, but they

made it to his dressing room without incident. He saw that
Forbes had already laid out his clothes for dinner. “Do we
have guests?”

“Your fiancée and a friend of hers are here, sir. I believe

they are both staying for dinner.”

“Oh, God, Forbes, I’d quite forgotten! Have you made all

the arrangements?”

“All is in hand, sir. Your guests are waiting in the library.”
Forbes performed his usual miracles, plus some minor

work with the First Aid box on his foot. He did not enquire
again as to the reason for his master’s loss of attire.

Amanda came out of the library and met him coming down

the curving stairway. She kissed him on the cheek. “You look
splendid, darling! Really caught the sun today. Had a good

shoot on the water?”

“Yes thanks, darling. Ah, not much of a bag. Had a go at a

beautiful big bird by the water, gave her both barrels, but she
got away from me somehow ... Lovely weather though.”

“A friend of mine has just arrived from town. I’d like you

to meet her.”

They went into the library. As the woman turned from the

bookshelves to face him, he began to realise that this was not
his day.

“Lady Caroline Browne, may I present my fiancé, Lord

Underhill. Darling, my old friend and confidante, Caroline …
Are you OK, darling?”

“Er, fine thanks, darling. Maybe just a touch of sunstroke

… Enchanté, Lady Caroline!” He took the offered hand and
kissed it. She smiled and dipped a small curtsy, revealing a lot
of cleavage.

“I am so very pleased to meet you in the flesh at last!” Her

dark blue eyes sparkled. “Amanda has told me so much about
you.”

“Caroline is currently acting the lead role in a West End

play.”

The word ‘confidante’ had just sunk in. He felt the walls of

the room closing in on him. “Ah – that wouldn’t be the one
about gypsies, would it?”

Shopaholic

by Laurel Aspen

Nula liked her blokes old-fashioned, her men to be men. Show
her a “new man” and she’d show him the door. There was no
need for chaps to be apologetic about their masculinity in
Nula’s presence, quite the reverse. In her considered opinion a
girl sometimes needed to be taken firmly in hand and Neil, her
husband was the man who certainly did it for her.

Tentatively, all too acutely aware of three livid stripes

decorating the lower curves of her pert posterior, she walked
around the department store. High heels, short steps; short
skirt, no bending.

Nula prayed she didn’t meet anyone she knew. Not that

Neil would mind, no doubt he found the whole scenario
amusing. After all, shopping had got her into the fix in the first
place, and all because Neil had come home unexpectedly
early.

Half an hour to go yet before this damsel in distress

reached the privacy of home. Nula felt a surge of sexual
excitement coursing through her; moistened at the prospect of
the second half of her punishment still to come.

“Nula!”
“Hi honey, you’re home early,” Nula tried not to sound so

obviously startled.

“Looking good,” said her husband Neil appreciatively.

“Hey, what’s that behind the chair?”

Nula looked guilty. “I, er, did a little shopping.”

“A little shopping – Jeez Nula! More new clothes, we

talked about this.”

“I know but …”
“But nothing, we can’t afford to go running up credit card

bills.”

“Bloody hell, Neil.” Nula pouted winsomely. “It’s only a

couple of things, they look really nice on, I’m sure you’ll like
them.”

Neil ignored her pleading tone. “You agreed the rules; we

discuss purchases together. Break the agreement and expect to
be taken to task.”

Oh dear, Neil had decidedly old-fashioned ideas about

discipline.

“I’ll pay back the joint account,” she tried, hopefully.
“You’ll pay now,” growled Neil, bringing his hand sharply

down on her tightly-jeaned backside.

“You’re going to spank me?” enquired Nula, hopefully.
“You wish,” said Neil with a wicked glint in his eye. “No, I

think this behaviour warrants something more adventurous,
my naughty little shopaholic. Listen carefully, here’s what I
want you to do …”

Dressed as instructed Nula had stood in front of the undisputed
master of the house. Bare legs, high-heeled strappy sandals
and the very short skirt she’d bought that morning.

“Very attractive, Nula. You were right, the outfit does look

good,” agreed Neil, “although I can’t believe you intended that
skirt for anywhere but indoors.”

“No, definitely not,” Nula was quick to reassure him, “it

was just something I’d thought you’d like.”

“And I do,” abruptly his tone changed, “but since you can’t

keep to simple agreements I intend to punish you. Bend
forward and grasp your ankles.”

Mutely, Nula obeyed, acutely aware that, bent over in this

manner, the skirt revealed the lower cheeks of her admirably
firm bottom, her modesty protected by only a slender thong.

“Good, now brace yourself, girl.” Gosh, Neil had never

sounded so commanding; she loved it when he took control.
“Three strokes of the cane to begin with,” he said firmly.

“The cane? But you’ve never, I didn’t even know we had

one …” Nula’s protest was interrupted by a swishing sound
and a sharp impact on the lower cheeks of her buttocks.
“OW!” A fiery band blazed across the lower part of her
haunches, Nula frantically jiggled her hips in response to the
sting.

“Back in position,” Neil ordered, “straighten your legs.”
The fire of the first stroke was still spreading across her

nates when the second fell, exactly parallel, an inch lower.

“OOOF!” Nula cried out. “Blimey! Right on the sit spot.”
“And the last one, for now,” said Neil calmly.
“Ow, Neil!” Both hands flew to her scalded cheeks; toes

tapping an involuntary dance; Nula straightened up, flushed
and excited.

“Smarts, doesn’t it?” he smiled. “Right, let’s see how much

you really like shopping. We’ll drive into town – dressed
exactly as you are – and you’ll walk around each of the three
floors of the department store where you bought that skirt.
Bend even slightly and those stripes will be clearly visible and
don’t even think of dodging off to the Ladies, because I’ll be
watching. Once your little promenade is over, it’s back here
for another three strokes making six of the best in all.”

Blushing furiously at the recall of her incipient exposure to

lascivious gaze Nula made it to the department store exit with
a sigh of relief. Sitting in the car on the way home was less
uncomfortable than the ride into town, perhaps because the
risky escapade had been such a turn on. The public part of her
penance was over, but she still had three strokes of the cane to
endure.

Any thoughts that Neil might show clemency quickly

disappeared once they were over the threshold. For the
conclusion of her maiden caning, Nula was draped over the
back of the sofa. Her skimpy lingerie offered no protection to
the rattan-induced burning bands of fire Neil skilfully applied,
but hurt though they undoubtedly did, Nula was stimulated to

a state of sopping arousal. Neil’s gorgeous young wife was
obviously hot to trot, so much so the narrow fabric of her
thong almost disappeared between her loosening labia.

“Please,” Nula said with a rueful smile, “I’ve taken my

medicine like a good girl and my poor, hot bottom hurts
awfully – won’t you fuck me better?” Tearing off the
redundant thong and freeing a towering erection, Neil dutifully
did.

It’d be fair to say, reflected Nula afterwards, that her

reaction to this first proper caning had been a revelation to
them both. The enthusiasm with which she’d forced her sore
haunches back towards his muscular abdomen, all the while
crying out for him to take her hard and deep had been a
passionate, unpredicted response. Indeed Nula secretly rather
hoped history might repeat itself and soon. Meanwhile, Neil
was determined to find an excuse for further punishments and
equally orgasmic conclusions.

Several weeks passed before Neil saw his opportunity. Nula
had started a new job and characteristically celebrated her first
week’s pay with a small impulse purchase. Unluckily for her
Neil just happened to have stopped off at the same mall and by
even crueller fate he’d seen her stowing a shoebox in the boot
of her car.

There was absolutely no point in arguing when confronted

back at home, not least because she was secretly rather pleased
to have been caught. Nula’s shoe fetish was clearly just
another manifestation of her shopaholic misdemeanours.

“Yes, Neil,” Nula meekly replied when told to be in the

lounge in 10 minutes to face the consequences of her
profligacy. It’ll be my bottom on the receiving end again, she
thought, with a sharp pang of adrenalin-fuelled excitement,
better make sure I look as good as possible.

Hence the low cut black dress – and beneath it her finest

lingerie – when she reappeared.

Neil was impressed but tried not to show it. Two dining

chairs were stood incongruously together, back to back in the

centre of the room. “Kneel there,” he instructed quietly,
“knees on one side, hands the other, let the backs support your
middle.”

Quickly Nula scrambled to obey. “Could we,” she

tentatively suggested, “draw the curtains in case the
neighbours see?”

“Certainly not,” her stern spouse was emphatic. “I’ve

nothing to be embarrassed about.”

The naughty possibility of her chastisement being observed

sent Nula’s thrill levels spiralling, but in keeping with the
ritual she muttered a token objection.

“Right,” said Neil briskly, “we’ll have this dress up and

these panties down.” The sheer stockings and suspenders he
discovered in doing so caused an immediate stiffening of his
resolve and Neil soon had the expensive wisp of lingerie down
around her knees. Nula shivered as a cool breeze wafted across
her exposed behind; it’d soon enough be hot to the touch.

Neil paused; it took all of his considerable self-control to

resist taking his sensually-clad wife there and then.
Recovering his authority he solemnly pronounced sentence:
“A dozen, on your disobedient bare bottom.”

“Oh no, please don’t, let me off just this once and I’ll do

anything you want.” Nula made a coquettish appeal for
clemency. Right now she really would agree to any suggestion
her dominant man cared to make. Take his long thick cock in
her mouth? A pleasure. Allow him to tit fuck her and come on
her boobs? Ditto. Take it up the bum; they’d only tried it a
couple times. That hurt too at first, but afterwards …

Her reverie was shattered by the first stroke. Neil had

slipped his worn leather belt from its loops and doubled it.
Holding the tip in his left hand the buckle end in his right he
bought the hide down diagonally across her porcelain moons.
Stepping from side to side, changing effortlessly from
forehand to backhand he methodically strapped Nula’s
perfectly sculpted behind. As the strokes crossed again and
again so her pale, silky skin reddened. Nula drummed her fists,
kicked her feet and shouted, all to no avail. After the promised

dozen Neil stopped and she slumped breathless, stripes already
turning red where they overlapped.

“Too hard,” “Nula pouted, eyes wet and her lips trembling.
“Too disobedient, Neil growled, “we’re not made of

money.”

Feeling a tad guilty at her obvious distress Neil picked up a

jar of cold cream and carefully rubbed the soothing salve into
her superheated derriere. Simultaneously she slipped two
juice-slicked fingers into her vulva, pistoning the digits in and
out of her craving quim, masturbating furiously to ease the
pain and assuage her frustration. Quickly and noisily Nula
came, whereupon Neil scooped her up in his arms and carried
her off upstairs for a rather more leisurely second round.

In truth Neil was somewhat perplexed by Nula’s

ambivalent embrace of CP. What had started as spanking
foreplay had become considerably more complex. He was out
of his depth and urgently required some advice from a more
experienced hand. How best to punish Nula in future without
overdoing the severity he wondered? She clearly expected him
to be in charge – fine by him – but just how far could he go?

There was only one person who Neil respected and trusted

enough to solicit an opinion on such a confidential matter, his
boss, Rod. Time for a serious discussion, thought Neil,
reaching for his mobile phone …

That following weekend they arrived for drinks with Neil’s
boss, Rod. She’d heard much about the man Neil obviously
held in high regard and Nula was much looking forward to
meeting him.

The couple was welcomed into a substantial detached by a

commanding, dapper figure in his 50s. In manner and
appearance Rod was reminiscent of a Hollywood leading man
from the black & white era. His wife Judy, nearer to Nula’s
age than her husband’s, was equally charming although not
quite the slender, blonde trophy wife she’d expected.
Curvaceous of figure Judy was blessed with an attractive face
with cupid lips and big eyes. As she served them drinks Nula

couldn’t help but observe that Judy was walking rather stiffly.

“Good to see you,” said Rod warmly, “and really Neil

when you described Nula to me you didn’t do her justice,
she’s so very beautiful.” From anyone else such a remark
might have seemed patronising, yet so strong was Rod’s
charisma he carried it off and Nula found herself smiling coyly
in response.

“Now then,” announced Rod, after some inconsequential

chatting, “time to get to the main point of this gathering. Neil
has come to me with a couple of questions and I’m more than
pleased to proffer some advice.”

“The subject of his dilemma is domestic discipline. Now, I

always take a keen interest in the lives of my protégés – after
all, if a man can’t control his own household finances he’s
going to be no good at controlling my firm’s assets.

“Although not an exact requirement it’s certainly an

expectation that if a guy wants to get on at my company he
needs to have his home life firmly under control.

“Mine is still a private firm, I don’t have to answer to the

politically correct or fashionable whims of shareholders or the
public. I don’t advertise posts; new staff is invited to join and
senior management roles invariably go to men.

“As I understand it Neil’s enquiry encompasses two issues.
“Firstly, when dealing with an errant wife, how best to

punish a persistent offender? Now we can of course take it as
read that we are talking about corporal punishment.”

“What!” Nula was shocked. “Neil you’ve mean you’ve

been discussing our private arrangements …”

“It’s all right, Nula,” Judy placed a reassuring arm around

her shoulders. “No need to be embarrassed, I’m subject to
exactly the same regime. You’ve already noticed that I’ve
remained standing so far this evening?”

“Why, yes,” Nula replied with an uncomfortable feeling

she knew what the next revelation would be.

“That’s because when your bottom’s been as soundly

smacked as mine was shortly before you arrived sitting is to be
avoided for at least an hour or two.”

“To return to my theme,” Rod continued his monologue, “I

take it you’ve already employed the usual methods?”

“The cane, a sound strapping – yes, of course,” Neil

confirmed.

“Then allow me, with Judy’s assistance, to demonstrate

some alternative ways of enforcing your message,” said Rod.

Judy threw her husband an anxious look. “Darling, must

I...?”

“Yes, you must,” answered Rod with unwavering

determination. “We have already established that Judy
received a spanking earlier …”

Fidgeting awkwardly, his young wife nodded in mute

affirmation.

“Which will have amply prepared her for a humiliating

deterrent to future wayward behaviour.”

Nervously Judy wrung her hands, no longer able to look

Nula and Neil in the eye she instead turned her gaze
downwards.

“Kneel on the seat of the chair please, my dear,” Rod

instructed firmly. “Lift your dress to the waist and put your
hands on your head.”

Judy swiftly did his bidding, her raised hem revealing

perfectly sculpted thighs and prominent bottom neatly framed
by a white suspender belt and matching stockings. Through
the translucent fabric of her expensive French knickers Neil
and Nula could easily make out two blushing red cheeks and
the imprints of livid crimson finger marks. Well spanked
indeed, Nula could almost sense the throbbing smart Judy
must still be experiencing.

“If you don’t already possess one of these,” Rod was

brandishing a small multi-tailed, short handled whip, “I’ll put
you in touch with my supplier. He imports them from France,”
he continued, conversationally. “It’s a handy sized martinet,
easy to use, extremely accurate and, according to Judy, stings
like the very devil.”

The expression of apprehension on Judy’s face as she

looked apprehensively over her shoulder confirmed she was

no stranger to this particular instrument of correction.

Swit, swit, swit. Nula and Neil watched, entranced, as Rod

expertly began to chastise his wife’s errant posterior; each
cocooned in their own inner world, both, if they but knew it,
already feeling the first flush of incipient sexual stirrings.

“Oof … ah,” Schooled in obedience Judy had been trained

not to deviate from the prescribed position, instead rotating her
hips under the whip’s unforgiving onslaught.

Neil discreetly attempted to adjust his stance to

accommodate a growing bulge in his trousers; Judy had a
perfectly delectable arse. Nula, as if to prove women have a
better innate capacity for empathy, was both imagining the
increasing heat being stoked in Judy’s unfortunate
hindquarters and aware of a dampening between her own legs.

“Judy, drop you knickers to your knees please.” With a

satisfying swish of silk against nylon the flimsy covering was
surrendered. “Lean forward and reach behind you,”
commanded Rod.

Judy’s manicured red-painted fingertips alighted on each

tender globe, even this mild contact enough to cause her to
wince.

“Pull your bottom cheeks wide apart and hold them open.”
Nula gasped and Neil hastily coughed to conceal his

astonishment. Judy’s most intimate secrets were now clearly
displayed to her rapt audience, the dark star of her tightly
puckered anus and a glimpse of her dewy labia lips peaking
out from curly wisps of auburn pubic hair. She’s getting off on
this too, thought Nula, recognising the tell-tale evidence and
feeling similar sensations herself.

“When punishing naughty bare bottoms proves insufficient

then naughty orifices must be bought to book,” explained Rod.

Swit, swit swit, once more the stinging tails fell, cutting

deep into the bottom cleft. Nula didn’t need Judy’s plaintive
yell to underline just how painful those half dozen measured
blows to her intimate parts must be.

“All over now,” announced Rod solicitously helping his

delectably submissive wife unsteadily onto her feet. Gingerly

she eased her knickers up over her swollen derriere, hesitantly
smoothing her skirt into place and clutching her expertly
whipped rear.

“No lasting damage but an eminently effective

chastisement,” concluded Rod affectionately, “Judy certainly
won’t be disobeying me for the foreseeable future, whatever I
request,” he cast a conspiratorial glance at Neil, “she’ll agree
to.”

“And for my wife?” Neil asked, breaking the spell, which

seemed to have rendered him and Nula temporarily speechless.

“Neil, you can’t be suggesting …” Nula’s anguished

complaint wasn’t faked.

“We can take a prior smacked bottom as read can we?”

asked Rod, paying her objections no heed.

“Like Judy, Nula was dealt with before we came,” replied

Rod lifting Nula’s skirt in illustration.

“No!” Nula squealed at the indignity.
A familiar hand touched her shoulder. “Hush, darling,”

whispered Judy, “the men won’t be gainsaid, better to accept
their will with dignity, you’ve just seen what happens when
one rebels,” she added pointedly.

Rod showed no sign of having heard this covert exchange

but instead stooped to examine the evidence. Nula had dressed
to impress, classy but not too provocative she’d decided,
opting for an expensive Jersey wool dress that discreetly
accentuated her figure. Beneath Nula was ashamed to reveal
her modesty covered only by a pair of ultra fine tights.

Catching her off-guard Neil had pulled her over his knee

and briefly spanked her minutes before they’d left the house
earlier that evening; retaining her skimpy kickers in his pocket
in order to ensure she sat circumspectly during their visit. Nula
had a tendency to flirt after a couple of drinks and he didn’t
want his boss to think her cheap.

“To answer your question, Neil, I’d begin by curbing this

young lady’s unfortunate and annoying tendency to contradict
and talk back.”

Turning his domineering attention to Nula he fixed her with

a frown, which turned her stomach to jelly. “Smacked legs,
treated exactly as you’ve behaved, like a naughty child,” said
Rod slapping the fronts and backs of her thighs and making
Neil’s recalcitrant spouse dance and squeal,

“And for very serious offences?” Neil persisted.
“Try this,” Rod appeared inured to Nula’s protests. “My

dear kindly kneel up on the arms of that easy chair, a leg on
each side.”

Wide-eyed Nula remained transfixed. Quickly Judy moved

to her side. “Come on, darling,” she cajoled, “let me help you,
it won’t be so bad,” all the while guiding the confused woman
into the required disgracefully revealing and inelegant stance.

“Elevates and spreads her haunches,” explained Rod, and

Neil, impressed by the ease with which his boss had assumed
control, simply nodded his approval.

“Normally I insist that the target area is completely bare,

Judy would never dare wear tights anyway,” Rod went on.
“However in deference to the fact that Nula is our guest I’ll
allow her to retain them on this occasion.

“This position affords unrivalled access for punishment of

most intimate areas, you’ve already observed Judy’s inner
thighs and exquisitely sensitive and tender bottom cleft under
the lash. In this position, Neil, you have but to bring the tails
of the martinet smartly up from below and you can soon whip
that wicked little pussy. Even used softly it really stings and
smarts doesn’t it, Judy?” The remark was clearly rhetorical
since she stoically kept her counsel, cradling Nula’s head in
her bosom.

“Makes subsequent walking, sitting and, above all, sex an

extremely memorable sensation. Sparingly, mind, Neil. May I
demonstrate?”

“Of course,” Neil didn’t hesitate.
Nula’s anguished dissent was muzzled between Judy’s

ample breasts, then she wrapped her arms round Nula’s
shoulders and ensured her silence by kissing her long and
hard.

As the cruelly questing tails swung across her now sodden

sex so Nula experienced the contradictory sensation of her first
tongue-probing Sapphic kiss. In truth, Rod’s punitive
attentions to her pussy were nothing more than a token, the
ritual sufficient to make his point plain. Men gave; women
received, and were grateful.

Her martyrdom was mercifully short-lived and, pubic

mound smarting, Nula stumbled down off the chair reluctant
to surrender Judy’s embrace.

“Neil, your second query?” Rod enquired briskly.
“Simply this,” answered Neil, somehow managing to find

his voice, “how should the punitive session conclude?”

Rod, apparently anxious to move on, cut him short. “You

mean should you have sex – having thrashed her, should you
fuck her?”

Judy and Nula exchanged glances, both thrilled by the

crudity and directness of his words.

“The short answer old chap is yes. What better way to re-

establish normal relations? I don’t accept this holier than thou
denial of any sexual element to CP. The object of your
affection, preened and polished, prettily dressed and presented
– I insist on stockings and heels – has presented her most
intimate parts to you. Of course you’re aroused, you’re a red
blooded male. Don’t add insult to injury and ignore her
charms.”

“And if I might,” added Judy, “once a real man has

imposed his domain over me I feel cherished and desired.
Certainly the punishment’s painful, but it is also arousing. We
invariably conclude with sex and I recommend you both do
likewise.” Far from cowed Judy looking lasciviously at Rod.
“So I’d like to claim my reward …”

“If you’ll excuse us,” concluded Rod firmly. “Thank you

Nula most, erm, stimulating; close the door quietly after you
and I’ll see you in the office first thing Monday morning,
Neil.”

It was a few minutes into their drive home before either of

them dared speak.

“I’ve been good,” ventured Nula seductively, “endured my

punishment properly, didn’t show you up in company.”
Turning to face him from the passenger seat, she guided his
free hand to her crotch.

“You’re wet.”
Nula slid a hand between Neil’s legs. “And you’re hard as

an iron bar.”

Neil pulled urgently into a quiet turning, no streetlamps,

just trees and the light of the moon. “I can’t wait until we get
home.”

“Nor me,” gasped Nula, leaping out and leaning facedown

over the bonnet tearing down her tights as she did so. “Now
Neil – from behind …”

Later they basked in the afterglow, sharing a cigarette.
“Sunday tomorrow,” observed Neil, “what shall we do?”
“I’ve arranged with Judy to go shopping together,” giggled

Nula. “I’m sure that can’t harm your promising career.”

“But I

Meant To Pay For It!”

by Teresa Joseph

As Mrs Chantelle Templeton was escorted to the manager’s
office, it was all that the poor woman could do to keep herself
from bursting into tears.

She had tried to explain that she must have absentmindedly

put the bottle of vodka into her handbag whilst she looked for
her purse, but of course, the security guard had heard it all
before.

It was all a terrible mistake. She’d never steal anything!

She was a respected pillar of the community, a devoted wife,
member of the parish council and treasurer of the local
Christian women’s association. If the fact that she was being
arrested for shoplifting, for stealing vodka no less, ever got
out, then her reputation would be completely destroyed. If
only the security guard had been a man, she might have
considered showing a bit of leg in return for his turning a blind
eye. It would have worked, but unless this woman was a
lesbian, it didn’t look like anything was going to go her way
that day.

For all her prim and proper suburban reserve, the fact was

that despite being nearly thirty, Chantelle was still very
attractive. Tall and slim with a gorgeous figure, if only she’d
stopped dressing like such a fuddy-duddy and let her long
chestnut hair down once in a while she would have been a real
show stopper; more than enough to talk her way out of a little
misunderstanding like this. As the situation stood though, she

had to endure the public humiliation of being marched past the
tills to the manager’s office by a life size ‘security guard
Barbie’ who was probably only just out of school. Then, to
add insult to injury, her next door neighbour, Mrs Robins was
stood in one of the queues, and though she tried to cover her
face, Chantelle was sure that she’d been spotted.

“I can explain everything,” blurted Chantelle as she was led

into the office, baring her soul to the woman who sat behind
the desk. “It was an honest mistake. I must have put it in my
handbag when I …”

“What, so you’re not going to blame it on PMT, then, are

you, madam?” interrupted the manager sarcastically. “Do you
have any idea how many times we hear that in one day? The
fact is, whether by stupidity or design, you left a shop with a
£27 bottle of vodka concealed in your purse without making
any attempt to purchase it. Anything else is a matter for the
police.”

“Please no!” said Chantelle, leaping forward to stop the

manager from picking up the phone. Then looking down at the
name bar on the desk, she made a feeble attempt to connect
with her. “Look … Ms Crosby. Surely there must be some
other way to settle this?”

The manager pondered for a moment.
“Sonia,” she said finally, addressing the security guard.

“You can go back to work now, I’ll handle it from here.” And
as Sonia left, closing the door behind her, the two ladies
looked at each other for a moment as if they were each waiting
for the other to blink.

The manager sat thoughtfully in her leather swivel chair,

the very embodiment of calm; resting her fingertips together as
she decided whether or not to give this haughty little mare a
second chance.

Wearing a well-tailored two piece navy blue skirt suit,

white blouse, opaque tights and black court shoes, she was as
smart and well groomed as the woman who stood before her.
But whilst Ms Crosby kept her long red hair in a bun to denote
her authority, this woman who stood awkwardly before her

with her hands in her lap did so solely to impress the
neighbours.

Yvette Crosby hated women like this. She was dressed like

it was 1958 in a ‘lady-like’ calf-length skirt and white cotton
blouse, pearls and four inch black stilettos. They were nearly
the same age, but whilst Yvette had climbed the ladder and
been put in charge of a large supermarket, this woman’s
highest achievement was probably getting a new kitchen
before anyone else in her street. As far as Yvette was
concerned, this type of woman’s entire life could be summed
up with one phrase; ‘dull women have immaculate houses’.

Smiling politely, Yvette decided to have some fun and hold

out an olive branch for the little tealeaf.

“Well, Mrs Templeton, is it? If you feel that it’s not

necessary for the police to get involved, then I’m sure that we
can come to some sort of an arrangement.”

Chantelle felt her heartbeat return to normal as a wave of

relief washed over her. She was just about to thank Ms Crosby
when the manager issued her terms.

“Let your hair down, take off your skirt and your knickers

and lay yourself across my knee.”

Chantelle stared in disbelief. Had she heard her correctly?
“Let your hair down, take your skirt and knickers off and

lay across my knee,” reiterated the manager, speaking slowly
and clearly, as if patronising a wayward toddler.

Chantelle obviously refused. There was no way that this

cow was going to treat her like a twelve-year-old. But of
course, the second that the manager reached for the phone to
call the police, the steadfast, prim and proper housewife
couldn’t get her knickers off fast enough.

Naked from the waist down, Chantelle then delicately lay

across the manager’s knee, resting her hands on the floor and
presenting her firm ripe bottom to Yvette like a trophy.

“Now I understand that you are going to have to spank

me,” she stuttered nervously, brushing her chestnut long hair
out of the way and looking over her shoulder at Yvette. “But I
must insist that you …Oww.”

“Quiet you pilfering cow!” snapped the manager, obviously

losing her patience with her. “You’re in no position to make
demands. So stay quiet and take what’s coming to you. And
don’t be such a baby. I only gave you a little smack and
there’s plenty more where that came from.”

Coming to terms with her situation, Chantelle bit her lip

and did her best to be brave as Yvette began to put some
colour in her cheeks. Not since her twenty-first birthday when
her Auntie Sylvia had caught her drinking had she been
spanked by a woman, but Yvette’s firm manner and swift,
expert strokes soon brought it all flooding back to her.

On her birthday, with her parents away and Auntie Sylvia

in town shopping, Chantelle had felt free to invite three of her
less respectable university friends to come and celebrate with
her. After a quick set of doubles tennis however, this had soon
degenerated into a drinking binge, care of the mini bar in her
father’s study.

As fate would have it however, Auntie Sylvia had arranged

to return early and treat the birthday girl to a meal. But when
she had walked in on the four girls sitting plastered and
giggling on the floor in their tennis whites, she was too furious
to care.

Storming into the room and screaming so much that two of

the girls burst into tears then and there, Sylvia had pulled
Chantelle’s friends up onto their feet and chased them out of
the house. Then, making the girls stand in the driveway and
touch toes, she had smacked each girl’s bottom in turn,
making it clear that she never wanted to see any of them again.

And then with a few dozen smacks each across the front of

their thighs to emphasise the point, she had sent the girls
packing and marched back upstairs to deal with her wayward
niece.

Realising how angry her auntie was, Chantelle had used the

few minutes she had been given to try to clear up the room
before she returned. It was a feeble attempt to curry her favour
and she knew it, but what else could she have done.

As her heart pounded like a drum, she had been desperately

trying to clear away all the bottles when she had heard
Sylvia’s footsteps on the stairs.

It was too late, she had run out of time. So realising that she

had to take what was coming to her, she stood politely with
her hands in her lap just as she always had and awaited her
auntie’s arrival.

Only nine years older than Chantelle and virtually her

spitting image, Sylvia was still by far the more mature of the
two of them. Dressed in a smart two-piece skirt suit with
matching handbag, shoes, hat and gloves; with not a hair out
of place or a smudge on her makeup and with the seams of her
stockings as straight as a ruler, she put the little strumpet to
shame.

Sighing disappointedly as she removed her hat and gloves,

Sylvia ordered Chantelle to take her knickers down and
remove her skirt. Then perching herself upon the leather
swivel chair in an elegant and ladylike fashion, Sylvia had
taken the trembling waif across her knee and proceeded to
spank her in an equally formal and ladylike manner.

Striking each cheek in turn, she had made Chantelle count

along with the strokes, repeating them if she was too busy
gasping with pain to do so.

As she exquisitely punished her drunken niece, the

expression on her face said it all.

“Your mother and I would have thought that you’d have

learnt your lessons by now. But if you’re going to be difficult,
then I guess that I’m just going to have to repeat myself.”

And now, eight years later, Chantelle was receiving yet

another refresher course.

Having set the pace with two dozen firm and rhythmic

strokes across the middle of Chantelle’s bottom, Yvette set to
work setting her whole bottom ablaze; striking each cheek in
turn with relentless horizontal and vertical strokes, ensuring
that every inch of her flesh stung like hell.

Tears began to well up in Chantelle’s eyes as the stinging

sensations in her bottom grew. She was doing her best to be
brave, to bite her lip and take it like a woman: but it was all

just becoming too much. Yvette’s strokes were as inevitable
and rhythmical as a swinging pendulum. It was almost as if
she were counting along to an invisible metronome and giving
Chantelle a second to savour the sting as it bloomed, spreading
over her bottom before she administered the next stroke. But
then, just as she thought that Yvette was never going to stop,
out of the blue, the manager ordered Chantelle to stand and let
her inspect her handiwork.

Standing half-naked and posing for a complete stranger

with her hands crossed in her lap to hide her shame, Chantelle
felt hopeful nevertheless. Her cheeks were as rosy as cherry
blossom and the throbbing sting was so intense that it took all
her courage to keep herself from weeping like a baby. She had
taken her punishment, and so any second now Yvette was
going to say that she was free to go, all she had to do was be
patient. But then in an instant, her hopes were smashed like a
piece of cheap Greek crockery.

“That’s lovely,” said Yvette. “A wonderful warm up if I do

say so myself. Come and lay across my knee again and we’ll
get on with your punishment.”

Her hopes of an early release now completely shattered,

Chantelle’s brave front crumbled into dust and the poor,
beleaguered woman began to sob uncontrollably. She wanted
to go home, but Yvette was determined that she would learn
her lesson.

“Get back over my knee!” demanded Yvette, more stern

and forceful than ever.

Chantelle refused.
Practically pouncing on her detainee, the manager leapt up

from behind her desk and began to smack Chantelle’s thighs,
holding the woman’s wrists up out of the way as she did so.

“Get. Back. Over. My. Knee!”
But Chantelle was determined, and wriggling like a worm

on a hook, she struggled to get free.

Ms Crosby had had enough. Dragging the pilfering little

mare back to her desk kicking and screaming all the way, she
pulled her down over her knee, held her hands together up

behind her head and proceeded to beat her bottom with all of
her furious might.

Chantelle kicked like a mule, but to know avail. As long as

her bottom was perched over Ms Crosby’s lap she was
helpless.

The malicious spanking was absolutely relentless. Gone

were the precise and perfectly timed strokes, and in their place
a barrage of unfiltered rage spanking her rump as hard and as
often as humanly possible.

Her cheeks now ablaze, the anguish had long since become

far too much and Chantelle’s shrieking pleas for mercy filled
the room.

“Please, Ms Crosby! Stop it!” she wailed, but the more she

squealed, the angrier the manager became.

At last the manager stopped, but sadly it was only a brief

intermission. Having caught her breath and taken a wooden
ruler from her desk drawer, Ms Crosby continued to punish the
woman’s cheeks, ferociously paddling her with the crude
makeshift implement.

As the welts began to rise, covering her bottom in angry,

swollen purple marks, Chantelle’s pleading finally ceased and
she hung her head and wept. It was all just too much to bear.

Too exhausted to continue, Yvette finally stopped and

ordered Chantelle back onto her feet. Then handing her a
Kleenex, she told her to stand in the corner with her hands
behind her head and savour the stinging consequences of her
attempted theft.

Despite the intense pain of the stinging welts that covered

her bottom, Chantelle stood motionless for a full half an hour
whilst the manager decided what to do next. Yvette was quite
impressed with her discipline and wondered why she had
behaved so childishly earlier. But then, Chantelle had spent
many nights standing in the corner, displaying her freshly
punished bottom to her auntie and in later years to her
husband, and so she had had a lot of practice.

After much deliberation, Yvette called Sonia on the

intercom and asked her to come to the office, and as she

entered, the sight of Mrs Templeton stripped to the waist,
spanked and stood in the corner like a naughty schoolgirl
made her burst out giggling.

“Ah, there you are,” greeted the manager, still rubbing her

sore hands together in an attempt to soothe the sting. “As you
can see, Mrs Templeton’s rehabilitation is already well
underway, but I’m afraid that I’m too tired to continue, so I
wonder if you wouldn’t mind taking over?”

Sonia thought for a moment, biting her lip to try and hold

back her sniggers. She hadn’t done anything like this before,
and frankly, she was a bit embarrassed. But in the end though,
she agreed. After all, it looked like fun.

Making the suspect stand in the centre of the room with her

hands behind her back, Sonia smacked the haughty little
bitch’s thighs as hard as she could. All the time, she barked at
her like a drill sergeant, making her feel utterly wretched as
Ms Crosby sat back and watched with a satisfied grin on her
face.

Taking off her belt and folding it into a loop, Sonia then

began to whip Mrs Templeton’s thighs, letting her turn away
after each stroke only to whip another part of the skin with the
next stroke.

For a first timer, Sonia was doing incredibly well. She

obviously had the cruel streak of a disciplinarian, and once she
had got started, she definitely seemed to be in her element.
Nevertheless, Yvette decided to offer a few helpful
suggestions.

“Excuse me, Sonia,” she interrupted. “You’re doing really

well, but letting her keep her hands behind her back means she
can rub her bottom better. Maybe you could make her stand
with her hands behind her head; it’s more efficient and quite
fun as well.”

Thanking Ms Crosby, the security guard followed her

advice and made Chantelle keep her hands out of the way as
she continued to lash her thighs with the belt, completely
ignorant of Chantelle’s beseeching whimpers.

She remembered standing there in her father’s study,

humiliated and frightened with her chin up, her hands behind
her head and tears streaming down her face as her auntie
marched back and forth in front of her, demanding to know
every detail of what had happened. And if she was slow to
answer, stuttered or Sylvia didn’t like what she heard, the
painful smack across her thighs soon had her weeping and
begging for mercy.

As well as being a humiliating ‘sissy girl’s’ punishment,

when Sylvia had smacked her thighs it had really hurt. After
every stroke, a burning pink handprint would develop that
sometimes lasted for days.

She had been forced to stand there for two hours, never

being allowed to ease the sting or to wipe the tears from her
eyes as her auntie punished her, till finally she was sent to
stand in the corner. And now, trapped in a similar situation,
the thought of reliving the whole experience terrified her. She
didn’t think she’d be able to take it again, not for two hours.

Never daring to put her hands down, Chantelle did her best

to avoid the venomous leather by moving further and further
away from Sonia; first by turning away, then by shuffling and
then by trying to step out of reach.

As the sting in her thighs intensified, Chantelle became

more and more desperate, stepping further and further away,
until eventually, the security guard was literally chasing her
around the room.

Sadly though, it was all completely futile. Hobbling along

in her high heels, Chantelle was just too slow and too clumsy
to escape, so the security guard was thrashing the backs of her
thighs every step of the way.

Still sat behind her desk watching the display, Ms Crosby

wasn’t enraged as you would probably expect her to be, nor
did she try to stop and punish Chantelle for her insolence. On
the contrary in fact, she was having so much fun that she
didn’t want it to stop.

So desperate was Chantelle’s desire to flee that she didn’t

notice that she was being herded like a goat. Driving her
around the room with her belt, Sonia toyed with the poor

frightened woman for a full five minutes, chasing her around
in circles and in zigzag lines, much to Ms Crosby’s
amusement, before finally trapping the thief in a corner and
beating her thighs till they glowed.

Ms Crosby gave her young novice a standing ovation, and

grinning wickedly, Sonia took a bow. She was talented and
eager, and in Yvette’s opinion, she had a lot of potential. But
despite all this, Sonia was still a little rough around the edges,
so taking another Kleenex from her desk, Yvette walked over
and let Chantelle dry her tears before giving Sonia a couple of
pointers.

Making Mrs Templeton stand touch her toes and borrowing

the security guard’s belt for a moment, the manager
demonstrated a few precision techniques, using Chantelle’s
swollen purple bottom as a target.

The poor woman bit her lip and held on for dear life as a

barrage of hard, well-centred strokes rained down on her sore
cheeks. Even though it was enough to make welts form on her
welts she still held on, but when it came time for Ms Crosby to
demonstrate her famous double lash technique, Chantelle
simply couldn’t take it any more.

Swinging the belt in a perfect “figure of eight” motion, the

manager beat each cheek in turn, one after the other with
barely a quarter of a second between strokes. Chantelle
screamed like mad, begging her to stop, but of course she was
completely ignored. Yvette was busy talking to Sonia and so
until she had finished, the irritating little wimp would have to
wait.

Chantelle had had enough. Putting her hands behind her to

cover her cheeks, she stood up, turned around and demanded
that they let her go.

Snorting with complete contempt for the woman, Yvette

slapped Chantelle around the face to remind her who was in
charge. And like a timid schoolgirl who had been ordered to
clean her room, she slowly turned round and bent back over to
take the rest of her medicine. At the end of the day, Chantelle
was all bark and no bite.

Next came Sonia’s opportunity to put what she had learnt

into practice. And when she had finished, Yvette asked
Chantelle to critique the security guard’s performance.

“It was very good, Ms Crosby,” wept Chantelle.
“And how did it compare to mine?”
“A little sloppier perhaps, but still just as painful. She

needs to work on her ‘figures of eight’, but that’s just a matter
of practice.”

Yvette was quite impressed with her analysis. But then, if

there was one thing

Chantelle was qualified to speak on, it was the impact of

corporal punishment.

Finally, at long, long last, Chantelle was told to put her

skirt and knickers back on, take her handbag and get out of
Yvette’s sight with a firm warning never to set foot in her
supermarket again, or she would show Sonia a few more tricks
of the trade.

With an ultimatum like that, she was only too happy to

oblige.

Chantelle then scurried home, stopping in the ladies toilets

to clean herself up on the way. But as she got closer to home
however, she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of reception
she could expect from her husband when she got there.

A firm disciplinarian himself, since their honeymoon

Chantelle had spent many hours laid over John’s knee or bent
double ready to take the cane. And if their gossipy neighbour
had indeed told him that she’d been taken to the manager’s
office for stealing liquor, she was sure that he wasn’t going to
be happy.

Shaking with nerves as she put her key in the latch,

Chantelle walked through her front door to find her husband
stood in the hallway with a face like thunder.

“Out on police bail, are you?” he snapped sarcastically. It

was clear that the neighbour had let the cat out of the bag.

“No, darling,” replied Chantelle. “The police weren’t

involved.”

Then closing the door behind her, she took her skirt and

knickers down to show him the marks.

“The manageress and a female security guard punished me

and said that I was never to go there again or they’d punish me
again.”

John nodded.
“Well,” he said. “It doesn’t look like you need any further

correction this evening, although I will need you to go to the
supermarket tomorrow and every day for the next week. Don’t
worry, I’ll call the manager and arrange everything.”

Chantelle stared at John in disbelief, but quickly put her

head back down and complied. After all, what did she expect?

“Oh, and by the way,” he continued, smiling a little as he

did so. “I rang your Auntie Sylvia, and when I told her what
happened, she agreed to come and stay with us next month.
She may have said something about ‘correcting unladylike
behaviour’, but I guess we’ll just have to see.”

Chantelle sighed dejectedly. The next time this happened,

she’d ring the police herself.

After Party

by Cyanne

It’s always the same at the end of a party. A handful of people
who just want one more line, one more drink, to hear that tune
again, and that night was no exception.

Me, my boyfriend Dan, and our mate Nathan, the clock

striking three and some wine left in the bottle that we just
couldn’t leave. Red wine always makes me horny, and as the
boys were discussing their cars my eyes and mind wandered.
From Dan’s full lips, his broad shoulders, his big brown hands,
to Nathan’s cocky open-legged stance, his floppy fringe, the
fact that his girlfriend Mel was in Mexico and he must be
missing her …

Earlier that evening Dan and I had had to abandon our

quickie as everyone started arriving. All night I had been
knickerless, wet, and waiting. Waiting for my chance to get
Dan on his own in the bathroom or sneak off to our bedroom
to finish what we’d started, but now other ideas were creeping
in.

I remember discussing with a girl-friend the theory that

almost everyone is up for group sex, but very few people are
prepared to initiate it. As I sipped my wine and let my eyes
linger over the two guys I thought back to the conversation
and it seemed to make sense. I felt a twinge in my pussy as I
imagined tangling with these two men. Dan’s strong, knowing
touch, and the excitement of Nathan touching me for the first
time, arms and legs everywhere, being surrounded and

enveloped by male bodies, four hands all over me, two voices,
two mouths.

I had always had a soft spot for Nathan which I was pretty

sure was reciprocated, and Dan’s pretty open-minded, how
hard could it be? I caught Nathan’s eye and gave him my best
come on look, which he replied to with a cheeky wink. I held
his gaze and started to kiss Dan on the neck, the cheek, and
then deeply on the lips, stroking my hand up his chest. Dan
laughed warmly and threw his arm around me.

Upping my game a bit, I straddled Dan, pushing him back

on the sofa and kissing him hard. “I think someone wants you
to take her to bed, mate,” Nathan laughed from the other sofa.

“You can come too if you want,” I said, trying to make it

sound like a joke.

Dan laughed and hit me gently on the bum, “Jen! Behave!

Too much bloody wine, God knows what you’re like when
I’m not around.”

Nathan was looking at me intently. I just smiled.
Draining his glass, Dan stood up and stretched, “That’s me

I think, you alright crashing down here Nath? Help yourself to
breakfast if I’m not up.”

At least I was finally getting to finish what I’d started with

Dan even if it didn’t look like I’d be getting the attentions of
two men tonight. I walked up the stairs in front of him. My
dress wasn’t that short but, ever the exhibitionist, I wriggled it
up a bit to make sure he got a good view. He slipped his hand
up under my arse and let his fingers graze my lips as I walked.
Heavenly.

As we reached the top of the stairs I was already close to

orgasm. Stumbling into the bedroom in a flurry of lust and
clothes I fell back on the bed, my dress up round my waist and
my pussy offered up to Dan, whose jeans were bulging nicely.
He watched me as I toyed with my clit and lips, rubbing
himself through his jeans.

My mobile was in its usual place beside the bed and I saw

my chance as Dan was fumbling around looking for a new box
of condoms. New message. ‘Want 2 watch?’ Send. Nathan

Mobile. Message sent.

I heard footsteps on the wooden floor almost instantly. Any

panic I felt was quickly superseded by excitement. I love being
watched, being admired, and, if I’m honest, being wanked
over.

Dan stretched out on his back, his feet, thankfully, towards

the door. The landing was pitch black but the dim light in the
bedroom just reflected Nathan’s eyes as they appeared in the
small gap. I had to be careful, if this went wrong it could be
disastrous.

Enjoying the feeling of wearing a dress with no knickers I

kept it on, and started to unzip Dan, his cock bursting to get
out of his jeans. I bent over and took him in my mouth, letting
him slide my dress up over my arse to get a better view. He
loves eating pussy more than any man I’ve ever met and
gently pulled me round till I sat over his face while I was
sucking him off. He pressed his lips to me so gently that I
cried out, and sat up off his cock arching my back and pulling
down the front of my dress to show Nathan my tits. I ground
myself against Dan’s gorgeous lips, rubbing my nipples and
pushing my breasts up. I came in a flash, overwhelmed by the
combination of perfect oral and filthy showing off.

Dan’s cock was glistening rock hard and I licked his pre-

come gently as he unwrapped the condom. I glanced towards
Nathan, and saw in the darkness the unmistakable glint of his
cock as he rubbed it, and could just make out his quickening
breathing. I turned towards him as I pulled off my dress,
knowing how slutty I looked wearing nothing but a quarter
cup blue and black bra which my tits were spilling out of, my
heavy party make up smudged, and my thighs slick with
wetness. I climbed onto Dan, facing his feet (and the door),
and edged down onto his cock, his hands grasping my waist,
hips bucking as he ached to get inside me. I blushed at how
much I was showing, with my legs open wide and Dan’s cock
pushing into me.

As we got into rhythm I got bolder, varying my position to

show Nathan what he was missing and change the pressure on

Dan’s cock, sitting up and coquettishly crossing my legs,
laying back on Dan’s chest and rubbing my clit, fondling his
balls, pulling my hair up, arching and rubbing my breasts. As
Dan got closer to his climax he became more dominant,
pushing me forward so I was splayed towards his legs, and
with licked fingers started to tease my arse. I screamed out in
pleasure, and in shame, not only was he doing that to me, but
someone was watching! Dan groaned, unable to hold back any
more and easily got off his back pushing me forward onto my
front then up onto my knees, my head low on the bed. In this
position he had a clear view of the door, it could all go wrong,
but I was past caring. He started fucking me hard, a finger
inside my ass as he pushed me lower on the bed with the other
hand. I orgasmed in a fountain of sweat, juices and tears,
screaming out and thrashing under Dan’s strong hand as he
came with a last hard thrust.

I sheepishly looked towards the door. The two greenish

glints in the darkness briefly became one, Nathan’s trademark
wink, then were gone. Dan snapped the condom off and
gathered me up in his arms, tenderly wiping a streak of
mascara from my cheek and stroking my hair. I felt so
satisfied, my legs shaking and my skin flushed, safe in Dan’s
embrace. Guilt started to creep in as I looked at his beautiful
face settling down to sleep. It was one of the horniest moments
of my life, I thought, being fucked so perfectly, and showing
off to another man, but it wasn’t really fair to Dan. I was
starting to feel terrible, and worry about the morning and what
Nathan might say or do. He could make my life very difficult
if he wanted to. My relationship could be in jeopardy.

I felt Dan’s gaze on me, he was still awake and looking at

me. Then he grinned. “Did you really think I wouldn’t
notice?”

I froze, and managed to stammer, “What do you mean?”
“You drunk tart,’ he said, ‘I saw you send the message!

Seriously, you’re about as subtle …” I started to apologise and
mumble all kinds of nonsense, but thankfully he was laughing.

“Honey, really, do you think I didn’t enjoy being the one

actually fucking you with him standing there tossing off
wishing it was him?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; I had a surge of love

for Dan for how cool he was being, as well as how amazing in
bed, and tried to snuggle into him.

“I don’t think so,” he said, just failing to keep the playful

smile out of his eyes. “I liked it as much as you did, but you’re
still a dirty little tart, I don’t think you deserve a cuddle. Get
up on your knees.”

I tried to laugh and he just looked at me sternly, only half

playing. I gingerly got up onto my knees, kneeling up, facing
him, chancing a little half smile.

“Other way around,” he said, patronisingly twirling his

finger in front of my face. I shuffled around and he pushed me
forwards so I was on all fours, smoothing his hand over my
arse. I knew what was coming, he’d spanked me once before
in a hotel room for not wearing any knickers under my dress. I
winced at the anticipation of pain, but he just kept stroking me
gently. I was still wet from before and I felt my pussy starting
to respond again, if he did much more of that I was going to
start to drip.

I couldn’t see what he was doing but I heard him scuffling

around in the drawers again. I reached between my legs and
stroked my clit, which was engorged and delicious, the
slightest touch making me catch me breath. He was behind me
again and roughly slapped my hand away.

I felt a cold, wet slick land on my lower back, and drizzle

all over my bum and down my legs. He had managed to find a
bottle of lube in the bedside drawer and had covered me in
about half a bottle! I turned around to laugh and ask him what
he was playing at but he pushed my head back away from him
and my face into the bed, roughly enough for me to know that
he meant it, but gently enough not to hurt, and started to rub
the slippery gel all over me.

His hands massaged my cheeks, grabbing handfuls of flesh

and letting it slip wetly out of his grip again, and running his
hands down onto my thighs, grazing my pussy and arsehole

every few strokes but not as much as I wanted.

The first slap stunned me. My skin was alive and tingling

and his hand landed with a big wet smack across my buttocks,
the sudden force and the streak of pain a climax in itself. After
that the lightest touch would send me over the edge and I
physically begged him to touch me, pushing backwards so he
could see how ready I was.

He hit me again, one side, then the other, and again, and

again, and I heard him groan and knew how much my shiny
wet flesh quivering and reddening would be getting to him. It
stung, and a million feelings coursed through my body and
mind. I wanted another spank, but I was equally afraid of the
next blow landing. I wanted him to lick me, to fuck me right
now, but I never wanted this to end.

Dan’s fingers were on me gently again, tracing up my

thighs towards my soaking pussy, but his touch skimmed past
and he instead pushed the tip of his finger into my bum. I
melted, and tried to rock backwards to have him penetrate me
more but he pulled his hand away and spanked me again.

As if I wasn’t soaking enough, the bottle came back out

and he squeezed yet more lube over me. I felt his cock slide up
between my legs, deliciously over my clit, and just inside my
pussy for a second before he pulled out and pushed into my
arse. I screamed out as the feelings overwhelmed me. He
thrusted perfectly, just a couple of inches inside me, his body
rubbing and exacerbating my reddened bum and legs with
every thrust. Dan reached around my waist and found my clit,
dripping with lube and juices, and rubbed it with his palm,
slowing his thrusts but going deeper and I came hard, jerking
violently. My orgasm tipped him over the edge and he came
inside me, pulling me close to him and kissing my back.

We collapsed in a sticky tangle and fell asleep almost

straight away. The next morning I was sore. I looked myself
over in the mirror, and smiled at the sight of Dan still sleeping
soundly in the background. My makeup was a mess, my hair a
disaster, and my bum and legs were bright red, with bruises
just starting to form. I wrapped myself in my big, fluffy

dressing gown and kissed Dan on the forehead, steeling myself
to survey the state of the house after the party and wondered
what Nathan might have to say. I didn’t really have to worry
though – if he got cheeky, I would just tell him he missed the
best bit of the party anyway.

Merrilee Gets Into Trouble In The Park

by Eleanor Powell

Merrilee felt a trickle of perspiration between her pert
breasts – there was no shelter from the relentless sun.

As she walked through Heaton Park her thoughts were

six thousand miles away in South Africa. Oh Pete, I'm
missing you so, she thought.

She reached the clearing – it held so many happy

memories for her and Pete, it was their secret, no one else
had discovered this private bit of heaven. And there was
the tree stump that served as a table when they brought a
picnic basket.

The branches of the trees meeting overhead blotted

out the July sun, making it a few degrees cooler in the
clearing.

Lying down on the soft leafy ground, she closed her

eyes, thinking of Pete. She could see him; he was lying
next to her – smiling down at her as he propped himself
up on one elbow. Now he was kissing her – her eyes,
nose, lips and neck while his fingers wandered over her
body making her tingle wherever they touched.

His fingers were moving down from her neck, into her

bra, seeking her stiffened nipples, rubbing them gently
between his thumb and forefinger. Her nipples hardened

even more, while between her legs she could feel her
pussy throbbing with desire, her juices soaking her black
lacy briefs.

And her body was crying out for relief.
As she lay there on her back, knees up, legs parted,

her own middle finger was rubbing her clit through her
very short dress. Pulling the hem of her dress up to her
waist and slipping her hand down the front of her
knickers – oh that was better. Her pussy was hot and
squelchy

She was so far gone, her knickers were in the way – so

she lifted her hips and pulled them down, until the black
scrap of nylon was dangling from one ankle – then with a
quick kick they were off but she didn’t even notice where
they went.

Her finger was moving ever faster now, rubbing on

her engorged clit.

‘I’m coming, oh God, I’m coming!’ When she did

come her whole body was shuddering as the waves of the
climax swept over her.

When her body had stopped convulsing, she was

relaxed but oh so tired. She drifted off into a sexually
induced sleep.

She awoke suddenly, unsure of how long she had been

sleeping. Glancing at her wrist – drat! She kept forgetting
she’d taken her watch in for repair. Here in the clearing,
because it was shaded from the sun, it was always darker,
so she could only guess at the time; maybe about five in
the afternoon, she thought.

But what was it that had woken her? She listened, but

there was nothing. I must have imagined it, she thought
to herself.

She started to feel randy again and her right hand

moved down towards her already throbbing pussy.

Vaguely she noticed that her knickers were not where
they should have been, but in her excited state she didn’t
follow the thought. Another magnificent orgasm left her
feeling so exhausted that she fell asleep once more.

Merrilee was awakened again, but this time she

realised she was definitely not alone, somebody was
turning her over onto her tummy.

‘What are you doing?’ she shouted. ‘How dare you?’

she started struggling, but he held her down easily. He
didn’t answer her, just grunted.

She felt him lift her dress up her back revealing her

bare bottom. He gave a low whistle.

‘You have one lovely bottom,’ he told her, running his

right hand over it.

Then putting his left hand in the small of her back, he

stopped stroking her bottom, and started spanking her
instead, gently at first – first one cheek then the other, his
spanks were gradually getting harder, until her bottom
felt hot and tingly.

She struggled to get up from the somewhat

undignified position she found herself in. ‘Let me go, you
pervert,’ she screamed.

‘You’re not so squeaky clean yourself,’ he answered.

‘Lying here, not caring who saw you playing with
yourself.’

He carried on spanking her, igniting a fire in her by

now obscenely wriggling bottom. Much to her own
surprise she was disappointed when he eventually
stopped spanking her.

Yet when he stood up she still grabbed the opportunity

to try and get to her feet but he was too quick for her.
Kneeling next to her again he pushed her back down –
giving her already glowing bottom another half-dozen
hard spanks.

‘You stay right there, young lady, I’ve not finished

with you yet.’

He stood up again. Merrilee twisted her neck around

trying to see what he was doing.

She saw him slowly removing his belt from its loops.

Something in her tummy did a somersault. She watched
in fascination.

He wrapped the belt around his right hand – leaving

about twelve inches of trailing leather.

Again kneeling down next to her, he traced the free

end of the belt gently across her quivering bottom
cheeks.

Oh dear, Merrilee, she chided herself. You’re letting

this brute turn you on. Then he started swinging his right
arm. Each time the belt made contact with her writhing
bottom it became hotter and her clit began to throb.

It was only when he had made every square inch of

her bottom hot and stinging that he stopped spanking her
and started caressing it instead. This caused havoc with
her dignity as her legs parted of their own accord – oh
how she wanted him to slip his finger into her steaming
slit.

But instead he stopped fondling her bottom and said,

‘Right, come on, kneel up.’

She found herself obeying him. She was kneeling so

that her arms were supporting her upper body – her hot
bottom stuck up in the air.

He carried on stroking her bottom – interspersing the

stroking with the occasional spank.

His stroking hands were teasing her – gently stroking

the inside of her thighs, almost letting his finger stray
into her pussy, but pulling away at the last moment.

She hated him for that.
After teasing her some more he did let his finger make

contact with her swollen clit. She could feel herself on
the verge of coming to a climax but he stopped and
withdrew his sopping wet finger.

She gasped in disappointment.
‘OK, now I’m going to take you from behind. Any

objections?’

‘No, oh no,’ she heard herself say. ‘Please fuck me.’
Putting his hands on her hips, he pushed his throbbing

cock into her hot wet pussy; Merrilee found herself
pushing back at his thrust, His already stiffened cock was
swelling even more inside her. She gripped onto it, using
her muscles – just like she did with Pete, knowing that it
drove him wild.

By now her assailant was groaning, digging his

fingers into her hips.

They were both panting and gasping. As she felt the

waves of a climax causing her whole body to go into
spasms of delight, she heard his grunts as he too
climaxed.

When she had squeezed every last drop of cum from

him, they lay down on the soft ground side by side.

Their reverie was broken by a man’s deep voice.
‘Wow! Greg, that was fantastic.’
A man came out from behind a bush carrying a

Camcorder. ‘I got it all on video. So what’s your name,
sweetheart?’

‘I’m Merrilee.’ She struggled to her feet. ‘Who are

you?’

‘Pleased to meet you, Merrilee, he said. ‘Oh! My

name is Jed and this here gentleman is Greg.

‘Huh! He’s no gentleman,’ Merrilee said.
‘And you’re no lady,’ Greg retorted.

Jed laughed ‘Greg and I own Sexy Spanking Videos.

I’ve just videoed everything and we will be selling the
video on our website. But if you have any objections to
that, I’ll destroy it right here and now, Merrilee.’

‘Errr, no’, she assured him. ‘I really enjoyed it.’
‘That’s great,’ Jed said. ‘Would you do it again?’
‘Oh yes I would,’ she answered without hesitation.
‘Who is this Pete you were calling out to?’
‘My boyfriend.’
‘Has he ever spanked you?’
‘No! never. But he’d better from now on.’ She

laughed.

‘Was that the first time you’ve ever been spanked,

Merrilee?’ asked Jed.

‘Yep.’
‘And it turned you on, did it?’
‘God, yes,’
‘That’s great,’ said Jed. ‘I told you she was a Goer,

didn’t I Greg?’

‘You sure did, mate.’
Jed rummaged in his camera bag, bringing out a rather

crumpled piece of paper. ‘But,’ he said, ‘just to make it
really legit would you mind signing this consent form,
Merrilee?’

‘What’s that for?’
‘It’s just to prove that you’re over 18,’ said Jed, ‘and

you have given your consent. You are over 18, aren’t
you?

She nodded, ‘I’m 19, have you got a pen?’
He handed her a pen. ‘Here sign it where I’ve put the

cross.’

Merrilee signed the piece of paper and handed it back

to him.

‘Oh yes,’ said Jed, ‘come to think of it, we also need

your postal address.’

‘Why do you want that?’ she asked.
Well, we’ll need somewhere to send the cheques.

You’re going to be a video star Merrilee. And we’ll have
to send you a contract for signing.’

She gasped in amazement. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘No, Merrilee, this is for real,’ he promised her.

‘Would you be willing to be in other movies?’

She laughed. ‘You mean I’ll get paid for enjoying

myself?’

‘That’s right,’ Greg butted in. ‘It may well be me

again, but there are also other men who will be doing the
spanking.’

‘Sounds like fun,’ she agreed.
‘Right, come on Greg, it’s time we were off.’
‘Okay, mate.’ He got to his feet. ‘Bye Merrilee, we’ll

meet again soon.’

‘Bye,’ she echoed.
She watched the two men as they left her alone in the

clearing.

Merrilee, you’ve had a busy day, she told herself. So

feeling drowsy yet again, she lay down and was soon
oblivious to the world.

When she woke up – it was getting dark.
Then she remembered Jed and Greg. Had she dreamt

what happened? But as she moved – she felt her bottom
burning and stinging.

She laughed out loud, running her fingers over her

hot, sore bottom. Finding the feeling was a real turn-on,
she would have continued with her exploration of her
newly discovered seat of pleasure, but, noticing how dark
it was getting, stopped herself. ‘Wow! That was some
dream. Wonder if I will hear from them again?’

Come on now; stop daydreaming, she told herself.

You must get home before it gets really dark and the Park

Keeper closes the park. She stood up, smoothing down
her dress and running her fingers through her tousled
hair.

Now what did I do with my knickers?
She looked around the clearing. A slight gust of wind

made the branches of the trees sway a little – it was then
she saw them, they were caught on a branch half way up
a very old creaking tree – waving about like a pirate’s
flag.

‘Oh fantastic! How on earth am I going to get them

down from there?’

A fleeting thought crossed her mind – leave them

there, she had a drawer-full at home. But she soon
dismissed that idea, when a playful wind lifted her short
full circular skirt – revealing her hot bare bottom. ‘Geez!
That would be so embarrassing if it happened in the
street,’ she said out loud.

She realised she would have to do something to get

them down.

She studied the situation – OK, there were footholds,

plenty of them, in the knotted, gnarled trunk of the tree.

Right Merrilee, you’ve climbed higher trees than this

when you were playing with your brothers, she told
herself.

She started on her upward journey. It was even easier

than she thought it would be. It was going to be a piece
of cake.

‘You’re doing fine, Merrilee,’ she encouraged herself.

‘Just don’t look down.’

Now she could see the black nylon scrap of material

on a higher branch, just to the left of where she was
clinging on to the tree trunk. Carefully she reached out to
an overhanging branch. Her hands went to grab her
knickers – but a mischievous gust of wind blew them out

of her reach. She again reached out for them; the branch
on which she was standing creaked loudly.

Then, without any further warning, she felt the branch

beneath her giving way Reaching out wildly, she
managed to grab hold of the one above her. She watched
in horror as the branch on which only a moment ago she
had been standing fell to the ground below.

She was now holding on to a branch, her legs

threshing about in her panic. She could feel her heart
beating in her throat. The ground below seemed like
miles away. Then the branch she was hanging on to
creaked warningly.

‘Please don’t break, please don’t break,’ she prayed to

herself.

‘Oh God, what am I going to do?’ she asked out loud.
‘OK, keep very still.’ It was a man’s voice; it came

from above her. ‘I want you to let go of the branch with
your left hand.’ His voice was so calm; she just knew she
could trust him.

He was leaning down towards her. She let go of the

branch and a large, sunburned male hand caught hold of
her wrist, ‘OK I’ve got you. Now I want you to be a
brave girl and let go of the branch with your other hand. I
know it’s scary, but I’m here.’

As if in slow motion she obeyed him. He grabbed hold

of her right wrist.

‘Good girl,’ he said.
For a moment she was dangling there, then, as if she

was weightless, he pulled her up to where he was sitting
in a fork of the tree.

‘There’s room for the two of us,’ he said, moving over

a bit to make room for her.

Clinging on to him, she burst into tears.
‘Shhh! You’re safe now.’ He cuddled her, rocking her

gently as if she was a baby, holding her against his brown
hairy chest, until her sobbing had subsided. ‘OK are you
ready?’ he asked. ‘ I’m now going to lower you to the
ground.’

Slipping a rope over her head, ‘Put it round your

waist,’ he told her, when she did, he tightened it.

‘Do you trust me?’ he asked.
‘Yes, why?’
‘Cos I’m going to let the rope out a bit at a time; you

will reach the ground safely. Just don’t struggle.’

‘O-OK,’ she said, with a tremor in her voice.
‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Now I want you to lower

yourself so that you are holding onto this branch.’

She did as he told her.
‘Now let go,’ he said. ‘I’m here; I’m going to be

controlling your descent. I won’t let you fall.’

For a moment she felt like a rag doll, as she swayed

there, feeling helpless, with nothing to hold onto. Then
very slowly he let out the rope inch by inch until she
reached the ground safely.

She watched as he came down the tree agilely. Wow!

He’s so dishy, she thought to herself.

She was standing, with her back against the tree trunk.

He landed on his feet in front of her.

At six feet four he towered over her five feet. She

looked up at him. Feeling his raw masculinity, her heart
skipped a beat. She found herself wondering what it
would be like to be spanked by him?

‘Thanks for rescuing me,’ she said. ‘I must go now.’
‘Not so fast young lady,’ he said catching hold of her

arm. ‘Do you realise the danger you put yourself into by
climbing that tree?’

‘I was trying to get my …’ she started to explain.
‘It doesn’t matter why you were climbing that tree,’ he

interrupted her, ‘you should have had more sense. What
would have happened if I hadn’t come along?’

He shook her gently. ‘It’s a very old tree, and it’s

beginning to get brittle. That’s why the branch you were
standing on broke off under your weight.’

‘Right,’ she answered with a shudder. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So you should be,’ he said quietly. ‘But saying you’re

sorry is not enough for me. ‘I’m going to make sure that
you really are sorry.’

‘Wh – what do you mean?’ she stammered trying to

back away from him. But he just tightened his grip on her
arm. ‘Right young lady, what’s your name?’

‘Merrilee,’ she answered. ‘Anyway, what’s it to you?’

she asked cheekily.

‘I’m the Park Keeper. I have to report anyone I find

damaging the park’s property. You could find yourself up
before a Magistrate.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ she said.
‘Oh yes I would, Merrilee; it would be my public

duty. The Magistrate may send you to a Young Offenders
Institution or give you a heavy fine.’

‘I – I – I said I’m sorry,’ she said sulkily.
‘Yes, you did and I said it wasn’t enough, didn’t I,

Merrilee?’

She nodded her head.
‘Now, young lady it’s time you were taught a lesson.’
Dragging her over to the tree stump – hers and Pete’s

picnic table – he sat down on it, pulling her wriggling
body over his knee.

Lifting her skimpy short skirt he gave a gasp.
‘Where are your knickers you naughty girl?’
‘Up the tree,’ she answered. ‘I was trying to tell you,

that’s why I was climbing up it.’

‘OK, but I’m still going to spank you for putting your

life in danger.’

He looked down at her upturned bottom. ‘I haven’t

laid a finger on you yet, but it appears that someone else
has already spanked you and not too long ago.’

She said nothing, just giggled.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.
Looking back at him over her left shoulder and with a

big grin on her face, she said sweetly. ‘Please sir, can I
have some more?’

Ev’rybody Get Together

by Landon Dixon

“Form up!” The men snapped to attention, slamming their
heels together, as one.

“March!” The men stomped forward, batons at the ready, a

solid blue mass bristling with threat.

The belligerent crowd of protesters retreated, giving up

precious street to the advancing army of cops. Then a bottle
flew, along with the raucous anti-war chants and
proclamations of peace. Then a rock, a brick. A barrage of
profanity and debris that deadened all songs of love and
brotherhood.

The line broke and the men in the riot gear charged the

mob, billy clubs flailing. Hell breaking loose on the downtown
streets of Chicago for the fourth bloody Democratic
convention night in a row.

Desk-jockey strategies of non-violent crowd control and

coffee shop chatterings of non-violent protest were lost in the
vicious tumult, the righteous passion firing far past the
flashpoint on both sides. Nightsticks thudded against
unwashed bodies and greasy hair, fists and feet and pine
placards lashing back at the Heat. Cops pounding hippies and
anyone else they could lay their clubs on, lovers-not-fighters
transforming into warriors and throwing everything they could
tear off the Michigan Avenue battleground at the pigs.

Frank Harris butt-ended a tie-dyed Jesus Freak in the

stomach with his baton, the long-haired and bearded drop-out

doubling over in agony, granny glasses catapulting off his
nose to shatter in the gutter. Old Testament meeting New Age
in the roaring heat of battle. But just before Frank could
administer final justice with a baton shot to the skull, someone
dealt him a placard shiver to the ribs from behind.

He grunted, whirled around.
A tiny flower child stood there in the midst of the roiling

mob; a teenaged girl in sandals and poncho and leather
headband, wielding a Make Love Not War club in her little
hands. She gazed up at the big cop in the riot helmet and face
shield, eyes wide with what she’d done. Frank lifted his baton
to strike another blow for Law & Order. Then froze.

And the war raging right there in America’s backyard was

suddenly lost to him. The hate surging through his veins – for
the hippies and the freaks and the druggies; the ‘love’
generation that spurned their parents’ way of life and turned-
on and tuned-in to all the wrong things, turned their backs on
his beloved country – went suddenly chill in his heart, as he
stared at the young woman. He thumbed back his face shield
and mouthed, “Mary?”

She stared back at the hard-bitten man in the blue battle

gear – the fascist fuzz, the enemy of the people, the state
oppressor – tears welling up in her pale-blue eyes. “Daddy?”
she gasped.

The generation gap yawned before them, a crack in the

foundation of America that had ruptured into a gulf,
swallowing entire families. And then a wild-eyed cop raised
his nightstick up behind Mary’s head and Frank did what any
father would do for his daughter, no matter how misguided.
He leapt forward and pushed her aside, taking the officer’s
baton full-on one of his huge shoulders.

The impact was devastating, and it stunned Frank. It was

the first time he’d been on the receiving end, and he didn’t like
it. He shoved the cop away and spun around, searching for his
little girl. But she’d already been swallowed up in the raging
tide of change, lost to him forever.

He fought his way out of the riot, finally finding some

peace in a dimly-lit alley that ran off Balbo. He leaned against
the well-worn brick, shoulders slumped and head down, breath
coming in ragged gasps. An ‘old man’, in the truest sense of
the words, at fifty.

“Hey, right on, this is about the coolest place to crash right

now, huh?” Frank wearily turned his head. A woman stood in
the mouth of the trash-strewn alley. She was wearing a
buckskin vest and a pair of jeans, a silver peace sign dangling
from her neck, a couple of broken-stemmed daisies in her
dark, unruly hair. “It’s, like, crazy out there, huh?” she
babbled. “The pigs are running–”

She caught herself. Too late. Even in the dim light, she

could see the rage flood into the big cop’s bloodshot eyes.

He grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and jerked her up

straight. Then marched her down the alley, shoved her through
a red wooden door barely hanging onto its hinges. Back in
action again, doing something to clean the garbage up off the
streets of his hometown, fight the movement that had broken
up his own home.

He kicked the door shut and yanked a chain that shed some

light on the scene.

The room was just a dirty room with a couple of broken-

down couches and chairs, but it was good enough for the
purpose Frank had in mind.

“Hey, man, I didn’t mean to come down on you or

nuthin’,” the woman protested, dancing to the cop’s tune on
her tip-toes. “I just–”

Frank slammed her against the wall. Then pulled out his

baton and struck her – right across the bell-bottomed ass. She
cried out, her body shuddering in his clutching hand. He struck
her again, and again, his mouth open and eyes boiling, sweat
pouring down his stone-cut face.

“What’s your name, freak?” he yelled in her ear.
“Peppermint,” the woman gulped. “Peppermint Pastel.”
He whacked her ass. “Your real goddamn legal Christian

name?” “Julie. Julie Diaz.”

He grunted, kept on smacking her with his baton, the

rounded cheeks shivering under the skin-tight denim. “And
what the hell are you doing out on the streets – when you
should be at home? Like a good girl.”

Julie stared blindly at the paint-peeled wall, her teeth

clenched and body rocking to the blows the cop was dishing
out. “I’m not a good girl,” she gritted.

Frank knocked his helmet back off his head, and it clattered

to the concrete floor. “You’re not a good girl, is damn right,”
he growled, whacking her ass, wielding the baton like a
judgment. “That’s why you need this.”

He struck her over and over, until his arm, and then his

entire body, began shaking as badly as hers. And then the
yippie-stick struck the floor and Frank collapsed onto a couch,
pulling Julie down on top of him, over his knees. He yanked
her jeans down and her buttocks sprang out into the open, pale
quivering mounds lashed with red stripes.

“You should be at home …” Frank blubbered. He raised

his bare hand and delivered a blow, smack on her bare bottom,
knocking the daisies out of her hair.

Tears streaked down his face, the girl’s bum flaming red

where he’d hit it. He desperately spanked her, hard and fast
and angry. Until the blows grew gradually slower and weaker.
Then stopped altogether. “What’s the use?” he mumbled,
shaking his concrete block of a head.

Julie twisted around and looked at the sobbing man in the

sweat-stained uniform, her brown eyes bright and glaring. He
was rubbing her cheeks now, but it was too late to undo the
damage, stop what he’d started. “Spank me,” she hissed.

He raised his head and blinked his pale-blue eyes, ran a

shaking hand over his iron-grey crew-cut. What she wanted
was clear to even him in her eyes, no communication gap here.

He tapped her ass, and she whimpered. He smacked one

fleshy cheek and then the other, then both at once. And she
moaned, dropping her head back down and going limp in his
lap, obedient, taking her punishment and liking it. He whacked
her young, impressionable bottom over and over, the sharp
crack of his hard hand against her soft skin shattering the

breathless silence of the room.

“Spank some fucking sense into me, you fucking pig,” Julie

screamed, the blowtorch heat from her beaten bum flooding
her whole body. Her head spun, and she jumped with the
electric shocks that arced all through her with each and every
blow of the big man’s big hand on her sensitive bottom, her
pussy wetting the crotch of her flower-embroidered jeans.

Frank’s eyes fired with a passion other than hate, as he

rained blow after blow down upon the girl. He struck her hard
and fast, fanning her ass fire-engine-red and burning, his
flaming hand beating out an authoritative tattoo that echoed
off the barren walls for all to hear and take heed; his cock
filling the front of his police-issue pants.

When her bum was nothing but a numbed brick of pain and

pleasure, Julie rolled off Frank’s legs and onto the floor. She
grabbed his hand, pulling him down to her level. “69,” she
rasped, pushing him down flat on his back. “Let’s 69.”

The straight-ahead missionary man was lost. “I don’t–”

Julie already had his belt and fly open. She pulled his heavy
cock out and quickly bowed her head and engulfed his swollen
hood with her mouth.

“Yeah,” Frank groaned. He rubbed the girl’s blistered

bottom, thrilling with the feel of her warm, wet mouth sucking
on his pulsing cock.

Julie pumped the man’s vein-ribboned shaft and squeezed

his big, hairy balls, her lips sliding halfway down his meat and
then back up again, head bobbing and hair flying. Then, still
sucking, she straddled his head with her legs, positioning her
glistening black bush directly over his face.

Frank understood what he was expected to do now. He

gripped Julie’s heated cheeks and stuck out his tongue,
tentatively licked her moist pussy. Tasting a woman’s sex for
the very first time. He licked again, not so tentatively this
time. He hungrily lapped at her snatch, as she sucked and
sucked on his cock.

Julie surged with the feel of the man’s wet-sandpaper

tongue on her sensitive lips, shimmering with the feel of his

strong hands on her beaten ass. She popped his dripping
erection out of her mouth and murmured, “Spank me. Spank
me while you eat me.” Then inhaled as much of his straining
cock as she could.

Frank closed his eyes and groaned, slapping one of Julie’s

cheeks. The other. She sucked harder, faster, deeper. He
flailed her battered bum, square handprints blazing white now
on the ravaged flesh.

He smacked her ass and lapped at her pussy, licking up and

swallowing the warm juices, the spicy taste and smell of the
girl, the wicked strangeness of it all, making his head spin. As
she earnestly pulled on his cock with her lips, swabbing his
shaft with her tongue and squeezing his balls with her hand,
eyes closed and body blazing. The pair of them lost in the
sensual moment.

Someone ran screaming down the alley, sandals flip-

flopping. While someone chased after them, boots crunching.
While out in the streets all around the battle raged on, charge
and counterculture-charge, bottles breaking and windows
smashing, truncheons and fists flying. But inside, in the eye of
the ragged storm of revolution, the only sounds were the fat,
wet smack of flesh against flesh, the sloppy, wet sucking
sounds of mutual oral sex; the muted moans and groans of a
man and a woman getting together and loving one another.

Frank went rigid, unable to control himself any longer. He

pinched Julie’s ass in warning. Then exploded in the girl’s
mouth, pulsing white-hot ecstasy. She kept on sucking,
though, sucking up his sperm and swallowing it down. And
even as he was getting off, his body jerking with joy, he
resolutely slapped Julie’s ass and licked at her pussy, brushing
her swollen clit with his stroking tongue. Until she too gushed
fiery orgasm, bum and body shuddering, her hot, sticky juices
flooding Frank’s face.

They lay there together in that sanctuary from chaos for a

very long time. Before Julie finally climbed to her feet,
extended a hand, and helped Frank back onto his feet. They
reassembled their uniforms.

Frank cleared his throat. “Well, uh, I just want to … thank

you–”

“Save it, man,” Julie said, brown eyes warm and wet.

“That’s free love for you, dig? Never having to say thanks – or
‘I do’.” She laughed. “Hey, maybe I’ll see you out there
tomorrow night, huh?”

Frank awkwardly holstered his baton, shaking his head.

“Convention’s over tonight.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Well, there’ll be other protests, and other

marches, and other sit-ins.” The flower child of the love
generation smiled. “Other police riots.”

The establishment Man grinned back. He picked up his

police helmet and shyly rubbed it. “Yeah, sure, someone’s got
to keep you … freaks in line. Whatever it takes.”

Mr O’Connor’s Office

by Ava Rose Johnson

With both eyes on the latest Jilly Cooper novel and both hands
wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, Elaine didn’t notice
the arrival of her boss until it was too late.

“Good morning, Elaine.”
At the sound of Mr O’Connor’s deep, faintly-amused tone,

Elaine jumped in her chair and promptly spilled coffee over
the third sex scene of the book. Shit.

“Uh, good morning, sir.” She fumbled under her desk for

some tissues while her face heated to the colour of a tomato.
“Is there something you’d like me to do?”

He raised his eyes from the puddle on her desk to her face,

forcing her to meet his eyes. She swallowed, unable to stop
herself from squeezing her thighs together.

“No.” His lips quirked in the sexiest grin she’d ever seen.

“I’ll let you know if there’s anything I need you for.”

“Okay sir.” Her voice squeaked and she blushed harder.

Did she have to be so bloody obvious? “I’ll be here waiting.”

“Good girl.” With his briefcase at his side, Mr O’Connor

walked toward his office. His long strides displayed his power
while his black suit showed off his broad shoulders and
delectable arse to perfection. Elaine shivered. He turned her on
way too much for a Monday morning.

She glanced down at her open book and sighed. The

yummy scene was destroyed forever. Slamming it shut, she
dropped it into her bag and returned her attention to the

computer. But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t regain her
concentration.

Ever since she’d started working here, she’d had a crush on

Mr O’Connor. More than a crush. It had gone so far that she’d
followed him out of work one night to a bar where he met an
incredibly beautiful blonde. Elaine had glanced down at her
own brown suit and flat shoes and realised what a lost cause it
was. A man like Mr O’Connor wouldn’t even notice a girl as
plain and mousy as Elaine. Not when he could have that piece
of ass.

But despite the realisation, Elaine hadn’t stopped

fantasising when she was in bed late at night with only a cat
for company. Unfortunately, those fantasies were beginning to
take over. It was now at the point where she was skipping off
to the loo when she was supposed to be working, just to
masturbate.

“Hello?”
Elaine lifted her eyes and almost had to bite her tongue to

keep from throwing a tantrum. The gorgeous redhead who
stood before her was a business associate of Mr O’Connor.
And Elaine was certain the woman was an associate of Mr
O’Connor outside the boardroom too. The idea of this bitch
getting fucked by that god was enough to make Elaine’s fists
curl.

But being the polite, well-trained secretary that she was,

Elaine pasted a bright smile on her face. “Good morning, Ms
Brice. How can I help you?”

“I have a meeting with Mr O’Connor,” the woman said, her

husky voice dripping sexuality. “Is he ready to see me yet?”

Elaine lifted the phone and dialled his office.
“Yes?”
Her thighs clenched again at the rumble of his voice. “Ms

Brice is here to see you, sir.”

There was a pause and when he spoke, Elaine could have

sworn she heard the smile in his voice. “Send her in.”

Elaine looked at the redhead who stared back in smug

satisfaction. Fighting the urge to tell the bitch where to stick it,

Elaine tilted her head to the office door.

“He’ll see you now.”
Ms Brice sauntered away, her hips swinging with each step.

Elaine glanced down at her boyish hips in despair. No wonder
he didn’t look twice at her. Flat-chested and skinny-legged.
She was barely a woman. Though Lord knows, I feel like one.

Elaine leaned back in her chair and forced her eyes to the

computer. She blinked as the screen flashed, going from the
word processing programme to black. Damn. The last thing
she needed was a computer break-down.

But then the screen flickered and she was given a view of

an office. Her eyes widened. Was she seeing what she thought
she was seeing?

She leaned forward, squinting at the picture. The office

with its mahogany furniture, leather sofa and filing cabinets
was the same office she went into every day to give Mr
O’Connor his messages. And there he was, lounging in the
leather chair behind the massive desk, his long fingers steepled
beneath his stubble-covered chin.

Elaine swallowed hard as he spoke, his rich tones sending

thrills down her spine. Realising that anybody nearby could
hear, she reached for her MP3 player earphones and pushed
the wire into the computer. The sound disappeared until she
settled the earphones in her ears and once again she could hear
his voice.

“You’re early,” he was saying, his voice stern and quiet.
The redhead stepped forward into the camera’s view. “I

know.” Her head bowed. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” In a sudden move, Mr O’Connor got to

his feet. “You’re very bad for being so inconsiderate of my
time.”

Elaine’s eyes widened. She’d never seen Mr O’Connor get

so mad over something so small before. Usually, he was
mellow, very laid-back. She quite liked the tough side of him.
Watching his eyes bore into the redhead sent a surge of wet
heat to Elaine’s pussy.

“I’m sorry,” the redhead repeated, her head still bowed.

“How would you like to punish me?”

Elaine’s mouth dropped open as her clit began to throb

deep between her legs. The sexual intention behind Ms Brice’s
words wasn’t lost on her. This wasn’t real. It was a game. A
sex game.

“Pull up your skirt,” were his sharp words. Elaine watched,

hypnotized by the sight of the strong, seductive woman pulling
her skirt over her thighs. She held her skirt around her waist,
her creamy buttocks bared to the camera. She wore no
knickers.

Ms Brice remained still while Mr O’Connor circled her, his

cold eyes trailing up and down her body. Elaine’s mouth dried.
The waiting to see what came next had her breaking into a
sweat. She felt like she was watching porn, except it had real
characters in it, characters that were incredibly sexy.

Eventually Mr O’Connor came to a stop, standing beside

the redhead so that his face was visible to the camera.

“Bend over,” he ordered, his voice calm and steady.
The redhead did as she was told and Elaine could see that

she was trembling. Mr O’Connor reached forward and placed
one large hand on the woman’s bare arse. He stroked them
gently, tracing the crack with his thumb. And then he lifted his
hand and brought it back down in three hard slaps.

Elaine pushed a hand between her legs, the sharp sound of

the smacks shooting straight to her pussy. She rubbed at her
clit through the material of her skirt, but it wasn’t enough.

For a brief second she glanced up at the glass doors which

led into the main reception area. Gloria was behind the desk
on a phone call while the postman dropped off a couple of
brown packages. No-one was looking her way.

Turning her head back to the screen, Elaine took in the

sight of Ms Brice’s reddening buttocks while she pulled her
own skirt up past her thighs. She pressed her hand against the
damp cotton of her panties, finding the pressure her clit
needed.

Mr O’Connor was once again stroking the woman’s arse,

occasionally dipping a finger between her thighs. Every time

he did, she pushed back against him. But then he’d pull away,
moving his hand upward. After a minute or so, his palm
slammed down on Ms Brice’s arse again.

A whimper escaped Elaine’s lips. She could almost feel the

sting of the slap shooting through her veins, quickly becoming
pleasure. She slipped her hand inside her knickers and began
to rub fiercely.

“You’ve been a very bad girl, Amanda,” Mr O’Connor was

saying as he continued to alternate between slapping and
stroking the woman’s buttocks. “Let me hear you say it.”

Ms Brice tried to say something but her voice caught on a

sob of pleasure as his hand came down on her again.

“What did you say?” he demanded. “Tell me what you

are.”

“A bad girl,” she gasped. “A very bad girl.”
Elaine almost groaned with disappointment when Mr

O’Connor pulled away. But then she licked her lips, her pussy
tightening as he began to unbuckle his trousers.

In her seat, she was shaking. How long had she dreamed

about his cock? Now she’d finally get to see it. It would make
her fantasies so much more real.

While Mr O’Connor worked on his belt, the redhead tried

to stand.

“No,” he barked. “Stay where you are.” He pulled at his

zipper until it pushed over the bulge. Elaine melted when the
heavy length of his cock sprung free. Her thighs quivered
beneath the desk and her juices soaked her fingers. It was
incredible – so thick and engorged, throbbing the way Elaine’s
clit throbbed. She licked her lips, eager to take him inside her
pussy. Since she couldn’t, she stuck one finger in her hole in
an effort to satisfy the ache.

Mr O’Connor was now sliding his hand up and down his

shaft, working the tight skin. Ms Brice was still bent over the
desk, waiting for what he would give her.

He stuck his hand beneath her arse and caressed her pussy.

Then pulling out his hand, he brought it to his face.

“You’re wet,” he muttered, his cock leaping against the

redhead’s arse. “You like to be punished, don’t you?”

Ms Brice squeaked and nodded her head, obviously too

weak to speak. Elaine watched Mr O’Connor reach into his
back pocket and take out a condom. He quickly opened it and
slid it over his length.

“You want my dick, don’t you?” He asked, spreading the

woman’s legs wider. “You want me to fuck you.”

“Yes,” the woman moaned, jerking backward as if trying to

leap onto his cock. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Good girl.” With his hands holding the redhead’s hips, Mr

O’Connor drove inside until his balls slapped the woman’s
arse cheeks.

Elaine sucked her lower lip between her teeth, working her

finger in and out of her pussy. The sight of him shoving his
cock into that woman was too much to bear. He was so
powerful. From this side-view, Elaine could see his shoulders
flexing beneath his shirt and his hands gripping the woman’s
hips. His jaw clenched, his body working hers fast and furious.

And then Elaine was coming, her orgasm spilling all over

her fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut, listening to the
screams coming from the redhead, the screams which Elaine
couldn’t echo unless she wanted to draw attention to herself.

When the waves had receded, Elaine opened her eyes,

amazed to see that he was still pumping. The woman was
obviously on her second or third orgasm and didn’t look like
she could take much more.

Finally, he came. His gorgeous dark head reared back, his

eyes closed, his forehead tense. Elaine slumped forward over
her desk, her hand still in her knickers. She watched him pump
once, twice, three times and then fall over his partner in crime.

While she pushed her skirt back down her legs, she

watched the two of them, their bodies still joined. She wanted
to run into the office and climb on top to start all over again.
But at the sound of the glass doors sliding open and Gloria
walking toward her, her mind was quickly shaken to reality.
She glanced from the oncoming lady to the screen. What did
she do?

She ran her eyes along the top of the screen and saw a tiny

x in the corner. A-ha. Just as the cursor hovered over it, Mr
O’Connor lifted his head and looked straight at the camera. A
smirk tilted his lips as if designed especially for her. She
gasped, then quickly clicked the x as Gloria came to stand
before her.

“Want me to get you anything from the shop?” the old lady

asked her, a kind smile on her face.

Elaine shook her head. “No thanks Gloria. I’m not hungry.”
When the lady walked away, Elaine tried to figure out how

to open that screen again. It was obviously some sort of
webcam, though she had no idea how it had been set up on this
computer or by whom.

Although, the expression on Mr O’Connor’s face as he’d

stared into the camera hinted that maybe he’d set it up.

But why? Why would he do something like that?
She didn’t get a chance to think anymore about it. The door

to his office opened and Mr O’Connor followed by Ms Brice
stepped out. They both looked calm and businesslike. Nobody
could have guessed they’d just fucked each other’s brains out
only minutes before.

“Any phone calls for me, Elaine?” he asked her, his eyes

meeting hers.

She swallowed and shook her head. “No sir.”
“Good. I’m taking an early lunch with Ms Brice. We have

business to discuss.” Placing his hand at the small of Ms
Brice’s back, Mr O’Connor led her to the door. Just as the
glass doors closed behind them, his head turned back to Elaine
and he winked.

Elaine stared as he walked away, then slipped her hand

under her skirt and began to masturbate again.

Maybe it wasn’t such a lost cause after all.

Victoria Pleases Her Headmistress

by Angela Meadows

For the second time in a week I stood in Madame Thackeray’s
study bedroom but today being Sunday I was dressed in my
finery. I wore my hooped, green silk dress with several layers
of starched petticoats to make it stand out. The neckline was
low so my breasts were prominent and on my feet were
matching green silk slippers.

Although it was just an hour after lunch the light coming

through the window was a dull grey. It was snowing again and
already the mountains surrounding the Venus School for
Young Ladies were capped with white. While it was surely
cold outside, a roaring fire in the hearth kept the room more
than comfortable given that I was fully dressed. My fellow
pupils were either in their rooms or in the drawing room
engaged in quiet pastimes, but I knew I was to experience
more energetic activity.

I stood patiently while Madame read from the report

presumably written by Beatrice and the other senior girls who
had observed me. They had watched as I had entertained
young Albert. For an hour each day for the last week my task
had been to excite him, draw him to the edge of an orgasm and
keep him there in delicious agony of anticipation. I had not
been successful in every respect. I knew I was going to be
punished but I hoped the girls had been charitable to me.

Madame laid the papers on her desk, took off her spectacles

and looked up at me.

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“Well, Victoria, I see that you disobeyed my instructions,”

she said sternly.

“I did?” I enquired, uncertain of what response was

required.

“I told you not to touch yourself and yet you did; on three

occasions.” I recalled the three times that the senior girls had
called out as my hand wandered between my legs.

“Yes, Madame,” I acknowledged sadly, realising that my

colleagues had not spared me from my fate.

“For those lapses you shall be punished. I also see that you

failed to control Albert five times. Five times he ejaculated
when you were charged with merely keeping him excited.”

“Yes, Madame, I am sorry, but he is so, ah, high-spirited.”
“Nonsense, girl, it is your skill that is wanting.” Her stern

expression softened a little, “However I note from Beatrice’s
report that on the last day you succeeded in keeping him erect
for a whole hour without orgasm. That certainly suggests that
you have some talent. Beatrice also notes that you used your
initiative in utilising your whole body to retain his interest.”
My memory was that Albert’s hands and mouth were all over
me, caressing my bosom, my buttocks and especially my
feminine parts. He gave me intense pleasure while also
ensuring that his interest was maintained.

“Thank you, Madame.” I curtsied in acknowledgement of

her praise.

Madame’s hand smoothed the large ebony phallus that lay

on her desk then moved to lift the leather crop. She gripped the
handle in her right hand and caressed the supple leather at the
other end with her left.

“I think that under the circumstances that will lessen your

punishment to six strokes.” I felt a little faint and gulped
saliva.

“Yes, Madame, thank you,” I said weakly. The memory of

the four strokes she had given me earlier in the week was all
too fresh in my mind and imprinted on my buttocks.

“Now, Victoria, undress if you will.”
“Yes, Madame, but could you assist me with the fastenings,

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please.” Madame Thackeray rose and came around her desk to
stand behind me. She deftly undid the buttons of my dress and
helped to pull it from my arms and then over my head. The
dress was followed by the petticoats, one after another. At last
I stood in just my slip. I pulled that off too and stood before
my headmistress completely naked. The merest hint of
satisfaction seemed to pass across her face. It was the first
time she had had a full view of my body. Her eyes looked me
up and down, alighting on my ample bosom and perky nipples
that now hardened under her gaze. Her eyes descended to the
bush of dark brown hair that covered my mound and a small
smile passed across her face. Then she picked up the crop and
pointed to the elephant stool that stood at the foot of her large
bed. I took the steps towards the stool slowly and reluctantly.

The padded leather seat of the stool came up to my waist.

When my pubic hair was just touching it, there was a prod in
the middle of my back and I was forced to bend right over so
that my head and arms fell forward over the other side of the
elephant. I balanced with my bottom elevated. The first time
that Madame had beaten me I had just rested over the stool,
and so I waited for my beating to begin. I was surprised when
Madame gripped my right wrist and wound a black silk cord
around it before tying it to the nearest leg of the elephant. She
repeated the action with my other arm and my ankles. I
struggled a little but found that I could not move neither arms
nor legs or shift my position on the stool even an inch. The
cords, though soft on my skin were as strong as ropes of flax.

“There is no point in trying to move, Victoria. You are

bound tight. I do not want you shifting while I select the site
for my stroke.” Immobile, I felt completely defenceless and
exposed.

Nothing happened for some time except for rustlings

behind me. I wondered if Madame was moving my clothes
from where they had fallen. With my legs secured wide apart
and my hands also tied firmly I was not comfortable but knew
full well that my comfort would decrease considerably very
soon. Then I heard Madame’s soft breathing behind me and

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knew that my punishment was about to begin. I tried to clench
my buttocks but with my legs forced apart knew that my crack
was wide open.

“I want you to know, Victoria, that what you about to

receive is not a punishment,” Madame spoke quietly and
calmly, “It is a part of your training. You will acquire the
skills that we teach here at the Venus School for Young Ladies
but you will also learn that pain and humiliation are a powerful
tool in the arts of sexual pleasure. Today you will suffer the
pain and humiliation; soon you may be administering it.”

I had no idea what Madame was talking about. I had

thought that our lessons were to give us skills for pleasing the
men who would be our husbands. Did some men like to beat
their wives or even be beaten by them? These thoughts were
swept from my mind when the first blow arrived. The air
screamed and my right buttock exploded in a foot long strip of
pure pain. I yelped; in fact, I more than yelped, I shouted, not
words, but an animal noise that I did not know could emerge
from my mouth. The heat began to subside just a little before
the second stroke came, this time on my left cheek. I screeched
again and sobbed and begged.

Madame was an expert. She knew just how long to wait

between strokes to build up the anticipation and terror and she
had the skill to place each one exactly where she wished.
Every stroke of the crop extracted the full measure of response
from me. When she was done my bottom and upper thighs
were ablaze with the six stripes she had administered and my
throat was raw from screaming. My wrists and ankles pulled
involuntarily and ineffectually at the bonds but I knew that
Madame would not release me yet.

I recalled what had happened after my previous beating and

suddenly my body was desperate for her touch and I knew that
my sex was swelling. I imagined that Madame was waiting
and watching, observing the growing pinkness of my lips and
perhaps the first drips of moisture running from my vagina. It
seemed that an eternity passed before that first exquisite
contact; the lightest of touches; a finger nail against the top of

103

the crack between my buttocks. Gently, tantalisingly,
deliciously, the finger travelled down, over the puckered skin
of my arsehole and then between my swollen lips. It explored
between them, each movement making me shudder with
pleasure. I expected her to enter me but the finger withdrew. I
was sad and nonplussed. I wanted her touch, my body needed
her touch. While my beaten buttocks still burned my desire
burned even hotter.

But then something round and smooth and cool pressed

against my fanny. Fingers parted my lips and the object slid
into the vestibule to my hole. It felt like a vast hard ball was
pushing against me. Then with a little more force, it entered
me. I gasped as my canal opened to receive it. I realised that it
was the huge ebony dildo that lived on Madame’s desk. I was
horrified. It was so large, surely it could not enter me; I would
be torn asunder. Nevertheless, slowly and skilfully Madame
introduced it into me. It felt as if I was being impaled on an
admittedly blunt and smooth but nevertheless immense stake.
It threatened to pierce my whole body and emerge through my
throat. Each thrust pushed it a fraction of an inch up my tunnel
and each movement sent spasms of pleasure through my
clitoris. While my head swam with delirious ecstasy I realised
that Madame really knew how to use a dildo. She didn’t just
force it into me, she withdrew it a little way and twisted it and
each re-entry renewed the feelings that rippled through me.

At last it seemed that no more of the long black instrument

could be forced into me. Now Madame began a repetitive
oscillation that made the whole of my insides vibrate in
unison. If I had been delirious before, now I was raving. I
moaned and screamed as wave upon wave of orgasm passed
through me. At the end I think I did swoon because the next I
knew was Madame untying the bonds around my ankles. The
dildo had been removed but my vagina, like my buttocks,
burned with the memory of what it had experienced; the
vastness of the rod and a vacancy where it had been. Madame
pulled on the cords binding my wrists and the silk fell away.

“Get up, Victoria,” I slid off the elephant, my legs like

104

jellied eels. I had to rest my hands on the top of the stool to
steady myself, before slowly turning to face the headmistress
again.

I gasped with surprise when I saw her. Madame Thackeray

was naked. I couldn’t help but examine her body and she stood
calmly while I looked at her. For a woman passed her youth
she was extremely handsome. Her breasts were not large but
were firm and her nipples pointed upwards. They and the
aureoles were a deep red. Her stomach was flat and her thighs
smooth and strong. Her skin was smooth and unblemished. My
eyes were drawn to her sex. Her pubic hair was neatly
trimmed and formed in tight blonde curls. Her skin glowed
pink and showed a sheen of perspiration from her exertions. A
few moments passed then she smiled and held out a hand.

“Come, Victoria.” She took my hand and guided me

around to the side of her bed.

“Get on,” she urged and while I struggled to climb onto the

high mattress she slid her bottom on to it and lay back on the
pillows resting against the head board. I found myself kneeling
facing her. She parted her legs, and then bent her knees,
raising her thighs. As she did so her sex appeared, a glistening
pink gash beneath the fair wisps of hair. She slid down the
satin covers and pulled her knees up to her shoulders. Her lips
gaped open.

“Now, Victoria, your education continues. I know that

Albert showed you how a mouth can pleasure a woman. Let us
see if you learned from the experience.” She pulled her thighs
further apart so that her crack widened. A long, swollen
clitoris peeped from its hooded nest.

Her words recalled the delight that Albert had given me as

his lips and tongue worked at my sex. There was a heat
coming from her mount and a sweet odour filled my nostrils
with desire. This woman who had beaten me and had excited
me so sought pleasure from me. It seemed to me to be a great
honour. I tipped forward lowering my face towards her vulva.
I extended my tongue and it touched the hot, taut skin. I felt
her body tremble through the tip of my tongue. Slowly I licked

105

up her crack tasting the honey that was oozing freely from her
vagina. The sweet musky flavour excited me and I pushed my
tongue between her lips searching for the source of her juices.
My lips met hers and my nose touched the firm but silky
clitoris. She sighed and groaned and shifted her grip on her
thighs to give me even greater access. I pressed my face hard
against her fanny, my cheeks against her groin, my lips
pushing her labia apart and tongue questing deeper and deeper.

My tongue was inside her hole, lapping at the juices that

were flowing freely. I shifted an inch or so and now my mouth
closed around her clitoris. I nibbled with my teeth, pressed my
lips against it and rubbed my tongue up and down it in a
sucking motion. She moaned and began to thrust her abdomen
against my face. I wrapped my arms around her thighs, not
stopping her movement but ensuring that I did not become
dislodged. She began to scream and shout and wriggle but I
held on and kept on sucking and licking and biting and
chewing on her sex. All my being was focussed on her cunt;
all my desires were directed to her orgasm; time meant
nothing. She let out a huge cry and a great convulsion passed
through her. A great gush of fluid flowed from her vagina
which I drank thirstily. And then she subsided, I let go of her
thighs and her limbs sagged on to the bed covers. I backed
away panting because for the last few minutes I had barely
been able to catch a breath as my mouth was so closely locked
to her sex.

I looked up to see her watching me, her head raised from

her pillow.

“You do have talent, Victoria. With training you will be a

fine cunnilinguist. Next week you will begin to study fellatio –
the art of using your mouth to pleasure a man. I have no doubt
that you will succeed at your studies. You may go now.” Her
head fell back, her eyes closed and her muscles relaxed. I slid
off the bed and retrieved my slip. Then I gathered up my dress
and petticoats and left Madame snoring softly.

I returned to our bedroom and found Beatrice sitting at her

106

dressing table in her slip writing a letter. She turned towards
me as I entered the room, my arms full of clothes.

“Oh hello, Victoria. I presume you have had your interview

with Madame.” I dropped the clothes in a heap by my
wardrobe. I was suddenly aware that my buttocks were still
stinging quite severely.

“Yes, Bea. Madame beat me.”
“I knew she would. How many?”
“Six.”
“Let’s have a look, lean over the bed.” I did as I was told

and bent over the edge of the bed quite grateful to rest my
torso on the mattress. Bea stood up and came to stand behind
me. She lifted my slip and I could feel her gazing at my
maltreated buttocks.

“Oh yes, she’s given you six good ones there. Do they still

hurt?”

“I’ll say they do. My buttocks feel as if they’re on fire.”
“Let me see if I can help. Stay there.” Bea went into the

bathroom and returned a few moments later. She sat on the
bed beside me and pulled my slip above my waist. Once again
I felt exposed with the weals on my bottom throbbing
painfully. Then there was a feeling of cold moistness. Bea put
cold cream on my bottom and gently spread it over each of the
six burning marks.

“Did anything else happen while you were in Madame’s

study?” Bea asked, continuing to apply the cream. Her
caressing movements and the coolness of the cream were
having a welcome effect. I began to tell her all that had
happened after the beating. My penetration by the immense
wooden dildo and then Madame’s wish that I use my mouth to
pleasure her.

“Ah, yes, Madame’s delights,” Bea sounded wistful. I

realised that I was obviously not the first of her pupils to bed
the Headmistress.

“Have you, uh, been with –”
“Oh yes. There were many times last year and earlier this

term, when she sought my services. Rather like you, a bit of

107

punishment, a bit of pleasure.”

“Does she get all the girls to make love to her?”
“Oh no, only her special ones.”
“Her special ones?”
“Yes, the girls that she thinks have a talent in lovemaking.

Me, you, perhaps one or two others. You’ll have been selected
for special training.”

“Is the punishment part of it?”
“Most definitely. Madame knows that pain heightens

pleasure. You will have more opportunities to learn that fact
from now on.” Bea’s hand had lingered on my buttocks her
fingers tracing a pattern around each of the stripes, slipping
between my legs to caress the soft skin of my inner thighs. I
didn’t want to move as I was enjoying her touch so much.

“She said that I had talent with my mouth.”
“You have more than just that, Victoria. Don’t forget I

watched you with Albert. You have the potential to become a
great lover.”

“But I failed. Albert came five times.”
“As he was bound to. He is so young and inexperienced.

You had him dangling time after time. Considering you didn’t
suck or fuck him you couldn’t have done more.”

“So my punishment–”
“Was an excuse. An excuse for Madame to get you into her

room, an excuse to beat you, an excuse to play with you and
an excuse to get you into her bed to give her what she
wanted.”

“What should I do?”
“Relish the opportunity. Madame is a wonderful woman, is

she not?”

“She is very fit and handsome.”
“And she will teach you, as she has taught me, everything

there is to learn about enticing men.”

“Is that what it’s all for?”
“Isn’t that enough? With the skills that we learn here we

can enter society and achieve all that you desire.”

“A husband?”

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“If that is all you want. But the arts of pleasure can bring

you fame, fortune and power.”

“Power?”
“Yes. Men may think they rule the world but a

knowledgeable woman can manipulate them to do anything
that she wishes. Men are guided by what hangs between their
legs.”

“I think I understand. But why are we permitted,

encouraged even, to pleasure each other, and women such as
Madame herself?”

“Why not? If we have the techniques why not also take

pleasure for yourself when the opportunity arises. Talking of
which, the sight of your beautiful buttocks has got me excited.
How about using your talent on me.” Bea pulled the slip over
head revealing her white skin and ample bosom. She slid
further on to the bed, tugged my slip off me then threw herself
into the middle of the mattress and lay back.

“Come on, get over me, I want to taste your cunt while

you’re licking me.” It sank in what Bea wanted. I clambered
on to the bed and straddled her, facing her feet. She took hold
of my hips and pulled me back until I felt her nose touch the
crack between my buttocks. She pulled harder and I gasped as
her tongue slipped between my lips. Her mouth worked away
sucking my lips and licking up and down my dripping crack.

I bent forward and buried my head between her thighs. She

raised her knees and pushed her sex towards my face. I lapped
at her vulva, running my tongue from her clitoris to her
arsehole, each long slow stroke creating ripples of movement
in her thigh muscles. With her mouth firmly locked in my
fanny and my head deep in hers we moved together, rocking
back and forth. Because we were both working hard,
concentrating on each other we couldn’t give up ourselves to
our own excitement. Our orgasms were delayed but the
pleasure went on and on and when we came, we came
together. Our arms tightened around each other, we thrust our
tongues and mouths deeper into each other’s fundaments and
the waves of orgasmic convulsions paralysed us and locked us

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together.

Gradually the trembling passed and I regained control of

my muscles. Bea subsided and I fell off her and lay by her
side.

“You’re becoming quite an expert,” Bea sighed.
“Madame says we will learn how to suck a man

tomorrow.”

“Ah, now that’s a talent I enjoy,” Bea smiled as she drifted

into a doze.

110

111

Noisy Neighbours

by Teresa Joseph

If Jonathan Hargreaves had known just how much work it
would be to supervise and manage a ladies dorm building at
the local university, he was sure that he never would have
applied for the job in the first place.

At first his position as building supervisor had seemed like

a pretty good deal. A decent wage, free room and board and
having all his utilities paid had attracted him to the post. And
besides, how difficult could it be to fix a few leaky taps and
lock the doors at eleven?

Sadly however, what John had failed to take into account

was that the antics of a gang of bawdy female students could
put a rugby team to shame. And so when he wasn’t cleaning
up their drunken messes, picking up rubbish or fixing the
windows, toilets and various other fittings that had ‘broken for
no apparent reason’, John was kept awake all night by the girls
non-stop parties and unbearably loud music. And after four
weeks of perpetual misery, he finally decided that enough was
enough. It was time to put his foot down.

The party in the room upstairs had been going on for five

solid hours now, and as the girls who were throwing it had
unplugged their phone, Jonathan decided that is was time to go
up there and set them straight himself.

“What are ya’ gonna’ do about it?” smirked the impudent

little blonde who was throwing the party. “If you call the
police we’ll just stop the music till they leave and then turn it

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up back up full blast.”

John did his best to keep his temper.
“For the last time, I am asking you to please turn the music

down.”

“Or what?” laughed the blonde, playing up to the jeering

crowd who had now circled around the doorway. “Are you
going to spank me?”

“I might,” said John, folding his arms defiantly. It was four

o’clock in the morning, he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in
over a month, so he felt quite sure that if the music didn’t stop
soon, he’d be capable of anything.

“Go on then,” mocked the blonde, pulling her jeans and

knickers down as she turned around and bent over, showing
off her pert, round rump and sure that the sight of it would
make John turn and run away with his tail between his legs.
“Give me a good hard spanking. Teach me a lesson.”

“Okay,” he said, grabbing the girl by the wrist and

dragging her over to the empty settee. And taking a seat on the
middle cushion, he pulled the girl over his knee and began to
smack her pert, young bottom as sharply and as firmly as he
felt that she could take.

Stunned into complete silence, the party guests simply

stood around watching as their hostess was punished in front
of their very eyes. But though the shock of being pulled over
Jonathan’s knee had kept her mute up until this point, now she
was kicking and struggling with all her might and shouting for
Jonathan to let her go.

“Oww, stop it!” She wailed as Jonathan smacked each

cheek hard in turn, turning them both a delightful rosy pink.
“You can’t …Oww!”

“Are you going to turn the music off?” snapped Jonathan as

he continued to tan her impertinent rump.

“Yes, yes I will! Lisa, do as he says!”
At long last the building resonated to the sound of blissful

silence. If he left now, John knew that he would enjoy a
wonderful restful sleep, until the girls got bored decided to
start the party again.

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No. No matter how tired he was John knew that he had to

see this thing through to the end and make sure that these girls
all behaved themselves from now on.

“OWW!” wailed the hostess as Jonathan began to spank her

bottom more vigorously than ever. “We turned the music off!
Let me go!”

“No chance!” said John, preparing himself to spend a long

and gruelling night with these girls. “I don’t care if it takes all
night! I’m going to set each and every one of you girls straight
and make sure that I never hear a peep out of you after
midnight ever again!”

Telling the struggling blonde to put her hands behind her

head and lace her fingers, John reached down to her ankles,
pulled the wide leather belt from the loops of her jeans and
folded it into a sturdy makeshift strap. And though at first the
girl squealed and fought with all her might, belting her bottom
harder and harder with every stroke John soon taught her to
bite her lip and take her medicine.

“What’s your name?” He asked, still firmly laying the strap

across her stinging red cheeks with regular, rhythmic strokes.
Up until now he’d only known these girls by room number and
complaint.

“Karen.” She winced; trying hard not to wail like a sissy in

front of her friends as the leather strap turned her lovely firm
cheeks into a stinging inferno.

“Well, Karen, do you think that you’ve learnt your lesson?”
“Yes,” she whimpered. “Yes, I have.”
John knew that she was lying in the hope of weaselling her

way out of trouble, but it didn’t matter. John recognised the
face of every one of Karen’s party guests. They’d all caused
him trouble at one point or another this past month and now he
had the chance to punish each and every one of them in turn.

And if any of them still felt like being difficult after that

display? Well, there was always tomorrow, and the next day,
and the next.

“Okay then, who’s next?” asked Jonathan, sending the

teary-eyed and sniffling girl over to stand in the corner with

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her jeans and knickers down around her ankles. He kept hold
of Karen’s belt for the moment of course. After all, she wasn’t
using it and it was a very effective tool.

Two dozen pairs of eyes suddenly began to stare intently at

the carpet. For the first time since Jonathan had taken the job
there, every one of the girls there was completely still and
silent; and John was loving every minute of it.

“Come on now, let’s get it over with,” he insisted firmly.

“If one of you doesn’t come forward soon I’ll just pick one of
you myself.”

As it turned out of course, one pretty, little red head

decided to get her spanking over and done with. And so
despite trembling nervously and blushing with shame, she
walked over to the settee and stood there politely with her
head bowed and her hands behind her back, patiently waiting
for the caretaker to deal with her.

“Feet together and hands on your head,” he instructed

paternally. “That’s right, stand up straight.”

Since the girl was wearing a nice blue mini skirt and her

legs were bare, John decided to start the proceedings with a
few dozen nice firm smacks across the front of her thighs. Not
enough to frighten her off mind you, but just enough to make
her wince with pain as her legs were turned a beautiful
blushing pink.

“You’re one of the girls in 3C, aren’t you?” probed

Jonathan, still smacking her legs as she bit her lip to keep from
yelping.

“Yes.” She gasped, fighting the urge to run away, but still

needing to hop from one foot to the other in a vain attempt to
cool the sting.

“Well in that case, this is for making me clean up your

drunken mess every day for the last month!”

Turning the girl around, Jonathan began smacking the back

of her thighs twice as hard as the front. She squealed and
whimpered, but still took her medicine like a good little girl.

A few minutes later, John then turned the tearful girl

around to face him once again, took her by the hand and pulled

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her down across his knee, pushed up her skirt and pulled down
her knickers. And though she knew what was coming and was
desperate to run away, without a word the girl put her hands
behind her head, bit her lip and waited for it to begin.

With a casual smile, Jonathan then began spanking her

sweet, little bottom, gently at first, but gradually increasing its
intensity until she couldn’t help but gasp.

At first John laid the flat of his hand squarely across the

centre of her rump, slowly, firmly and resolutely. But picking
up the pace he cupped his hand and spanked each cheek in
turn so forcefully that she had to cross her ankles to keep
herself from kicking like a mule.

Next came the belt, and with long firm and regular strokes,

he punished her stinging pink bottom until it was a an angry,
blazing red, and no matter how much she tried, the poor girl
couldn’t help but wriggle and wail.

Before long, the young woman’s cheeks were as rosy red

as her blushing, tearstained face. And so turning her over, John
sat her up on his knee and asked if she had learnt her lesson.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’ll never make you clean up

my messes again, I promise.”

John believed her. And so with one last gentle smack of the

thighs, he sent the weeping girl over to stand facing the wall
alongside Karen, with her hands on her head, her knickers
down and her skirt hitched up around her waist.

“Next,” he called out like a cheerful shopkeeper, and

though the slim, sexy brunette tried to look reluctant and shy
as she walked up to the settee, John could tell from the glint in
her eye that she had been dreaming of something like this for a
very long time.

“What’s your name?” He asked paternally as he signalled

for her to pull down her knickers and hotpants.

“Carmella,” she smiled, in a soft Italian accent.
John recognised her of course. For four weeks now she had

‘accidentally’ broken the fixtures and fittings in her dorm as
often as she could get away with, and stood sheepishly in front
of him when he arrived, almost waiting for him to become

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angry and shout at her.

Bearing that in mind, John wondered whether it would be

wise to punish her now, fearing that maybe he might
encourage her to do more stupid things in hopes of receiving
another spanking. But then he realised that if he gave her what
she wanted, it would satisfy her kinks and make his life a great
deal easier.

“You’re the clumsy little tart who keeps breaking

everything in her dorm aren’t you?” he barked, putting on a
proper show for Carmella in hopes of giving her everything
she wanted.

“Yes, sir,” she whimpered meekly, bowing her head like a

naughty schoolgirl, but unable to mask her wicked little smile.

“Get over my knee this instant!”
This time there was no warm up. Carmella wanted a

furious spanking, so that’s precisely what John gave her.
Cupping his hand as he had done twice before, the caretaker
whacked each cheek in turn as quickly as harshly as he could,
spanking her rump so fiercely that all of the other girls in the
room flinched with sympathy and fright.

“Punish me, sir! I’m such a naughty girl!” wailed Carmella

at the top of her lungs, not caring if anyone figured out that
she was loving every second of it. “Spank me harder! Make
me good!”

In less than ten minutes the girl’s lovely olive cheeks were

turned a dark, angry purple. Tears were streaming down her
beautiful face, and she’d never felt so happy before in her
entire life. And then came the leather belt.

For another ten long minutes John belted her rump until she

couldn’t help but struggle and then making her stand with her
hands on her head, he smacked and belted her thighs until she
wanted to go down on her knees and thank the Madonna.

With three girls stood whimpering in the corner with their

rosy red cheeks on display, Jonathan could have left it there.
But eager to hammer his point home, the caretaker called for
another girl to come forward, and then another, and then
another.

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He spanked every girl in the dorm room until they were in

tears, and in the end, every one of them was stood facing the
wall with their knickers around their ankles and their hands on
their heads. And having made his point, when Jonathan
returned to his room after dawn, he was able to go to bed and
sleep well for the first time in weeks.

After that of course, life in the dorm building was very

different indeed. Two days after the party, John caught the
three girls from Dorm 2B trying to sneak in after eleven
o’clock.

As it was, John had had no intention of punishing the girls,

but before he could even open his mouth to send them on their
way, the girls had each hitched up their skirts, pulled down
their knickers, turned around and bent over.

“Please, sir,” asked the first girl in a meek and nervous tone

of voice. “Please don’t spank us too hard.”

Jonathan was quite taken aback by this, but if that was what

they wanted, then that was exactly what they were going to
get, and so shrugging his shoulders, he stepped up to the first
girl in line and spanked her rump quite hard, but not too hard.

118

119

Adult Education

by Elizabeth Coldwell

I had never been bad. I had spent all my life being the good
girl, the nice girl, the girl who tried her best to please everyone
and always avoided confrontation. I suppose it was only
natural that, after nearly thirty years of conforming and
keeping my head down, when I finally did rebel, all the
feelings and desires I had been repressing for so long should
come bursting out of me unstoppably.

It took a maths class, of all things, to bring about this

change in me. Maths had been the one subject I was lousy at in
school, and the only exam I had failed. Until now, it had never
mattered: I had a successful career in a profession where
creative thinking and people skills were of more importance
than whether I could solve a quadratic equation. And if I ever
needed to add things up, my PC was helpfully supplied with a
calculator among its many accessories. Things changed when I
was passed over for promotion in favour of someone who had
been with the company three years less than I had. I knew that
position should have been mine, but when I challenged my
boss about the decision, he told me it had been out of his
hands. There were, he told me, basic requirements for anyone
moving up to senior management level, and I was missing out
on one of them – evidence of mathematical competence. Until
I obtained the relevant qualification, I was stuck where I was.

Of course, I could have looked for a new job, but I liked

what I did and I liked the people I worked with. So I

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determined that, when the new term started in the autumn, I
would take my Maths GCSE at the local college of art and
technology. After all, how hard could it be to pass one silly
little exam, I asked myself as I signed up. The answer came
after only a few weeks. As I sat in the classroom, which
smelled of chalk and old sweat and floor cleaner, struggling to
follow the tutor as he scribbled numbers on the board, I
remembered exactly how much I had hated these lessons the
first time round.

It wasn’t the tutor’s fault. From the moment he had settled

himself casually on his chair, propped one leg up on the desk
and said, “I’m Mr Collins, but you can call me Andy,” I had
warmed to him. It was hard not to. He was very much my
physical type: close to six feet tall, with floppy, blond-streaked
hair which he would constantly push away from his face as he
talked. He favoured checked shirts and faded denims that
showed off the contours of his arse and thighs, and when he
was scribbling strings of figures on the blackboard, I would
usually be paying more attention to his luscious back view
than to the sum I was supposed to be working out.

No, the problem was that I just didn’t understand any of it.

I never had, and I doubted that I ever would. Numbers baffled
me, and no matter how patiently any of my teachers had ever
tried to explain them to me, this never changed.

For a while, I tried my hardest to keep up with the rest of

the class. I handed my homework in on time, even though it
always came back marked as incorrect, and I revised for the
mid-term exam, which, almost inevitably, I failed. It was when
the exam paper came back, my embarrassingly low mark
highlighted on the front in red ink, that something inside me
snapped. I’d had enough of these stupid lessons, but instead of
just quietly giving up and walking away from the lessons, I
made a fateful decision, and one I still can’t explain to this
day. I would just sit at the back of the class and slack, and see
how long it took before the gorgeous and very good-natured
Andy had enough and threw me out.

I was surprised at how easy it was to be a bad girl. I had

121

originally taken a seat in the back row in the hope that I
wouldn’t be noticed, or asked to answer a question I had no
chance of getting right. Now, it enabled me to sit with my feet
up on the desk, chewing gum and filing my nails while all
around me heads were lowered as the rest of the class
attentively copied the notes Andy was making on the
blackboard.

When that didn’t appear to have any effect, I loaded up my

iPod with the sort of music which comes with a ‘parental
advisory’ warning: Prince, Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson –
anything with lyrics which celebrated bad living and twisted
sex. If my tutor could hear the hiss and crackle coming from
my headphones, he never said anything. I was still making a
token show of completing my homework, but as my marks
weren’t significantly worse than when I had actually been
trying, I suppose it shouldn’t have surprised me that he didn’t
notice a difference.

I might have carried on like this until the end of the course,

and then, finally, Andy caught me misbehaving so blatantly he
couldn’t fail to take action. Instead of making notes on that
week’s topic, which was how to discover the diameter of a
circle, I was making doodles on my worksheet. I had just
completed a drawing of the firm globes of Andy’s backside,
and was adding the caption, ‘Teacher’s arse – I’d love to
measure the diameter of this,’ when I became aware that he
was standing behind me, reading the words over my shoulder.
He said something, and I pulled the headphones out of my
ears, not having heard him over the music.

“Do you have something you’d care to share with the class,

Amanda?” he asked, giving me a look which sent a pang of
lust shooting down to my crotch.

I shook my head. I was sure some of the other women there

had their own private fantasies about Andy, but I didn’t
particularly want them to know about mine.

He glanced at his watch. “Actually, I think now’s a good

time to call it a night. I’ll see all of you next week.” I got up to
leave, stuffing my books into my bag, and he added,

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“Amanda, could you stay behind for a moment, please?”

This is it, I thought. This is when he tells me to get out of

his class and never come back. I’ll be sad not to be able to lust
after him every week, but who knows, maybe he’ll give me his
phone number and we can meet up …

My daydream was interrupted by Andy’s voice. “Would

you like to explain to me what all this is about?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I retorted, still in the rôle

of the stroppy slacker I had become during the past few weeks
of lessons.

“I know you have a problem with maths,” he said, “but you

weren’t that far away from getting a pass mark. A little bit of
hard work between now and the end of the course and you’d
have stood a really good chance of getting that qualification.
And that’s why I don’t want to see you throwing that chance
away.”

“Well, do you know what?” I replied. “I really don’t care

about that stupid qualification any more. Or this stupid class.”

Andy sighed. “I hoped you weren’t going to take that

attitude. But seeing as you have, it looks like the only thing I
can use to make you see some sense is some old-fashioned
discipline. Bend over the desk, please, Amanda.”

For a moment, I just looked at him blankly. It was such an

outrageous request that I thought he was joking. Then I saw
his expression and realised he was utterly serious.

“I don’t have all day, Amanda,” he said, “so if you’d hurry

up and do as you’re told.”

The desk was low, and made of chipped formica, so as I

bent over it, my bottom stuck out in the air. I pushed a pile of
exercise books and a chalk duster out of the way and gripped
the edge of the desk, feeling slightly ridiculous. That,
however, was nothing to how I felt as Andy gave me my next
instruction.

“Right, I’m going to give you six of the best. It seems the

most appropriate punishment, under the circumstances. In the
old days, they’d have used a cane, but we don’t have that
luxury any more.” I couldn’t believe it; did he really sound

123

regretful that he couldn’t give me such a barbaric punishment?
“So, six hard spanks it is. And after every one I’d like you to
say, “Thank you, Mr Collins,” and reflect on how you’ve been
letting yourself down.”

Whatever had happened to ‘call me Andy’, and just when

had my usually laidback tutor turned into this stickler for
perverse discipline? I didn’t have time to ponder on his change
in personality very long, though, as he moved close behind me
and continued, “Just one last thing. That little arse of yours is
just too well protected, so I think we’ll have these off–”

As he spoke, I felt him fumbling with my belt, and then the

zip of my jeans. Before I could object, he had tugged them
down to my knees, leaving me in just the flimsy little pair of
powder pink panties I had put on that morning. Knickers that
made me feel sexy when I wore them, but would do nothing to
shield me from Andy’s palm.

I shivered as he ran his hand briefly over the curve of my

bum. The more he was making me wait, the more I wanted to
beg him to hurry up and get it over with. He was clearly
relishing the power he had over me, and I began to wonder if
he’d been aware of my bad girl routine for longer than I had
believed.

Just when I thought I would scream if he didn’t start

spanking me, I felt his palm come down squarely across my
cheeks. The force of the blow made me gasp, and I realised I’d
been holding my breath.

There was a brief silence and then Andy said, “I’m waiting,

Amanda.”

I realised what he wanted me to say, and blurted out,

“Thank you, Mr Collins.” I felt as though I was slipping
unprotestingly into the rôle of naughty schoolgirl, rather than
the cool class rebel I had wanted to be.

“That’s better.” His hand stroked over my backside again,

and then slapped me for a second time. Even though it stung
through my thin knickers, this time I didn’t hesitate to thank
him for the blow.

After that, I thought he would dispense with the remaining

124

four quickly and efficiently, but he didn’t. It didn’t seem to
bother him that one of the cleaners, thinking the college to be
deserted, might walk into the room at any moment and see me
with my jeans down and my barely-clad bottom on display. He
was relishing my discomfort, stringing my punishment out for
as long as he could. And, what was worse, between slaps his
caressing of my bottom was becoming more and more
intimate. His fingers were moving down between my cheeks,
over the gusset of my knickers which, to my shame, was
beginning to dampen. I told myself that the situation couldn’t
possibly be turning me on, but I knew that was a lie.
Everything about being so exposed, so vulnerable, so
submissive was making me wetter and more aroused than I
had been in ages, and Andy couldn’t fail to notice it.

For the last of the six, he inflicted the ultimate humiliation

on me. He pulled my knickers down, too, so he could slap my
bare, quivering arse. He ordered me to spread my legs as
widely as I could, which wasn’t easy as my movements were
hobbled by my clothing, but I did as I was told, knowing he
was taking a good long look at the hidden secrets between my
legs. This final slap was the hardest of the lot, and tears
actually pricked my eyes as I thanked him, but inside my
nerves were buzzing and my body felt alive with sensation.

Andy told me to remove my jeans and knickers entirely,

and as I did so I heard the rasp of his fly coming down. When
I felt him guiding the solid head of his cock between my pussy
lips, I realised that punishing me had got him more than a little
excited, too.

He grasped hold of my hips firmly and began to fuck me.

The position we were in meant that my pubic bone was
rubbing against the edge of the desk with every thrust, and
while it wasn’t particularly comfortable, it meant I was getting
all the stimulation I needed to propel me rapidly towards
climax. Andy’s mouth was at my ear, murmuring how well I’d
taken my punishment and how beautiful my arse looked with
the prints of his fingers on it. His words created a vivid image
in my head of my tender, rosy bottom, marked as his, and that,

125

combined with the forceful way in which Andy was fucking
me, was enough to take me over the edge. My pussy muscles
spasmed again and again and I lost myself to the power of my
climax. I was vaguely aware that Andy was coming, too, and
when he pulled out of me he spun me round, took me in his
arms and kissed me.

“Thank you, Mr Collins,” I said a little breathlessly, as I

groped for my discarded clothing, aware of the need to dress
and leave before someone discovered us in the middle of our
extra-curricular activities.

“Call me Andy,” he replied, and I realised we had reverted

back to our normal rôles – or as normal as they could be, given
what had just happened between us. “And I want to see an
improvement in your behaviour from now on – or you know
what to expect …”

I made the decision on the way home that I would keep

taking the maths classes, however difficult I found them, but I
wouldn’t give up being bad altogether – not now I knew how
much fun it could be to incur the wrath of my teacher.

126

127

Aviatricks

by Roger Frank Selby

Sonja was a typical flying instructor, most of the time, but she
was also a very shapely woman all the time. Erik tried to
concentrate on his flying, despite the left breast in contact with
his right arm – this hidden, feminine part of her, bouncing
noticeably with each ripple of the turbulent summer air.

So far the cross-country had been difficult, if not

disastrous. The aircraft was not the usual Robin. It was the
same basic type, of course, but many instruments were subtly
different. The airspeed indicator was calibrated in kilometres
per hour as well as knots – this had been pretty distracting
during the takeoff and climb out. Minor controls were also in
different positions, and worst of all, the radio was weak and
crackly. Humiliatingly, Sonja had helped him out when he’d
had trouble understanding the air traffic controller as he
negotiated a military zone crossing.

But now he’d settled down a bit and things were going

reasonably well, provided he made a big play of doing his
lookout and FREDA check every so often. He was even
holding his course reasonably well on this long leg.

“It gets very hot in here, ja?”
Ja, it was getting hot, now she mentioned it. “Yes, these

bubble canopies become greenhouses in the sunshine, don’t
they?” Despite the long streets of fair-weather cumulous –
stretching from just above, to the far horizon – they were still
in strong sunlight much of the time. He looked around for the

128

air vent lever … Jesus, that was different, too; and the bloody
thing seemed to be jammed closed! He hated to ask her to help
out again, but she was already on the case.

“Here, I try it …” She leaned across him in the tight

cockpit to reach the knob, and while she fiddled, her breast
jiggled deliciously in the crook of his forearm; she almost
seemed to be doing it deliberately. He glanced at her. A
beautiful woman with light blue eyes, she wore her long, dark
hair pinned up – cleared for action, he imagined.

She smiled. “No, it is stuck. I think there is enough to

breathe, but it gets warmer.” Almost reluctantly, she sat back
again, with a big sigh – which he didn’t hear, but felt, via more
breast pressure on his arm.

Jesus, this bosom contact was beginning to affect him! He

glanced down. Yes! He tried to ease his 4 point harness to
cover his growing problem, but she’d already noticed. Sonja
didn’t miss a trick.

“Time for another lookout scan,” she nagged.
A slim white glider, fast cruising between the thermals

under the streets of cloud, passed 500 ft below, well clear.
She’d already seen that, too. God, it was hot in here!

“You must learn to keep up your scan, whatever distract

you!” And with that, she removed her headset, loosened her
shoulder harness and took off her shirt. She threw it behind her
into the aft stowage.

OK, she had a bra on, a black one, which she filled up very

well. But bras, unlike bikini tops are rather private items, very
much a prelude to sex, from a male viewpoint. Erik’s
preliminary erection became full blown. He groaned down the
intercom, but she already had her headset back on.

“What the matter? It is hot – we make ourselves

comfortable; I do, anyway. Sauna much hotter than this!”

“I guess so...” Sauna? She would look spectacular in a

sauna...

He tried to relax and control the aeroplane more smoothly.
“That much better! You are now enjoying the flight and the

view.”

129

“Oh, yeah!” He was, but which view did she mean? He

glanced at her. She looked up from his straining crotch and
smiled. “I enjoy the view too!”

Bugger their respective views, he had to fly this aircraft

and keep a Lookout! Then FREDA again: Fuel, Radio,
Engine, Direction, Altimeter. It was hard in this heat and with
other things on his mind. How long to the next waypoint?
Fifteen minutes. His shirt was dripping with perspiration.

“You are doing so well, Erik. I make you more

comfortable.” She loosened his shoulder harness and pulled
his shirt out from under the quick-release. “Now I fly while
you get comfortable yourself. I have control.”

“You have control,” he responded, relinquishing the stick

and rudder to her. Annoyingly, the aircraft steadied as if it
were on autopilot. He got his almost dripping shirt right off,
stowed it and prepared to take over again.

She glanced across at him and flicked her steel-blue eyes

down again. “Are you quite sure you are comfortable?”

He followed her gaze. He certainly was not!
“It is OK. You are wearing shorts underneath, ja?”
He was wearing boxers, ja. With a shrug, and keeping his

feet well clear of the rudder pedals, he unclipped his knee-
board, passed it to Sonja, and pulled off his trousers. They
slipped easily over the heels of his flying trainers.

“Ah, that’s better, Sonja; thank you.” Without top clothes

the heat was no problem. This was pleasant. His huge erection
(well maintained by the slightly scratchy push of her left bra
cup against his right arm) was evident, but not obscene while
covered by his boxers. It was still not clear if the woman
beside him was just very relaxed about such things or wanted
to proceed further – and there were clearly limits, in this small
cockpit with an aircraft demanding to be properly flown.

“Now I get my trousers off too. You have control.”
“I have control.” But he watched as she uncovered her long

legs and reached forward to grab and stow the trousers.

“You keep a good lookout – and stay on course!”
Oops, he was more than ten degrees off already! He

130

scanned the sky as he corrected. Nothing – oh, just that big
high-wing job over to the left on a similar height and heading.
Well clear, and being on his port side, the other aircraft’s
responsibility to stay clear.

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” He pointed out the traffic.
“Very good. Now do those FREDA checks.”
“I just did, Sonja.”
“Do them again.”
He did, aware that she was wriggling a little.
Finally he could spare a glance across at her. Her creamy

thighs still stretched out beautifully from black knickers... But
that scratchy breast pressing against his arm, now felt silky
smooth. The bra had gone. Her left nipple nodded amiably
over his boxers as its supporting breast bobbed in the light
turbulence.

She had crossed the line. This was now a definite come-on

– and Tanya was waiting for him back at Greenfield!

Her other breast performing its own casual lookout on the

right side of the bubble canopy reminded him of his duties. He
glanced rapidly left to check on that other aircraft. Still well
clear.

“That traffic remains well clear. And we have right of

way.”

“Ja. I have control.”
“You have control.”
“You are doing very well with me distracting you, Erik.

Relax a bit while I fly. Can you please scratch my back? I
have the little itch where my brassiere strap was cutting in. I
hope you didn’t mind me taking it off.”

“Of course not …”
She leaned forward and he dutifully scratched her offered

back. There were marks left by the heavy-duty garment. It was
probably quite a relief for her to shed it. But surely that was
not the only reason? Her unfettered boobs looked absolutely
delicious …

Before he knew it, he’d reached around her and taken firm

support of each smooth, cool breast. He watched her eyes

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close momentarily, and heard her deep sigh on the intercom.
He felt the delicious weight and softness of her tits; he fondled
her nipples until they stood proud. He simply couldn’t resist
her.

Her left hand strayed across to the tip of the pole under his

taut boxers. It then slipped under the waistband and had him
out and upstanding in the cockpit.

“You have control, Erik.”
“Ah, I have control, Sonja!” He let go of only one breast as

he took the control stick with his throttle hand. With her own
hands full, Sonja didn’t seem to notice the irregularity.

Her mouth was down upon him in a heartbeat. The warm

wetness of it enveloped his cock. He could feel her tongue
licking around the head and then the shaft as she took him in
deeper. He felt guilty about Tanya. He tried to concentrate on
his flying. He looked around. That other aircraft … Where was
it now? He looked higher.

Shit! It was close. Not dangerously so, but the pilot on high

could probably see the topless inhabitants of the bubble
cockpit below, the woman performing fellatio in all her glory.

“I have control!”
“You have control!” he relinquished as Sonja smoothly

made a safe-distancing manoeuvre, turning right and down.
“He should have kept clear of us, being on our port side …”

‘Ja – I think he was peeping at us! He is clear now?’
‘He’s changed course to the left, he’s dropping away,

accelerating ahead … Well clear now.’

‘So. You can put your hands, back where they were on my

body – it is nice while I fly … Mmmmm! What shall we do
now? You like a sauna and a cup of tea?”

“Well, er, yes, but …”
“Give me the track from our present position to here.” She

marked the map with her chinagraph and passed it to him. He
measured the angle with his square protractor.

“125 degrees magnetic.”
She rolled onto that heading, allowing for drift, looking

carefully around as she did so. “You can hold me again.”

132

While he handled her tits, she pressed the radio ‘tit’:
“Greenfield Radio this is ah, Alpha Zulu.”
“Alpha Zulu, pass your message.”
“Change of flight plan. Ah, now landing out at Shepherd’s

Farm. Will, ah, re-file return by phone later.”

“Alpha Zulu, all copied. Thanks Sonja! Greenfield out.”
Tanya would have heard all that while waiting in the office.

He wondered if she’d notice the slightly gasping transmission
as Sonja was being fondled … He would text his new
girlfriend a reassuring message once they landed out.

Twenty minutes later, Sonja’s landing on the private grass

strip was superb. Still cradling her breasts, he hardly felt any
increase in their weight on touchdown, but they both surged
forward, bouncing, during the necessary hard braking on the
short rollout.

“Do you know the owner here, Sonja?”
“Ja, my husband.”
His erection, much softened during the approach over

pylons and the short-field landing, disappeared. But,
presumably, hubby was out.

“Husband! I didn’t know …”
“He is German. That is his Pilatus,” she pointed as they

taxied up to the open barn. It was a big PC-6 with a single
turboprop, the same aircraft that had been watching them! And
probably the same one he’d seen ‘Meat Bombing’ – dropping
parachutists, over Greenfield. Just about the biggest fixed-
wing aircraft you could get into this strip, he thought. It looked
bloody enormous close-up on the ground, with its 600-odd
horse power turbine engine – much bigger than seen air-to-air
just recently. Shit! He hoped her husband wasn’t equally big.

“Why didn’t you say that it was your husband who saw

us?”

“There is another Pilatus in the area, and I didn’t get the

registration – did you?”

“No.”
“Even so, it may not have been him flying; he often rents it

out.” It didn’t appear to give her much concern.

133

The propeller shuddered to a stop and Sonja lifted the

cockpit bubble high in the cooler summer air. Erik found he
was still supporting the German Pilatus pilot’s wife’s bare tits
out in the open. He looked across and saw the heat-haze
rippling above the turbine exhaust. Nice place – he was going
to die here …

“We now run to the sauna!” Wearing just her knickers, she

climbed out of the cockpit and loped off towards the house,
breasts bouncing wildly in all directions. She could knock
herself out, running like that, he thought. He adjusted his
boxers and trotted after her, wondering if he should really be
running in the opposite direction, or even hijacking the
unsecured Robin.

He followed her to the small separate building he took to

be the sauna.

“Sonja?”
“Ja, Erik?
The blast of hot air hit him as she opened the door. “Where

is your... Oh!”

“Erik, I would like you to meet my husband, Otto.”
Crikey – he was big, even sitting down. “Ah... Hello,

Otto.”

“Hi Erik, gut to meet you. Get zoes boxers off and make

yourself comfortable.” He threw a small towel into Erik’s lap.
“Do you like much steam?”

“Ah, not for the moment, thanks.”
“My Swedish wife – she is nuts about the sauna. I have to

build this for her!”

Sonja kept her black knickers on as she sat smiling beside

her towel-clad husband.

Erik soon got over his surprise and did make himself

comfortable. It wasn’t too hot – a comfortable dry heat. He
wasn’t quite sure of the arrangements yet, but apparently
Sonja had already warned Otto that she might be dropping in
with a student for a sauna, so it seemed he was probably under
no immediate threat of dismemberment by the blond Teutonic
giant – who may, or may not have seen them in flagrante

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delicto.

Then things changed.
“Otto, I have been naughty.”
“What have you done, mein liebling?”
“I have been teasing Erik when we were flying together.”
Erik started to sweat much more. What the hell was she up

to?

“Then you must show me now how you have been teasing

poor Erik.”

Sonja ambled across to where Erik was sprawled, and

swung her breasts only inches above his face.

“And what did you do, Erik?”
“Ah, well... Ah, I didn’t do very much at all … I …”
“I hope you touched her just a little bit. My wife is very

beautiful – any man would do this – it’s OK.”

“Well, yes, I did actually, just a bit.”
“Show me.”
Very carefully, Erik reached out and touched her left breast

with his right hand, aware of a possible husband explosion at
any moment. It was supposed to be the gentlest of contacts,
but Sonja pushed the ample boob into the palm, and somehow
his hand ended up groping her lower breast and gripping
around her upstanding nipple.

“Maybe you use both the hands on both the breasts. You

must show me – it is OK.”

In for a penny ... thought Erik. Clearly the husband/wife

relationship here was a trifle exotic, to say the least. Now he
fondled Sonja from the front as she leant over him, rather than
behind while she was flying – an even more inviting prospect
with her lovely nipples magnetically attracting his mouth. He
soon found himself kissing and sucking them – more than he
had been able to do when airborne.

“Well, I think this deserves the spanking for my wife.”
“Oh, Otto!”
“But not yet; I think there is maybe something else my wife

has done. She must show me this now.”

Without hesitation Sonja snatched away the towel from

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Erik’s lap, bent over and took him into her mouth once more.
Despite the situation he was fully up for her. He revelled in the
feeling of her hot mouth working on him once more. A few
stray wisps of her dark hair tickled his thighs. He had
wondered why she had kept her hair pinned up out of the way
– now he knew.

Jesus, he thought, it hardly matters what hubby did or

didn’t see before – he can sure see it all now!

“And now I will start the spanking. Be very careful with

him, Sonja.”

His towel wrapped around his loins, Otto stood behind his

wife and eased her knickers to the floor. Without missing a
beat with the motion of her mouth, she stepped out of them.
The big man faced up to the bare behind presented to him. His
hand swung back.

Smack!
With her mouth full, she made only a slight muffled yelp,

that he felt as much as heard. The smack was probably softer
than it sounded – but it sounded fairly loud.

Smack! There were many, many more, and with each one

Sonja rolled her bare buttocks around in Otto’s face as if
defying him. Erik was getting very aroused. He would soon be
ready to come, but as the guest, would he be violating his
hospitality if he did so? Just what was the protocol in these
situations? As for Otto, his towel had long gone, and he
showed a moderate amount of manly arousal. If Erik had been
in his shoes, he would have been unable to resist spearing
Sonja’s lovely behind twenty spanks ago.

“And now we change the places!”
Erik found himself facing the prospect of Sonja’s broad

and somewhat rosy bottom with his rampant cock urgent for
duty, while Sonja went down on her husband, who simply lay
back passively on the bench, staring at the ceiling.

“You want me to spank her?”
“Don’t you dare spank my wife, Erik!” rumbled Otto, his

eyes now closed.

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Erik happily spread her buttocks

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wide. Sonja wiggled her bottom in invitation as his fingers
opened her labia. She was very juicy. His need was so urgent.
He drew the head of his cock through her wetness until he was
in position. He sighed as he slipped smoothly right up inside
her, all the way. She made a muffled sound of pleasure. For a
fleeting moment he wondered if this was what he was
supposed to do. Of course it was! Did he need Otto’s
permission? No. Fuck Otto! He had definitely been invited
into this woman by both concerned parties – and he was right
inside now! So he fucked Sonja.

For some time he fucked her, feeling her hanging breasts,

caressing her back and buttock cheeks as he thrust, until her
motion accelerated and she began to toss her bottom around in
a circle. From that point he just seemed to be holding on as
Sonja’s inner muscles gripped him, running up and down his
length as he sped in and out. He came at last – a come long
delayed from Sonja’s earlier attentions. He filled her in long
spurts, crying out with each one until, finally her motion
calmed and she seemed satisfied.

What had happened at Otto’s end, he had no idea, but Otto

seemed satisfied too – almost asleep, in fact as a flushed and
sparkle-eyed Sonja wiped her inner thighs with his towel.

“That was lovely, Erik. Would you like some tea now?”

Sonja could not be found lacking in hospitality towards her
English guest, he thought.

The rest of the day seemed to pass in a dream. They left Otto
in the sauna and had tea and strange continental biscuits in the
kitchen – still both in their underwear, and she bare-breasted.
She began to brief him for the flight back to Greenfield. Back
at the aircraft they dressed and did the walk-round. She’d fixed
the cabin air vent with a little sleight-of-hand trick that made
him almost certain that she’d sabotaged the thing in the first
place.

Now here he was, taxiing up to Greenfield’s grass apron

after a strange flight, performing all the Skills Test items he
had practised before. He recalled that they had even diverted

137

on the earlier cross-country – a requirement for the navigation
section of the test. He was expecting to do the actual test on
the next flight tomorrow. He shut down and secured the
aircraft while she completed paperwork. “Congratulations,
Erik, you have passed all your Skills Test – You now have
your PPL!”

Although he’d suspected he was being tested, he was still

taken aback. “Wow, Sonja, how can I ever thank you?”

“I thank you as well, Erik.” She leant over and kissed him

full on the lips for a few moments. Then she slipped him her
card. “Please stay in touch with us at the farm. I mean it. Do
not be the stranger.”

She grabbed her flight bag and headset, and jumped out

onto the grass. He’d been aware of increasing turbine noise
behind. He turned and saw that the big, tail-dragging Pilatus
was taxiing up to the apron, swinging its long nose from side
to side for visibility. Sonja jogged towards it as it swung right
around, presenting its starboard side door for her to open and
climb aboard. She waved and blew him a kiss before joining
her husband.

Erik stood by the Robin, watching the big machine taxi out,

raise its tail during the take off, and then climb steeply away.

As the turbine noise faded into the distance, he became

aware of Tanya standing beside him.

“If I didn’t know that that Fräulein is a Fräu with her

Mann, I would say I had something to worry about, Erik …
Do I?”

He looked at her for a moment. A lovely girl, but was she

being rather territorial considering how briefly they’d been
going out?

And where the hell was that Aviatrix, Sonja, taking him?

He would not be the stranger. He would go back – and maybe
not alone.

Time to chill. “No, you don’t, Tanya – unless you hate

saunas. And she is Swedish, actually!”

138

139

A Taste Of Punishment

by DMW Carol

Alistair’s locked in his bloody den again! Not that Nadine I’d
really been looking forward to Nick’s visit. We’d been flirting
online for months, spending hour after hour exchanging lewd
suggestions in our favourite chatroom, then private
conversations on MSN and even a couple of long filthy phone
calls in the wee small hours. He loved telling me about all the
naughty thoughts he’d been having and I had just as much fun
telling him how I’d punish him for being such a very, very bad
boy.

It had quickly reached the stage when just seeing his name

in the “Online” list got me horny and I’d lost count of the
number of times I’d got to bed later than planned because of
talking to him or been a few minutes late for work because I
just couldn’t tear myself away from the sexy chat we were
having.

Flirting online is fun, but it’s no match for the real thing.

There comes a point when you have to know if the fantasy is
matched by the reality. I’d reached that point weeks before and
had been seriously frustrated while my sense of caution battled
the libido. Eventually the libido had won and I’d shuffled a
few things round in my calendar to free up a weekend. I told
him I’d be home with nothing planned and he was welcome to
come over, he said he couldn’t wait. He wasn’t kidding. I’d
been home from work less than hour when he was knocking
on my door.

140

He was exactly like his photos, a big hunk of a man with

sexy broad shoulders, deep blue eyes and a warm friendly
smile that did a lot more than hint at the wicked mind he’d
already shown me, very nice indeed. “Nick! Hi!” I exclaimed.
“I wasn’t expecting you until the morning.”

“I got off early and figured why wait,” came the reply. The

look on his face and the way his eyes were checking out every
curve made it obvious that he was hoping that we’d both be
getting off again soon. Normally I’d have been uneasy about
such an obvious show of lust, but to be honest I was as fired
up as he was. No need to let him know that straight away
though.

He got a welcoming hug and a quick kiss, and I gave up on

the plans for a proper tidy around and sorting something a bit
more fancy for dinner. It took just a few minutes to get him
settled on the sofa with a cold cider while I did the few bits
that couldn’t be completely forgotten.

Nick seemed unimpressed when I didn’t just drop

everything because he was there. He said he wasn’t bothered
about clean sheets on the bed, didn’t care that I had to find the
ingredients of the next day’s dinner from the darkest recesses
of the freezer and was almost getting cranky when I had to log
on and send a few emails. I could have cut a few corners and
given him my undivided attention quicker, but I wasn’t going
to. There are more ways than one to be naughty and earn a
punishment and Nick was about to find out that bad boys get
what they deserve.

So the chores were done properly and without rushing and

when they were done, rather than joining him on the sofa for a
drink and a cuddle, I whisked us both out of the house and off
to the half decent, but not too expensive, restaurant on the
edge of town.

When the waitress came to take our order, I ordered the

simple burger with a crisp Caesar salad.

“And for sir?” she asked.
“Oh, he won’t be eating,” I said, snatching the menu from

Nick’s hands. “He’s been a very bad boy today.”

141

Nick’s jaw almost hit the floor. The waitress looked

stunned. But I looked him straight in the eye and the smile on
my face dared him to argue. I watched him struggle for a
while, but then he nodded his acceptance and looked down in
embarrassment.

Bemused by this exchange, all the waitress could say was:

“And to drink?”

“Diet Coke for me. He’ll have a glass of water, no ice.”

The waitress shrugged and with a final confused she gathered
up our menus and walked away.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” demanded Nick as

soon as she was out of earshot. “I can’t believe you just did
that!”

“No swearing!” I told him. “Unless you want me to take

you into the toilets and wash your mouth out with soap. If you
are planning on spending this weekend with me, you WILL
treat me with respect.”

“Yes, mistress!” he whispered. There was a real tremor in

his voice, and I smiled to see how his resistance was
crumbling. He was already submitting to my commands as
though it was natural.

I enjoyed the feeling of power for a moment or two and

then leaned over to speak to him, this time softly and kindly.

“If you are really hungry and you promise to be very good

from now on, you can have some dinner.”

“I think I’d be too embarrassed to eat now!” Nick replied,

and I watched as a deep red blush infused his cheeks.

I savoured my dinner that night, relishing every mouthful

as Nick watched and occasionally swigged at his glass of
water. All of the wait staff came past to check everything was
okay – no doubt our waitress had been gossiping and they all
wanted to watch this sexy hunk of a man being held in check
by a woman. His gaze followed every single mouthful and I’m
sure I caught a couple of whimpers as a particularly juicy
morsel caused me to lick my lips.

I finished every scrap, and it was just a matter of seconds

before the unusually attentive waitress was whisking the plate

142

away and asking if we wanted anything else. I asked to see the
dessert menu and couldn’t resist a chuckle as Nick let out a
low moan of desire.

I took a while to reach my decision. “I’m going to have the

chocolate torte.” I eventually stated. “Nick here will get his
dessert when I get him home.”

The waitress giggled and Nick blushed crimson. I kicked

off a shoe and let my foot reach out to his groin. Judging by
how hard he was, he was definitely looking forward to dessert.
I quickly snatched my foot away, but not without provoking
another unmistakable whimper.

When the dessert arrived, Nick’s expression was priceless.

There was a thick slice of heavy dark chocolate torte, a small
mound of ice cream, a swirl of sauce and a scattering of
succulent redcurrants. It looked almost too good to eat.
Another soft moan escaped his lips. Could it possibly be that
he wanted the chocolate almost as much as he wanted the rest
of his punishment? He was practically drooling.

I sliced through the torte and dragged the sliver through the

sauce and the ice cream. “Open your mouth” I commanded
and Nick smiled and opened wide. It was a superb dessert and
his eyes closed in ecstasy at the taste. “Good?” I asked and he
nodded his response. “Shame you haven’t been good enough
to enjoy more of it,” I teased.

Again I savoured every last morsel. It was even harder for

him to watch quietly knowing how divinely rich that slab of
chocolate was, how sweet the ice cream and how deliciously
sharp and tangy the sauce. As I scooped up one of the
redcurrants and dangled it in front of my mouth, I couldn’t
resist another tease. “I love redcurrants” I told him “They are
so sweet and juicy and exactly the colour your arse will be
when I finish spanking it tonight.” I hadn’t noticed the
waitress standing just behind me, but her choke at my words
sent that rosy blush over Nick’s cheek’s again.

I saved the last spoonful for Nick and served it to him with

a juicy redcurrant perched right on top, reminding him that his
punishment wasn’t over.

143

Within a minute of arriving back at my place, he was over

my lap with his trousers round his knees as I delivered the
spanking we were both waiting for. First a few brisk spanks
with my hand to warm him up and start the reddening, enough
on its own to have him moaning a few times and grinding his
cock into my thigh, but that was just the start. I reached for my
trusty leather paddle and pounded that sexy bottom until it was
as rosy as the redcurrant from the restaurant. He was writhing
so much that my skirt soon rucked up and left his cock
brushing against the lace tops of my stockings; it was clear
that my new friend knew just how to take his punishment. I
kept up a steady rhythm until the redness was seamless across
his buttocks and didn’t fade between strokes. Then it was time
for a change of pace and I drizzled a small trickle of massage
oil onto his bruised flesh and gently rubbed it in. His cock was
rock hard now and twitching against my thigh leaving a trail of
pre-cum on my stocking top.

“You really are a very naughty boy.” I told him as I

reached for a new paddle. My hand closed on the beautiful
antique hairbrush I keep on my dresser, solid oak with a
beautiful inlay. It looked wonderful, and I knew it felt even
better. Nick looked up as I stroked the rich wood and tried to
brace himself for the inevitable, but there was no preparing for
what was to come. He yelped like an injured puppy when the
wood smacked into his soft, already rosy bottom. His cry of
pain and surprise had barely faded when the next blow landed
followed by another and another until his arse was afire and
the air was full of cries and profanity.

However loud the protests, his cock was growing harder

with every strike. I rained blows on him harder and faster,
escalating to a frenzied pace. His cock ground into my thighs
with equal enthusiasm and he bucked in perfect
synchronisation with my rhythm as I landed the brush time
and again against his throbbing cheeks.

He cried and whimpered and thrashed with every stroke,

growing wilder and wilder until at last he could hold back no
more. Tears streamed down his face, his arse glowed crimson

144

and his cock gushed jets of hot sticky cum all over my lap as
he let loose a deep throaty cry that was almost a scream.

I pulled him into a tight embrace. Nick sobbed for a good

few minutes, blurting out an apology through the tears and
burrowing into my shoulder as the sensations slowly subsided.
He tried to talk, but his voice was hoarse from the yelping and
wailing and so I held him in silence until the shaking stopped
and he was resting in my arms.

“You know why you had to be punished?” I asked, and he

nodded. “And you know that if you’re bad again I’ll have to
punish you again?” Again the nod. “And you want to be
good?” Another nod. “Then come here,” I said and pulled him
towards me for a long overdue kiss.

Such sweet kisses, there was no mistaking the hunger we

felt for each other. The need for more was undeniable. We
clung together, grasping at each other and pressing closer and
closer together. Soon our hands and mouths began to explore
every new curve of each others bodies.

“I promised you dessert” I whispered as my dress was slid

off and dropped on the floor. “You can have chocolate cake,
ice cream or me …”

“No contest!” he replied, smiling wickedly as he slowly

slid my panties down my legs.” You’ve given me my just
desserts and now you’re going to get yours.

145

Harsher Measures

by Laurel Aspen

Sophie – categorically not a morning person – had behaved
with quite unforgivable rudeness to me at breakfast. After
staying over at my place one night she’d eschewed
conversation and instead snapped and sulking with petulant ill
grace until finally I called a halt. She’d been acting like a
wilful brat for several days previously and I determined this to
be the moment of truth. Time to impose the discipline my
girlfriend so obviously lacked by punishing her for real.

“All right, young lady,” I said angrily. “I’ve had quite

enough of your continued selfish mood and bad temper. It’s
high time you had those knickers taken down for a hard and
painful hiding.” To my amazement, rather than a petulant
response, I received immediate acquiescence.

“All right,” she said quietly her voice quavering with

crestfallen resignation, almost as if she’d being expecting this
dictat and avoiding my forthright gaze, “I suppose I have been
asking for it.”

“Very well then,” I said solemnly, “I’m in a rush for work

now so shall punish you this evening, that’ll give you 12 hours
to think about your behaviour.”

Sophie looked petulant. “And 12 hours to imagine what

sort of penalty you’ll inflict upon my poor bare bum,” she said
miserably, no doubt recalling her first chastising encounter
with ‘harsher measures’, several months previously.

That particular reckoning had involved a part of the body

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previously unvisited for such purposes. I’d bade Sophie, naked
but for a pair of high heels, approach an upright armless chair
and made her kneel up on the seat cushion facing towards the
rear. Hands clamped between thighs and calves, chin up,
naked rump pertly outthrust. It took a considerable effort of
will on my part not to be distracted by her deliciously bouncy
boobs, resting lightly upon the chair back. !Initially not in the
least surprised to have her bottom rendered hot and sore with a
slipper Sophie reacted with unfeigned outrage and fear when I
proceeded to lightly whip her fulsome bosom. Although only
employing a light suede-thonged flogger, her breasts were
soon visibly marked and stinging, tears coursing down her
woebegone face. Beautiful brown eyes wide, Sophie implored
me, promising anything – a blowjob, a tit fuck – if I would
only stop this torture.

Later, during dinner in a posh restaurant, I’d praised Sophie

for her fortitude. Cupping her still sore breasts – the absence
of a bra tantalisingly revealing erect nipples beneath her silk
shirt and causing a voyeuristic adjacent diner to come close to
choking – she smiled wanly and ruefully admitted to becoming
powerfully aroused despite the discomfort.

An hour later, crouching over me as I gently kissed her sore

nipples, Sophie gingerly skewered her copiously lubricated,
slot vigorously up and down on my rigid cock until we noisily
came together.

I can guess what you’re thinking; most people react in

exactly the same way when they cotton on. “You’re 46, she’s
24!” That’s typically how the conversation kicks off, after
which I can usually predict the precise response by gender.

Guys nudge each other, openly envious: “You old lucky

sod, she’s old enough to be …” Yeah, thanks for that.

Women tend to be immediately censorious; I’m a

‘svengali’, or an ‘ageing lothario’, maybe even guilty of that
most heinous crime, being a ‘manipulative, dirty old man’.

Although it doesn’t comfortably with fit any of the above

hypothesis the simple fact is that Sophie – drop-dead good
looking, outgoing, witty, obviously confident and for those sad

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souls who communicate in modern management speak
‘empowered’ – picked me up and made the running right from
the start. So there’s no need to patronise her or demonise me,
thank you very much, no one is a victim here.

Our relationship is, in every respect but one, wholly

egalitarian. Flatteringly, Sophie tells me that much of the
attraction of a liaison with an ‘older bloke’ (truth to tell that’s
a description I’m having trouble accepting, however accurate
and kindly meant) is the ease with which I accept her
expectations of equality. A welcome relief compared to the
insecure male egos of her peers apparently. My generation’s
ideals – and in particular my old hippy emphasis on individual
freedom – apparently exercise a stronger appeal for her than
the supposedly ironic sexism of gadget-obsessed ‘new lads’.

“You’ve travelled, learnt skills, done things other than play

pointless computer games or sit in bars trading empty boasts;
in short, lived a little,” she told me happily.

“Besides, it,” she looked meaningfully at her delightful

derriere, “just wouldn’t feel right with a bloke of my own
age.” ‘It’ turned out to be an oblique reference to spanking.
For all her outward autonomy, Sophie, it emerged, had a deep
atavistic compulsion to ‘get in touch with her need to sexually
submit.’ Fine by me, I was initially prudent enough not to
appear too aghast (nor openly exultant) at this revelation, nor
to push things on to quickly. When she felt ready would be
soon enough, let the fly come to the spider. Sure enough good
things come to those who wait – proving there’s a basis to
most clichés – and Sophie came to trust me sufficiently to
relinquish control in one special area of our private
partnership. Inside the assertive 21st century woman I was
delighted to discover a secret submissive. Naturally I was
thrilled to indulge the fantasies Sophie had long harboured
unrealised since she was a teenager and add CP, mild bondage
and role-play games to our sexual repertoire.

Sophie’s second ‘harsher measures’ episode had been

alfresco. Halting the car at a country park packed with
holidaymakers on a summer’s day, I’d led Sophie firmly by

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the hand through the crowds. Her attire – hair in girlish
bunches, ultra short netball skirt, tight T shirt, bare legs and
sneakers – got me some envious glances since her figure is far
from appearing adolescent. As an unmistakably adult woman
dressed in such a juvenile fashion – albeit that on Wednesday
evenings she really does play the sport to keep fit – Sophie’s
embarrassment was acute.

Most visitors seldom stray more than 50 yards from the

family car and we were soon in a quieter area of the woods.
Once among the trees I calmly ignored her plaintive protests,
and pleas to ‘get it over with’. How ironic, rather than as was
usual begging me to stop spanking her, she was entreating me
to begin. Conversely I was in no such hurry; enjoying the
spectacle I forced Sophie, bottom lip quivering and squirming
with humiliation, over until she touched her toes whereupon I
delivered a brisk, business-like, intensely rapid series of
ringing slaps without respite for several minutes.

Alert to every noise, real or imagined, convinced that a

party of picnickers might chance upon the sight of her
humiliation at any moment Sophie tried desperately not to cry
out for fear her distress might be overheard, or worse still
recorded on some holidaymaker’s Instamatic. Somehow she
contrived to purse her lips as all the while her firm, rounded
buttock cheeks juddered and crimsoned under the impact of
my unforgiving hand. Eventually relinquishing my iron grip I
let her stand, damp eyed, red of face and sore of bottom,
fidgeting uncomfortably and dancing an impromptu on-the-
spot jig in the sun-dappled forest glade.

Next I produced a small penknife and had her reluctantly

choose and cut a whippy, green willow switch. Requiring
Sophie to select the implement, which would soon wreak
havoc with her already throbbing haunches added a delicious
piquancy to proceedings – for me at least. Dismissing further
heartfelt pleas for clemency I bent Sophie over a convenient
fallen tree trunk and flipped up her skirt. The tiny thong
tantalisingly revealed beneath afforded no protection; her
pink-tinged bottom cheeks might as well have been naked.

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Savouring the sight I almost forget the punitive purpose of this
expedition but having recalled my true intent soon had the
hapless Sophie squirming under the first of half a dozen cuts
of the rod delivered hard to already smarting skin. Despite her
attempts at self-control the pain forced two involuntary cries
from her pretty mouth, sounds of acute female distress easily
heard in the car park and greatly increasing our risk of
detection.

She rose stiff (although not as much as I) and sobbing after

the sixth incorrectly thinking her ordeal concluded. To her
horror, I pushed Sophie cruelly back over the tree and
administered two extra strokes, low down across the backs of
her thighs causing her to shriek loudly once more. Wet eyed
and scarlet with humiliation I returned a chastened Sophie
through the crowds, a pair of livid weals clearly visible below
the attenuated hem of her skirt, her legs and posterior smarting
intolerably. To mind every eye was upon her, in truth I
detected no more than a couple of sidelong glances until,
nearing the car, an attractive raven haired Greek women
proffered a brief conspiratorial smile.

“That was cruel, and so embarrassing,” whimpered a sore

and extremely penitent young woman 15 minutes later as I
carefully rubbed soothing cold cream into her glowing
hindquarters.

“Walking home alone half-cut from the Tube station at one

in the morning, not phoning for me to collect you and
worrying me to death, I’d say it was just desserts,” I responded
testily but in truth couldn’t stay cross for long and my next
instruction was altogether kinder. Sophie obediently knelt up
(sitting would not be on the agenda for some hours to come) in
the back seat of the car – this time parked in proper seclusion –
parted her thighs and was rewarded for her fortitude with a
sound seeing to from behind.

Lest it be thought Sophie makes the entire running in

determining the sexual boundaries of our relationship I was the
one to suggest the occasional session of authentic discipline.
Whether as a subconscious desire to redress the balance of

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power between us I neither know nor intend to analyse my
motives too closely; it seems to me there’s far too much
analysis these days, much better to grasp opportunities as they
present. But how would an enforced penance square with her
professed feminism, I wondered? Had she said no at that
juncture there’d have been argument from me, I wasn’t going
to spoil a good thing by getting greedy.

Fortunately Sophie didn’t care a fig for ideological

rectitude – “let’s keep politics out of the bedroom,” she
declared firmly and unhesitatingly agreed to experiment to
“push our relationship to another level” by being the recipient
of a genuine punishment. Perhaps for Sophie these episodes
serve as a calling to account, a modern day equivalent of the
confessional. Whatever, on such occasions her misdemeanours
– exaggerated a tad for dramatic effect – provided a basis for
some emotionally and erotically intense encounters.

To further extend the boundaries of our shared experience

and exercise my imagination I set myself the task of
experimenting with various ways to increase the salutary
effects of Sophie’s occasional real-life castigations without
recourse to either draconian implements or harsher strokes.
Pain beyond a certain level seems to me gratuitous and
uncivilised and I believe that ritual and anticipation play every
bit as an important part in domestic discipline as the severity
of the chastisement. The method by which I went about
delivering Sophie’s threatened bottom warming amply
illustrates this point.

On the appointed evening of this third such ‘harsher

measures’ session – retribution for her conduct that morning –
Sophie shivered at the recall of those previous disciplinary
travails then steadfastly set about dressing as I’d directed.
Finally satisfied with her appearance she discreetly made her
way, apprehensive but excited to my flat and our latest
reckoning.

One benefit of age, some compensation for greying temples

and stiffening joints, is an ability to bring an effortless air of
seniority and authority to proceedings. This time I’d decreed

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innovative attire for penitence and was pleased to see that,
blushing furiously and however reluctantly, she’d complied.

Sophie’s shoulder length tresses were pinned neatly in

place, her makeup regime little more than bright red lipstick.
Underneath a long coat, discarded upon entry to my domain, a
crisp white cotton shirt strained its buttons dangerously close
to breaking point over her plentiful breasts. Her straight black
skirt was far shorter than would have been permitted by any
bona fide educational institution, barely covering the tops of
her sheer black stockings and only an adult schoolgirl
would’ve dared to sport such high heels on her single strap
black court shoes. The outfit was completed with a clumsily
knotted school tie and authentic white ankle socks. Admiringly
I flicked up the hem of her skirt to reveal her superbly rounded
bottom cheeks snugly encased in a pair of simple white cotton
knickers and bisected by taut suspenders of a matching hue.

“Right, Sophie,” I said calmly, “since this is a punishment I

shall reverse the usual order of events.” Her wide hazel eyes
stared at me with puzzled apprehension. “Consequently I
intend to begin by strapping you, following which you’ll go
over my knee for a sound spanking,” I explained.

Sophie’s pretty mouth fell open in shock. She knew from

bitter experience that the thick leather strap applied ‘cold’ is
painful enough. To be subsequently spanked over the
throbbing stripes would be agony. She began to protest, but
obediently stopped when I placed an admonitory finger on her
lips. Now was not the time to further increase my ire.

Arranging two dining chairs back to back I told Sophie to

assume an uncomfortable stance, standing astride one chair
and bending over the back to place her hands on the seat of the
second. This was a pose I’d seen illustrated but never
previously employed; eminently suited to chastising the most
serious misdemeanours, the perilously unstable posture is
difficult to maintain and dreadfully humiliating. From a
punisher’s perspective it affords an ideal opportunity to apply
the strap to a girl’s bottom and the exquisitely tender insides of
her thighs.

152

Wailing abjectly in pain and mortification and struggling to

maintain her grip and balance Sophie endured 18 hard strokes
from the well-worn length of leather. Her cotton knickers
shielded no more than her modestly and when helped
unsteadily from the chair Sophie’s hands immediately clutched
desperately at the blazing buttocks I’d callously transformed
into a mass of stinging, overlapping red weals.

Horribly aware that this time she was being taken to the

furthermost limits of her endurance Sophie then stood,
trembling, hands on head as I removed her skirt and began to
spank her bottom with methodical, cupped-palm slaps, which
echoed around the room and made her cheeks wobble
delightfully. After several minutes her posterior had reddened
even further and was obviously stinging furiously since Sophie
began jiggling agitatedly from foot to foot. I then transferred
my attention to the front of her thighs, firing off a fusillade of
ringing slaps that soon had her hopping ignominiously on the
spot crying out in anguish.

Despite her wails of pain and pleas for mercy I marched

Sophie over to an upright chair, seated myself and dragged
her, tearstained and dishevelled, face down across my lap.
Sore thighs chafing on my jeans Sophie kicked and struggled
to no avail across my knee. Another sound spanking followed,
long minutes ticking by until her bottom had been rendered
swollen and crimson and my palm smarted unbearably.

So abject was her distress by this point that my resolve

almost weakened, but not quite and her unfortunate bare
bottom, thrashed and smacked pillar-box red was soon
squirming hot and sore across my lap once more as I
mercilessly dispensed further heat and discomfort to her
tortured rear.

Sophie’s cries simultaneously increased in volume and she

bucked wildly across my knees all self control abandoned as
her bottom was subjected to an unrelenting and seemingly
unending ordeal by spanking. Eventually satisfied not a square
inch had escaped the harsh impact of my palm I transferred my
attention to her thighs and calves. To ever more frantic shrieks

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of dismay I smacked them scarlet until each matched a bottom
so scorching I could feel heat radiating from it.

By now Sophie was in floods of tears, never had she

endured a spanking so severe or as unrelenting. But I had yet
another unwelcome surprise in store; reaching into my pocket
I located a small phial of baby oil and deftly dribbled it across
her blazing buttocks. Sophie moaned with relief as I rubbed it
into her scalding flesh then squealed with incongruous delight
as the lubricious liquid was smoothed around her sex. In spite
of her pain and distress her treacherous sex had become wet
enough to easily allow me to part her labia and slide a questing
digit into her vagina.

This was rapidly replaced in turn with a vibrator I’d

sneaked from the varied collection supposedly hidden in her
underwear drawer and Sophie was soon involuntarily gasping
and moaning as I forced it roughly deep inside her vagina
while simultaneously recommencing her spanking. Sophie’s
hips jerked and convulsed in response to the renewed hurt,
forcing the thick plastic penis to slide in ever deeper,
stretching and penetrating her aching sex to the fullest
extreme.

Without warning I lifted her from my lap and carried

Sophie to the sofa, flipping her wide and wet-eyed onto her
back. Hoisting her legs into the air by her high heels and
pushing her hands down onto her sex I gave one final
instruction: “It’s quite simple Sophie,” I explained, “you work
the vibrator in and out of your naughty little cunt and rub that
throbbing clitoris. I hold your legs up in this undignified but
deliciously revealing position and continue to spank your sore
bottom. When you come, and only then, will I stop, so you’d
better make a lot of noise so as to be sure I notice.”

Undignified though the situation was Sophie had little

choice but to comply, masturbating frantically as her fiery
bottom received a further fusillade of ringing hand slaps. All
propriety abandoned she ground the heel of her hand hard into
her mons and rapidly plunged the vibrator in and out of her
sopping pussy until, lost in the hinterland between pleasure

154

and pain, adrenalin coursing like electricity through her veins,
she noisily came.

“Way harsh”, as I believe her generation say these days,

although we subsequently concluded an unforgettable
encounter with a loving, caring and rather more
conventionally-positioned conciliatory coupling.

155

Pride And Preference

by Roz Macleod

Lindsey didn’t know whether she felt happy or sad when Nick
rang her. It had been a long time since their affair and his
departure for the new job in Milan. Although, now she was
free, there was no need for her to feel guilty.

“Hullo, gorgeous.” Cliché, with just that touch of humour

in his voice to make her smile, as doubtless he knew she
would. Phone in hand, she walked into the hall and looked at
herself in the mirror. Her complexion looked pale, but her hair
was thick and glossy and there was a liveliness in her eyes
which might have been an instinctive reaction to his voice.

“What are you doing?” he asked.
“De-cluttering my home office. What are you doing?”
“Jet lag. I’m in bed. Stroking my cock and thinking of you.

You liked to have it in your mouth, didn’t you?”

She had to agree.
“You gave me a blow job in a lay-by.”
“I did.”
“You sucked my balls.”
“Yes.” Lindsey’s stomach lurched and her cunt felt wet.
“I bet you’re nice and moist now, aren’t you?”
“Not especially,” she lied.
“You’re never far from my thoughts, my love.”
Nor you from mine, she thought, although she would never

admit it to him.

“Will you come and see me?”

156

“Where?”
“In my new flat in the Barbican.”
“You mean you’ve returned for good?”
Nick laughed. “Depends on whether it’s worth my while –

from the business point of view, I mean.”

Typical Nick. Putting work first. Yet wasn’t that one of the

things that attracted her? A self-made, successful businessman.
An alpha male. Very handsome, his tall figure honed by
exercises in the gym. Muscles rippling under his shirt, his
broad shoulders exuding power. The leather belt he’d bought
in the States with a buckle the shape of a snake curled at his
slim waist. Why, she couldn’t wait to grab his big cock
bulging under his black jeans.

That was the problem. Nick reduced her to jelly every time

she saw him. He had such power over her. It wasn’t right.

“Will you come, then?”
“I’ll meet you for coffee.”
“I can make you coffee in my flat.”
“No, Nick, let’s talk first …”
She didn’t really want to talk. Nick getting straight down to

sex was another thing which excited her about him. Forget
talking, he’d say. I want to fuck you and you want to fuck me.
Let’s do it! Then he’d unbutton her shirt and unzip her
trousers. He’d run his hands down the length of her body,
making her tremble. His fingers expertly unhooked her bra and
cupped her breasts. She was small, but under his deft
persuasion, her breasts enlarged, her nipples thickened and
hardened into points which his tongue coiled round and licked,
while he murmured his appreciation in between breaths.

Then he’d pull off her panties, she’d raise one leg and he

began to finger fuck her. Round and round, in and out, till she
moaned, her cunt tingling, her juices running down the inside
of her legs. He picked her up and lowered her onto the bed, her
body still quivering. His dark head between her thighs. Oh,
how she wanted to come! She urged him on and he sucked and
sucked until her back arched, her muscles contracted and her
orgasm overwhelmed her. Nick had raised his head. “Just for

157

starters,” he’d said.

Lindsey brought her thoughts back to the present.
“Which day can you make?” Nick said.
She hesitated. It seemed she had a date whether she wanted

it or not.

“I’m interviewing Tuesday morning. I could make the

afternoon.”

“How’s the agency going? Plenty of work?
“Certainly is – lots of companies prefer to employ agency

staff.”

“Glad to hear it.” Nick rang off. It was a bit like a business

transaction, she decided. Yet she liked his matter of fact tones.
Sickly hearts and flowers had never attracted her. She found
romance novels boring – with the exception of Pride and
Prejudice, but that was really about money, wasn’t it?

Lindsey went into her bedroom and searched in her

wardrobe. She brought out her vibrator, the cock cream tasting
of raspberries and her spanking bat.

The bat had been her idea. It was made of wood and

covered with black velvet.

“I feel so guilty,” she’d told Nick when they’d begun their

relationship.

“You told me you and Michael had separated?”
“We have – but he’s been such a major part of my life, I

can’t get him out of my mind.”

“I can help you with that,” Nick had said. He turned her

over and pulled her onto his knees so that her hands touched
the carpet. With one hand he held her legs in the air and with
the other hand began spanking her. First his palm against her
bottom cheeks, his touch more than a caress than a
punishment. Then he hit her harder with the bat.

“More, more …” she demanded, feeling the sting against

her buttocks, followed by a hot flush of desire. His penis
thickened underneath her and balancing with her hands, she
began rubbing against him as best she could. Nick pushed her
round, her legs fell open. “Come inside, Nick, please!” He
stared down at her juicy hole, then seized her curly pubic hair.

158

“Not yet,” he said.

“Yes, you will,” she grabbed his long stiff and ran her

tongue underneath to his heavy balls. She kissed and sucked
each ball, and delighted in hearing his grunts of pleasure. She
lifted her head. “You want to come inside me, don’t you?”

In answer, he flung himself down on the bed and pulled her

on top of him. Lindsey straddled him and started to ride him.
Her breath came in short bursts as she pumped up and down
on his hard member until he caught her in his arms and
pressed her down. “Ah,” he cried as he came. Lindsey echoed
his cry as she convulsed in the bright light of orgasm, her
limbs quivering, her blood racing, a deep flush spreading over
her limbs. “Oh, Nick,” she relaxed into his embrace as a deep
contentment spread over her.

He kissed her hot cheek. “Happy?”
“Need you ask?”
All this before the bombshell of Milan.
“Come with me,” Nick had said.
“I can’t leave my agency.”
“Open one in Italy.”
“I don’t speak the language like you – it would be too

difficult.”

“I want you to come with me.”
She’d pushed him away. “I can’t, Nick. I really can’t”
“Lindsey, this job is an opportunity I can’t turn down.”
She’d stared at him, a cold fear creeping into her heart.
“Then go, Nick. Good luck. Email me.”
Should she have gone with him? Why had she hesitated? It

was her upbringing. She had been schooled by her mother to
resist men like Nick. “Too handsome, too charming. You can’t
live with men like that.” Her mother had spoken from
experience, but that didn’t mean she was right about Nick.

Lindsey opened her jar of cock cream and spread it over

her vibrator. She took off her trousers and panties and felt her
anxious pussy. She pulled at her pubic hair, like Nick had
done, parted her labia and rubbed around her creamy hole.
Starting her dildo, she inserted it into her vagina, in and out,

159

raising her legs and giving herself up to its regular hum, all the
time thinking of Nick. Her stomach churned, she imagined
Nick leaning over her, thrusting his penis inside her, so what
did she fear? That he had such power over her – that he would
love her and leave her like her mother had warned – hadn’t he
done that already? She closed her eyes, throbbing from the
waist down as the vibrator reached its highest speed. Lindsey
sank into the duvet while the wave of pleasure grew and
convulsed the whole of her body in a gigantic tide of ecstasy.
Breathing heavily, she opened her eyes. There, she didn’t need
Nick after all.

Tuesday afternoon and Nick’s Mercedes purred up her road
and stopped outside her house. Lindsey held her breath as she
watched him climb out. So good-looking, although wasn’t that
a touch of grey in his dark hair? In one hand, he held a bottle
of Chianti and a small parcel in the other.

“Hullo, darling,” he said, as if the intervening two years

had meant nothing.

She took the bottle and put it on the kitchen table, where

she’d placed the bat and the cock cream. Despite herself, her
hands trembled as she opened the parcel to reveal a beautifully
styled pair of tan leather gloves. Smiling, she held up her face
towards him and he kissed her lips.

“You haven’t changed,” he said, “pretty woman.”
Lindsey fetched the glasses and her bottle opener. She

watched while he opened the wine and poured it out.

“I hope it’s still your favourite,” he said.
Lindsey nodded. “It is.”
Nick took a sip and put down his glass on the table.
“What are you wearing, darling?”
Too eagerly, she pulled up her black skirt to show him her

lacy thong which barely covered her mound. Nick pressed her
to him, his fingers unzipping her skirt. She wriggled out of it
as it cascaded to the floor.

“No bra,” he said, pushing his hands up her T shirt.
“I don’t need one,” she replied, lifting her arms to showing

160

him her firm breasts with their erect nipples. It was so good to
have him here again! But she mustn’t get to rely on him as she
had done previously.

“I missed you,” he said, his fingers squeezing her nipples.

She undid the buttons on his blue shirt and pressed her breasts
against his chest. Nick held her tightly against him. She moved
her leg so her cunt rubbed against his bulge. He tugged at her
thong. Now she was completely naked. She rubbed up and
down, her clit throbbing against the firm cloth of his black
jeans. With one hand he grasped her pussy, his fingers feeling
round her clit, pushing into her liquid opening, so she spread
her legs, her muscles contracting, her breathing quickening
under his expert touch.

“Oh,” she gasped as she came. Nick laughed and kissed her

mouth. His tongue running round the soft inside of her lips and
pressing in further. He withdrew for breath and Lindsey
started unfastening his trousers, her hands gripping his hard
member. She pushed him onto a kitchen chair and lowered her
head to suck his erect penis.

“Darling,” Nick exclaimed, as she felt his cock lengthen.

He drew her onto his lap, turned her over and began to spank
her.

“You used to like this,” he said.
Lindsey balanced her palms on the kitchen floor as his

hand came down on her bottom. Oh, it was such a turn on!

“More,” she said, and heard him laughing.
“Beautiful butt,” he said, “would you like my cock in your

tight arse?”

Lindsay panted. She’d never trust anyone else but Nick to

fuck her arse. He knew instinctively what she wanted. He let
her go and stood behind her, one hand under her cunt, feeling
her cream, smoothing it round to lubricate her arsehole.

He reached for the cock cream and spread it on his

member. Then he plunged into her arse.

“Ah!” Lindsey exclaimed. He was so long and smooth it

didn’t hurt at all.

“I’m coming!”

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She held on, loving the feel of his penis so tight inside her

hole, until she heard him cry out.

He withdrew gently.
“Lovely girl. You’re the best.” He picked up the velvet

covered bat. “It’s me who ought to be punished for leaving
you for so long.”

Lindsey took the bat. “Turn over then.”
Willingly, he laid himself over the kitchen table, his pert

buttocks uppermost. If only his employees could see him now!
She felt such authority as she wielded the bat, but it wasn’t
hard enough. She reached over to the cooker grabbed
Michael’s last present to her, a new frying pan. How she hated
a man who gave his girl domestic presents! Said it all, didn’t
it?

Wham! She brought down the pan on Nick’s bare behind.

He yelped. He ought to be punished for leaving her and she
was going to do it. She brought down the pan harder onto his
bare behind. Wham! Elation ran through her body. This was a
real turn-on. Her clit swelled and throbbed.

“Wicked girl!” Nick turned round and grabbed the pan. She

was no match for his physical strength, unless – next time, she
tied him up and spanked him as hard as she could. She
grinned, thinking about the control she would have over him.
She could wear her new leather gloves to give her more grip.
He would be totally subject to her new found preference.

Nick put his arms round her. “I never want to be separated

from you.”

“You were the one who left me.”
“Never again,” he said firmly.
She drew back. “You don’t mean that. When the next

business opportunity arises, you’ll be away, won’t you?”

He grabbed her waist and held close her against his naked

body.

“I’m asking you to marry me, darling Lindsey.”
She hesitated.
“Of course, I know you’ll want to carry on working,” he

added.

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“Too right, I will.” She bent her knee and stroked her leg

against his thigh.

“We’ve so much in common, haven’t we?” Nick continued,

his fingers feeling all round her bare ass. “Your agency means
as much to you as my business does to me. You’re an alpha
female. Although I can support you in the manner to which
you have been accustomed.”

“It’s not necessary.”
Nick smiled. “I’d like to take you for a drive in my new

Mercedes.”

“Is it the latest model? Better than mine?”
“It’s waiting for your inspection.”
Alpha female. She liked the sound of that. She would check

out his car. And his Barbican flat. Wasn’t it the sight of Mr
Darcy’s splendid stately home in Derbyshire which swayed
Elizabeth to marry him? Or was it the scene when he emerged
from the lake in a wet T shirt? Both, naturally.

She glanced at the hardly touched bottle of Chianti still on

the table. “We’ll finish this later.”

His fingers rubbed her cunt.
“Something to celebrate?”
She narrowed her eyes and pressed her body against him.

There’d be some string in the garage – maybe that would be
strong enough to bind his hands and feet.

“Umm …wait and see,” she said, as his fingers squeezed

her eager clit.

163

Domestic Discipline

by Stephen Albrow

Peter had always been the jealous type, but Amy had never
dared play on the fact before. She already knew he felt
uncomfortable with her being the only female at her
workplace, so the outfit she’d chosen to wear that first day was
like a red rag to a bull. He’d left for work before her that
morning, so he hadn’t seen how short her skirt was, nor the
plunging neckline of her tight white blouse. The surprise came
when he picked her up, and it didn’t appear to go down well.

When she heard the familiar beep of his car horn, Amy

made a point of exiting the building with an incredibly hunky
builder by her side. There were twenty builders on the
construction firm’s books in total, and it was her job to
provide all the secretarial support. She had to ensure there
were sufficient numbers of men at each site, organise all the
transportation and keep all the paperwork up-to-date. Then
there were the phones to answer, the teas and coffees to make
and the constant liaison with the boss. It was a tough,
demanding role, but she’d enjoyed the first day, what with all
those muscled builders drifting in and out of the building. She
was certainly never short of eye-candy, but should she really
have been staring quite so closely? As a married lady, she
knew it was wrong, but that only increased her desire to be
spanked.

“See you later,” she said, waving at the hunky builder, as

she opened the door and climbed in the car. Her miniskirt was

164

flapping around in the breeze, but it didn’t climb high enough
to reveal her stocking tops. Not that Peter needed to see her
stocking tops to be angered by the way she had dressed that
day. She saw his eyes flicker up and down her body, noticing
every element that spoke of sex – the glossy redness of her
lipstick, the eye-catching crevice between her breasts, the
long, slim legs in the tiny skirt and the seductive five-inch
stiletto heels.

“Who was that?” asked Peter, already stepping on the

accelerator, like he wanted to whisk her away from there as
fast as he could.

“Oh, just one of the guys,” said Amy.
“Just one of the guys? How the hell many of them are

there, then?”

“Oh, about forty. No, probably fifty.” It was a little white

lie. Amy knew there were only twenty, but exaggerating the
number was sure to add to Peter’s already mounting jealousy.
Much as he tried to keep his eyes on the road ahead, she could
see him continually gazing down at her legs, then shaking his
head in horror at how short her skirt was. Adding fuel to the
fire, Amy crossed one leg on top of the other, which made her
skirt ride a little higher up her thighs. It was enough to expose
just a hint of stocking top, and she knew what picture that
would put in his mind – a picture of fifty horny builders
standing in front of her desk all day, watching the new sexy
secretary repeatedly crossing and uncrossing her legs, and
flashing them her stocking tops and maybe even more in the
process!

It was a scenario she found quite horny herself; hence the

sensual tingle between her thighs. Her knickers stuck to her
cunt lips, as the first drips of juice seeped out of her gash, but
it was the look on Peter’s face that thrilled her most. She could
see the jealous fury in his eyes, in his down-turned lips and in
the furrowed lines above his brows. His silence was almost
deafening, too. He hadn’t even asked her if she’d enjoyed her
first day in her brand new job, such was his disgust with the
way she looked.

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Amy let him stew in his own juices for the rest of the

journey, excited by what the slow build of anger might lead to.
She knew he thought she had been a bad girl, so he was certain
to want to punish her. As he parked the car in front of the
house, she made a point of jumping out of the car before him,
wanting him to follow her into the house. It was important that
he saw her marching ahead, her stiletto heels making her
bottom wiggle. Her skirt was tight as well as short, the satin
fabric clinging tight to her cheeks, as they swung suggestively
from side-to-side.

Even without turning back to look, she could tell he was

staring at her curvaceous arse. She accentuated the swing of
her hips, as she opened the front door and hurried through the
hallway. At work, through the paper-thin walls in the ladies,
she’d heard several of the builders having a laddish debate
about whether the new girl’s sexiest features were her
voluptuous breasts or shapely rear. They’d voted two-to-one in
favour of her bum cheeks, so how could Peter fail to look? Her
arse was like a magnet to him, tempting him and teasing him,
almost forcing him to deliver the spanking Amy craved.

She led him through to the kitchen, where she grabbed the

kettle and took it to the sink. She filled it with water, then took
it back to the stand, knowing he was watching her every move.
The coffee cups were stashed in the cupboard beneath the
work surface, so she’d have to bend right over to pick them
up. As she reached down for them, with her bum in the air, her
skirt climbed high above her stocking tops – high enough to
flash him her tight black knickers.

“You slut,” yelled Peter, unable to contain his fury any

longer. “Were you bending down like that at work all day? No
wonder those builders seem to like you so much.”

“What do you mean?” said Amy, suddenly the innocent.

She stood upright again and turned to Peter, a butter-wouldn’t-
melt look on her face. But her innocent face was only half the
story, the other half being her provocative attire.

“Look, don’t play the innocent with me,” said Peter.

“You’ve been flashing your tits and arse all day.”

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“Oh, you’re just being silly,” insisted Amy, but her attempt

to calm him was only an act. The truth was she wanted to
rouse him further, so she turned and reached for the coffee
cups again.

Amy held her pose, bending down towards the cupboard,

with her skirt around her middle and her arse in the air. She
picked up two cups, then leaned across the work surface, still
with her bum at a spankable height. She was hoping Peter
would be seeing her through the builders’ eyes, for whenever
he became jealous, he no longer looked at Amy with his own
eyes. Instead, he saw her through the lens of whoever was the
cause of his jealousy. Suddenly, he was no longer himself, but
one of the builders admiring the brand new secretary’s arse.

“You dressed to please them, didn’t you, you whore?”

Peter shouted, his footsteps bringing him closer to Amy. He
stood right behind her, then everything went silent, except for
the gentle rustle of his shirtsleeves, as he raised his hand to
shoulder-height.

“Yes, I did,” said Amy, determined to enflame him. She

wanted this to be the hardest, most punishing spanking of her
life, and there was no better way to bring out the best in her
jealous husband than to let him think she’d dressed like a
whore to arouse a bunch of young, hung builders. She gritted
her teeth, as she waited for the impact, eager to see how great
Peter’s wrath was and to know what kind of a punishment she
was in for. The first spank was always a good indication of
what was to follow, but Peter knew that only too well and was
only too happy to make her wait.

Amy heard the sound of Peter’s breathing, made heavier

than usual by his obvious anger. The anticipation was killing
her, so she raised her buttocks higher into the air, trying to
tempt him into that first firm slap. A swarm of butterflies
made her stomach churn, as she heard the movement of his
hand, but all he did was grab her skirt and lift it further away
from her pert pink cheeks. Her arse was his now, ready to be
punished – a punishment she so richly deserved.

“You tart!” yelled Peter, then at last it happened – his hand

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swished through the air and struck her left cheek. She still had
her tight black knickers on, but the fabric wasn’t able to
cushion the sting. A groan of pain burst out of her lips, then a
sense of panic overwhelmed her mind, for the opening blow
had been far more painful than ever before. Had Amy gone too
far that day with her plan to incite Peter’s jealous nature? Yes,
if the opening blow was anything to go by. He seemed
determined to teach her an especially thorough lesson.

“Dirty bitch!” he bellowed, lifting his hand back on high,

then delivering a second blow to the exact same spot. The
initial pain was yet to die, so the second spank just enflamed it
further, the mounting soreness sending prickly shivers all the
way up Amy’s back and down her thighs. Amy closed her
eyes and steeled herself, knowing there were still more spanks
to come, the next one catching the top of her thighs. It was
delivered with a venom that made her squeal. Her slutty attire
and flirtatious manner with the builders had really brought out
the animal in her man.

Peter drove his hand into Amy’s buttocks, executing five

fierce slaps in quick succession. She groaned with discomfort
after every one, but that didn’t stop her poking her arse even
higher into the air, as if imploring him to spank her harder.
The steady accumulation of blows was turning her aching arse
cheeks red, the welts throbbing harder with each new strike.
But Amy knew the pain was warranted. She had dressed and
acted like a tart that day, encouraging the attention of the
muscled builders. And even though she would always stay true
to Peter, it hadn’t stopped the fantasies playing in her head –
fantasies of two sweaty, bare-chested workmen sandwiching
her naked body, their dirty hands clasping her exposed breasts,
their hard cocks filling her deep, wet holes.

“I’m a slut,” whispered Amy, recalling her lust-fuelled

fantasies of illicit sex with her work colleagues.

“A filthy slut,” confirmed Peter, then he ripped down her

knickers, eager to punish her naked flesh. And Amy couldn’t
wait! She was desperate to feel his hand delivering blow after
blow to her bare behind. Her dirty mind needed correcting

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somehow. She had cheated on Peter in her head, so she
deserved whatever he threw at her.

Her buttocks quivered from the force of the blow, as Peter

lashed out at her curvaceous cheeks. He smiled when he saw
how red her flesh was. Even spanking her through her
knickers, he’d been able to create some punishing sore spots.
And with her knickers now down around her ankles, there was
nothing to come between his hand and her skin. That meant
maximum impact and maximum noise. A healthy, hearty
slapping sound filled the air each time he executed another
blow.

“Take that,” he shouted, the palm of his hand smacking

hard into the centre of Amy’s rear-end. He grabbed some flesh
and pinched her right bum cheek, agitating one of the many
sore red marks upon her arse. Amy looked back over her
shoulder at him, letting him see the torment in her eyes, then
she screamed in his face as he struck her again. The force of
the strike had sent shivers right through her, the pain now so
intense she couldn’t take anymore.

“Forgive me,” she said, but she was just too late, for Peter’s

arm was already gaining speed. It surged through the air
towards her arse, the eventual thwack almost deafening to
hear. Amy howled with pain, but there was an added element
to the howl that sounded like a pre-orgasmic sigh of pleasure.
There was no doubt Peter was punishing Amy, but she
couldn’t deny she was enjoying it, too. Both she and her
jealous husband could smell the sex-juice that had dripped
from her gash throughout the spanking.

“You really are a slut!” said Peter, realising the punishment

had turned Amy on. He pressed a hand between her legs and
felt how wet her pussy was.

“So, fuck me like I’m a slut,” said Amy, then she pushed

her sore buttocks against his crotch and rubbed them up and
down his cock. It was fully erect. He was horny, too!

“On the table,” said Peter, lifting Amy into his arms and

then laying her down on the kitchen table. Her knickers were
still around her ankles, so he removed her stilettos and then

169

pulled them right off, allowing her to spread her stocking-clad
thighs and him to mount her curvy body. Amy didn’t guess it,
but he’d chosen the missionary position and the kitchen table
for a reason – so that when he thrust, Amy’s freshly spanked
cheeks would grind against the hard wooden surface.

Amy thought her punishment had come to an end, but as

his helmet pressed inside her, she felt the bitter sting return to
her cheeks. Then, when Peter rammed his manhood deeper,
the throbbing in her buttocks felt even more vivid than the
delicious pulsations he ignited in her gash. Peter always
fucked her harder after a spanking, so she wasn’t surprised by
the high-speed tempo, but the mix of sensations was harder to
deal with. Bursts of intense pleasure alternated with almost
unbearable twinges of pain, as Peter’s thrusts sparked vibrant
tingles in her pussy while all the time adding to the soreness in
her arse.

“I hope you’re learning your lesson,” said Peter, staring

into Amy’s eyes. She longed to tell him she was, but she
couldn’t stop screaming. Every thrust of his dick drew a howl
from her lips, half cry of pleasure and half cry of pain. She
slapped her hands against his buttocks, as they bobbed back
and forth between her thighs, powering the meaty thrusts of
his cock. The same venom he’d shown when spanking her arse
was now being displayed in the hardest, deepest penetration
she’d experienced in years.

An intense pulsation made her cunt walls spasm, as Peter

powered his full-length into Amy’s slit. She felt her red raw
arse cheeks getting squashed against the tabletop, and this
reminder of what a bad girl she’d been was enough to tip her
over the edge. Her fingernails dug into Peter’s buttocks, as her
insides spasmed harder, a thick wave of juice flooding through
her cunt. This time her scream was of purest pleasure. All the
pain seemed to vanish in the heat of her climax!

“Oh, baby,” groaned Amy, wrapping her limbs round

Peter’s body and locking him in her climactic embrace. Her
pussy was convulsing around his erection, her pulsations
stimulating his shaft and head. Each time her muscles

170

tightened round his length, she could feel the excitement in his
cock, the quickening throbs in his helmet making it clear he
was just about to explode.

Peter pulled back his hips for a final time, then hammered

his cock deep into Amy’s gash. Her cunt walls pulsed around
his prick, as a bolt of orgasmic tension shot along his shaft and
made his head vibrate. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on
her, but as the creamy waves of spunk spilled into her gash, it
felt like Peter’s helmet was bulging to almost twice its normal
size. It throbbed hard between her tight, wet walls, almost as if
it was spanking her from deep within. A powerful sequence of
clear, precise throbs made it drum against her muscles, as jet
after jet of come gushed out.

And as Peter thrust again to drain the spunk from his balls,

so Amy’s sensitive behind got crushed against the wooden
tabletop. She felt a burst of pain in her arse cheeks, but her
cunt had the upper hand now, the blissful feel of Peter coming
inside her allowing her to cope with the excruciating sting. Her
insides were still convulsing at speed, and her orgasm still
refusing to fade, as the full extent of her husband’s mastery
added a powerful mental dimension to the physical rush. Peter
had not only punished her for behaving like a slut and
fantasising about the builders, but he’d also proved she didn’t
need to have those illicit fantasies. None of those builders
could have spanked and fucked her with any more passion
than Peter had done. Every fantasy she had could be fulfilled
by him, his jealous nature and dominant force able to take her
to such incredible heights.

A grateful Amy went to kiss his lips, but he pulled away

and gave her a final masterful look. He pressed his hands
beneath her body, cupping her buttocks and fingering the
bruises his hands had raised.

“I want you to dress sensibly tomorrow,” he said,

reminding her of the lesson she’d been taught that day. “I
don’t mind you dressing like a slut for me, but not for that
bunch of guys you work with.”

Peter’s words made Amy smile; and she wondered whether

171

to tell him that her short skirt and revealing blouse had always
been meant for him, not the builders. But in the end she said
nothing, for her plan had worked well – too well for her not to
use it again. She loved the jealous rage she’d inspired in Peter
and so it was best to let him carry on wondering what went on
when she was working with all those handsome muscular men
around her. He’d be picking her up every single day and was
sure to keep a close eye on what she was wearing. So it was all
in her control now. She knew how to bring out the green-eyed
monster in him. Just wear a short skirt and strappy heels to
work and she was guaranteed a thorough spanking.

172

173

The Vendetta

by Korben Rushe

All sorts came to see her.

Men. Women. Straight, gay, and every level of bi. The

most confident to the most timid. Some came with detailed
ideas of how they wanted their fantasy acted out, others asked
her to surprise them. She’d had high-up executives seek her
out, secretaries, chefs, police officers, athletes – even a clown.
Not that any of these little differences mattered to her. When it
came down to it, they were all here for the same thing.

When she’d first got into this business, Rachel had

expected there to be a type, a combination of character traits
which would make her clients distinct – identifiable in a crowd
even, with experience. But if ten years in this job had taught
her one thing, it was that her customers came in all shapes and
sizes, from all walks of life.

Even with this knowledge in stow – even though she’d

known this other woman was coming – Rachel couldn’t quite
believe her eyes when, out of the window, she caught the siren
in red loitering at the end of her driveway.

Claudia Greenwood.
Over fifteen years had passed since Rachel had last seen

her, yet she hadn’t changed one little bit. Still, the short,
choppy blonde haircut. The honey-tanned complexion. Still
the bold style; dress flaming crimson, plunging like liquid
rubies into her ample cleavage. For a brief moment, Rachel let

174

her mind linger on the shade of red, imagining how soon, once
she’d had her way, it would ’t just be the woman’s dress which
burnt that colour ... She felt a slight throb deep within her in
anticipation.

There was one notable difference in Claudia though. In all

the years she’d known her, Rachel could not recall a single
occasion where she had seen the other girl looking nervous.

She still couldn’t believe their paths had crossed again.

When her husband, Tom, had first told her that Claudia had
visited his solicitor’s firm seeking advice about divorce, and
had suggested he and her meeting up at Harvey’s – the most
exclusive wine bar in town – Rachel had been fuming.

“She doesn’t even want a divorce – I can tell,” Tom had

explained, filling up Rachel’s glass of red wine, then his own,
as he broke the news.

She’d frowned, puzzled. “How so?”
He’d snorted. “Well, she’s got her feet nicely under the

table with that Lord of the Manor, hasn’t she?” A glug of
claret. “Not that I can see how that pip-squeak she’s shagging
gets to be called a Lord. He’s barely stopped riding his bike
with stabilisers, probably still has wet dreams about his
schoolteachers ...” The wine had got to him – he was flushed,
careless of his words. “I mean I always thought she was into
men – real men, I mean. At least that’s the impression she
always gave me when we were ...”

He gulped loudly. Realisation too late that he’d gone too

far.

“I’m sorry, Rach. I didn’t mean ...”
She raised a hand to silence him. “Upstairs.”
“But I ...”
“Upstairs now, or I make it 20, instead of ten.”
His blue eyes widened. “Sorry, Miss. I’m going now, Miss.

Straightaway.”

Five minutes later, she’d followed her husband up the

staircase. She loved him, she really did, but sometimes, he
forgot the rules, needed reminding.

As the well known procedure dictated, Tom was waiting

175

beside the single Chesterfield chair in their bedroom, stripped
of all his clothes. Moonlight had pooled through the window,
turning his skin to ivory, and darkening to black the usually
brown hair on his chest, which trailed down his tight stomach
to his groin.

She smiled when she saw his cock involuntarily twitch in

the moonbeams, as she stepped into the room.

“You know why you are here?”
Eyes glued to the floorboards, he nodded.
“You’ve been a bad boy?”
Another nod.
“And bad boys must be taught the error of their ways, if

they’re ever to become good boys.”

“Yes, Miss. Please help me become a good boy.”
Walking towards him, she stopped momentarily at her

dressing table to pick up her most treasured possession – and
the key item of her trade, her passion. She’d bought the
Venetian mask on her and Tom’s honeymoon, in one of the
tangle of backstreets which threaded as disordered as spun
sugar through the watery city. The mask was midnight blue
and speckled with delicate silver stars and she wore it for all of
her clients. To them, she was simply Miss. The Mask. A firm
hand. A pair of green eyes. She wore plain black clothes, no
make-up. She wasn’t there to be eye-candy. That’s why they
came. In more ways than one.

“Up here,” she’d barked at Tom, once she’d settled

comfortably into the green leather chair.

Knowing the procedure well, he was quickly lying across

her lap, the sturdy arms of the chair bearing the majority of his
weight.

“The leather’s cold,” Tom joked, but Rachel hadn’t been in

the mood for humour. She never was once she’d assumed the
role of her alter-ego.

She gave him a sharp rap on one cheek of his pale arse for

his insolence.

“Ow! Rach, a little warning ...”
Another slap across the other cheek, and then he was quiet.

176

He knew better than to address her as Rachel once she had put
on her mask.

Red finger marks were already surfacing on his moonlit

skin. “Now,” she said calmly, “we may begin.”

Tradition – and the practice did have a surprisingly long

and complex series of traditions – dictated multiples of six as
the best figures for administering spankings. But having
always been one who liked rounded numbers, Rachel had
made a conscious decision to do away with convention and opt
for multiples of ten. Besides, her clients were hardly going to
complain. Show her one person who didn’t ever want more for
their money!

“Ten.” Smack. “Nine ... Eight ...Seven ...”
Rachel could already feel Tom’s hardness pressing into her

thigh.

“No!” she ordered, scratching his shoulder with a

fingernail. She upped the vigour of her slaps.

He knew the rules. This was a punishment, not a treat.

They would wait for his erection to wilt, before she continued
the countdown. Until then, his bottom was growing
increasingly red, strawberry was turning to beetroot.

Thanks to Tom’s cock having a mind of its own, nearly an

hour had passed before they were through. Her hand felt as
sore as his arse looked.

“Thank you, Miss,” Tom blurted over his shoulder, his face

wet with tears. “Thank you for teaching me a lesson.”

“You’re welcome, Tom,” she said, removing her mask –

the signal that Miss was once again Rachel.

Reaching between his legs, she tickled his balls. This time

she did not admonish his rapidly-hardening member;
squeezing a hand around its length, she stood up and led him
towards the bed. “Take your bloody time with your
punishment, won’t you? Never mind that your poor wife here
is dying for a fuck ...”

Afterwards, as they held each other close, Rachel’s

thoughts had wandered back to Claudia.

“That bitch has already destroyed my life once, I won’t let

177

her sweep in and do it again.”

Tom immediately knew who she was talking about, but

fear had caught alight in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” she’d consoled him. “I promise no more

spanking. You’re allowed to talk about her now. Just no in
depth details of when you two were an item, okay?”

“Deal,” he smiled, relieved. “You know, it might not be all

bad, her coming back into our lives.”

Under the duvet, Rachel had teasingly squeezed his balls.

“Be careful, Tom. I can easily go back on my promise, you
know.”

“No, no,” he stammered quickly. “What I mean is this

could be an opportunity. For you.”

She’d released him, growing curious.
“An opportunity?”
Tom had relaxed. “When we were at uni, you always used

to say how you wished you’d had a chance to get even with
Claudia. To teach her lesson for the misery she put you
through at school.” His eyes darted away. “The misery we all
put you through ...”

“Hey,” she said, more softly. “You know I forgave you a

long time ago.”

“I know, I know – though I still feel guilty. But I’m lucky,

because I get to show you I’ve changed every day; every
breakfast I make you, every gift I buy, every time I fuck you.”
It was his turn to reach under the duvet. He pushed a finger,
slow and deep into her pussy; she was still slippery wet from
sex. “How has Claudia shown her remorse, hmm?”

Savouring the tickly jolts being triggered by Tom’s finger,

Rachel hardly heard him.

“With my help, this could be just the chance to teach her a

lesson ...”

At first, Rachel wasn’t sure, but she slept on the idea. In her

dreams, she relived some of the hell that was her secondary
school education. The taunts. The endless laughter. The sick,
sick pranks. The other girl’s favourite warning – “Watch your
back, Rachel …” By the morning, she needed no more

178

convincing.

“Do it,” she told Tom. “I mean it. Do whatever you have to

do to get that woman here.”

And now she finally was. Here. At least, at the bottom of

the driveway.

What was taking her so long? Rachel took yet another peek

through the letterbox. She almost yelped with joy when she
saw the hips sashaying towards her. This was it!

Standing before the hallway mirror, Rachel slipped on the

beautiful Venetian mask, tucking a few strands of black hair
behind her ear and making sure it was secure. She didn’t want
to give away her identity – at least not just yet.

A flurry of ringing made her jump. Most people pressed a

doorbell once. Of course, that wasn’t good enough for Claudia
Greenwood. Claudia always had to make a statement. It
seemed nothing had changed.

“Ohh,” the woman said, when Rachel eventually opened

the door. “You must be Miss?”

Rachel nodded, beckoning the visitor in.
Before stepping inside, Claudia threw one final glance over

her shoulder, though whether she was looking for back-up or
prying eyes, it was hard to tell.

Once the door was closed, they stood silent for a few

moments, sizing each other up. Closer, Rachel was delighted
to pick out flaws in the woman who in her eyes had always
been flawless – fine lines around her sly eyes, the tell-tale
signs of children around her midriff.

“Tom said you were ...” she pondered, studying the mask,

“different. You know, Tom, yes?”

All Rachel and Tom’s photographs had been carefully

removed from the walls earlier that morning. Just one of the
finishing touches to the long and complex plan to get Claudia
here, along with several ‘dates’ with Tom which Rachel had
orchestrated and a repositioning of some of their furniture.

“He’s another client of yours, a very close friend of mine

...” she went on, “highly recommended you, so I hope you live
up to expectations.”

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Rachel was almost trembling now. The anticipation that

soon Claudia – the very person who had stolen her
adolescence was to be begging for mercy was too much ...

Pointing straight ahead to the living room, where she saw

to all of her clients, Claudia murmured sarcastically, “Tom
said you weren’t one for chatting, but I never – ouch!”

A quick slap across her arse encased in the silky red

material. Rachel hadn’t been able to resist it. Still, it shut the
woman up.

In the living room, Claudia paused to take in the airy space.

It was Rachel’s favourite room in the house. The French doors
allowed plenty of light to spill in, though today, they had put
up an oriental screen especially. The high ceilings, Victorian
fireplace and parquet flooring conspired to make an extremely
grand statement.

“Very nice,” the other woman had to admit. “This isn’t

your conventional setting for this sort of thing, is it?”

Ignoring her, Rachel crossed her fingers behind her back,

and praying the other woman didn’t recognise her voice,
directed, “Strip.”

Claudia was not fazed. With one swift unzipping, her dress

was pooling like molten lava onto the wooden floor. She
wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Claudia had always been confident of her body – then,

she’d never had a reason not to be. No white patches
suggested Claudia received only the best of tanning
treatments, or had enough time on her hands to bathe in exotic
climes in the nude. Her breasts were still pert, pink nipples
were hardening in the sudden coolness. The faintest of silvery
stretch-marks across her stomach, like a dewy cobweb. Her
sex was as smooth as the silk of her dress.

“It’s funny your mask wears that fixed, wide smile – that’s

exactly the look I get from everyone when I take off my
clothes,” Claudia purred. “Not that any of them know how to
take control after that point – especially my boy-wonder of a
husband ...”

“Shut your mouth, now, you little whore.”

180

She smiled brazenly, clearly enjoying being the mastered

rather than the master.

“Turn around and bend down.”
“Surely there’s somewhere more comfortable ...”
Rachel took a menacing step towards her. “Turn and touch

your toes!”

Claudia immediately obeyed.
Bending down, she presented two tanned, rounded globes

like some bronze-coloured exotic fruit, ripe for spanking. It
took all of Rachel’s resolve not to run across the room.

“Look, is this going to take long? Only I’ve yet another

dull charity gala tonight, and I’ve a pedicure booked at five…”

“I said, shut it,” Rachel barked, hitting home her point with

three firm slaps. Claudia’s arse responded each time with a
delicious wobble.

“Hmm … I’ve been a very bad girl, Miss. I hope you shan’t

punish me too harshly.”

Rachel ran a finger as lightly as a butterfly’s wing between

the woman’s arse cheeks and over her already glistening slit.
She felt Claudia shudder with pleasure. How long Rachel had
dreamed of this, of for once being the one in control – she
could almost come herself just thinking about it.

“You shall be punished as harshly as Miss sees fit,” she

said, snatching back her finger.

With each set of slaps she recalled the times at school that

Claudia had hit her, had humiliated her in the classroom,
tripped her over in the canteen.

“Ooh, Miss, you certainly know how to teach a girl a

lesson …” the woman smiled over her shoulder.

Gritting her teeth, on her final volley, Rachel recalled the

boyfriend – her first ever serious boyfriend – who Claudia had
enticed into her bed, just as a challenge. The woman almost
toppled over onto the parquet tiles.

It was time to step it up a gear. “On the sofa,” Rachel

snapped.

Claudia rose, this time offering no backchat. The crimson

marks on her buttocks clearly were having an effect, and by

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the time the slight woman was sprawled out over her lap, the
extent of the effect was all too clear, her juices sopping into
Rachel’s trousers. The plan was running perfectly – Claudia
was enjoying herself. But not enough.

After another round of ten slaps, Rachel slipped a hand into

her bra and pulled out the tiny vibrator which fitted on the end
of one finger. On hearing the sudden mosquito-pitch hum,
Claudia swung around her head, only to receive a particularly
stinging blow to the back of her legs.

“Did I say you could turn around, you little hussy?”
“No, Miss. I just wanted to see what was making that noise,

Miss.”

“You will feel soon enough.”
To begin, she ran her pulsing finger over the tops of

Claudia’s legs, along the gentle slope of her spine … Rachel
made sure she intermitted the vibrator with unexpected slaps,
the odd lingering caress, as she knew these would heighten the
sensation. She moved onto the woman’s arsehole, drawing
lazy circles around the tight skin, probing inside.

Claudia whimpered. Another quick slap to the woman’s

glowing rear. Then, teasingly slow, she pushed her finger
further, flittering around the woman’s engorged labia, which
were now virtually dripping. Over and over she ran the
vibrator, but not once did she let herself slip inside.

“Please, Miss!” Claudia pleaded, “I know I’ve been a bad

girl, but please, I don’t deserve this. Just finish it! I can’t take
any more …”

At school, Claudia had been the one who held all the cards.

She might not have been the only bully, but while others, like
Tom, had persecuted indiscriminately, Claudia had, without a
whisper of provocation, settled on a personal vendetta to
destroy Rachel’s life. Claudia had held absolute power to
dictate Rachel’s happiness. But now it had turned full circle.
She held the key to taking this woman over the edge, and she
was begging. Claudia Greenwood was begging Rachel! Life
did not get better than this. Though perhaps it was just about
to.

182

“First you must admit to how very bad a girl you’ve been.

You must apologise to all the people you’ve ever hurt.”

There was no resistance. “I’ve been very, very bad! I’m

sorry! For everything,” Claudia screamed.

“Good,” Rachel said. As she was slipping the very tip of

her finger deeper into the other woman, she pulled away with
a small, wet pop, turning off the vibrator.

“Tom, sweetheart, have you got all that?”
Before Claudia even had a chance to register what had been

said in the midst of her ecstasy, Tom appeared from around
the oriental screen, digital camcorder in hand.

“Think I’ve got everything we need,” he smiled. From the

bulge in his jeans, it seemed Claudia hadn’t been the only one
enjoying the performance.

Claudia scrabbled to her feet. “Tom! What the hell … Is

this some kind of sick joke?”

“Don’t be mad with your ex,” Rachel said calmly. “He has

only done what I’ve told him to.”

Anger was turning into fear now, as Claudia ran and

scooped up her dress from the floor. She wrapped the scarlet
material around her chest, a feeble barrier. “This is sick! Who
are you?”

“I’m someone you’ve hurt,” Rachel continued. “You

probably don’t even remember me, but I remember you. You
took away my life from me for a while – told me to watch my
back, and you stabbed me there enough times – but this is to
let you know,” Rachel slipped off the mask. “This is to let you
know that I accept your apology.”

“Rachel! But you’re … you and Tom?” She looked as if

she was about to self implode. “I’ll have you arrested for this!”

Rachel smiled. “I don’t think so. I’ll be hanging on to the

tape, just so I’ve a record of your apology, but if ever I was to
feel the need, just think of all the places I could send it. I
wonder how that Lord of yours and his family would react …”

Claudia’s eyes flashed – she knew she was defeated.
“Now, haven’t you a pedicure to get to?”
With that the woman – and in all her naked vulnerability, a

183

woman was all she was – darted for the front door.

They said that revenge was a dish best served cold, but that

hadn’t been good enough for Rachel. As far as she was
concerned, the cruellest torture was putting someone in
touching distance of the sublime only to take it away. Just like
Claudia had held Rachel back from the merest hint of
happiness all through school. Of course video evidence of a
‘Lady’ getting sopping wet from being disciplined couldn’t
hurt on the revenge stakes!

Claudia looked terrified as she fought with the latch on the

front door. Finally succeeding, she glanced back just long
enough for Rachel to wiggle the finger which still bore the
micro-vibrator, “Bye bye.” It was a final goodbye – this was
banishing Claudia – and all the pain – to the past. Where it
belonged.

But as the naked woman clinging to a dress as hot a red as

her arse was tearing down the driveway, Rachel couldn’t resist
calling after her, “Oh and Claudia, you will watch your back,
won’t you?”

184

185

My Husband’s Other Life

by Eva Hore

I’d slotted in the tape thinking it was one of our home movies
and wondered what it was doing here in his office. I stared in
disbelief as my husband, a respected psychiatrist, whipped a
naked woman. Shocked, I quickly turned the tape off, hoping
my eyes had deceived me. I’d had suspicions about Michael
with some of his patients, and now here was proof. All I had to
do was watch.

Rewinding the tape, I poured a drink, steeling myself for

what I was about to uncover. I hit the play button and turned
up the volume so I could hear what was being said.

“Hi, Mary,” Michael said. “Just take a seat, I’ll only be a

minute.”

Mary, I noticed, was an extremely good-looking woman.
“Right,” Michael said, flicking through a file. “Your boss,

Marcus McManus, he’s the Company Director, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” she said.
“He says you like bullying the employees there.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she said defensively.
“The idea of this treatment is to put you in a vulnerable

position,” Michael was saying. “This is to give you an idea of
the power and fear you instil in other people. To do that I need
you to feel submissive. In order for that to come about you
have to do everything I say without question. Understand?”

“I think so,” she said.
“You don’t mind the tape going do you? I always think it’s

186

good to look back on. See how you react to certain situations.”

“No that’s fine,” she said recrossing her long legs.
“Remember what we spoke about in our last session. It’s

important for you to try to imagine yourself as just an
employee while we play out your therapy.”

“Okay,” she said.
“I heard you’ve been disobedient, Mary.”
“I don’t know what to say, Doctor.”
“Mary, I’m not the doctor now. From now on we’re role-

playing. You’re only to address me as Sir. Speak as though
you’re just one of the employees. Let’s begin again. Your
supervisor told me you’ve been giving him cheek and sent you
in for me to deal with.”

“Well, he’s always picking on me. I can’t do anything

right, by him.”

“Come here so I can punish you. Come closer. Bend over

my knee.”

“No, Sir. Please, I promise to be good.” She stayed in the

chair.

“Do you like being called into my office?”
“No, Sir, I don’t.”
“Then why haven’t you come over here like I asked?”
“Sorry, Sir,” she went over and stood in front of him with

her hands folded.

“You’ve been rude and I have to punish you. Bend over my

knee.”

Giggling, she bent over his knee. He pulled up her skirt and

started to spank her on the bum. When she didn’t respond he
spanked her harder.

“Oww,” she cried.
“That’s what happens when you don’t do as you’re told,”

Michael said.

“Sir, you’re hurting me,” she whined. “Please stop. I

promise I’ll behave.”

Michael kept on hitting her, slapping his hand backwards

and forwards, ignoring her pleas.

“That’s hurting,” she said loudly, looking over at the

187

camera.

“It’s supposed to hurt, Mary. You’ve been disobedient, and

all disobedient employees need to be punished,” Michael said,
lifting her skirt higher and pulling her panties down, exposing
red cheeks.

I couldn’t believe what I was watching. I knew he was

deviant, but this … Anger surged through me.

He rubbed his hands over her bum, caressing it with

circular motions. He ran his finger down the crack, over her
hole, up and down. He kneading the cheeks, opening them and
inspecting her, before sliding his finger further towards her
pussy.

She moved her hands, trying to cover her bum. He smacked

her hands away. She squirmed trying to get up, but he held her
down.

“You’re hurting me!”
“You shouldn’t have put your hands there. You know the

rules. Now I’ll have to spank you with the ruler.”

“I get what you mean, doctor. I think I’ve had enough,” she

said turning her head to speak to him.

“I’m your boss, not a doctor. The second rule is no talking.

Now I’m going to have to spank you harder.”

I could see her bum getting even redder as he hit her with a

ruler. He expertly slipped her panties down to her ankles,
sliding them off one leg, to leave them dangling on the other.
With his free hand he pushed her legs apart, giving himself a
nice view of her pussy.

“Sir, please don’t,” she said pleaded, trying to pull her legs

back together.

“I said no talking, Mary. You like being a bad, don’t you?”

he said, forcing her legs back open.

“No, I don’t, Sir. I don’t think you should have taken my

panties down. I’ll tell Mr McManus,” she said in a pathetic
voice.

“Rule number three, Mary. What happens in this room,

stays in this room. Remember, you must never tell him
because he will be disappointed in you. He’s paid good money

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for your therapy. He only wants to help you. You don’t want
to get the sack, or do you?”

“No, Sir, I don’t.”
Michael alternated the spanking, giving her one stroke with

the ruler, then rubbing his hand over her bum and giving her a
sharp slap. Occasionally, he’d touch her pussy. I noticed she
didn’t seem to mind, even pushing her bum up seductively, as
though encouraging him.

How dare he! Using his position as a doctor to get his rocks

off. And this Mary woman? How could she believe this was
therapy? She was as bad as him.

“Ow,” she squealed in pain. “Stop it. My bum’s going

numb. You’re hitting too hard.”

“Shut up!” he commanded, hitting her hard on the pussy.

“Shut up, or I’ll do it again.”

Mary stopped complaining and started moaning, making

whimpering noises. Now she actually seemed to be enjoying
it. The smack on her pussy made her open her legs wider for
him.

“I think you like this, Mary,” Michael said chuckling. “Do

you think I need to punish you some more?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said.
“Come, stand up for me,” he said smoothing her skirt over

her naked bum. “That’s a good girl. Turn around and take off
your skirt.”

Mary had a sly smile on her face and took off her skirt. She

kicked up the other leg, discarding her panties and stood there
in front of him. He turned her around slowly rubbing his hands
over her.

When she was facing him again he caressed her stomach,

travelling slowly downwards until he touched her pubic hair.

“I can see that you are a very attractive lady. You’ve got

lovely red hair there, haven’t you? Oh, and a little further
down there’s some on your pussy. Hmm, it’s a nice pussy isn’t
it? Come and let me see the rest of you,” he said, moving his
hands under her blouse.

She undid each button, teasing him as she went, pouting

189

her lips and looking up at him through her lashes. Her blouse
dropped to the floor and she stood there in only a white bra.

She certainly wasn’t pretending not to like what he was

doing now. Was she?

Michael ran his fingers over the lace on the bra and forced

her breasts up so they hung out over the top.

“Such lovely breasts,” he said fondling them and giving the

nipples a quick suck.

Giggling she ran her hands down her stomach, touching her

pussy, separating the lips and slipping her fingers inside. She
leaned back against the desk, opening her legs, so her pussy
was more visible for him.

He knelt down running his tongue over her pussy giving

her a long lick.

“Good girl,” Michael said, standing again, tweaking her

nipples. “You like being a good girl. Don’t you?” he said un-
clipping her bra and letting it fall to the floor with the rest of
her clothes. All she was wearing now were her high-heeled
shoes.

“Yes, Sir,” she said.
“Lean over the desk so I can spank you some more.”
She didn’t hesitate. Totally nude she leaned on the desk

with her bum twitching in the air, her feet slightly apart. She
shook her hair seductively and looked long and hard into the
camera. I felt as though she knew I was there, watching.

Michael stood and out of his drawer he produced a switch.

It looked like it was made of bamboo. Gently he started to
whip her.

“Oh, Sir, don’t,” she said, looking at him with her tongue

running along her top lip.

She didn’t sound too convincing to me.
Smirking, Michael spread her legs wider so he could see

her pussy and started whipping a bit harder. She must have
gotten a shock that he hit her so hard because she put her
hands behind, to protect herself again.

“Didn’t I tell you not to do that?”
“I’m sorry, Sir but you’re really hurting me.”

190

“It’s supposed to hurt, but I think you like it. You like me

smacking you, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t,” she said in a silly childlike voice.
“Yes, you do. I can see your pussy and it’s getting wet,” he

said rubbing his hand over it. “Hmm, yes it is. You are
enjoying this Mary.”

“No, Sir, I’m not. Honestly.”
“Well that’s not what your pussy’s telling me. Look, it’s

getting really juicy now,” he said slipping in his finger. “Oh,
yeah, really juicy. You are enjoying it.”

“I’m not,” she said holding his hand there.
Her bum was moving towards his crotch as he withdrew his

fingers, smearing her juices over the crack of her bum. She
moaned, lifting it even higher towards him.

Michael continued to smack her. I watched as he fell to his

knees, lowering his head to lick the welts. He ran his tongue
over them, then her hole, stopping just before her pussy.

She was up on her elbows now, pulling at her breasts,

teasing the nipples to make them erect, pushing her bum into
Michael’s face, lifting it higher, trying to get his tongue inside
her.

He stood then and looked down at her.
“That’s one hot bum,” he said laughing, pinching each

cheek.

Disgusted, but unable to tear my eyes away I continued to

watch. She was enjoying it all right and I could see Michael’s
bulge in his trousers. I wondered how much longer he was
going to do this.

He told her to stand, helping her up on the desk. She knelt

and bent over so her pussy was level with his face.

Michael started to smack her thighs with his hand, and as

her legs were wide open he smacked her pussy as well. She
squealed with delight. He alternated between smacking her
and giving her pussy a long lick, from her clit all the way up to
her hole. It was driving her wild. She was gyrating her pussy
into his face, encouraging him for more.

With his free hand he undid his trousers and they fell to his

191

ankles. He stood there looking ridiculous with his cock
hanging out. He covered her pussy with his mouth nuzzling
and sucking. With his free hand he removed his shirt. Now
they were both naked.

I felt my own pussy stirring and moved uncomfortably on

the couch. I was shocked at my reaction to this sort of
humiliation.

Michael had his face smothered in her and she was bent

over moaning and grabbing her breasts. Her head flung
upwards, her breathing coming in gasps.

Grabbing her hips he pulled her back over the edge of the

desk and pushed her roughly, face down, onto it. Papers and
pencils flew onto the floor.

He held her firmly in this position, his cock resting between

her cheeks. He started smacking her thighs again and I could
see how red her bum was. It looked like he’d broken the skin
but she seemed oblivious. She was really getting off and
Michael was in his element. Total control. His favourite
position.

“Spread your legs and do what I tell you,” he said.
“Oh, yes, Sir. Anything. I’ll do anything you say. I’ll be a

good girl, I promise,” Mary said, her passion obvious.

He parted her cheeks, rubbing his cock over her hole and

pussy. He was wetting his cock, teasing her pussy by just
putting it in a fraction and then pulling back.

“Fuck me, Sir. Oh please, fuck me now,” she begged.
I squirmed on the couch, my own pussy was throbbing,

wanting some attention. I crossed my legs, but that only made
it pulsate more.

He continued to tease her with his cock and she was trying

desperately to grab it and put it inside her.

“I want your pussy wetter, do you hear me?” he demanded.
“Yes, Sir, yes,” she squealed, thrashing her head from side

to side.

He stood back and started hitting her cheeks hard. She cried

out for him to stop and this only excited him more.

She turned her face around and I saw tears flowing freely

192

but still continued to push her bum up to greet each new
smack.

He grabbed her pussy hard, “Oh, yeah, Mary. You are so

wet.” He was pulling at her pubic hair and sticking his fingers
inside, “Hmm, you like me punishing you, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir, yes,” she said in between sobs.
He grabbed her hips firmly, pulling her hard towards him,

plunging his cock straight into her pussy, the force of it
throwing her forward on the desk. He thrust in deeper and
harder, making her scream and cry out for more. He was
holding her hips, pounding into her ferociously.

“Quickly,” he commanded. “Turn around and sit on the

desk with your legs open wide.”

She did as she was told and I knew why he’d asked her.

From this angle I could see her pussy completely. He certainly
knew how to work the camera. I wondered how many other
times he’d done this.

With her legs spread wide he stood back and pulled at his

cock, making it even bigger. She was whimpering, begging for
it. He stood beside her, roughly pushing and prodding her
pussy, telling her it wasn’t wet enough. He started to smack it
with his hand. She bucked her hips up wildly, throwing her
legs further apart so that they were hanging off the side of the
desk.

I could feel myself getting more and more excited too. I

moved my hand down inside my panties and felt my pussy. It
was wet. Really wet. I slipped a finger in, then another as I
opened my legs on the couch to find my clit. It was already
hard. I rubbed it quickly enjoying the sensation.

I watched, fascinated now with what was going on, even

giving my own pussy a smack to see what it feet like. I felt
myself starting to swell as the blood rushed into my pussy. I
slipped my fingers inside and noticed that I too was definitely
wetter.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now open your mouth. Wider,” he

commanded, as he pushed his cock in.

This threw her into a frenzy. She squirmed and bucked on

193

that desk as he rammed his fingers inside her, finger fucking
her while she sucked his cock, loudly slurping and choking on
it as he pushed himself further into her mouth.

I quickly moved my panties down as they were constricting

my hand and rubbed my clit harder, getting hotter and hotter. I
finger fucked myself, reaching a high I hadn’t felt for a long
time, as I watched them on the screen.

It went on forever before he turned her around, slamming

her face down on the desk again, grabbing both legs, pulling
them wide apart and ramming his cock into her hole. She was
delirious with passion, pulling him into her, matching his
thrusts as he plunged into her over and over.

I frantically rubbed myself, my fingers massaging my clit,

bringing me to a powerful orgasm.

I saw him yank her backwards, grabbing her breasts

roughly, pinching her nipples so hard she actually yelled out
for him to stop. There was no way he’d stop. I knew that. I
touched my own breasts, fondling them, teasing the nipples
until they stood erect like two penises.

Finally, he pulled his cock out of her and sprayed his come

over her face and breasts. She loved it. I watched her smear it
into her mouth, licking and sucking her fingers.

He moved off, out of range, while she lay there, battered

and bruised, legs still wide open.

“Here,” he said, handing her, her crumpled clothes. “Get

dressed. The session’s over.”

“What …”
She looked a little bit shocked at his attitude, and with her

legs visibly shaking, she got up and slowly put her clothes on.

My legs were shaking too as this brought me back to

reality. I quickly pulled my panties up covering my saturated
pussy. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. Masturbated in
front of a video in the middle of the day.

I looked back at the screen and saw Michael dressed, sitting

behind his desk. He pulled out a file, and scribbled notes in it.
When she was dressed she moved over to where he was and
put her arms around his neck, bending her head to kiss him.

194

He pulled away and I saw the look on her face.

“Mary, please. I only did this for you to show you how it

feels to be submissive to authority. Do you think it helped?”

“What ...” she mumbled. “I thought that maybe ...” she left

the rest unsaid.

“You thought what? That I loved you? I told you before

this session started that I was doing this purely to help you.
For you to get a perspective of how it feels when you’re
vulnerable to another person. I’m sure we’ve succeeded in
that. If not come back and see me in a month and we’ll discuss
it again.”

She left his office as he sat there still writing notes.
I sat there disgusted that he would be doing this sort of

thing to his patients and I was shocked that she allowed him.
What was going on?

He’d taught me so much, experimenting with all different

types of sexual positions and fantasies since we’d married. But
seeing this, my own husband …

“Having fun?” Michael asked, interrupting my thoughts.
I jumped, embarrassed at having been caught out. I realised

from his casual stance he’d been watching me.

“Me having fun. What about you?” I said, angrily turning

on him.

“You look so sexy when you’re mad, Melissa,” he said

coming close to me. “I’ll bet your pussy’s on fire.”

It was, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
“You owe me an explanation, Michael?” I demanded.
“No, you owe me the explanation,” he said. “I told you my

office was off limits when we first got married.”

“Yes, and now I know why, you bastard,” I screamed.

“You promised you’d be faithful to me.”

“Keep your voice down,” he ordered. “I have been faithful

to you. This tape was done years ago. Purely for research. It
has nothing to do with you.”

“I demand you throw it away. It’s disgusting,” I said, wild

with indignation.

“Is it now?” he said, as he grabbed the back of my head

195

with one hand, pulling me into his body.

I tried to pull back, but he held me even tighter, breathing

into my ear as he kissed my neck. I gasped, when I felt his
hand lift my skirt. He tore off my panties, and the elastic left a
stinging sensation.

“Leave me alone,” I said.
“Hmm, that’s not what your pussy’s saying. I was watching

you enjoy yourself here on the couch. I think you might enjoy
a spanking too for …”

“How dare you,” I said, only moderately upset, as I felt a

stirring deep inside me.

He pushed me back onto the couch and I tried desperately

to fight him off. He grabbed both of my hands and held them
over my head, his other hand pushing my legs apart as he
groped for his cock, rubbing my pussy with it before he
quickly pushed inside me.

My body betrayed me, by allowing his cock to slip in so

easily. I felt myself responding and Michael looked down at
me knowingly, a smile crossing his handsome face.

Bastard. He knew me so well.
Still holding me firmly, he pushed deeper inside me,

bringing me to a wonderful orgasm. My eyes closed in ecstasy
only to quickly fly open as I felt the sharp sting of pain as he
slapped me hard on the thigh.

“Stop it!” I demanded, trying to struggle out of his grasp.

“Don’t, Michael. I don’t like it,” I said as he slapped me again.

“Yes you do. Your pussy’s getting really wet now. Oh,

yeah, you like it all right. Come on, admit it?”

“I don’t,” I said, only half-heartedly. I was enjoying it, but I

didn’t want Michael to know. Slapping me on the thigh with
his open hand was one thing, whipping me was definitely out
of the question.

My pussy was on fire. With each slap, I felt myself

building to a mind shattering orgasm. My juices flowed out of
me, over his cock and into his pubic hair. I couldn’t stop. I was
wild with desire.

“Oh, Michael,” I begged. “Please don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

196

He laughed knowingly.
Letting go of my hands he rolled me over on top of him,

slipping in immediately. I was sitting astride his amazing cock.
I loved this position and started riding him, harder and harder,
caressing my breasts as he held me firmly by the hips.

His hands encircled my waist and then slid down to my

groin. His thumbs stroked downwards, massaging and opening
my pussy lips wider, rubbing my clit, teasing it as I bucked
into him.

His hands were caressing my cheeks, pulling them apart,

gently running his fingers around my hole, tickling it. I felt
light slaps, in between caresses, getting harder and harder.

I could feel my pussy twitching as the stinging sensation of

pain drove me out of my mind. My pussy wouldn’t stop
quivering. I was more excited as I remembered what he’d done
to Mary, and the look of sheer pleasure I’d seen in her eyes.

Finally, as we came together, I collapsed on top of him, my

breathing erratic.

“Oh, God, Michael. That was fantastic.”
“I told you you’d enjoy it,” he said chuckling. “Come on

admit it?”

“Well, maybe just a little. But I don’t want you to do it

again, okay?”

“Sure,” he said, stroking my hair.
I did want to do it again, boy did I want it again, but I

wasn’t going to tell him that. I’d wait until the time was right,
then I’d surprise him with a small whip of my own. Maybe
Mary could join me and we’d see how much he liked it.

As I lay there content in his arms, I was already wondering

if there were any other tapes around, and what might I see on
them.

197

The True Confessions of a

London Spank Daddy

My name is Peter, I’m 55 and I’m a Spank Daddy. I offer a
spanking and disciplining service to women…

Discover an underworld of sex, spanking and submission. A world
where high-powered executives and cuddly mums go to be spanked,
caned and disciplined.

In this powerful and compelling book Peter reveals how his fetish
was kindled by corporal punishment while still at school. How he
struggled to contain it until, eventually, he discovered he was far
from alone in London’s vibrant, active sex scene.

What he learnt on the scene helped him to understand the
psychology of women who wanted to submit to submissive
discipline. Many were professional women, often juggling a
demanding job and family. They needed to occasionally relinquish
all control, to submit totally to the will of another. Others sought a
father figure who could offer them the firm security they
remembered from their childhood when Daddy had been very much
in control.

Chapter by chapter he reveals his clients’ stories as he turns their
fantasies into reality. The writing is powerful, the stories graphic and
compelling.

Discover an unknown world…

ISBN

9781906373313 Price £9.99

198

199

Also from Xcite Books

Sex & Seduction

1905170785

price £7.99

Sex & Satisfaction

1905170777

price £7.99

Sex & Submission

1905170793

price £7.99

5 Minute Fantasies 1

1905170610

price £7.99

5 Minute Fantasies 2

190517070X

price £7.99

5 Minute Fantasies 3

1905170718

price £7.99

Whip

1905170920

price

£7.99

Spank

1905170939

price

£7.99

Tie Me Up

1905170947

price £7.99

Ultimate Sins

1905170599

price £7.99

Ultimate Sex

1905170955

price £7.99

Ultimate Submission

1905170963

price £7.99

www.xcitebooks.com

200

Document Outline

Front Cover
Twelve new titles to please and tease!
Contents
The Guardian Angel by Carole Archer
Rubious by Marissa Moon
Bottoms Up by Kristina Wright
The Confidante by Roger Frank Selby
Shopaholic by Laurel Aspen
“But I Meant To Pay For It!” by Teresa Joseph
After Party by Cyanne
Merrilee Gets Into Trouble In The Park by Eleanor Powell
Ev’rybody Get Together by Landon Dixon
Mr O’Connor’s Office by Ava Rose Johnson
Victoria Pleases Her Headmistress by Angela Meadows
Noisy Neighbours by Teresa Joseph
Adult Education by Elizabeth Coldwell
Aviatricks by Roger Frank Selby
A Taste Of Punishment by DMW Carol
Harsher Measures by Laurel Aspen
Pride And Preference by Roz Macleod
Domestic Discipline by Stephen Albrow
The Vendetta by Korben Rushe
My Husband’s Other Life by Eva Hore
Also from Xcite Books

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