“Alright, we’ve wasted enough time,” Amanda barked out to her team, “I want the field squad ready to go in two minutes.”

Jack Riley the field technician eyed the tall cool blonde apprehensively from his place at the configuration terminal. He adjusted his glasses nervously and pulled down the available options. This was going all too fast. Another day and he could have configured a field team parameter that would have better suited their personalities and roles.

“Amanda… eh… can I have a little more time I…” Jack said hesitantly.

“You have personality downloads?” Amanda snapped.

“Yes but…” Jack replied.

“Choose the best one and let’s get going. Time is of the essence on this project,” she growled.

“But that’s just it, none of them are right and I have no assessment feedback to…” he explained.

“It is never going to be perfect and I need the team on the ground asap,” Amanda shot back.

The woman was known throughout the IPEE as a hard-nosed bitch, but she got results when it came to cultural planetary exploration.

“Maybe we should just review the data,” Carol put in, “This is a pretty unusual planet we have here. The inhabitants are descendent from an eclectic group of shipwrecked sex tourists and back-to-basics farmer types.”

Carol was the team’s resident anthropologist. A small wide-eyed redhead straight from training, she was the newest member of the team and not used to Amanda’s shoot-from-the-hip way of doing things.

“We have three days to download, assess the situation and report back to the mother ship before its window of return,” Amanda said sharply with a clap of her hands, “Unless you want to all stay here for a year then let’s move people.”

Amanda’s deputy, Bill Terry, shrugged. He was a large man with sandy brown hair. He was well used to Amanda’s impatience. He served as the team’s orbiter pilot and on the ground he was the medic and back-up leader.

“Do you want to see the options for yourself first? I have three options so far; it wouldn’t take a min…” Jack started.

“Hit the download now,” Amanda yelled.

Jack didn’t look. He just extended his hand and hit the nearest pre-set.

*

Jack blinked hard as he tried to adjust himself to the scene in front of him. His body felt wrong as well, a natural reaction to full body download. The idea was that fully functioning bio-droid avatars could be set-down in a target area to gather basic cultural data while the original bodies stayed on the orbiter in stasis. Then individually tailored personality sets could be configured to merge with living team members who would then have the skills and knowledge to mingle with the inhabitants in order to make an assessment of their technological and social-psychological make-up.

The merged personalities were supposed to be led by the original team members’, but unless the field technician configured appropriate compliments, then complications could arise. That being his job, this is what Jack had been afraid of. Now he felt wrong.

He blinked again and saw the small town nestled in the valley under purple snow-capped mountains. It was an awesome sight that made his heart soar. And that was just another reason to think that something was wrong; normally he hated the outdoors.

“We’re down, good job people,” Amanda said enthusiastically.

Jack felt his hackles rise. Good job Jack, she should have said. The others wouldn’t know an avatar programme from a cup of coffee.

“I think you mean thanks ‘Jack,’” he said.

Where did that come from? He would never usually answer Amanda back.

“Eh… yes, that’s what I meant,” Amanda said hesitantly. That too was unlike her.

Jack looked at the avatars. They were all recognisable as his colleagues, but different somehow. For one thing he was now a head taller than Amanda and physically much stronger. There was nothing unusual about this. The avatars were based on orbital observations. However, usually he would feel awkward in such a body. Today he felt more alive than he ever had in his life.

“Look at these clothes,” Carol exclaimed.

She was pulling at a short leather tunic that barely served as a skirt and left her short but shapely legs bare. Her hair too, normally a crinkled rust colour, shone like copper. The anthropologist shot a glance at Amanda.

The boss’s legs went on forever and a hint of bottom cheek peeked from under the fringe of her leather skirts.

“Everyone follow your instincts and load up on the available gear,” Amanda said opening a box that had accompanied the droids a few days before.

The rather better clothed men both unthinkingly reached for a sword and bow each. Jack noticed at once how natural the blade felt in his hand. He also saw that the box contained two short quirts. He had no idea what possible use they could be, but his palm itched when he tried to leave them and so he grabbed one and tucked it into his belt.

He noticed that Carol picked nothing but a small pouch, a skinning knife and short leather strap that she put around her neck.

“What’s that?” Jack asked.

“It’s a… oh…” an odd expression crossed her face and she didn’t know if he knowledge was learned or implanted. “It shows I am…”

The word ‘owned’ popped into her head, but that seemed…

“Spoken for,” she finished.

Jack noticed that Amanda too had picked up a similar neck strap and was eyeing with some confusion.

“Spoken for? By whom?” Jack asked.

Carol looked rather sheepishly at Bill and blushed.

“I think I am your… wife?” Amanda said uncertainly, as she looked at Jack. “What roles did you choose for us anyway?”

“I had no time to analyse the details,” Jack replied, “There were two hunting party scenarios and one merchant; as you know we usually just ‘know’ after a few minutes.”

“What I ‘know’ doesn’t make much sense,” Amanda admitted. “It is all… I don’t know.”

“Do you feel strange?” Jack was still feeling very disconcerted.

“No… I feel… good,” Amanda said easily.

She smiled for the first time that Jack could remember.

“You okay boss?” Bill asked her.

Amanda nodded and then after another slight hesitation, she put the band she was holding around her neck

“Okay let’s go,” Bill said taking charge.

He was pointing at the settlement below; the most logical direction as well as the one that felt ‘right.’

*

They had been walking for about three hours when they saw the party of travellers coming towards them. By then they knew that their own team were a hunting party led by Bill and assisted by Jack; and that Carol and Amanda were their respective bond-mates.

The term bond-mates was akin to marriage, but also suggested a subordinate role. Amanda bristled at the notion, but she couldn’t get her hackles to rise. It was only for a few days, she reasoned and in any case it wasn’t much different from some of the stories she liked to read.

The town ahead of them in the valley was called Samos and by prior arrangement would be their home for the next two days before they went on to the hunting grounds. That would be plenty of time to mingle with the natives and assess their technological culture.

The party up ahead had presumably just done what they were supposed to be doing. In any case, nothing in their conditioning suggested that they had anything to fear.

“Hail friend,” the leader of the approaching group called as they drew near.

Amanda felt she should reply but before she could decide Bill called over, “Hail and be well met.”

The man in front of the group was huge, with thick fire red hair and beard. There were two other men in his group and four women. All of whom wore a band at their neck signifying that they were bond-mates.

“You have had no luck yet then?” the fire-haired leader observed.

“No, we were hoping to do better in a day or so,” Bill replied in an easy tone.

The language they spoke was strange but peppered with half-familiar words. But the conditioning made it seem like their own tongue.

“What is the town ahead like?” Amanda asked.

She knew at once that she shouldn’t have spoken and she blushed.

It was a polite enough question but Bill was furious and he didn’t know why.

“Do you insult us friend?” the leader growled.

“It’s rude for a… a woman like us to speak to another man without…” Carol whispered to Amanda.

“I know… I…” Amanda replied.

The leader’s hand went to the hilt of his sword.

“Will you let that stand or will we cross swords?” he said angrily.

Jack felt an undeniable impulse to act, but how?

Bill knew it was for Jack to act and glared at the man.

“You have to… punish her,” Carol whispered to Jack.

Amanda swallowed and fought down the urge to take control of the situation.

Not knowing what do, Jack let his instincts take over. With two strides he was on Amanda and seized her easily with his newfound strength. Then sitting at a rock by the track he pulled down over his knee and pulled up her short hem behind.

“Jack,” Amanda gasped as her bottom was bared.

Taking no notice, jack began to belabour Amanda’s behind with the flat if his hand while the small group of men and women began to laugh.

Suddenly it felt and almost natural to give Amanda a good sound spanking and he abandoned all hesitancy. For a moment he remembered past slights and her impatient manner, and then he called to mind that she had nearly got them killed.

Amanda’s bottom was already quite red, but he did not pause as he his hand blasted down in great satisfying splats that echoed around the valley.

“That’s the way lad,” the red-haired giant laughed, “And show her the quirt later when you can punish her at your leisure.”

“You have my word on it friend,” Jack promised.

Finally the spanking was over and a red-faced, moist-eyed and thoroughly meek Amanda hopped about with her hands clamped to her bottom.

“We’ll be on our way then,” the leader said as his little group started onward.

*

“How dare you…?” Amanda said angrily once they had moved off. “I… I… ooh.”

She struggled to get her words out as the effects of Jack’s hand continued to burn in her bottom.

“You nearly started a fight,” Bill said in exasperation, “What kind of rookie mistake was that?”

“But… still… oh,” Amanda stood panting as she rubbed her behind. “Did you have to choose this particular download set?”

“You…” Jack gaped in disbelief, “If you don’t be quiet woman, I’ll give you another spanking.”

“You wouldn’t dare…” Amanda said uneasily. But she quickly bit her lip and backed away.

“We should make the town in another hour,” Bill said, already concerning himself with the matter in hand, “Any orders for us?”

Amanda glowered. She would feel utterly ridiculous if she gave any instructions now.

“Good, then let’s see if we can make the town in time for a meal,” Bill said decisively.

The men led off leaving Amanda and Carol to bring up the rear.

“Is there any set we could have chosen that wouldn’t have left us so…? Oh I don’t know.” Amanda whispered in exasperation to Carol.

“It is hard to say, but I understand rich women sometimes lead merchant caravans,” Carol replied. “But always assuming you were assigned that role, I suspect I would have been no better off. I might have even been… a slave or something.”

Amanda swallowed hard. Given how hastily they had… no she had made them download, there was no certainty that she would have drawn a leadership role. She might have been placed in an even more lowly position as Carol suggested. Strangely the idea was not as horrifying as it should have been and she had a brief flash of memory of a book she once read.

“Anyway, at least we’ll get a good meal and a rest in town,” Amanda said ruefully, still rubbing her bottom.

For the rest of the way Amanda and Carol walked in silence; Amanda lost in strange thoughts and possibilities while Carol tried to view her conditioning with a professional anthropological eye. She had a feeling that town life for them might be rather trying.

As they approached they could see that the settlement was quite large. As they drew nearer they could see it was surrounded by a high wall of wood and stone that reached as high as the second story of the buildings inside. Only a few were taller than this and they were all of stone.

The society, as they had expected, was a sort of hybrid late medieval culture with a more primitive social fusion of the European early modern era. But philosophical data and notions of medical science that had been ascertained by mini drones suggested a highly developed culture. They even had laws against the use of firearms and explosives, which was a clear indication that their technological knowledge was more advanced than their day-to-day usage. But how far did that extend?

There were countless references to old Earth and spaceflight in their literature, but it was impossible to tell if these were half-understood stories or a continuous awareness of history. The only way to be certain was for an experienced and instinctive team to interact with the natives. That was after all why they had come.

“You want the hunter’s lodge?” the man at the gate asked as they reached it.

Amanda opened her mouth to speak, but just one glare from Bill silenced her.

“Yes friend,” Bill replied.

The man bowed slightly, a gesture both Bill and Jack emulated and then he pointed up the second widest street from the gate towards a three-storey building of yellow brick.

*

The men had been invited to sit as soon as they had arrived, but to the women’s surprise they were both drafted as servers.

“Best see to your men’s drinks first, we have no rule against public chastisement here,” the innkeeper’s bond-mate warned them as she handed Amanda and Carol two drinking bowls.

“But…” Amanda began.

But the woman nodded at two women facing the wall with their tunics tucked up. There were clear signs of red welts across their amply displayed bare bottoms and Amanda’s earlier humiliation came flooding back.

“This is so unfair,” Amanda whispered to Carol.

“Is it?” Carol asked, not feeling so put out. “This is so interesting.”

The pungent smell of the spice wine and ginger downer mixed in a smooth beverage that Carol felt she had known how to make for years. It was absolutely fascinating.

After months in space between worlds living off limited processed foods, the feast set out on the tables was impressive. Amanda also realised that she would have been bored just sitting making small-talk. Carol was right; the kitchen and server area was fascinating.

Meanwhile over where the men sat, some others came and joined them.

“Do you know any good tales friend?” a man sitting next to Bill asked.

“I don’t know any that compare with the tales of old Earth and the great ships that…” Jack put in.

“Oh, stuffy old classical history, who cares about the mother world?” the man replied.

Bill and Jack exchanged looks.

“If its old knowledge you want, then what about tricky? I saw a light show once,” another man said. “There is a house over at Bartoom that is lit entirely by tricky lights that are powered by a silver plate on the roof.”

“Bah, tricky light is for healing temples and academies,” the first man snorted.

“You must be Tourist clan folks,” the second man said, “My mother was too; it was she that told me about the old tricky. My old man’s people were Retro.”

Jack wished Carol were here to make sense of it. It was stupid that she had to make the drinks. He looked over to catch her eye. Luckily she took the hint and came over.

“Another drink?” she asked.

Before Jack could reply she bent down as whispered, “There are five clans I think: the Knowers, the Artisans, the Retro, the Tourist and the Organics.”

Jack pretended not to react but gave a small nod.

“Amanda will brief you later, you’ll just have to wing it for now,” Carol continued, “Better say your Tourist.”

“So are you Retro too?” Jack asked the first man.

“That’s right, we’re travel companions. You up for the hunt or are you regulars?”

“No just for the hunt,” Bill said.

“Figures,” the second man said. “What do you do out of season?”

“Watchmen,” Carol whispered as she poured Bill another drink.

“We used to stand watch over at Baros, but…” Bill kept it vague.

“Ha…” the second man clapped the first on the shoulder.

The latter man muttered under his breath.

“I knew you were warriors,” the second man said, “I bet on it.”

“Will you trade me your name friend?” the first man said.

Bill nodded.

“I’m Jack,” Jack said, sensing that they should go first.

“Jaq, a good name, I’m Tome,” the second man said.

“Bill,” Bill said.

“Bil, I am Sim,” the first man said. “May we meet on the hunt.”

*

Later that night the men were shown to different rooms. Jack’s was Spartan in the extreme, but it had a wide bed and a water closet. The only other items were a stool and a rough sackcloth-like tapestry with a crude beast on it.

He hadn’t been there more than a minute when the door opened and Amanda slipped in.

“What a day?” Jack sighed.

He wondered if she was going to berate him about the spanking, but she was smiling again. It was most unnerving.

“Did Carol give you the head’s up?”

“We’re watchmen warriors from Baros between jobs and doing some seasonal hunting,” Jack informed her.

Amanda weighed this and then said, “That fits with what we said, good. We are Tourist. That means no one will be surprised if we are interested in the past and technology, but no one will expect us to be experts. The Tourist are traders and warriors in this society. I gather Artisans and Knowers do not hunt.”

“What about Retro and…”

“Organics,” Amanda supplied. “They are warriors, farmers, hunters and fishermen almost exclusively. Unfortunately we ended up deep in Organics country. They are even more basic than the Retro from what I can gather. Cultivate your Retro friends if you can, they are a bit more liberal and open to outsiders, but we really need to talk to some Knowers.”

“You found out all of this by working as a waitress?” Jack was impressed.

“Actually Carol did,” Amanda admitted. “I spent most of the time whining about getting stuck with the washing up. Sorry about before. I am still getting used to this.”

“You’re sorry?” he gaped.

Amanda had never apologised before and considering he had spanked her, it was him who should be apologising.

“Don’t make it any more difficult,” she said sheepishly.

He shook his head.

Amanda took a deep breath and said, “You made a promise on the road.”

Jack frowned.

“A man’s word is currency around here,” she prodded him.

“You think I should… but we’ll be gone the day after tomorrow. They won’t ever know,” he replied.

He felt all twisted up saying that. It offended his sense of honour. Then he caught himself on. What am I thinking?

“I know but… it won’t feel right if you don’t,” Amanda licked her lips and tugged nervously at her short tunic.

“I promised to use a quirt,” Jack said seriously.

“I know,” Amanda whispered.

Jack considered this and found he knew what to do. While he fetched the short thin whippy switch from his belongings he saw Amanda step forward and bend right over the foot of the bed so that her bottom was exposed.

“I don’t know what would be worse,” Jack said as he lined up the thin switch against Amanda’s bare bottom, “Having to kill someone or getting killed.”

“I know; a rookie mistake as Bill said,” Amanda sighed. “You won’t tell him about this will you?”

It was much more embarrassing bending over than she had imagined.

“I am not making any more promises if I can help it,” Jack replied.

He felt an odd sense of power and something stirred in his breeks.

Then he brought the first of many strokes slicing across Amanda’s bottom.

“Omigod,” Amanda shrieked, “That… ahh.”

The hard white line across her pink bottom rapidly darkened and stood out even as the next few slices landed.

Amanda twisted and clawed at the bedcover, her legs kicking out in a parody of escape under the onslaught. Jack was in the guise of a hard man and as the conditioning took over all semblance of the civilised scientist retreated.

“Oh God, Jack, Jack…” Amanda squealed, her breathing now ragged and she began to struggle to get out coherent words.

Jack’s conditioning told him that Amanda had committed a major offence and he dealt with her as a man of this culture would have. To make matters worse for Amanda, primeval and instinctual behaviour was often the hardest to mitigate by someone conditioned for expeditions.

This was true for Amanda as well, and her inclination to pull rank was overridden by her conditioned sense of justice and some primeval need that may not have been entirely part of the conditioning.

In consequence she was a sobbing mess with harsh rills and welts scoring her naked bottom long before Jack even considered bringing the punishment to an end.

Finally Jack stood back to inspect his work while Amanda bawled her heart out into the bed.

“Amanda?” he asked tentatively, “Are you… alright.”

She looked back over her shoulder to look at him through tear-pooled eyes, but instead of anger or scorn he saw something else.

“Amanda?”

“Now I have felt that rod I want the other,” she said in a husky voice, her eyes staring at the bulge in his breeks.

He frowned.

“We can’t break cover now, I’m your bond-mate remember, surely I can have the perks as well as the pain,” Amanda said slyly.

Jack cast aside the quirt and dragged off his breeks in indecent haste; his manhood now released, springing up more impressively than he could remember. Then falling upon her from behind, he found her ready.

*

The next day Amanda walked so gingerly that everyone knew she had been punished. And although carol could scarce hide her amusement, she was also impressed by her team leader’s professionalism. The only time she openly laughed was when Amanda went to sit down.

“That bastard really went for it,” Amanda muttered.

“I can see that,” Carol giggled, “Was it to with that promise he made. I am surprised he even remembered.”

“He didn’t,” Amanda said ruefully.

“Never,” Carol gaped, “Damn this conditioning is good. I can see that I’ll have to behave myself.”

“Tell me about it,” Amanda rolled her eyes. “What about you and Bill? I know you have always… you know? Did he? Did you…?”

“He remained very professional,” Carol said ruefully, “All night.”

Both women laughed.

“What are we like? I should be spitting teeth,” Amanda said as she turned to prepare some tea for the men.

“I rather like you this way,” Carol confided.

Amanda stopped and considered.

“You know what? Me too,” she said with a decisive little nod.

It was a conclusion that Amanda had already come to. This mission had exposed a side to her that she had long kept repressed and given that she had little choice, she was determined to have an adventure and treat it like a little holiday.

“So we have two days,” Carol said as she poured out some tea, “So what’s the plan?”

“Good question,” Amanda sighed, “Any idea?”

“Just one,” Carol replied thoughtfully, “There is a teacher here. I think he is a Knower. Maybe he can tell us enough for a provisional report.”

“A provisional report?” Amanda frowned.

“Well… you have to admit that we now know enough to suggest that this is a proto-technological world at least. Unless the Knower undermines that assessment that is,” Carol said.

Amanda gave a heavy sigh.

“You’re right. What we know is too suggestive to ignore this world for another 50 years and too little to recommend a full mission. Damn, I so wanted to make a conclusive report,” Amanda groaned. “What’s the best way to approach the Knower? As you say if he turns out to have no real knowledge of spaceflight and old Earth then just maybe…”

Carol was doubtful. All this teacher had to do was confirm what they already knew and the report would be inconclusive. If he said one jot more then another mission would have to be sent.

“I think I had better do it,” Carol said, “Can you cover for me?”

Amanda hated that another decision was being made for her, but not as much as she usually did. Besides Carol was right, they might only have one crack at this and Carol was the best choice.

*

Carol made her way through bustling streets, keeping to the side roads and the shadows as much as possible. It seemed to be some sort of market day and almost every house was displaying pots and jars of preserves and cooking implements of clay and metal. There was also a great profusion of meat in the form of hare-like creatures and what she could only decide were deer of an identical species to ones she had seen in game parks back home.

Consulting her pod she found that indigenous life had been sparse before the humans had come, so the castaways must have brought some animals with them. The original tourists must have included hunters, which would explain a lot about this culture.

The school looked like a small whitewashed church. From its size it was clear that the Organics of the region didn’t value education, which was in keeping with what they had already learned. Part of her conditioning told her that as it was market day, then school would be out.

The rather forbidding entrance smelt of pine admixed with creosote, but it was a pleasant inviting odour and at odds with the fortress like entrance. Carol pushed on the heavy door and it swung inwards to reveal a bright space with benches around the walls. An Athenian model perhaps, she mused.

Looking around she saw books on a shelf at the back, but there were not many.

“That’s a start anyway,” she mumbled as she drew near.

Of course it would not be decisive whatever she found. It was the locals understanding of the books which was important. Nevertheless she ran her eye down the shelf and spied two books on astronomy and… a post-diaspora tome on the history of old Earth. In her excitement she read the titles aloud.

“It is unusual to find a woman who can read in these parts,” a voice said from behind her.

Carol whirled around to be confronted by a clean shaven old man in white.

“You startled me,” she gasped.

“Clearly a foreigner, no local girl would dare come here,” he continued.

“I’m from Baros,” she lied, “I am a Tourist.”

“No… I don’t think so,” he said gently. “I can see a Knower from a mile away or should I say 1.609 kilometres away.”

Kilometre was not a measure in common usage on the planet, Carol knew.

“But now I see you clear and given your lie… you’re not a Knower either are you?” he said, “What do you want?”

“Knowledge,” Carol said bluntly.

“You are from that ship in orbit aren’t you?” the Knower said.

Then seeing her surprise he added, “I have a telescope. I track space junk from the crash as a hobby.”

Carol nodded and licked her lips.

“You’re secret is safe with me,” he said as if reading her mind, “I knew someone like you would come one day. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes please,” Carol said collapsing into relief. “I’m Carol.”

“It is rude to offer your name here like that, especially for a woman. You will give yourself away,” he told her sternly.

“Sorry,” Carol said, knowing he was right.

“They obviously don’t spank girls enough where you are from,” he scolded her.

She blushed.

“I hear your name friend Carol, I am John,” he intoned formally.

For some reason the social formality surprised her coming as it did from a learned man, but her thoughts must have been written on her face for he quoted, “Manners make the man.”

“Yes Sir,” she said chewing her lip, she felt as if she were the barbarian here.

“Forget it and space woman or not, I will spank you,” he growled.

*

Carol had spoken to John for over two hours before he pointed out she would be missed. She learned that he was something of radical among his own people, which accounted for his ‘exile’ to Organic country. But when he told her others would know of the visit and probably about the Mother Ship too, she knew that he was not unique in his learning.

When she finally arrived back at the lodge the innkeeper’s wife was furious. There was nothing she could say so she bowed her head and took a scolding.

“Just wait until I tell your man,” the woman berated her, “I’ll see you get the thrashing of your life.”

“Yes ma’am I deserve it,” Carol agreed.

But she was too excited to take it to heart and couldn’t wait to find Amanda.

“What did you find out? Amanda asked.

“They have a fusion reactor beneath one of their academies and weapons in a secret cache. John thinks that although he missed the Mother Ship… he thinks their observatory will have picked it up. Maybe even using a scanner, but he isn’t sure about that. Some technology is kept from even him. But he thinks that many among the Knowers have technology saved from the crash,” Carol gushed excitedly.

As she spoke Bill and Jack joined them.

“That’s it then, mission accomplished,” Bill grinned, “We can get off this rock.”

Amanda felt a pang of sorrow at these words, but he was right. She shot a glance at Jack who also looked unhappy.

“I would love to take part in the follow up mission,” Carol said eagerly.

“After today… well I’ll put a word in for you,” Amanda agreed. “Now make a distraction or something. I have to slip away to contact the Mother Ship.”

*

Only Bill seemed at all happy to be leaving, although for the life of her Carol could not understand Jack’s attitude. He lived for his machines and computers. On the other hand she had waited her whole life to immerse herself in an alien culture and now she was going to get on a ship for six months after just three days in the field. The only question now was when and where was the extraction point.

She was about to ask Amanda as she walked up to them and that question died on her lips.

“What’s wrong?” Bill asked her.

“I got promoted,” Amanda said woodenly.

“Eh?” Bill double blinked.

“So did you,” Amanda said sharply, “I am now the provisional ambassador and head of a revised mission and you are the team leader for this squad. Mother is sending four more orbiters with back-up teams.”

“But…” Jack couldn’t quite grasp something, “When do we go?”

“We’re not,” Bill said.

“The Mother Ship is leaving the system as soon as the orbiters are despatched. We have to stay and identify the planet’s leadership pending first contact protocols,” Amanda explained.

Carol was grinning now and looked at Jack for a fellow traveller. But the mission tech looked confused.

“When will we be relieved?” Bill asked, his mind recalculating his position like a true professional.

“Six months there, six months back… but then I suspect they will only send a back-up ship to supplement us,” Amanda said in a dull voice, still shell-shocked.

“Yes, it will take at least three or four months to formulate a policy on how to proceed. After 500 years this planet will take decades to even begin re-integration,” Carol said going into professional mode.

“More like a year,” Amanda said dejectedly. She dropped into a hard seat and came rapidly to her feet again. Rubbing her bottom she spoke ruefully to Jack, “It looks like you and me are going to get know one another quite well.”

“I guess so,” Jack replied, beginning to warm to the idea.

Why did he feel so ambiguous? The conditioning should have been wearing off by now and yet he didn’t feel half as horrified at being separated from his computers as he thought he should.

Only Carol seemed to think any of this was funny.

“I guess we are going to have to stay in character for at least two years,” she laughed, “Some of us longer I suspect.”

“I am glad you are amused,” Amanda growled, “Well speaking of staying in character… Bill, take this brat upstairs and give her that bare bottom thrashing she is due. And use the quirt, its most instructive.”

Bill folded his arms and gave her a hard stare.

“I have tactical command here now, so I’ll thank you not to give me orders about how to run my own team,” he snarled.

He was not entirely happy with the situation but he would adapt, but then he saw that Carol was laughing again and shot a look at Jack. How did the men of this world cope with this screwy social set-up?

“Well she is your bond-mate,” Jack shrugged, “You had better get used to it.”

It was Amanda’s turn to laugh now. Poor Bill, this is his headache now. All I have to do is look at the bigger picture and coordinate the new teams.

“Good point, well made,” Bill snorted. “Hey you brat, come here.”

“But I only ducked out of chores for the team,” Carol wailed.

Bill didn’t wait, but threw the small woman over his shoulder so that her bare bottom was suddenly exposed to everyone present.

“As of now the team is inactive pending further orders,” he said looking at Amanda who shrugged in agreement.

“Ooh this so unfair,” Carol wailed as Bill carried her away.

“Don’t worry, you’ll find it… fascinating,” Amanda teased.

When she looked back at Jack he was studying her in amusement.

“Oh I get it, or at least I will won’t I?” she said ruefully. “I am going to be the only spanked ambassador in the IPEE.”

“You don’t sound like you mind so much,” Jack replied.

“Neither do you,” Amanda pouted.

Just then form above the sound of a steady thwick-thwack of a quirt rang out several times followed by the shrill protests of an interplanetary anthropologist. It only took a few moments to know that this was not a token punishment and as they listened, Jack and Amanda exchanged smirks.

“I think Carol is getting an up close and personal experience of planetary culture,” Jack chuckled.

“And later she’ll have the opportunity to analyse standing for her supper, another quaint local custom,” Amanda said dryly.

But she managed to laugh all the same, and then her eye fell upon a wench standing in the corner and sighed. It was going to be a long and interesting few years.

Ends

Our story began here.

The Spirit Awakes
A sore bottom that began at her upper curves and went all way down and into her soul was nothing unusual for Tabitha. Nor was a temporary inability to sit down on anything harder than air. Several times that day she had stopped in a quiet corner to lift up her hemline to inspect the crimson ravages of Amber’s attentions. The colourful and gentle swelling there made even the pressure of one hind cheek upon the other somewhat trying and with every step she felt as if she had ingested curried sandpaper from a decided inverted direction.

Once she had cried herself out and had been dismissed, the experience as always had been cleansing; cathartic even. No, all this was not her problem.

The real consequence of her visit had been her appointment to monitor. A task that before the encounter with the demon was close to her worst nightmare. She would rather have reported to the housekeeper for a daily dose of just anything she could imagine than have to dish out so much a reprimand to her friends; a state of affairs that she had earnestly tried to tell the housekeeper whilst getting her briefing.

“If you don’t shape up, that can certainly be arranged,” the housekeeper had scolded her, “Now I suggest you do your rounds.”

If she had expected any sympathy from Lucy Pettigrew her hopes were dashed.

“You,” Lucy squealed, “Well that is a turn up. Looks like I am busted then.”

This last was a reference to the state of the room.

“It’s my room as well and I can’t very well spank myself can I?” Tabitha wailed.

“That is a conundrum isn’t it,” Lucy giggled. “You could always haze me into a quiver instead.”

“Oh Lucy don’t,” Tabitha groaned.

“Well if you don’t the housekeeper will pay you out raw,” Lucy said with an alarming degree of detachment.

“I am beginning to think that that is what Amber intended,” Tabitha said miserably, “Oh Lucy, whatever am I going to do?”

“Well I’ll clean up here and you go and check the other rooms,” Lucy suggested, “Maybe you won’t have to spank anyone.”

A brief fantasy formed in her mind that Lucy was right and her messing up would be kept to a minimum. Perhaps that way a weekly visit to the housekeeper to account for small errors was just about manageable. But deep in her heart she knew that no one was going to mind her.

No there was only one person who might be able to help and that was Rachel. After all she had never wanted to be a monitor either and that had worked out quite well.

*

A few days before Tabitha would never have dared go to see Rachel Dvanjester. Maxine Du Jared, Rachel’s maestro gave Tabitha the creeps. The woman would have punished her on the least pretext and back when she was still talking to Rachel regularly she knew that the woman specialised in finding a girl’s limits and taking her well beyond.

However, since the war had begun in earnest, Maxine along with several other mages had been deployed in various tasks in the front line. Maxine, Tabitha knew, had been assigned to the fleet to coordinate the various weather shapers like Vosper.

Even so, Rachel had been rather aloof of late and was well on the way to being a senior journeyman. Perhaps issues of monitoring and the petty concerns of a novice like Tabitha were beneath her now.

“Rachel,” Tabitha called out as she got to Maxine’s quarters.

Her voice tinkled off the walls in an echo. A sound scarcely heard above the sound of the fountains and running water that everywhere was a feature of Maxine’s rooms.

It was odd that Rachel should lodge there and more than one eyebrow had been raised by such blatant fraternising between Maxine and her apprentice. But strangely none had ever questioned Fear and Katrin’s relationship. Maybe it was another example of the double-standards in Pandoria’s dealing with women.

“Rachel?” she called again.

All at once a column of water lifted from the pool that dominated the centre of the main room and after a momentary shimmering the translucent pillar shattered into a million droplets that tumbled away to reveal Rachel naked a glowing where the water had once been.

“Wow,” Tabitha gasped, “How did you do that?”

“With great difficulty,” Rachel said panting hard.

Tabitha could not help blush at the sight of Rachel’s dark naked beauty. Her clean alabaster curves contrasting with the raven hair on her head and forming a triangle between her legs.

“I was meditating,” Rachel said in something between a sigh and a sob as she sank in a flop back into the water. She seemed less confident than once she had been.

“It was very impressive,” Tabitha said eagerly, “Is that something Maxine taught you?”

At the mention of Maxine a cloud crossed Rachel’s face.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Rachel said haughtily.

“They made me monitor,” Tabitha squeaked.

“Oh,” Rachel relaxed a little. “That is awkward.”

Tabitha nodded miserably.

“I used to struggle to walk the line and I still don’t know what side that is,” Rachel confided.

It was an odd confession from Rachel, especially regarding a subject that the Dovecote girls did not generally discuss.

“You on the other hand,” Rachel continued, “Know where you stand and it is definitely not on the side of dishing out discipline.”

Tabitha blushed. Rachel was right.

“It is all character-building though,” Rachel added, “I should know. I have stood on both sides and back again since coming here.”

“Standing is something I tend to do a lot,” Tabitha said ruefully.

Rachel snorted and gave her smile that she had sometimes offered Tabitha in the past.

“You look… tired,” Tabitha said suddenly, “Not tired, sad… like you are preoccupied with something.”

Rachel looked away, her face now ashen.

“You can tell me,” Tabitha ventured.

“Oh the gods,” Rachel sighed. “It’s Maxine… when she was here, her… her ideas were so clear. Breaking the rules didn’t seem to matter. But now she has gone I have had time to think. It seems to me after all that has happened that the rules are even more important than ever.”

“She’s a mage, surely…” Tabitha ventured.

“She is up to something, something big. She is plotting to… I don’t know. It is something to do with Dr Fear and Katrin and… oh Tabitha, she wants to undermine your master. She wants to be the next Grand Magus but she… she talks about it as if she will be and soon.”

A chill went down Tabitha’s spine. By now every student in Pandoria knew that everyone connected to Challis was a suspect. Someone had let the beast into Pandoria. Amber had told her that much. It didn’t take a Lucy Pettigrew to know that there was a traitor.

“Listen Rachel, I’m not good at this, but you have to think. Do you… do you think that Maxine might be… I mean could she be…,” Tabitha couldn’t speak.

Rachel averted her eyes and then steeling herself raised her head and whispered, “Yes.”

*

Spendlove Skinmender sat in the corner watching all that transpired like an expectant mother. As a Wiccan he was as open as anyone to the healing properties of some Wild Magic, but having a Witch and a Mage perform some kind of arcane ritual all night was highly irregular.

It had been some time since Meredith Greydove had sunk to her knees and ceased muttering, and the only reason Spendlove had allowed it was because of the dramatic work that the witch had already done for the girl.

Well not just that, he had to admit as his eyes went from the sleeping Katrin to the fierce-eyed Fear who had worked with Meredith in whatever the gods knew they were doing. The Black Mage had insisted.

Fear himself had felt calmer than he had for days. The communion with Meredith had been an eye-opener and even as he hoped, his academic instincts told him he had made leaps and bounds in his understanding of all magic that night. A forbidden door had opened and who knew where it might lead.

With Meredith’s help he had forged patterns in the strands of Wild Magic, a medium that few witches could see let alone manipulate so directly. Between them they had seen and felt the soul-damage deep within Katrin and little-by-little they had not only unravelled it, but had expelled it from her body.

Maybe after all it was too late, but at least the beast would have failed and his girl would be at rest. His resolve broke then and he coughed back a sob.

Damn you man, he cursed himself. But Meredith was too weary to notice and Spendlove had seen it all and did not react. In any case there was nothing left to be done. Katrin was free of pain and free of the demon now, her body was whole. If she did not awake then… he could not think of it and gave a heavy sigh.

If ever I find the traitor… he made a ball with his fist and pounded on the arm of his chair.

Spendlove made to shush him and then checked himself. What did he think would happen? Come on lass, wake-up he urged Katrin silently.

“I have done all I can,” Meredith said quietly.

She sounded as if she now feared the worse. Fear nodded his agreement. He was more resigned now.

“It will be enough,” Spendlove said cheerfully.

Fear glared at him, but Spendlove Skinmender was un-phased.

“I have seen thousands in this bed and beds like it,” he said sharply, “Trust me to know who will live and who will die.”

“Enough,” Fear bellowed, launching to his feet and the room seemed to shake.

But Spendlove stood his ground. “The girl will live,” he said simply and returned a reassuring smile.

Fear had not the strength to argue and sank back into his chair. He had secrets now; insights. He would use them in time to hunt the beast down and destroy it. If love was lost then he still had revenge.

Meredith sighed and wiped a stray hair from her mouth as she got back to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something small that she could not quite…

Fear noticed at once that the witch’s body language had altered and his eyes followed her gaze.

Katrin’s eyelids fluttered and then all at once she opened her eyes.

“Master?” she groaned, working her mouth free of sawdust, “Arlon?”

Fear choked back a sob and forced his fist into his mouth.

“There you are little lady,” Spendlove said breezily, “You have had us all very worried.”

“Arlon?” Katrin said in a clear voice.

As Fear crossed the room and swept the girl to his chest as the tears poured down Meredith’s face.

“Thank you, oh thank you,” Fear wept, offering gratitude to the witch and the healer with his eyes.

Spendlove and Meredith exchanged glances. They knew they had done little beyond repairing her body. It had been Arlon Fear who had made the difference. The universe had dealt him a hand and he had rejected it; reaching out to reshape it as if it were so much cosmic clay.

“I’ll be back in 10 minutes and then you must leave her to rest,” Spendlove commanded.

Fear nodded but as they left, he held Katrin to his chest and looked off into the middle distance at some unnamed destiny.

To be continued.

Our story began here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me worry about that,” Jason rasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He might have been talking about himself.

“What else?”

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

“Speak girl,” Sejanus barked at her.

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

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

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

The room exploded into a babble.

“The dark arts,” someone said angrily.

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

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

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

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

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

“Indeed,” Sejanus agreed.

The Scroll Keeper looked like a cat with sour cream.

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

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

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

“What choice do we have?” Lucy urged.

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

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

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

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

“We are not defenceless,” Davidus intoned.

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

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

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

To be continued.

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

“What do you mean?” she gulped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ahh,” she groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A good while later Marcus returned and released her.

“Was that okay?” he said.

She nodded.

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

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

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

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

“Yes me too,” he said.

ends

Our story began here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be my guess,” Amber agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

Amber frowned and thought for a minute.

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

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

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

“Yes,” Fear said urgently.

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are Rachel Dvanjester?” the adept intoned.

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

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

The white-blonde woman on the panel coughed.

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

“Yes Sir,” Rachel said nervously.

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I’m sure,” she croaked.

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

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

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

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

But the Black Mage only nodded.

“Where do we start?” Fear asked.

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

It had been the only bright spot in the proceedings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean…?” the spotty youth put in.

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

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

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

“Oh I do,” the woman told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It sounded as if he was washing his hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do we have a count?” John asked.

“We’ll call it,” the adept replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh the gods,” someone whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss Dvanjester, can you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am,” Rachel sobbed.

“Do you agree?”

Rachel nodded.

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

He looked surprised but he didn’t argue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rachel extended her hand and John shook it.

“Thank you Sir,” she said.

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

To be continued.

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

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

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

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

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

Get it here

Our story began here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happens now,” Tabitha whispered to Erin.

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

“Be silent girls,” Amber scolded them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Erin frowned. She could see nothing

“Endlessly swirling and growing…” Amber whispered.

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

“I see it,” Meredith gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it Maxine?” Tabitha said excitedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get back all of you,” he called out.

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

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

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

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

“Katrin, Katrin,” Fear said urgently.

Katrin shook herself and looked around her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have but two conditions,” Fear offered.

“Name them,” the beast replied.

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

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

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

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

Oh well it was worth a try, Fear shrugged.

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

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

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

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

“What no fireworks little man,” Tugaal mocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you alright?” he asked urgently.

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

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

To be continued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Camilla knew ‘that look’ and shifted uneasily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you hear me Alice?” Braden growled.

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

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

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

Alice swallowed and shook her head.

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

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

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

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

“Yes Sir,” Kim wailed.

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

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

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

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

Alice blushed and felt her head fizz.

“Yes Sir,” she spluttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

Camilla shrugged.

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

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

“Probably not,” Camilla said dismissively.

Alice felt a pang of regret at this.

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

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

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

Alice knew she was hiding something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you getting on?” he asked.

“Oh fine Mr Braden,” Alice replied.

“No problems?”

“No Sir,” she said with a shrug.

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

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

“And Becky?” Braden folded his arms.

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

“Rebecca James,” Braden supplied.

Alice found the name on the list.

“I… eh…”

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

With that he walked away.

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

“Oh God,” she groaned.

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

“Come,” he called.

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

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

“Yes Sir,” Alice winced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alice swallowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ooh,” Alice squealed.

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

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

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

“Ooh… ah,” she yelped.

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

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

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

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

“Yes Sir,” Alice wailed.

“So you agree you have this coming?”

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

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

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

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

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

It was the first clue that the spanking was over.

Alice sighed and clawed at her sore red bottom.

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

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

Ends.

Our story began here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Coming,” Mary called out.

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

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

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

“So I gather,” he replied.

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

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

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

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

Mary frowned, something was wrong.

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

“I may have been strict but…”

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

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

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

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

“No Sir.” Mary bit her lip, cowed.

“Where is the girl now?”

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

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

“Tatiana?” Drake began.

“Yes Sir,” Tatiana replied miserably not moving a muscle.

Inside she quailed, what more was she to suffer.

“Turn around.”

Tatiana turned about and stood up as straight as she could.

“Sir?”

“Have you been fairly treated?” Drake asked.

Tatiana licked her lips and studied the floor for a moment.

“Yes Sir… I was… I thoroughly deserve to be punished… I was warned and I…”

“I don’t want to hear it frankly. What I want to know is, were you left alone in the cellar for any length of time during the past few days?”

Tatiana looked at Mary and moved her lips to speak. Telling tales seemed wrong somehow. Surely this was between Mary and her. But on the other hand she couldn’t lie and what was just was just. Others would decide. She nodded.

“Can I just say…?” Mary began.

“No,” Drake shot at her. “You can remove your skirt and under things and bend over that chair.”

Mary shot a glance at Tatiana.

“Do it,” Drake barked.

Mary blushed, but didn’t hesitate. A spanking in front of the maid would be embarrassing, but she couldn’t deny it wasn’t deserved.

“Mary did a good job on your bottom,” Drake observed to Tatiana while Mary stepped out of her knickers.

“Yes Sir,” Tatiana replied ruefully.

She squirmed a little and described a circle with her right thigh as she grimaced at the continued working of the ginger.

“Fetch the paddle she used,” he ordered her, “I take it, it was a paddle.”

Tatiana nodded and scurried across the room with her sore bare bottom jiggling behind. The paddle wasn’t far. She handed it to him.

“Were you finished with this?” Drake asked Mary.

Mary was peony as she stood in just her tight jumper and stocking tops with her hands cupped over her sex. She mouthed the word no.

“You were going to alternate the paddle and the ginger?” he guessed.

Again Mary nodded shamefaced.

“For how long?” he asked.

Mary shrugged.

Turn around and bend over the back of that chair.

“But…”

“Oh this is just a beginning for you,” he cut her off, “But I suggest you do as you are told.”

Mary swallowed and obeyed him.

“Tatiana, you know how to prepare ginger?” he said to the maid.

“Yes Sir,” she replied in as neutral a voice as she could manage.

“Do so. As many plugs as you can with what is to hand,” Drake told her.

Tatiana licked her lips, and then after a brief contemplation of her mistress’s bare bottom displayed prominently over the back of the chair, she went to the kitchen to comply.

*

“Ughhh,” Mary grunted as the paddle blasted her bare bottom again.

A fat tear rolled down the side of her nose and splashed onto the floor and it took a moment to get her breath.

“Seven Sir,” she finally managed to say.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Sylvia had joined Tatiana to watch her ordeal.

“When you are charged with a girl’s discipline, her training if you will; then you have a duty of care do you not?” Drake scolded her sharply.

“Yes Sir,” Mary said miserably among the ragged breaths.

There was a dull whoosh that touched her ears just as the biting paddle landed again with a thwack.

“Uh,” she spluttered in a wet voice.

The pain sang in her behind and continued to build for a long moment.

“Eight Sir,” she wailed; her voice hard on the edge of true crying now.

Drake regarded the glorious shiny curves of Mary’s polished burgundy bottom and paused. No part of her skin there was left unstained and a slight leathery welt was forming where the red met the unspanked whiteness on her tail. The second eight would be harder for her, he knew.

*

As predicted the second eight were a trial and although Mary had managed to take her spanking without breaking, she felt thoroughly punished. The worst part was having the other two women watching her ordeal, especially Tatiana.

But finally and after many, many decades of purgatory the last eight bit home and she had announced it with triumph admixed with gratitude.

Tatiana had done the honours when the time came for the first dose of ginger. For a moment Mary could have sworn that the girl and inserted her entire fist. The hard knot of root felt cold at first and only a minor irritant as she was gratefully put in the corner to struggle with the unabating throb of the paddle. But after a few moments the growing burn in her fundament began to compete with the blisters and bruises on her bottom.

“No rubbing now mind,” Drake warned.

“No Sir,” Mary gasped through a clenched jaw.

Wild horses couldn’t make her break protocol. Not considering the penalties. God the man was merciless. But secretly she wouldn’t have had it any other way. Then thoroughly cowed she drew one last breath and burst into tears.

To be continued.

Our story began here.

Victoria Gloria
The Precips fleet under Jason Maelon has successfully come about and was running south with the lead ships presenting their starboard sides to the oncoming enemy.

The overwhelming Challis Armada was so obviously confident in their imminent victory that they had as yet refrained from breaking into battle-speed to allow their trailing ships to catch-up.

All about Prince Jason men crowded the deck and the rigging with bows ready to rain fire and other missiles on the approaching fleet. But they were vastly outnumbered and unless they could disengage, for every shot at the enemy, three or four arrows would come back at them.

Jason eyed Maxine Du Jared who seemed to be mumbling under her breath and waving her staff at arm’s length like a music leader conducting an orchestra.

“Can your weather-crafters give us the weather gauge?” the admiral asked her.

Maxine ignored him. For what she was about to do would take all her strength. Then among the clamour somewhere Captain Timorous yelled,
“Standby to open fire.”

But he was far from confident and saw no way to score a victory here. A fighting retreat and a hasty regroup was their best chance. Nonetheless, around him men strained as dogs at leashes with bowstrings pulled tight and arrows sharpened. Between them were pots of burning pitch and at their feet were cutlasses and sea-hatchets ready to do murder.

At the prow Maxine saw deep into the patterns, their myriad shades and weights all reflecting the water all about them. She could see the dancing of the spray so fine that it escaped the notice of mortal men. So too could she see the dense shifting wall of the waves themselves and the impossible volume of water formed into mountains all the way down to the bedrock of the very world itself.

Once her intended target saw what was happening they might yet escape and that would never do, but yet doubt touched her. Could she even do it? Should she? After all these years, who really were her countrymen?

Maxine took hold of the great marine patterns with her mind and followed the grain. She would work with the ocean to guide it. Nothing else would be possible. So as she manipulated the shades of blue-green-grey the edges of the world seemed to strain.

Little-by-little all the lines fell into the same course until the sea dropped in one place and rose in another.

To onlookers it would seem as a wave, but this breaker would not yet fall and grew ever higher until the oft-described mountainous waves ascended into true peaks.

As the sea became displaced, the ocean ahead of them was becalmed even as a great cliff-wall of water rose above them. One fleet now set above the other. So much so that the leading edge of the Challis encirclement now fell back in disarray just as the greater part of the Precips fleet came into range.

“Shoot,” Prince Admiral Maelon screamed and a hundred thousand points of light darted into the sky and fell like rain on their enemies far below.

The latter ships had no hope of shooting back over a great wall of water and their greater numbers were now useless to them.

“What in the names of the gods,” Jason gasped, “Du Jared, is this your doing?”

Maxine groaned as if heaving a great weight and she huskily replied, “This wall will not stand, as it falls we must pray that it breaks the opposing fleet first.”

Then she fell to one knee, her eyes bugging out in her head with the strain.

“The weather-shapers will hold their left flank at bay while you deal with what remains of their right,” she continued in a broken groan. “The rest is up to you.”

As she spoke the great dam of water finally broke and fell back onto the Challis fleet like a tidal wave. Everywhere ships were swamped or if not were swept back with no hope of holding formation.

“Make signal; concentrate everything we have on their right flank,” Jason bellowed, and then shouted, “Battle-speed close on them and cut their hearts out.”

With the weight of water with them the Precips fleet verily flew at the prone Challis ships as one great wave preceded by shards of fire-arrows and thrown axes. In a few minutes the lead ships were ramming the first of their foe and men poured over the decks as deadly as any water.

Maxine had gained her feet and was manipulating heavy waves over the bows of unassailed ships to keep them occupied; some of which sank quickly without trace while bigger ships floundered and had to divert crews to bail even under a hail of missiles.

She adjudged that sixth tenths of the enemy were broken with the greater part of what was left still held back by Vosper and other weather-crafters. Even here, adepts were hurling fireballs at the nearer ships. Although this was little more than showing-off and nowhere near as effective as the great mass of archers, some ships were put to fire and their morale must have been slighted.

“I judged you wrong Maxine Du Jared, we owe you a great debt,” Prince Jason said as he came over to her.

She looked around at the fleet, which was fully engaged and saw that they were winning.

“Many make that mistake your highness. It is a fate I share with many uncompromising people,” she smiled for the first time since coming aboard.

“Like me you mean,” Jason grinned back.

Maxine winked and turned her full attention to the soon-to-be-doomed remaining enemy flank.

*

Amber was in a buoyant mood as she entered the Ivory Tower. Tugaal was dead or at least so utterly dismissed that he was out of the game, which was much the same thing. In addition they had gained new insights into its fellow demon, Praelium.

On hearing of Fear’s victory on the mountain Lucy Greystoke had come to Amber with her thoughts on the matter and to share with her some of her own research.

“I wouldn’t trouble Dr Fear with this just yet and certainly not the Grand Magus, but I think this is interesting,” Lucy had said without preamble as she breezed into the cave. “I was following a lead on water and silver or some such and concluded that those elements might reveal the traitor’s face in reflection. But I now have other thoughts.”

Amber took the book from the shelf and opened it to where the Green Mage indicated.

“Yes I see,” Amber murmured. “You think that silver or water may be a weakness of the beast?”

“Why don’t you run this past Dniester? For all his grumpiness he is wise and if we are on to something then I will take this to the Grand Magus myself,” Lucy had urged her.

So here she was hastening to see the Grey Adept for the first time since he had caned her backside raw. As it turned out that wasn’t the only thing to dampen her enthusiasm.

“Should you be carrying that about?” the old wizard scolded her as she entered. “I hardly think the Scroll Keeper entrusted that to you so that you could bundle it under your arm like a romantic novel. It is quite a dangerous tome you know.”

“But Lucy Greystoke suggested I consult you. I think… I… well look, she might have found something,” Amber flustered.

“Maestro Greystoke, What has she to do with this?” Dniester asked surprised, “And what does she imagine I can say about the matter?”

Dniester took the book and ran his eye down the old tome.

“Ancient and in some form of archaic language akin to the old tongue,” he mused aloud. “You can read this?”

“I studied it for insights into Wild Magic long ago. You may remember Arlon gained permission…” Amber frowned.

“Oh yes, yes I see,” Dniester flicked through the pages as he spoke. “Why did Lucy think I could help?”

“Well, she read it and told me…”

“Lucy Greystoke read this book?” Dniester’s eyes narrowed.

“She has a copy from the Scroll Keeper as I do. She has been working on the same problem,” Amber said defensively.

“Indeed,” Dniester pulled a face, “Well in that case let me look it over. My old tongue in this dialect is rather more rusty than yours I am afraid.”

*

What was left of the Challis fleet had turned tail and was scattering.

“Shall we follow then Sir?” Captain Timorous asked.

Jason shook his head.

“They have other fleets. We must make ready to intercept them if we are to continue to make a difference,” he replied, “But make signal to the fleet… tell them… well done… you know the drill.”

“Sir.”

“Tell me Maestro, can you get word to Timbre and Pandoria about our victory here?” Jason asked. “I have already dispatched an outrider corvette to Precips, but…”

“Highness, I am exhausted as are my people, but I will commune with them and report to the Grand Magus at the soonest opportunity. Within a day certainly,” Maxine assured him, “He will no doubt insure all the allies know of this outcome.”

To be continued

Our story began here.

The Dragon’s Tooth
A summer breeze drifted in from the sea and danced gently on Davidus Grimm’s face. As he stood high up in the Barbican he closed his eyes to let the warm air play about his face as he took a moment to empty his mind. It was well to take a minute to consider recent events. At least some things were falling into place, he thought. Not that he had ever doubted Maxine. Not truly.

It had merely served his purposes that others might, not least because it allowed him more time to discern who the real the traitor was. To that end it was a great pity that the charade could not have continued for a little longer.

Still there was time until the news got out. So far only Sejanus knew and his loyalty was beyond reproach. The Grand Magus had ensured as much.

Maxine’s victory was just a set-back for the enemy, but that too would buy them some time. But precious little Davidus feared. It was sobering to think that at every turn the cause of order could meet with a fatal defeat and small victories just kept them in the game.

No he was wrong he decided suddenly. There was still more hope than that. For one thing, Arlon Fear had destroyed one of the demons of the Triptych. That had to be more than inconvenient for the foe. That would force their hands and might even expose some weakness.

The Grand Magus imagined the world as a great chess table with dark pieces closing in to close a trap. But here and there were bastions of white like rocks on which the black could yet flounder.

We cannot yet see all the pieces, he pondered, not even our own. But they had strengthened their position and now it was the adversary’s move.

*

Dniester had struggled all his life with some of the older texts. In his youth he had encountered too many dark things and on days like these he knew that in part his decision to bury himself away in Pandoria was a kind of retirement, a refuge if you will, from all of those sinister personal histories.

But then it amused him that no one had ever considered why such an old cantankerous wizard so hide-bound by tradition would spend so much time teaching girls the Thaumaturgical Arts.

The world was scarcely what it seemed and yet so few looked beyond the light and shade into what lurked in the shadows.

Dniester chuckled.

Then a cloud crossed his face as he thought on this, but that was his nature. His suspicions were baseless as his exaggerated prejudices; just more smoke and mirrors. Still it hadn’t hurt to send a polite note to William.

The matter that troubled him was trivial. So trivial that he felt an old fool, but yet strange doubts nagged at his shrivelled wizened mind.

Amber had told him that not only did Lucy Greystoke have a copy of the Book of Triptych, but that she could read it.

Now he knew that Lucy had greater ability than most gave her credit for and that like many women at Pandoria she often obscured her talents, but once during a discussion on demonology Lucy had feigned ignorance of certain ancient tongues. So why now was she so keen to help Amber with her research? Further, he considered as if he were teasing at an academic problem, how did Lucy come into possession of such a book?

The Scroll Keeper had told him that all copies had been removed from the library and even mages had been forbidden access. In fact it had taken a great deal of hidden influence on Dniester’s part just to get permission for Amber Sage to have access to a copy. Not that she knew of his involvement.

What puzzled him still more was why had Lucy sent Amber to see him? He had no special knowledge, or at least none that might have occurred to Lucy Greystoke. Besides, she was usually careful of referencing inferiors such as Dniester, a mere wizard, lest she undermine her own position. So what had she found out and was Amber’s visit at the Green Mage’s behest a very discreet way of inviting him to call?

*

William met Dniester outside of Lucy’s chambers. They were an elaborate affair with pillars dressed in green and brown stone in a kind of echo of a forest.

Somewhere a fountain trickled and contributed to the cooling breeze that played about the semi-open passage that joined the Green Mage’s quarters with a secluded garden beyond.

“Typical women,” William snorted, “They always have such expansive quarters. Have you seen Maxine’s?”

Dniester knew that William’s own quarters bordered on Spartan and that any amount of ornament would have raised a frown from him. So he said nothing.

“What is this all about? You said that Lucy might have some intelligence on demonic incursions?” William said in a more business-like manner, sensing that his previously gossipy tone had not impressed the ancient adept.

“Perhaps she has, I am not qualified to judge and wanted a second opinion Maestro,” Dniester said in a serious tone.

William smiled at the wizard’s pretended deference.

“Sounds important, let’s go and find out,” William said, matching the wizard’s mood.

No one answered their hails, but the door was not locked and given that someone could be heard within they entered.

“Maestro,” Dniester called out.

“Lucy, it is us,” William added, “You have some…”

As they went deeper among the narrow columns of crafted ‘trees’ they could see an open area in the form of an atrium of sorts.

Lucy was kneeling on the floor lost in meditation before sphere of shimmering light.

“Oh, fascinating,” William gasped, “Looks like we should leave her to it.”

“That is no water magic I recognise,” Dniester said puzzled.

“No… neither is it an air spell,” William said in agreement. “The patterns… they are wrong… I can’t…”

“By the gods, it is a hole in the world.” Dniester was truly shaken and clutched his Dragon’s Tooth to his chest.

“Come in gentlemen,” Lucy said from where she knelt. “There is someone I want you to meet.”

*

The sphere had gone and in its place was a beautiful feminine creature; half woman, half quicksilver. She seemed to twist as if dancing snake-like, the liquid of her limbs flowing through the air.

“Behold Praelium,” Lucy hissed.

The Green Mage’s eyes were all silver like the dancing creature, seeing at once nothing and everything as if she could see world’s layered one upon the other.

“Which of these shall be ours,” Praelium whispered seductively.

“The wizard is an old fool, one who never achieved even magehood,” Lucy said dismissing Dniester, “I had thought him distracted by the witch, but no matter.”

“The other?” the demon said silkily.

By now William had recovered his surprise and had set about weaving a shield from patterns in the air.

“He is little enough, but stands close to the Grand Magus,” Lucy sneered.

“Then he is mine,” Praelium cooed.

As William braced himself for an attack Dniester lunged at the creature with his cane.

Praelium made a gesture with her hand and sent the old man smashing into the wall.

“What are you?” William yelled as he poured a force of air at the creature to arrest its progress.

“I am Legion, for we are many,” Praelium mocked, but as she spoke Lucy Greystoke too mouthed the words.

Now great typhoons of wind were hurled through the chamber as William stood to fight off two assailants.

“Lucy how can you serve… this…?” William accused his colleague.

“She was ours since her first mission to Challis,” Praelium soothed, “As you will be ours.”

For a moment William made a good stand but then his feet slipped and he began to slide back on the stone floor as he wrestled with the double assault.

Faraway across Pandoria the echoes of the battle began to be heard and all capable minds began to seek out the source of the disturbance. Soon dozens would come to William’s aid to find that he and Lucy had driven back the demon. Or that is the story they would tell, for by then Praelium would have done her work and had fled.

The demise of the old wizard would sadden all, of course, but foolish relief would prevail at the apparent defeat of the creature.

Prone on the floor in the corner of the room Dniester opened one befuddled eye and tried to make sense of his thoughts. The demon and Lucy Greystoke had cornered William who by now had fallen to his knees.

The white maestro needed his aid and shaking himself the wizard grabbed for his cane, the Dragon’s Tooth, and set it to bite at the floor to aid him to his feet.

It was a trusty old thing carved from the tooth of a true dragon. It had been a wily old beast and strong; not easily conquered. In his youth Dniester had battled it for two days and a night in defence of a small hamlet in the Southern Desert beyond the Silver Shore.

Finally the grey wizard had prevailed and the grateful villagers had taken the great beast’s incisor and carved it into a parody of a half-sized mage’s staff. A neat joke Dniester had always thought, for in those days his failure to become a magus had weighed much upon him. But it was a joke with a sting in the tail for generations of would-be magi, Dniester often mused.

As he got to his feet he tried hard to see the patterns and realised from their absence that the Wild Magic was winning. Such power reflected an aura which joined Lucy and Praelium with a point where the creature had emerged. From each of these points more half-seen tendrils extended towards William who even now knelt transfixed as if on the point of three spears.

A shaken Dniester could scarce match William for power over air, and mastery of water would afford him little here. In any case, even if they had both acted in concert, the old adept doubted if they could have bested either one of them.

Still he had to try. If he could just break their unholy circle long enough then help would arrive in time to see Lucy Greystoke’s deception. Even if this cost him his life.

The Green Mage and the demon had their backs to Dniester now, Dniester just had a chance. He had few options. At close quarters a fireball might bring one of them down, but it was not his element and he doubted he could effect one easily.

A whip of water or air might serve him better, but Lucy would overmatch him in one if not the other. Still he was close now and they had not yet seen him.

He wished he had read more of the Book of Triptych, but he rather suspected that Lucy’s suggested weaknesses were naught but more diversions. But sometimes simple was best and magic could add weight and force to straight forward direct action.

Wielding the Dragon’s Tooth like a lance Dniester singled out Lucy and drove the narrow end right through the back of her head. The old dragon’s bite was as sure as it had been of old and after only the briefest resistance the last two hands of cane sank deep.

The Green Mage fell as if pole-axed and the bond between her and William was broken at once. In response Praelium wheeled on Dniester and prepared to offer battle.

But something had changed. The only sound in the room was a fountain somewhere and it took a long moment for the old man to pull his only weapon from Lucy’s head. But even as he knew he would die, his final thought was at least the traitor was defeated.

However Praelium did not act. Instead she seemed to hang in the air sagging like a puppet whose strings had been cut. As he watched Dniester noticed that the quicksilver of the creature’s flesh was running like water down a drain into some invisible hole from where once had stood the great sphere.

“She resented that you had more influence than her,” Praelium said in a sweet matter-of-fact voice. “It blinded her judgement of you.” Then she was gone.

Across the world in Challis, Xerses had been hearing of his great defeat at the hands of the Precips fleet when all at once he had fallen silent and had begun to drool. Next to him his usually vocal concubine had also fallen silent and they both sat vacantly staring into space.

It terrified the court to see that both the king and his companion’s eyes were glazed over silver like those of a statue.

“Majesty?” a courtier said tentatively.

Then all at once and both in unison the King and concubine had screamed and fallen dead at the foot of the throne.

*

By the time Fear and several adepts reached Lucy’s quarters Dniester was already bending over the dying William.

“They had me… they had me,” the white mage croaked over and over, finally adding “Thank you old man.”

“Farewell maestro,” Dniester whispered and reached out to close William’s eyes for the last time.

“A demon, here?” an adept said horrified.

“It took all three of you to battle it?” said another.

Fear met Dniester’s gaze and saw the truth.

“It would seem so,” Fear said carefully.

“The traitor is gone,” Dniester sighed.

“Are you sure?” said a voice behind them,

The adepts backed away as the Grand Magus swept into the room flanked by several mages and Sejanus Jacelon.

The old wizard stood with the aid of his cane and nodded.

“It’s true,” Fear agreed. “Dniester rooted her out and killed… it.”

All eyes turned to the old wizard and gasped.

To be continued.

Cary had heard about Tom from a friend. Only her friend had thought it was funny; openly mocking people who would visit this unusual man. But the details had been intriguing, more than intriguing even and secretly Cary had been excited by the whole idea.

“He doesn’t even charge money,” her friend had cackled, “You just have to fill out a form on his silly website and wait for an appointment.”

It had been excruciating to have to joining in the mockery while all the while being desperate to know the web address, but her patience had paid off.

The form had been a few tick boxes and a request for 100 words or less about herself and why she was interested.

Now she here she was on her day off from work having an adventure.

The building was down an alley in a courtyard off an Islington side street. It looked like an old Victorian school house and as far as discretion went it was perfect. There was no one about but the main doors were opened and they lead to a dark wood-panelled hallway with an old winding staircase.

At 28 Cary had never done anything like this, but had dreamed of it all her life. But such things never happened to her. She took a breath.

“Upstairs, knock and wait,” she repeated the mantra.

There was a hall mirror at the foot of the stairs and she sneaked a peek at the dumpy blonde meekly peeking back at her. She straightened up and steeled herself.

“You can do this,” she whispered.

Just then a creak on the stairs caught her attention and she looked up to see a tall man in a dark grey suit smiling pleasantly down at her. He was perhaps 40-something with pepper-salt hair and heavy eyebrows. In a way he reminded her of her old housemaster.

“You must be Cary,” he said casually, “You’re late.”

“I… missed the bus and then I couldn’t find the right street…” she babbled.

“Sorry Sir would have been sufficient,” he replied firmly.

“Oh… I thought…”

The smile left his face.

“Sorry Sir,” she said quickly.

“Come on then,” he sighed.

Cary gulped and mounted the stairs.

“I gather tardiness is an issue for you, as well as making excuses it seems,” he chided her even as he opened the door to his study.

“Yes Sir,” she swallowed, “I…”

She caught herself and decided not speak. Instead she looked over the book-lined room with the heavy dark oak desk and padded leather chairs. God, it was just like her housemaster’s study.

“You know why you are here?” he said in a business-like tone.

She did and she didn’t as such, she thought, but from what she did understand she knew it was better to play along.

“Yes Sir,” she said, the words coming easier now.

“Persistently late, always making excuses… you are a bit of a plodder aren’t you Cary?” he scolded her.

Game or not, it was true.

“Yes Sir,” she managed to reply.

“This is the first time you have been taken to task isn’t it?” Tom said thoughtfully.

Cary nodded until he glared at her again and she gasped out a “yes Sir.”

“Well, I will go easy on you this time,” he suggested almost grudgingly.

“Thank you Sir,” she replied with a blush, but strangely she felt disappointed.

“We will begin by giving you a good sound spanking and finish with six of the best with the cane,” he concluded matter-of-factly.

Cary took in a long slow breath through her open mouth and felt her heart race.

“Under the circumstances you will remove your own skirt and then come here across my knee,” Tom said as he sat down in the nearest armless chair.

Cary nodded. It was going fast but she was glad in case her nerve gave out. She asked tentatively if she could remove her jacket, waiting meekly for permission before she did so. Then with her back turned she stripped down to her blouse, knickers and charcoal hold-up stockings.

Despite the warmth he appreciated her efforts and nodded approvingly. On her form she had ticked almost every implement and augmentation as permissible within her requested scenarios, but she had also admitted that she had never been punished before. This time he would just use his hand as a prelude to the cane.

“Come here,” he reaffirmed.

She fluttered like a caged bird being taken in hand but then found some courage and stepped towards him.

He tipped her easily over his lap and was pleased to see that she naturally snuggled down.

Tom waited for a while before addressing himself to her underwear which he efficiently and slowly pulled down to her mid-thigh.

She gasped at the sudden breeze around her bottom.

“You were late, you are always late I gather,” he scolded her, “And do you always babble out weak excuses like that?”

“I know but…” she began wild with the idea that she was bare-bottomed over the lap of a man she hardly knew.

“What are you saying now?” he barked.

She swallowed and realised that she was doing it again.

“Sorry Sir.” And then remembering what her housemaster used to say added quickly, “No excuse Sir.”

“Better,” he growled, “It is a wonder that you were never spanked at school.”

“No Sir, I mean… yes Sir.” Cary was mortified now, it was just like she had imagined.

His hand landed with a crisp smack that robbed her of breath and set her eyes a goggle. The sting was worse than she had thought, but too bad though, she assessed.

The second spank was no worse, but the way he followed it up with several more without pause made her squirm and rapidly struggle for an even breath.

“You naughty feckless girl, you really deserve this spanking don’t you?” he said sharply.

“Yes Sir,” she wailed.

“Gosh what a red bottom you have, does it sting?”

“Yes Sir, its burnie,” she said childishly.

“It is supposed to be,” he sighed showing no sign of slowing.

The spanking lasted beyond her ability to judge and although she didn’t cry she was bucking on his lap and struggling with the impact of his hand long before it was over.

“Alright, you can get up now and you may rub,” he said at last.

Cary leapt to her feet and clamping her hands to her bottom did a shameless dance, hopping from one foot to the other.

“No drama now, we haven’t finished,” he said sharply. “I want you to bend over the back of this chair for your six.”

As he spoke he pulled one of the over-stuffed armchairs away from the wall and patted the upper scroll curves of it.

It was a hard muddy green with quilted leather that was worn a little on the scroll back. And as she bent over Cary wondered how many other women had been bet across it. The leather was cool and firm under her and the pressure on her pelvis, contrasting as it did with the sting in her bottom gave her shameless thoughts.

Tom removed his jacket for the next part, swishing the cane menacingly through the air.

“This will hurt my girl,” he warned.

“Yes Sir,” she said thickly.

Wasting no time the cane cut the air and then her bottom with a bite.

“Ahh,” she yelled.

The pain was like nothing she had ever felt, she immediately bucked and then clawed at the leather. Her breath was ragged like she was drowning.

“Are you okay?” he asked in concern.

She dare not speak, but nodded vigorously.

The next stroke felt like a sword cut and went on sawing her for long moments.

“Ooh,” she held her breath and clamped her knuckles white on the seat.

“It gets worse,” he murmured.

But he waited for a bit before caning in again.

She couldn’t cope now and made parodies of chuckling in her throat as she twisted and moaned over the back of the chair. Her breathing was completely lost in effort and if she could look she would have seen three hard lines on red across her bottom.

The final three were each worse than the last and at the sixth stroke she collapsed into tears.

“Is that what you needed?” he asked.

She hated the suggestion of a break from character, but at the same time she appreciated it.

“Yes Sir,” she sniffed, reaffirming her submissive role.

“I have to see another girl and she will benefit from a witness, as will you I think. This is our first time together, so you can decide.” His voice was still beautifully stern.

“I’ll stay until you dismiss me Sir,” she agreed.

“Good,” he nodded, “I am done with you for today but go and face that wall. Keep you face pressed against it and don’t turn around.”

Before obeying Cary could not help twisting to look down her back at the prominence of her bottom and the top part of the cane ridges painted there. She could feel where they stood out and were harshly tender to the touch.

“Cary, go and face the wall,” he scolded her.

“Yes Sir,” she said eagerly and scurried to obey.

Her first time in the corner was an eternity and the other girl did not arrive for the longest time. When she did finally get there Cary blushed furiously, but dared not turn around. So she never knew who the girl was.

It was fun to listen while the woman (perhaps her own age Cary guessed) was put through much harsher paces than she had been. The spanking was longer and harder and the girl was sobbing long before it was over.

Then she had to take about 24 strokes of the cane, which she took rather better.

The unnamed woman was dismissed before Cary, but she was glad she had been included.

“Thank you Sir,” Cary blushed once she had got dressed.

“That’s my pleasure,” Tom said. “Do you think you will come again?”

Cary nodded enthusiastically.

“Do you want real help?” he asked.

“You mean like… mentoring?”

“Something like that,” he smiled.

“Yes Sir, she said brightly.

“Then I will be in touch.”

*

As Cary reached the bottom of the stairs a sophisticated woman in an expensive business suit was coming in. She had thick black hair and looked around 10 years older than Cary.

“Good morning,” she said as she went up the stairs.

“Moring,” Cary called after her.

The throbbing lines of pain still burned across Cary’s bottom under her skirt and it gave her a secret thrill that the rest of the world looked normal. She thought about the other girl and the woman on the stairs. How many more will be sitting gently that day?

She found herself smiling until people began to stare.

What would her friends say if they knew?

Ends

Our story began here.

The Enemy at the Gates
It had been a long march across the steppe from the West, and more than seven weeks before the army had left the rocky Bad Lands and had reached the Central Plains. Now the seemingly endless open country of tree-studded wire grass was giving way to rolling hills topped by sparse copses which marked the route on all sides. With the end much nearer the beginning Tomas’ could now almost smell the sea.

Tomas had been assigned to the marshalling provost, a vexing, exhausting task that had seen him ride up and down the lines for weeks. Discipline had been harsh and at no point in the long files of troops were they ever out of sight of a gibbet. Given the vast distances they had travelled from the West, Tomas estimated that the numbers of men executed would have been enough to almost supply a complete army with men in more usual times.

As it was there were several great armies and each host was truly vast. Even Tomas knew that no such military force could have been held together without supernatural means. But in recent weeks something had changed. The orders were becoming more urgent and rumours abounded of dark wizards and Pandorian Mages moving against them. Tomas had even heard that a force had been sent to Challis to secure it after the sudden and unexpected death of Xerses its king. This too had been attributed to magical intervention. But it was treason to say so.

Tomas’s eyes scanned a nearby gibbet form which hung the last rumour monger who had spoken of a naval defeat.

“Close up there,” he called to some stragglers as a distraction. Then more to himself he muttered, “I’ll be glad when we reach Glanthros.”

*

The highest tower in Glanthros had once been a merchant’s house, but war was a harsh accountant. In such times business either profited or it failed and the former owner of this house had dealt in fine spices and luxury goods. The armies of the West had no need of such things.

Draken sat in the shadows staring out at the great fleet and assembled armies below. Even from his great elevation he could hear the crack of whips and the screams of slaves as they were harried into some semblance of order. The warlock gathered that the bottleneck of embarking troops had been caused by a naval set-back at the hands of a Precips fleet. A situation that was particularly inconvenient as a sudden and urgent need for troops in Challis had tied up many of the ships that did remain and threatened to delay the invasion.

The Great Warlord of the West, Maiestatis, seemed entirely untroubled by these events. In fact if anything he had grown in power since the defeat of his brother and sister.

“It was always one possible outcome,” Maiestatis croaked through twitching twisted lips. “In time I will feel their loss, but for now the Triptych is complete in me and I no longer have to balance the shared power.”

Draken studied the demon carefully, for such creatures were the father of lies.

“So why did we need your… comrades at all then?” Draken ventured.

The creature hissed incoherently and appeared to swallow something down.

“The prophecy calls for the Triptych to be one,” Maiestatis moaned, “So that has come to pass… after a fashion.”

Draken didn’t understand.

“So our defeats are really victories then?”

The Wolf needed such feeble distractions to anchor his being to the world and keep him focussed. But it was so tiresome to explain the twists and turns of the prophecy and his visions.

“We have lost much and our abilities have been reshaped. It was always a chance and many roads to victory have been closed now. But others have opened… we have… we have new possibilities for corruption,” Maiestatis rasped in a voice like shattered glass.

“So our victory is still certain?” Draken pressed the demon.

A sound issued from the creature’s throat with all the semblance of a dying gull on a winter’s day. It took a moment for Draken to realise that Maiestatis was laughing.

“Victory is never certain, it never was, but the roll of the dice still favours us and even as new challenges arise, so to do new opportunities,” he groaned.

The tall mortal warrior he had once been twitched again and staggered forward to take in the view below. Sensing fresh revelations, Draken held his tongue.

“The dark one who slayed our brother has opened a door to great power. He stands at the gates between Wild Magic and Order,” Maiestatis continued. “The only thing that binds such power is a fragile mortal mind and that is flawed by desire.”

The gull-like sound resumed again and Draken shuddered.

*

Katrin stretched out naked on the bed. The arch of back suggesting a line down over the belly-tightening curve of her bottom and on to long perfectly toned legs. Even her feet curled up to the toes in a suggestive manner while her hair fell seductively across her face. She let a strand of it drape across her mouth and full lips with a hint that something else would be better suited there.

Fear sat bare-chested only in his black cotton breeks from a chair watching her and enjoying the restrained twitch at his crotch as that something tried to escape again.

Katrin was in good heart and had recovered well since her ordeal. This was in no small part to the final defeat of the demons. If Katrin had ever held back her love for him before, now she was unrestrained in her passion. And why not, her lover Arlon Fear might well be the most powerful mage in all the world.

“Do you have to go so soon?” Katrin said huskily as she came onto all fours and bit her lip seductively.

“You know that I do,” he said reluctantly.

“Ooh,” Katrin pouted.

“Duty before pleasure,” Fear said in a thick voice, he was acutely aware that he had made no further attempt to continue dressing.

“Am I not your duty too?” Katrin wheedled.

“How so?” Fear smiled.

Katrin looked away to the side to consider, forming a moustache with her hair on her pout as she did so.

“I haven’t been disciplined lately, surely that is duty,” she ventured.

“Now there you have a point,” Fear said pointedly.

Suddenly Katrin thought she had gone too far and a mild panic crossed her face.

Fear recognised it at once as both being a challenge and a refusal. His face took on a hard look and he stood up.

“Come on I was only…” Katrin wailed placatingly and then seeing the look in her eyes she rolled from the bed and bolted.

Fear caught her easily and dragging her back to the bed he tumbled her still naked across his lap so her hips and bottom rolled uppermost.

“Arlon… Arlon, come on now… Arlon,” she screamed the last word as his hand smacked her hard across the bottom.

“It has been a while since I gave you a good spanking,” he teased, “I think it is time we caught up.”

There were no pulled swats as he let the full weight of his arm rise and fall across her exposed to bottom. His hand landed great blasts of unrestrained spanking.

“Arlon… master…” Katrin shrieked.

The spanking lit quite a fire in her tail in very short order and her bottom went from dusky to ruddy in moments. Not that Fear held back in the least. It was time to show her who was boss.

“Ooh,” Katrin wailed as earnest tears pooled in her eyes and her breathing became laboured.

“Tempt me from my duty again and will employ my belt,” he scolded her.

“No Sir,” Katrin gasped.

Sensing she was nicely warmed he lifted her easily and tossed her onto her knees on the bed. Then slipping down his breeks he slipped his manhood into her deep slickness and then pulling free he took her gain by the narrower entrance. The heat of her bottom pressed into his lower belly and they seemed to melt together.

“Arlon,” Katrin squealed.

So huge was she suddenly filled that she imagined for a moment he had employed his fist.

“It’s too big,” she squeaked in wide-eyed amazement.

“Shall I take it out then?” he teased.

“Don’t you dare,” she groaned as she collapsed forward onto her breasts and grabbed at her sex with both hands.

If it were an arm inside her then the fist was flexing and the sensation made her spend wildly.

“Arlon, oh Arlon,” she groaned.

To be continued.

Spanking Heroines through the Ages
Paul sent in this nice little review of my latest book. Thanks Paul.

Damian Black has produced another little gem.

The first is an adventure in ancient Rome in which a modern female archaeological professor, finds herself transported to a Temple of Apollo. She is thought to be a runaway and enslaved. Fortunately she speaks a form of Latin and Greek which stands her in good stead. Knowing Damian she is beaten quite a lot.

Being an intelligent woman, she ends up as tutor and housekeeper, marries the overseer and decides to stay in Rome. This is a good solid story and well-researched.

The second is placed in Renaissance Italy, a brother and sister’s family fall foul of the Medici’s, the parents die.  They escape to Venice to a family friend, they have to change their name. The brother becomes a tutor and spanks, the sister is placed as apprentice to a half blind paint manufactory, and is spanked. They eventually come to a settlement with the Medici’s, and can assume their rightful place in society. The last scene is brother spanking sister, to put her in her place.

Thirdly, a just, post second WW11 story. Where a returning prisoner of war husband reminds wife just who is the boss. This one could be true to life.

Finally, a story placed in Mafia/Mob 1920/30’s USA, a rough spoken hero, Eddie, rescues girl from thugs of gangland boss, returns her to father, well spanked.

These are classic Damian Black stories, if you like his previous stories, you’ll love these.

Oh and if you want a copy you can get it here.

Our story began here.

There was no way Mary was going to sit down for a while. But she so mortified was she that that was the least of her worries. She doubted that she would be able to look either Tatiana or Sylvia in the eye for some time to come.

Worst still she had been put on enough restrictions to make a week with the Carmelite’s look like a holiday. She had been forbidden any clothing that covered her bottom for any reason whatsoever. She also had a list of hateful chores as long as her legs.

Her bottom could not have been rawer if she had been dragged across gravel from London and back. And it wasn’t only her outer bottom cheeks that were suffering so. She felt like Edward II at the hands of Mortimer. That morning she had been dressed with the help of a highly amused Tatiana in a tight corset and leather bondage skirt that buckled just above the knees. This had left her bottom prominently bare behind and showed off the eye-wateringly red flesh to good effect. She had been told that she would remain in such attire for all purposes including answering the door and any that took her outside.

Although Tatiana had not been let off scot-free, there had been a quite definite role reversal between them and Sylvia had been put in full-charge of the household.

Tatiana’s punishment was little more than usual chores and another visit from Drake at the weekend, although, she was also required to stand in the corner during working hours whenever she wasn’t actually working.

That was a peach compared to Mary’s punishment. For her the corner was reserved for her leisure time. Until then she had get on her knees and scrub every floor in the house with a toothbrush. She only prayed that Sylvia wouldn’t remember the nail-clippers and the lawn trick.

Not that Sylvia was behind it all. The real puppet master was Drake who had made it abundantly clear that she needed a thorough attitude adjustment on account of her treatment of Tatiana. He whispered in her ear just an outline of his future plans and had even hinted that she may require some thorough retraining off the premises. Her one hope was that he would take her in hand himself.

*

Sylvia had sat with her head spinning as Mary had been put through her paces. Her emotions had been a whirl of thrilling dread and a horrified fascination as she watched and wondered what it would have been like to trade places with the housekeeper.

As much as she tried to convince herself she would have hated such treatment, later she had been beset with thoughts of suffering so at Gerald’s hands. For half the night the bed had seemed far too small as she rolled and clawed at the sheets. Her only respite taken from wandering hands and a fitful sleep, where even there firm-thighed and broad-shouldered men pulled her across their knee and spanked her bottom.

The next morning she had enjoyed overseeing Mary’s submission as Drake had outlined, although she doubted that she could have done it without both Drake’s authority and Tatiana’s cooperation.

It thrilled her that at the back of it all was Gerald, her true lord and master. She giggled at this idea and clapped her book to her face to hide her hot flush like a teenaged girl sniggering at some erotica. The words were a blur anyway and she had read and re-read the same passage half-dozen times.

So instead she decided to go and see how Mary was getting along.

The housekeeper had got as far as the parquet floor between the kitchen and the dining room. She was kneeling on a sheepskin pad with her bottom high in the air and her head shoulders down as she vigorously scrubbed the wooden tiles with a tattered pink toothbrush.

As Sylvia approached she could see that Mary’s obscenely up-thrust bare behind was heavily stained in mottled burgundy with a slightly suggestive sheen. Her bottom, sore to the point of being raw, would not welcome more attention any time soon. Which was rather unfortunate for her as Drake was due to return early that evening to put the woman through her paces again.

“How are you doing there?” Sylvia said with a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression on her face.

“As well as can be expected Ma’am,” Mary said sullenly as she glowered into the floor.

“I do hope you have this little task finished by the time Mr Drake arrives,” Sylvia said innocently, “I would just hate it if he were displeased with you.”

Mary swallowed nervously and seemed to redouble her efforts.

“No Ma’am,” Mary muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“I said no Ma’am,” Mary said in a loud crisp voice.

“If you want to mumble I could suggest to Mr Drake that a gag might be instructive?” Sylvia said mischievously.

The once air-headed trophy wife had come a long way down the road of lost innocence and her observation of Tatiana’s treatment and what she had read was proving most instructive.

“That won’t be necessary Ma’am,” Mary said in polite tones that were bordering on sincere.

“I am so glad,” Sylvia smirked.

She took one more long look at the housekeeper’s efforts and then strolled away to see where Tatiana had got to.

The maid was nose to the wall in the corner of the kitchen. The girl had her hands planted neatly on the top of her head with her elbows at right angles. Her skirts had been closely pinned to the small of her back and the enforced posture only served to emphasise the stark bareness of her bottom.

It had to be said that the room was spotless and a quick inspection of the dishwasher revealed it was empty and clean too.

“Did you manage to do the laundry?” Sylvia asked Tatiana’s back.

“Yes Ma’am and the ironing,” the maid answered deferentially.

“Good. Then I want you to go and get the rest of the flowers that Mary was putting in vases and bring them here for me to do,” Sylvia instructed.

It was a fair enough task to set but Sylvia could barely contain her amusement. The maid would have to walk on the freshly scrubbed floor.

*

Drake arrived around five and found Mary and Tatiana facing the wall in the hall with their bare bottoms well displayed.

It was Sylvia who cheerfully let him in and then breezily offered him tea.

“No thank you,” Drake said in an iron voice.

He studied his patron’s wife with an expert eye. Was this really the bored selfish girl he had first met a short while ago.

“Unless you need her, you can release Tatiana for the evening. Mary and I will have a long talk in the library until I am ready to take her to the basement. It will be a long night I fear,” Drake said casually as he glanced around what he could see of the house for any sign of anything amiss.

Sylvia nodded shyly.

“You’re quite angry with her aren’t you?” she ventured.

“I am disappointed but… well if you must know I love her and I hope we can resolve issues with her behaviour sooner rather than later,” Drake said matter-of-factly. “The girl needs to be soundly spanked far more often I think.”

Sylvia blushed at the open admission. It felt suddenly as if she were prying. Behind her at her place at the wall Mary shifted a little. She too was blushing, but far from horrified at his harsh words he had made her day.

“I know how she feels,” Sylvia blurted.

Drake gave her a curious look.

*

Sylvia had decided to get her book and retreat to her room and then phone Gerald. Maybe she would watch some TV before bed and dream of her next meeting with her husband. But as she passed the library she heard Drake’s raised voice and couldn’t resist a quick peek.

Mary was still in her earlier attire but was now draped firmly across Drake’s lap with her bottom pushed up towards him. The man was spanking her hard and fast in short sharp volleys pausing only to scold her and remind her why she was in disgrace.

“You wait until I get you downstairs, we will see how you like it,” he growled.

“Ooh yes Sir,” Mary squeaked in unaccustomed girlish tones.

Then as Sylvia watched Drake resumed another frim round of heavy spanks that set the housekeeper squirming and squealing over his knee.

“The more I think about it, the more I think you need a retraining course,” he said sharply. “What do you think of that?”

Before Mary could reply Drake spanked her hard across her churning red bottom and followed it with three more.

“Please Sir… Sir,” the last word was shrieked.

Drake cupped the woman’s bottom and tested it for its fiery heat before resuming the spanking again with great relish.

It looked very much to Sylvia that Mary was in for a long hard spanking before she got anywhere near the delights of the cellar. Poor girl, she thought insincerely.

To be continued.

Simone sighed as she looked herself over in the mirror. The woman staring back at her was of average height with non-descript dark mousey-blonde hair pulled up to a ragged knot by a broad grey head band. It was like one she had seen on a dancer in a movie.

Her eyes were dark bluish-grey she supposed, but were mottled with brown bits that in strong light made them appear dirty green. Her thighs were firm, but they seemed too short and thick, although she had been twice told at auditions that it was her calves that were too thin.

She hefted her small breasts and then turned to examine the prominence of her behind. Her bottom was round enough, but it wasn’t exactly pert and seemed to stick out too much when she stood side-on to the mirror.

Simone tried to see herself as others had seen her but the girl in the glass did not seem to quite match what she had been told. She had been variously described as too short in the leg, too tall, too stout, too thin or one hurtful occasion ‘lacking in spirit.’

She had wanted to be a dancer all her life. She lived, ate, slept and dreamt the poetry of motion. The true colour of her bedroom walls had long since been forgotten under a screen of overlapping posters showing people as diverse as Nureyev, Fontaine, Jennifer Beals, Patrick Swayze and even John Travolta. Her weekends were filled with trips to see any show she could get tickets for. Also as long as she was paying, then dance instructors were willing enough to take her money for lessons, but otherwise Simone could not even get a place in chorus of an amateur dance production.

Now fast approaching 30 her opportunities were dwindling and she felt destined to be a thwarted office worker for the rest of her life.

“Perhaps I should just get a cat,” Simone sighed to the mirror.

Then her eyes fell on the torn piece of paper stuck to the glass. There was an address and telephone number scrawled on it in pink ink. But it had been raining when she had copied it down from the shop window and now it was blurred and all but impossible to read.

The words on the advertisement, however, were etched in her mind.

“Leave your comfort zone behind. Uncompromising dance instructor seeks partner for modern dance show; experience and talent desirable, but total commitment essential.”

Simone knew the type; he would be all brash and barrel-chested with thighs like tree trunks and as gay as a Parisian in spring. But what attracted her were the last three words.

*

The audition had not gone well.

At first sight the man was just as she imagined; Patrick Swayze at 30 but without the mullet. He had the physique alright, but his heavy jaw and eyebrows were at odds with the light green leg-warmers. But instead of being at all camp, he spoke with an educated baritone voice that suggested military officer rather than the Bolshoi.

There had been a dozen of them to begin with but Edward dismissed three of the women before they had even got out of the warm-up stage. Then they had all been put through various spins and jump moves while Edward had stood frowning and shaking his head.

“Oh God,” he had sighed, pinching his nose between a finger and thumb. Then in a determined voice he bellowed, “Never mind the fancy technique, you clearly don’t have any. Just let me see some energy.”

Simone had got down to the last three before he told her to go.

She wasn’t surprised, she had been terrible. She was only amazed that he had taken so long to see that. Some of the younger girls had been well-polished by comparison. Simone could cry. There had been something about him that had given her hope.

With nowhere else to go just then Simone dropped into a chair outside the rehearsal room and practised being miserable. She might as well see which of the girls he decided on. It didn’t take long.

Five minutes later the remaining two girls left with failure drawn on their faces.

“The man is impossible,” one of the said in an accent perhaps better suited to a South London hairdresser apprentice.

“Oh yah,” said the other in more Ascot tones.

Simone should have felt better about her own failure, but she didn’t. Maybe she could audition again, she thought. If he wasn’t satisfied then maybe if she…

On an impulse she jumped up and went back into the studio.

“Edward… can I ask… I mean…” she offered meekly.

The instructor didn’t look up from some papers on top of the piano. Not that the instrument had served any other purpose, the music having been supplied by tape.

Simone swallowed.

“Mr Bond… what exactly…?”

“No one calls me Bond, Mr Bond or anything other than Edward or Sir when I am teaching,” Edward said not looking up from the paperwork.

“Oh,” Simone said, pulling a face, “I was only… I mean.”

“You’re the girl who over practices aren’t you?” he sighed glancing over at her, “I like that, it shows commitment. But you have no follow-through.”

Simone thought of the man who had told she had no spirit and sagged into herself.

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

“You start a move you clearly know, but halfway through you lose commitment to it. Like you doubt yourself,” Edward shrugged. “Your technique is terrible, but… well I could work with that. But you look much too much the delicate flower.”

“I’m not…” Simone said tentatively. “I mean I know… but… well…”

Edward took in a breath and held it as if considering.

“I seem to have run out of candidates,” he said. “Be here at six tomorrow. Don’t be late. If you take everything I throw at you and still come back… then perhaps we will see.”

“Oh yes Mr Bond… Edward… I mean…” Simone gushed, backing away in genuflection.

“Edward is for auditions, from now on you will call me Sir,” Edward growled.

“Sir… oh yes Sir,” Simone grinned.

*

Six o’clock was a tall order and after Simone got off the bus she knew she would be late. She ran three streets to reach the studios and got there barely four minutes late.

“I’m so sorry,” Simone panted, “I…”

“You’re late,” Edward said sharply.

He was standing in the front of the rehearsal floor already to leave.

“I know I…”

“Your first day and already to have broken my first rule, I don’t think it is going to work out is it?”

“I am so sorry it’s just that… oh… give me another chance… I… Edward, please…” Simone broke off with a wail.

“And now rule two,” Edward said with a heavy sigh.

“Oh… I mean Sir… sorry, sorry Sir,” Simone spluttered.

“You can remember something at least then,” he said wearily.

Edward studied the woman hard. He noticed the fear and the hunger in her eyes. Then he made up his mind.

“Come here,” he snapped and without waiting for her to react he pulled her to him and led her firmly to an orange plastic stackable chair and sat down. He hauled her easily across his lap, placing her prominent leggings-clad bottom uppermost and set about belabouring her with a heavy hand.

“Omigosh,” Simone gasped.

The spanking lasted no more than three or four minutes but Simone was barely able to cope and within moments was bucking and panting over his lap as if she were doing a full workout.

Finally Edward set her on her feet and studied her while she did an impromptu dance for him with her hands clamped to her bottom. Simone was blushing as red as her behind must have been. She had no idea where to look as her eyes switched from a point on his chest and the open door to the rehearsal room.

“Next time I have to spank you it will be on your bare bottom and I don’t really care who is around,” he scolded her, “Never be late again. Never call me Edward during a session again. Is that clear?”

“Yes Sir,” Simone hissed as she continued to dance.

“Now go and stand right in the corner over there with your nose pressed against the mirror and your hands on your head,” he ordered. “If you are still here when I get back, then we will we begin. Now I am going to get a coffee.”

Simone gaped at him but his eyes told her he wasn’t joking, so shaking herself she scurried to the corner to obey. This was going to be so embarrassing, she thought, but there wasn’t the least thought that she would disobey him.

As she shuffled in the corner and put her hands on her head she felt the heat rising in her face. It was hot enough to rival the insistent sting she still felt her bottom. And as the minutes ticked by she had no idea if he had gone or who else may be watching. There was certainly no danger of getting bored, as every footfall or clunk beyond the open door renewed her blushes.

*

“So you decided to stay,” he said suddenly from behind her.

Simone gave a start and gulped. She had been standing in the corner for what seemed like hours.

“Turn around,” he said gently.

Simone could still feel the impact of his hard hand, but it was the embarrassment that she swallowed down now. Reluctantly she turned, leaving her hands humiliatingly on her head, not having been told to take them down; this even though they had begun to ache.

“Put your arms down,” he said in an amused voice. What time do you have to be at work? I mean I assume you have a job?”

“Yes Sir… I…” for a moment she struggled to remember which of the many recent and crushingly dull temp jobs she still had to go to. Then she remembered that hadn’t been his question and stuttered, “Nine Sir.”

“We will rehearse every day except Sunday between six and eight. But I meant what I said,” he sighed. “If you can stand the pace then… just maybe… anyway now it has gone seven so you had better cut along. We will start afresh tomorrow.”

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir,” Simone gushed.

As she turned to leave he called after her.

“Oh Simone.”

“Yes Sir.”

“If you are even a minute late tomorrow I will spank your bare bottom and leave it bare while we go through our paces,” he warned her.

The colour rushed back to her cheeks and she opened her mouth to reply. But all she could squeak was, “Yes Sir.”

Later that night she had stood with her bottom turned to the mirror, astonished by the hand-shaped bruises gathered on her flesh. They looked like a brand, like she had been claimed and something thrilled inside her. She would do her best for this man, she vowed.

*

The next few sessions went well. Edward was stern but fair. For the most part he gave her exercises and corrected her technique. But after an hour or so of this he would ask her to improvise something to randomly selected music.

The first couple of times he did this, he quickly stopped her and asked her to close her eyes and tell him what she felt and what the music said to her. Then he would tell her to picture it as a motion in her mind.

“Always feel it, always picture it in your head first. Dance is communication. If you do not know what you are trying to say in your mind, then how will it show in your legs and your body?” he explained.

By the end of the week he had done more for her dancing than all the lessons she had ever attended. But still at the forefront of her mind was his claim on her and that spanking.

Then one day he stopped her and said, “Good.”

Simone’s heart jumped in her chest and she felt light-headed.

“Your technique is… we’re working on it, but at least your verve is connected to your feet now,” Edward continued.

“You think this might work out?” she asked hesitantly.

He frowned.

“What do you think we have been doing for the last three weeks?” he snapped.

Despite his cross words she grinned unrestrainedly.

“Alright, don’t let it go to your head. I want to try something else,” he muttered.

The something else turned out to be running leaps. Simone felt as if she was flying, a feeling that lasted all the way to the office afterwards.

*

Hard work and dedication are no guarantees against complacency and one day, after little more than a month, Simone arrived at the studio six minutes late.

“Sorry, the damn shower blocked,” she said in a harassed voice. “Then I missed the bloody bus.”

Simone did not even glance at Edward as she breezed in, but spent another three minutes putting on her shoes and putting her street shoes and top in her bag.

“Where are we up to today?” she asked casually, still not looking up.

“Quite the old pro now aren’t we?” Edward said in a dark voice.

Simone missed the warning and she replied by adding a pout to a shrug.

“Shall we begin?” she asked as she started her warm-up exercises.

Then at last she turned to look at him and caught his eye.

“I did say I was sorry,” she said in a distressed voice.

“You did,” he agreed, “But do you remember what I said?”

She took a hard swallow and flushed puce. How could she forget it? His words still haunted her dreams.

“Edward… Sir I…” Involuntarily she backed away from him and stole a glance at the door.

“You want to quit?” he asked.

It hadn’t even crossed her mind, but she had checked that the door was closed. Not that she quite believed he would carry out his threat.

“No I…” she gulped and continued to blush as her head fizzed with his promises.

Edward nodded, a small grim smile dancing on his lips. He crossed the room and took hold of one of the orange plastic chairs and moved it away from the mirrored wall. Then sitting down he crooked his finger at her.

In the glass behind him, she could see the frightened stranger gangling there. The lack of confidence of that woman no longer reflected her true self. He had already done that for her.

When she didn’t cross the room to him he cocked his head as if to say ‘really?’

She swallowed again and then with nervous steps she tottered over to where he sat.

“What did I say I would do?” his voice carried dark promise.

“You said…” she paused with a wordless sigh, “Are you really…?”

He tilted his head slightly and cupped a hand to his ear.

“You said you would spank me again.” Her words were little more than sighs in the wind. She gulped once more before adding, “Sir.”

It was an excruciating admission and an involuntary toe turned in like a scolded school girl as she dipped her head to look at her dancing pumps.

“Is there any world on which you think this won’t happen?” he asked in a hard voice.

She shook her head.

It took a moment for him to tip her across his knee where held her firmly at the small of her back. Her rather full bottom filled out the loose cotton shorts drawn up over her dance leggings and although he plucked at the material as if picking a flower, he left her clothing in place.

“You know what to do?” he said sharply.

The cheeks on her face held two hot patches. A prophecy perhaps of what was to follow at another extremity of her body.

Simone whispered in a meek voice, “Yes Sir.”

Then delicately reaching around to her hips she took hold of her shorts and tugged them down.

He didn’t speak and she took a breath that lasted three or four eternities.

Then ruefully biting her lower lip she took hold of the top of her leggings and then abandoning her dignity wriggled them over her bottom and down her thighs. Out of the corner of her eye Simone could see the startling image in the mirror of a grown woman stretched out bare bottomed across the lap of powerful looking man with her shorts and leggings bunched at her knees. The sight was incongruous, yet strangely compelling and time seemed to stand on its end. Then with a light chill tickling at her naked behind, he spoke.

“My elder sister was taught to dance in an age when her madam regularly put a can across her bare bottom. As a very young man I saw her once being put through her paces in ballet class naked below her tutu with half a dozen purple lines stark across her snow white bottom. Her face was as red as yours is now but she was exquisite,” he said as his mind compared the memory with the full round bottom now presented to him. “My sister was mortified at the time, but when she later danced in Covent Garden she was grateful for every throbbing score across her behind. As a matter of fact her madam gave her the cane as a memento and I have it still.”

The point wasn’t lost on Simone and she could well imagine Edward’s sister’s embarrassment. And then she remembered something Edward had promised.

“Sir, you are not going to…?”

Her question was cut short by a sharp sting to her bottom as Edward set about administering a sound spanking that made her previous experience seem playful by comparison.

Simone yipped and rocked helplessly across Edward’s lap as he spanked her in earnest with the full benefit of his powerful physique.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she wailed.

“I will not have you coming late,” he roared, “I will not have disrespecting me.”

“I’m sorry Sir,” she bawled, for the burn was very great and unlike before where she had ridden out the spanking in discomfort, now tears pooled at her eyes and her breathing was broken and ragged.

“I will not have you disrespecting yourself,” he barked. “I will make a dancer of you despite your…”

Edward didn’t finish but let his spanking hand convey his displeasure.

“I’m sorry,” Simone screeched.

Contrite tears were in full evidence now.

But it was to no avail. He spanked her for a good 10 minutes before bringing the correction to a conclusion.

“Now go and stand in the corner until I tell you to come out,” he said firmly.

During the spanking her shorts and sailed across the room and her leggings had descended as far as her ankles. This black hobble emphasised her pale white legs which ran down from the two heavy spheres of her fire-cherry bottom. The burning stain there drew her hands like magnets as she got her feet to pogo-jig on the spot. Then as she hopped about clawing at her still bare bottom her mouth was a perfect O on her tear-drenched face as she danced.

“I didn’t say to rub,” he snapped, “Now get to the corner.”

Simone half doubled over as she tugged her dance-vest down to cover her exposed sex. And then balling her fists there as if soothing by proxy she tottered bare bottomed to the corner with her behind seeming to fill the room in her train.

Edward waited until she was firmly ensconced in place with her hands on her head before allowing himself to smile. The last gesture on her part was a nice submissive touch and showed that she was a good learner.

“Stay there until I say so or there is a fire drill,” he ordered her.

Then he strode across the room and out the door to get a coffee.

Simone knew that he had gone and from the clank of the door against the wall and she knew too that he had not closed it and her shame was exposed to any other early birds in the corridor. But his word was her bond and she made no attempt to either move or to rub the sting from her still blazing bottom.

Oddly she felt a little pride that her instructor and dance partner was so strict with her.

*

When Edward returned, Simone had shown no sign of having moved; quite a feat of discipline given the open door to the communal area. Even though there was no one to see, she could not have been certain of that.

“Take your first position,” he told her matter-of-factly.

Simone paused for a moment, acutely aware that he must be staring at her bare bottom and then stepping away from the wall she stooped take hold of the clothing tangled around her ankles. Her extreme bent gesture thrust her bottom back at him, ending any chance he could take her exposure in his stride.

As she grabbed her leggings she stole a glance back at him and waited.

For a long moment their eyes met and he held his peace. He wasn’t going to force the issue, after all he hadn’t been entirely serious about his threat, and exposure had just been something his sister had endured during an all-women class some years back. His chance witnessing of the event was atypical to say the least.

Simone looked away and then taking her courage literally in her hands she firmly gripped the leggings and stepped out of them.

The rest of the class was not as productive as it might have been, dancing as it did between embarrassing, amusing and erotic for both of them. But Simone found the intimacy liberating, even if every move reminded her that she might not be sitting down at the office later.

But as Edward took her under the arms for a lift she felt on top of the world. Then as he hurled her dangerously into the air she was again flying and hoped that she would never land.

*

The spanking that day was not to be her last and in the months that followed Simone became quite intimate with the corner just as Edward became so with her cherry red bottom. Indeed on some days she definitely had to stand up at work, especially after Edward extended their sessions to the evening as well, which only doubled the opportunity for Simone to make mistakes.

She even experienced several agonising sessions with Edward’s cane. But these episodes did nothing to diminish her or quell her spirit. And far from resenting them they made her feel more and more the dancer.

Finally Edward greeted her at the rehearsal room door with a costume.

“You’re ready,” he said smiling. “Go and put this on.”

Simone hugged the outfit to her chest and executed a twirl to come back exactly on her mark to face him with a broad grin.

“Go on,” he grinned back, “Go and get changed.”

As she dashed off to prepare for their first dress rehearsal he watched her go. He had big plans for them both, big plans. But that is another story.

End

Sara Mulligan paused to watch the latest trainee through the glass. There was no chance she could be observed and seeing how newbies behaved when no one was watching was a good way to find out what they were really like. After all Sara was responsible for all junior staff in the XO office and if she had landed the team with a lame duck then it would be her tail that would be toast. Not that there was a hell of a lot she could do about it now. The girl had already been assigned.

Sara consulted her notes.

The newbie had the appropriate name of Teri Tame, Sara chuckled to herself. She was 24 and had scored well during assessment and basic training, even though the latter had revealed some disciplinary issues. Sara reviewed these hastily. Backchat, tardiness, dumb insolence, here Sara paused and eyed the girl through the glass. She didn’t look that sort and the XO Senior Executive Assistant wondered if this Teri Tame had been given a hard time; dumb insolence being a standard hazing claim when one of the instructors found a trainee they couldn’t quite fathom.

The girl was rather petite with well-groomed jet black straight hair cut to a helmet-style bob that framed her heart-shaped face to good effect. She obviously had some Asian heritage, but then who didn’t these days. Sara looked again. Teri’s big dark eyes still carried the suggestion of Japan; a picture of cliché Manga innocence, Sara thought. That could explain the dumb insolence.

As she watched the girl turned to look at herself in the mirror wall that lined the antechamber. The girl’s nose twitched several times as she practiced air kissing before checking her teeth. No doubt young Teri Tame wanted to make a good impression on her first day.

Sara looked the girl over from behind. She had a good bottom which was surprisingly large on such a petite girl and the clingy grey business dress did nothing to hide it. Sara noted that the styled outfit was zipped at the back all the way down as was prescribed by corporation regulations. Sara guessed that she must have learned the hard way at basic as usually rookies took time to learn the dress code. Maybe this newbie was ready to knuckle down. Sara certainly hoped so as it would save them both a lot of wear and tear on the behind.

Alpha Corp was hot on discipline and its XO, Director Cain, was progressive and enforced corporations with vigour. Hard but fair, Sara always said with some satisfaction, and after 10 years in his personal office she should know. She found herself blushing at the thought and some of the small fantasies of her first days in his office were momentarily reasserted.

‘Romantic putz,’ Sara thought in embarrassment.

Worker and Service Class girls marrying a man or woman from the Executive Class were a staple of e-novels and Inter-films on the net. Sara should know this too for she had consumed enough of them.

No, the only way to get on was by gaining a promotion and hope that your share bonuses would one day buy you a seat on a subsidiary board; the one true pathway to the Executive Class and higher office.

Sara looked the new girl over again and considered the other areas of concern.

Tardiness was a big no-no at Alpha Corp and her e-tag revealed that Terri had been 90 seconds late on her first day. No doubt she had just got a little lost and in any case no one but Sara would check it, but it did not bode well. Sara would have to crack down there she realised.

Backchat was a tricky one, Sara considered and it was rather at odds with the dumb insolence charge. Was this Teri Tame a cheeky innocent or someone marking time before moving on? Sara read her profile.

Teri was an orphan from the prole parks, worker educated, worker housed and with no contacts outside her upbringing; remarkable that she should get so far then. Oh well, Sara decided, there was only one way to find out more.

SEA Sara Mulligan glanced at her immaculate self in the opposite glass. The dark burgundy business dress marked her out from the drones, but still conveyed the clean bleak efficient image the company was looking for. Her perfectly styled piled-up blonde hair caused her some embarrassment, but hair colorants’ were seen as even more frivolous and at least she was dark blonde.

Her blue eyes too were a throwback to a former age before the Corp Wars when an Anglo look was in vogue. But now they also looked too retro for a modern efficient look. At least she had a good figure, Sara mused. Executives of both genders liked lookers around them and in the early days Sara’s curves had distracted some from her hair and eyes while she had built a career on merit.

Sara sighed. It was time to get into character.

*

Teri Tame was half a head shorter than Sara but her posture was academy perfect and she had that poised efficient look that Alpha Corp so praised. Sara eyed her newest trainee officiously for several silent moments and then sat at her desk to begin the induction.

“Tell me what you know about Alpha Corp?” Sara asked with the air of an oral examiner.

It was as well to start off stern. Friendly and relaxed was harder to retreat from and Sara did not yet know the girl’s mettle.

Teri tried not to blink as she worked some moisture up in her mouth. She was more terrified now than she had been the first day in basic. Then she had been certain that she would fail the course and end up in a menial job. Now that she stood in the gleaming glass palace of Alpha Corp tower headquarters she was acutely aware of what she stood to lose.

To add terror to fearful anxiety, she had landed a role in Alpha Corp XO’s office right out of the box. It was a long, long way to fall and this imperious eager young 30-something blonde bitch looked like she was going to be trouble; not least because Terri had taken the wrong elevator on her first day and only narrowly scraped inside the two-minute security window, reaching the department 87 seconds late. She had heard that trainees were sometimes sacked for less.

Teri knew that her 20-year employment contract was not binding until the probation period was up and even then she could still find herself in the maintenance depart on garbage detail for life if she didn’t shape up.

All this went through Teri’s mind in a near instant. When one was a nobody who worked for Alpha Corp, it just had to.

Alpha Corp? What did she know? Terri’s mind raced.

“Alpha Corp is the second largest company in the world with diverse holdings in finance, energy, minerals, biotech, space technology and 73 manufacturing and service subsidiaries. Within that it is also the preeminent space development agency and is probably the world’s largest military developer…” Terri rattled off the facts that she had drilled into herself.

“Why probably?” Sara interrupted.

“Military contracts are secret but as Alpha Corp is one of the seven leading companies on the WorldGov Oversight Committee, it is more than probable that they are the market leader as Tempus Corp, its biggest rival is primarily an infotainment and media consortium,” Terri explained.

“Your guess is reasonable, but Alpha Corp doesn’t comment on military and political matters and its employees do not even discuss it. Remember that,” Sara told the nervous trainee.

“Yes Ma’am,” Terri said quickly.

“Please continue,” Sara said brusquely.

“This division of Alpha Corp based here Europa City is primarily concerned with future technologies and our XO is on the Primary Board under the CXO and Chairman making him effectively number three in the whole company,” Teri was reaching now.

She didn’t know exactly what this office did or the rest of the division for that matter.

“Our office has a diverse portfolio, but principally we deal with internal communications and prepare reports based on media and external research for the XO so that he has the wider picture,” Sara explained.

She was a little more relaxed now. Young Terri Tame did not seem like a troublemaker and she knew as much as could be expected at this point. But that still left the question what she knew about internal matters and how to conduct herself.

“Before I continue, it is also worth remembering that Alpha Corp doesn’t like to think of itself as the number two company in the world. It dominates all areas of pertinent interest. The fact that Tempus Corp has a bigger turnover is due entirely to its near monopoly over the entertainment media. If you have to mention it at all restrict yourself to saying that Alpha Corp is the leading tech company or the most influential or some such,” Sara continued. “You know, blur over it even in casual conversation. It looks better.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Terri acknowledged.

“Tell me what you know about internal procedures,” Sara asked.

Terri strained her brain and quickly rattled off anything relevant that came to mind.

It took 30 minutes before Sara was satisfied that Teri had the basics, which led her to one final matter.

“Discipline here is tight,” Sara said lightly, “Not as arbitrary as it was in basic perhaps but quite strict nonetheless. For instance, coming in 90 seconds late is dangerously close to the edge of the two minute security window. You know that access to the building is tightly monitored and if your authorisation expires because you are more than two minutes late then as your line manager I have to fill out both a security notice and a disciplinary one. It gets messy you understand and it doesn’t look good for either of us.”

“Yes Ma’am, I understand that, it won’t happen again. But can I say I was actually only 87 seconds late.” Terri’s tone was earnest and she blinked hard as she tried to clarify her senior’s slight error.

Sara’s eyes narrowed and she paused to study the timestamp on the monitor.

“You were 87.3 seconds late to be precise,” Sara said sharply.

Is this what the assessors in basic had meant by backchat?

“I was…” Teri blanched. She had put her foot in it again.

“Approximating?” Sara supplied.

“Yes Ma’am,” Teri said with a wince.

Point made, Sara continued.

“This office operates a three-level punishment system,” she said in a neutral voice. “I say punishment because that is what it is. We don’t mince words here. Doublespeak is for external communications. Although that is not what the record will say.”

“Yes I know Ma’am,” Teri nodded.

“I’ll tell you anyway. It might save us both some discomfort,” Sara said pointedly.

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Reprimands are both informal and formal,” Sara explained. “Formal reprimands require a visit to human resources disciplinary and go on your permanent record. Two in one week and you are on a warning. Three in one month and you are on a sanction. Be under no illusions you will visit disciplinary quite often and it will do you good. But pray to Mammon that you don’t incur a sanction.”

“No Ma’am.” Terri was wide-eyed now.

“Believe me a sanction is nothing like anything you got in basic. The corporation owns our bottoms and you can expect anything short of permanent damage to their assets,” Sara gave a grin smile at this point.

Terri blanched.

“You can laugh, that was a joke,” Sara continued to smile. When Teri smiled too, she added “Except that it isn’t.”

“No Ma’am.” The smile was wiped from the trainee’s face at once.

“I prefer that all punishments are official in this office; for all of us that is. It is better for efficiency and doesn’t waste Director Cain’s time that way. But that isn’t always possible and in any case the XO too often does me the honour of handling my shortcomings himself. So for form’s sake, when it comes to reprimands I will extend the same courtesy to you and handle some things myself.” Sara waited to let that sink in.

“Thank you Ma’am,” Teri said eagerly.

If most reprimands were handled unofficially then it would keep her record relatively clean, she thought.

“Don’t be too grateful, I quite enjoy spanking errant assistants. If it wasn’t a waste of departmental time I would do it more often,” Sara said with a stern edge to her voice.

“No Ma’am,” Teri agreed. But she was hopeful nonetheless.

“Let me make one thing clear. Unless the XO boots you out himself and that won’t happen, you are here for the duration. And by here I mean on the books,” Sara said sharply. “I really can’t have any failures in the audit trail. But fuss with me and you will see more of disciplinary than you could believe. Continue to fuss with me and I will send you on permanent secondment to some very interesting places.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Terri gulped, “I won’t let you down.”

Sara smiled.

“Oh you will, but let’s hope not too badly,” Sara said with a genuinely friendly smile.

Teri relaxed for a moment and then frowning she asked, “Am I to be reprimanded for being late?”

“I was,” Sara sighed, “Both informally and then formally. I was late on my first day too.”

A downcast Terri nodded. “Yes Ma’am.”

“But to prove I am not a complete bitch I’ll give you a pass just this once,” Sara grinned.

“Yes Ma’am,” Terri said, finally relaxing.

“Welcome to Alpha Corp Terri.”

*

Director Cain was scarcely aware that his office had a new trainee. If she worked out then he had time enough to get to know her. If not the ever reliable Sara would move on her on somewhere and find a replacement.

Personally he would have liked to take a keener interest. He found worker and service class people so much more interesting than the entitlement-ridden bores of his own social caste. But he had long since learned that over-familiarity could cause problems for all parties concerned; not that he didn’t have friends in the lower orders. Even within the office he could never overlook the affectionate loyalty of Sara Mulligan. But it was an affection that they would probably never express.

At 50 he looked more like 32 by old world visual ageing, but medical advances had proved more than a match for nature; for a few decades anyway. And although he eschewed frivolous body enhancement for respectable business reasons, his diet and health regime coupled with a good biological nutritional upbringing meant he was large man with a slim but powerful physique. His strong Eurasian features leaned more to the west than the east, although his darker skin owed more to some African heritage than was uncommon among his class.

Although it was undoubtedly true that outward appearance suggested inner health of body and mind, what really mattered in his eyes was merit.

Nor did he see such things as a mark of superiority. As Senior XO of Alpha Corp he had not only pioneered the availability of bio-nutrition and youthful gene re-sequencing among corporation employees as part of their health package, but had championed low cost financing to extend it to many in the lower orders. After all what was business without healthy customers?

Now comes the science bit, he yawned as he pulled up internal reports and read-outs in his head. The blue back-lit pages instantly appeared as if floating in the middle of his spacious office, although if anyone had been there they would have seen nothing unless he chose to share. Even then anyone without optical implants would need a conventional screen to see them.

Most of the internal headlined projects seemed to be in order. Also he was quickly satisfied with the media briefings for approval for public consumption. In any case the press office would pick up on any problems or at least they better had.

There were however one or two issues with some of the internal reports. Nothing major and bio-interface routines would have spotted them readily even if he had not. These were small errors that would either have been autocorrected or e-messaged to Sara for re-editing. But small issues had the habit of growing if one did not keep on top of them and after all it was his job to keep all staff up to the mark.

Cain re-read the sections of concern and as an exercise corrected them himself or most of them. But he left several minor ones to make a point and forwarded them to Sara. Then he punched the com with a virtual finger.

“Director Cain, the Chairman is unavailable at present. Was there anything urgent?” Chairman Xan’s PA told him.

The Chairman’s office in Seattle was a long way away, but if required his virtual presence could be conveyed for secure meetings. So it was unusual for Xan to be unavailable.

“It is nothing at all Kara. I was just checking in to report nothing to report really,” he grinned without concern.

He cut the connection before she could reply. She would call back if there were anything else; he had better things to do. As he did so he saw Sara through the glass door of his office, she was obviously waiting to be admitted.

“Sara,” he said easily as the door slid silently away.

It was suddenly as if his office was at one with the outer part in an open plan affair. The ergonomics had been designed to optimise style and content.

“I wanted to apologise for the errors, thank you for drawing my attention to them. I will deal with certain individuals but the responsibility is mine of course, quite directly in at least one case,” Sara said wearily.

“Don’t let it trouble you, it was generally good work all round. At most it warrants a reprimand and I can handle that myself later,” he said.

But she noticed he was checking his antique watch as he spoke and she knew he had a rare face meeting before the close of business and his offer would interfere with work.

“That is not necessary Sir, really, but thanks,” she told him, “Please let me report to human resources, it is no more than I deserve and it will set a good example to the others.”

Cain glanced at his watch again.

“If you think so then I’ll leave that with you, but I owe you one okay,” he said gratefully.

Sara wasn’t often required for a disciplinary and her record wouldn’t be tarnished by one official reprimand. In fact a completely clean sheet would look suspicious. It was far better to be just below average in that regard.

“That is quite alright Sir,” Sara said quietly.

She was proud to be of service in the matter, but part of her wished he could have handled it himself; quite a big part really and not just because a trip to human resources was so unpleasant.

As she left him she let the thought of a trip to disciplinary sink in. Even after all these years she never failed to feel a little sick with nerves at the prospect. But that was only right and proper. After all she did deserve it.

Then she ran her eye down the names on her hand-held screen. She was not the only one.

*

With the work for the day concluded Sara took the unusual step of leading her two miscreant co-workers down to human resources.

Generally after a dressing down from her, the culpable women would make their own appointments and slip away when they were called. However, one of the girls was still fairly new and the other was a wheedler who would try everything to delay any punishment. It being Terri’s first day she wanted to set the right tone and if possible minimise her personal embarrassment. Not that Terri had the least idea what was about to happen. Maybe that was just as well, Sara thought ruefully.

None of them spoke as they entered the elevator and rode it down to the human resources section.

Tandy Jones, the wheedler in the group, was a good worker but she did seem to always play it close to the edge. She was a head taller than Sara with black corn-row hair which emphasised her Africa-Asian features. She wasn’t as dark-skinned as Director Cain, tending as she did more towards olive, but such things scarcely registered away from the streets these days. Sara knew that despite the woman’s prevarication at such times she had robust disposition and was well-used to taking a sound spanking.

The new girl Jenny Chen was around Sara’s own height with a delicate poise that would not have been out of place on a catwalk. At 28 she was a qualified lawyer and had come to the department rather later than most new trainees, but she had so far shown herself to be more than able. She was not given to getting into much trouble and apart from a couple of Informal’s, as yet Sara had no idea how she might handle a punishment.

“Oh Sara, there is one more thing I have to attend to,” Tandy said suddenly, her finger pointing back up to the office.

Her upper teeth were worrying at the pout of her rather full lower lip and her eyes danced nervously back and forth as she spoke. Her accent was clipped with a hint of Tottenham, but her words were tentative.

“Tandy,” Sara said in a scolding tone, “You screwed up and now your tail is toast. Get it.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Tandy said with a visible wince.

Sara shot a look at Jenny for any sign of rebellion there but the poised oriental just shrugged in acceptance.

Just then the lift opened to reveal the airy blue-lit corridor that lead down past the human resources department and on to their disciplinary section. To the left was the main concourse with the reception desk and the final elevator down to the exit. All three of the girls shot a longing glance that way as they contended with some butterflies.

“Come on,” Sara said in a school ma’am tone and steeling herself she led the way.

*

Tony Wong’s black collarless suit was as sharp as a razor and seemed to taper to the floor to emphasises the broadness of his upper torso. It was said that he was part European, but only his stature suggested this heritage for his face was an aristocratic oriental one with sharp straight black eyebrows like two dashes over his eyes. Despite his stern countenance he had a friendly welcoming smile and his face lit up as the three women entered his office.

“Sara and her lovely ladies, how nice,” he said. Then his face went blank as he focussed on a virtual screen they couldn’t see. “I have no appointments with you, so I guess you would like to get it over with ay?”

Sara bristled at the suggestion and Tandy looked as she wanted to openly discuss the point. But Jenny returned a nervous laugh and said, “Yes.”

Tony took a step towards her and leaned in conspiratorially with a genuine open smile.

“In here you are supposed to address me as Sir,” he winked.

Jenny was horrified by her faux pas and made a circle with her mouth as she momentarily abandoned all poise.

“Hey, it’s cool, but try to remember will you, the director herself sometimes monitors these things,” he reassured her.

“I’m so sorry Sir,” Jenny said apologetically in her educated Anglo-Hong Kong accent, “Where were my manners, my governess would be apoplectic. You won’t tell her will you Sir?”

The last remark may have been humorous; it was so hard to tell with the ever-serious Jenny Chen. But in any case by the end of sentence she had recovered her poise. Sara knew that households of Jenny’s background had all kinds of strange customs.

“Well I wouldn’t lie,” Tony teased, “So let us hope I don’t ever meet her.”

Jenny gave a nervous laugh and got back to the business of looking demure.

“If you can’t fit us all in I could come back another day,” Tandy offered eagerly.

“Ah Tandy Jones, back again,” Tony said lightly, but his smile lessened somewhat. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.” Then to Sara he said, “Three reprimands isn’t it?”

Sara nodded ruefully.

Tony grinned at Tandy and said, “There, you see. Why don’t I take you first?”

It wasn’t a suggestion and Tandy visibly baulked.

As they had been speaking the room had been slowly and silently transforming itself. The wall behind and to Tony’s left had peeled away to reveal clinical metallic and black leather benches with other equipment in open cases and racks. Also the light had gently changed and previously mirrored walls had become transparent so that they could see and be seen from not only the corridor beyond, but the crosswalks layered above them where fellow workers were leaving offices to head for the elevators.

Sara and Tandy had seen it all before and stood frozen and affected to be aloof. Jenny on the other hand lifted her head and gaped open-mouthed. She didn’t know if to look at the racks and cases of canes and paddles or up at the sudden audience for what was to come.

“Your governess handles things rather differently does she?” Tony chuckled.

Without closing her mouth Jenny just nodded dumbly, blushing profusely at his use of the present tense.

“Miss Jones,” Tony said cheerfully as he expansively directed Tandy towards an inverted dentist chair affair in the centre of the room.

Tandy sighed and then began to work the rear zip of her business dress as she went as directed.

Tony watched her ample bottom burst through the zip of her dress for a moment before turning to Sara.

“Would you take up the usual positions in reception?” he said becoming more business-like.

Sara eyed the disciplinary studio wall longingly and then shrugged.

“Yes Sir,” she agreed reluctantly.

By now Tandy had completely opened her dress in back and was stepping out of her briefs so that her large dusky round and deeply split bottom was well displayed. Then after a quick recalcitrant glare at the punishment couch, she knelt on the lower padded platform and bent across it so that her behind reared obscenely to the uppermost.

Meanwhile Sara stepped out of her briefs and slipped them in a concealed pocket before she too unzipped the rear zip of her dress. The natural elasticity of the material pulled it widely open like curtains and her bottom too was bared to the world.

“Do I have to take…?” Jenny flustered.

“Just down will do,” Sara whispered.

It was more undignified that way, but the rules only required that the bottom was left bare.

Jenny blushed to her ears and followed with stumbling steps as Sara walked with dignity down the corridor to reception.

The two men and the woman at the desk affected not to notice as two bare-bottomed women took up position facing the wall next to the main lift doors, but that did not prevent both Sara and Jenny from blushing like stop lights in danger.

Back in the room Tony made some additional adjustments to the couch until Tandy’s exposed bottom was pointing at the correct angle back and up at the ceiling.

“You have a reprimand coming via human resources already don’t you?” he whispered in the hapless Tandy’s ear. “Something about an abuse of the transit access; Sara won’t have heard yet.”

Tandy’s eyes widened and she winced.

“So I will be seeing you for a warning in a two or three days then won’t I? Tony sighed.

“Yes Sir,” Tandy said ruefully.

Tony then stood back and lined up the meter long medium synth-leather paddle with Tandy’s proffered bare bottom and prepared to administer the first of 12 swats.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes Sir,” Tandy replied mournfully.

The paddle landed hard with a crack that drew some glances from outside and above.

“Ah-yah,” Tandy yelped, and then announced, “One Sir.”

Tandy’s bottom was pale enough where she sat for the swat to show as a dull dark red patch across the centre of both her cheeks. Tony spanked her again.

“Nyah,” Tandy called out, “Two Sir.”

“Such a fuss,” Tony chided her, “You wait until your warning session. Ee-gods, what would you be like if you ever received a sanction?”

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir,” Tandy said miserably.

Third spank left her bottom rally quite ruddy and white distress marks began to show at the edges where blisters would form.

“Oooh-yah,” Tandy wailed, “Fffff-three S-sir.”

Tony wasn’t fooled. Tandy was an old favourite of his. She even offered her bottom like a pro and there was not a hint of a tear at her eye. Not to today anyway.

*

Outside Sara was struggling to contend with the parade of fellow workers, most of them junior to her, who no doubt harboured boundless schadenfreude as they joshed each other in amusement in the main foyer.

She knew that Director Cain would have spared her this on so slight a cause, but it didn’t detract from the fact that she deserved it. Not only that, but an example had to be set for the others. She hoped and believed that Jenny despite her acute humiliation was benefitting enormously from the experience.

Just then out of the corner of her eye Sara saw someone all but stop on the open area in front of the lift. Such open staring was unusual as it was rude and Sara turned her head just enough to see.

Teri, who had been on her way home, now stood gaping open-mouthed with her hand at her mouth.

Sara’s face flooded hot, but she inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement of a colleague.

Teri recovered herself and returned a nervous sympathetic smile and hurried on.

Welcome to Alpha Corp, Sara thought ruefully, your turn will come.

-

An excerpt from an upcoming project Corporation Punishment by DJ Black

The housekeeper looked at Sophie with a mix of pity and incredulity. Then her employer’s wife caught her eye and they both blushed.

“It is quite alright Mrs Blanchester;” Sophie whispered meekly, “My husband is well within his rights.”

Mrs Blanchester, as far as anyone knew had never been married, but it was the custom to address housekeepers as Mrs, it gave them more authority. Not that Caroline Blanchester needed any help, as a young woman in her mid-30s, she was much older than both the maids and 10 years the senior of Sophie Grainger.

At first glance they might have been taken for sisters. Both women had a similar look, neither being above five feet four and both having long thick chestnut hair piled upon their heads as was the fashion that year. But where Mrs Blanchester’s grey dress fell elegantly from her hips in one smooth descending sweep in a narrow bell-shape, Sophie was not wearing a dress at all.

In fact she was currently wearing little more than her shift and bloomers. The former of these was cut short and stylishly to her waist so that it blended at the curve of her hips with the knee-length leg coverings that ended in lace at her knees.

Seeing the fall of the housekeeper’s gaze Sophie again blushed and tried to make light of it.

“At least I am wearing bloomers. As a girl we wore those dreadful draws that opened at the back,” she said with a faux brightness.

Caroline Blanchester blushed peony as she remembered the type of garment. She had not been much younger than Sophie when she too had worn them under similar circumstances. That is, drawn apart as she faced the wall to await the rod.

“Do you think I should…?” Sophie pointed at the drawing room wall to her left.

“I was told to wait with you, nothing else,” Caroline said uncomfortably, “What did Mr Grainger… suggest Madam?”

Mr Grainger rarely suggested anything, Sophie thought ruefully, he just gave orders; but then that was how she liked it, if she were honest. She ran through what he had told her.

“You will spend no little time in the corner by the time I am done with you,” he had chided her.

But he had not said to actually… she shrugged, she would anticipate his wishes. After all she was in error and thoroughly deserved her punishment. So with a sigh and another blush she turned to the face the wall as she might have done under the direction of a governess and placed her hands upon her head.

It crossed Caroline’s mind that accepting a spanking from one’s lawful husband was one thing, but to be embarrassed so before one’s own servants was a little rich. But who was she deceiving, at least the woman had a husband and when it came to Mr Grainger, Caroline would have done anything she was told.

The housekeeper had sent the younger maid on a long errand out of the house and given Kathy, the older girl, extensive duties in the scullery and lower house so neither would venture here even by chance. But both knew what was afoot. Caroline only hoped they wouldn’t gossip in the village.

With Sophie facing the wall all conversation ceased and both women stood in an uncomfortable silence. This is awkward, Caroline thought and wondered if she should sit down. She was still deliberating when the door opened and Mr Grainger entered.

He was a tall man, a little above 40. But he had none of the portliness of men of his age and to further the youthful look, wore an elegant dark suit that was currently the vogue.

As he came into the room he glanced at his pocket watch and then at his wife. He nodded in satisfaction, she was a good girl. Then he turned to Mrs Blanchester.

“Did my wife fetch her hairbrush from her room?” he asked her.

Caroline swallowed and then stepped forward and took the brush from the arm of the padded chair under the window.

William Grainger took it and hefted it in his hand.

“Not as stout as the hall brush, but less oppressive I suppose,” he said sharply.

Caroline’s eyes widened a little, as Sophie’s must have. The hall brush was near a foot long and made of mahogany. It hung on a hook in the hall for the purposes of dusting down street wear. It would have been a formidable spanking tool and the housekeeper’s bottom clenched in future anticipation of such an event.

As these thoughts ran through her mind Mr Grainger took hold of the Windsor chair against the other wall and set it down in the middle of the room.

“You may leave us,” he told his housekeeper.

Caroline felt both relieved and disappointed all at once. But his will in this was entirely appropriate.

“Yes Sir,” she agreed with a tilt of the head.

She tended to avoid full curtsies on account of her position, but heaven help the maids if they slacked on this account.

William waited until his housekeeper had left before he summoned Sophie from the wall.

“You know why you must suffer this?” he said sternly.

“Yes Sir,” Sophie said meekly.

Her husband waited.

“I made the misjudgement of spending my allowance of fripperies Sir,” she said at last.

She hoped that by parroting back his earlier words he would be pleased.

“Misjudgement implies that you have any judgement to miss in the first place,” he scolded her.

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir,” she said quickly. “I only meant…”

“Tell me, when you took the five pound note from my dresser,” he stressed the word ‘my,’ “Did you know it was wrong?”

Sophie blushed to her ears and looked down with a nod.

“How did you expect to contrive to get away with such a thing?” he sighed.

She shrugged. She genuinely had no idea, it had been an impulse.

“You are a foolish girl aren’t you?” he sighed again, “Perhaps I should strip you for the rod.”

“Yes Sir,” she whispered, but her heart began to race and she had to bite her lip to prevent a protest.

“Your attitude is sound anyway,” he growled, “Sounder than your judgement. Come here.”

Sophie skipped across the room like a mountain goat or ballerina and flopped into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry William,” she whispered. “Please give me the spanking I deserve.”

It was not a mantra he demanded, but it felt right.

He wasted no more time and pulled her down across his lap so that her head was dipped towards the floor and her cotton-clad bottom was elevated on his knee.

“I mean to spank you harshly and then you will return to the corner for the remainder of the afternoon,” he chided her.

“Yes Sir,” she trilled.

“And don’t think I will have the maids skulk away below stairs just to suit your dignity,” he snapped.

“No Sir,” she blushed.

This last passive act on her part was as much because of his hand working her bloomers down as the revelation that her shame would be displayed to the household.

Once her full round bottom was bare to his gaze he patted it with the flat side of the brush and watched snow white patches melt against the smooth ivory of her skin. Blanche à la Blanche, he thought wistfully, knowing that rouge en rouge would soon be her shade. He brought the brush down with a pistol crack and marvelled at the shock of white that quickly flooded with pink.

“Eiee,” she squealed and kicked her bloomer-bound ankles.

He spanked her again harder and then thrice more.

She yelped gracefully at each impact rocking her bottom back and forth on his lap as she squirmed. She tried to anchor herself with her elbows under his thighs but four spanks in she swept the left arm back to hug at his waist.

“I will stop your allowance for a month for your folly and if you ever do such a thing…” he barked as he spanked her hard, “…again, then you will feel the rod, if not the strap as well.”

“Yes Sir,” she gasped.

“Do you… do you… do you hear what I say?” he rasped, the brush spanking down with real bite at each repetition.

“Yes Sir,” she screeched, her voice now strained.

By now her bottom was a bright poppy red across its whole surface and little mottles of mauve raggedly stained her right curve. Satisfied with the aesthetics, he let the brush fall on the under curves of her bottom right where she sat, an action that extracted earnest soulful wails from his lady wife as she kicked her legs ever more frantically.

Tears pooled at her red-rimmed eyes and her moist protests were accompanied by laboured breathing at the rise and fall of his arm.

“Please Sir, oh Sir…” and then with a shriek, “William… I am so sorry,” she wailed.

“Are you? Are you indeed?” he said in a scolding voice, but not letting up one jot with his arm.

In fact the spanking lasted a good five minutes more before William was satisfied. By then Sophie was a tearful mess hugging into her husband in true contrition.

“Now madam, you can retire to the corner and think on your wilful behaviour,” he said gently after taking a moment to hug her back.

“Yes Sir,” she sobbed.

And then reluctantly she limped to the wall and took up position facing it with her hands on her head and her bloomers still wrapped firmly at her ankles like hobbles.

“You may put your hands in the small of your back,” he said kindly, “But leave your bloomers down. You are going to be there for quite some considerable time.”

“Yes Sir,” she said miserably.

Without the least display of surprise William suddenly went to the door and opened it on Caroline who was standing there suddenly flustered.

“You may see to in here now and Mrs Blanchester… do leave this door open, both the room and Mrs Grainger would benefit from an airing.”

“Yes Sir,” Caroline said with a nervous blush.

“I will take my tea here,” he chuckled as he shot a glance back at his wife’s sore and exposed bottom.

“Yes Sir,” Caroline said breathily, following his gaze.

She would bring some herself directly.

Ends.

Our story began here.

Battle for the West
Fear felt like an interloper sitting in Davidus’s chair, but the Grand Magus had insisted and anyway given that the Black Mage’s quarters were in the Dovecote and far from the centre of Pandoria it made sense. All the same, Fear felt uncomfortable.

He eyed the only other mages in the whole of Pandoria, Nadine Wherefore and Gareth Parmenter, who if anything looked every bit as uncomfortable as he did. Beyond them in the room were half a dozen adepts watching what their elders from the other side of the room. Fear might have acknowledged these doubts, but since the death of William Tulore the remaining adepts and junior faculty had been quite rattled enough for him and his senior colleagues to display any doubts.

“I can’t say I am happy with this,” Nadine whispered, glancing nervously over her shoulder at the adepts.

She looked too young to be a mage, although Fear knew that she was pushing 40 and although she was not considered one of the most effective of his colleagues, she had a fine mind and good theoretical grasp of Earth Magic.

“Happy with what?” Fear said crisply, letting the assembled adepts hear his words.

Nadine hunched into herself and appeared to shush him.

“The Magister were needed in the counter attack on the West and a fat lot of good we would be in a fight,” Gareth Parmenter said in an irritated voice.

“Actually your skills are needed to defend the barrier,” Fear countered.

“And yours in case there are any more demonic attacks inside it,” Nadine whispered, still trying to be discreet, “But did I have to stay behind?”

Fear realised that as far as Nadine was concerned Gareth had been right but there was another reason too and she shared it.

“Although you’re an Earth mage, you are accomplished in the other three elements. From a purely theoretical point of view you could probably oversee the curriculum if it should have to be resurrected,” he said.

Fear glanced around the room and hoped that Nadine wouldn’t ask him to spell it out. But it was clear from the faces of the assembled adepts that they fully understood his remarks.

“You think that the Magister won’t come back then?” Gareth asked pointedly.

Gareth was getting on in years, but was highly accomplished when it came to Water and Air magic. Fear’s own abilities with Fire as well as Earth Magic did indeed protect against that eventuality. Gareth’s point was well made.

“I am certain that they will, after all the Grand Magus has a company of more than a score of magi to reinforce Gort for the coming battle. I have every confidence.” Fear winced inwardly. He sounded like an old politician.

Nadine nodded thoughtfully as if she took this at face value.

Quietly Fear doubted that the Magister could more than slow down the invasion. For even if they destroyed an army or two he was sure that enough would get through. Still, nothing was certain and advanced intelligence suggested that the enemy’s problems lay with ships and not men.

“Dr Fear, Sir,” one of the young adepts asked nervously, “I… I was chosen to remain here and I want to do all I can, but… but are we safe here?”

Fear smiled reassuringly, but did not answer. He had no idea.

*
Sir Mark De Lacy viewed his troops with a critical eye. Back in Timbre they had looked like they could conqueror the world. So what if half of them had slightly out-dated armour and many of the pikes and other equipment showed visible signs of having been patched-up; they were good men.

Even when he had been assigned another two battalions to add to his own 600-strength and ordered up the line his confidence had never wavered. Then he had hoped against all his doubts that they would be assigned anything more than a combat role.

But all too quickly he had been sent mobilisation orders and assigned to a squadron of ships for the counter attack against the West. His euphoria had quickly been mitigated by his old soldier sense. He was not in his prime, he knew, and nor were his men. If his regiment of light horse had been despatch as part of the expeditionary force, then the generals were scraping the barrel and he knew it.

Still morale was high and even when the shaken and seasick warriors of his command had blundered onto land he had been hopeful.

The combined armies of Timber and Precips were over 60,000 strong. They were well-provisioned and had good lines of communication back to their supporting ships.

Furthermore, they had landed unopposed and the scouts reported no more than light garrisons in the towns in any direction. They even had a score or more mages on their strength. He had seen them riding at a lick passed his column only that morning.

He had been told that in their train they had half-a-hundred adepts and other magic folk who would not only augment the healers and protect the key positions from fire and magical attacks, but that the assembled magi had offensive magic to sow confusion among the foe.

He wondered idly if Katrin were among them, but decided that from her last letters, she was still considered too junior to risk.

“Sir,” came a voice at his heel.

He wheeled around to confront an eager young man in polished armour and a sash denoting that he was a staff officer. Sir Mark could see from his eyes the boy had never seen combat and from the way the horse danced back and forth, nor had his mount.

“Sir Mark, I have orders,” the young officer said earnestly.

Sir Mark nodded and extended his arm to accept any missive.

The man looked horrified and swallowed hard.

“Colonel Vanpike requests that you detach two troops of cavalry for scouting duties,” the officer told him.

“A verbal request from a brother colonel does not constitute an order boy,” Sir Mark said testily.

“No Sir but…” the young man spluttered.

“Where are they required?” Sir Mark yawned.

“Sir…?”

“Where are they to report?”

“Then you agree, I mean…” the young officer wheeled his horse to disguise its unprofessional friskiness and executed a full turn on the spot before he added with a point forward, “Reconnaissance Major Stanger.”

Sir Mark snorted thoughtfully and gazed across his command before his eye alighted on one of his more enthusiastic junior officers, a certain Lieutenant-Ensign Spade.

“The man in the blue plume,” Sir Mark said sharply pointing at Spade. “Ask him and Cornet Portland to report to me.”

“Cornet Portland…?”

“Spade knows,” Sir Mark barked as he kicked his horse away down the line, “Now jump to it, Vanpike needs eyes out there.”

*

The opposing army was vast. The scouts had put it at more than a league away and yet it already dominating the horizon. One minute it had been an indistinct haze broaching the far ridge and then suddenly it was there.

“So much for surprise,” King Peron spat angrily.

As nominal commander of the allied force all eyes turned in his direction looking for any sign of fear or hesitation, but they saw none. The man’s unblinking stare could cut warriors from their saddle.

Not that he held everyone’s full attention. Several of the leader’s from other contingents stole a glance at Davidus Grimm the Grand Magus who sat at the King’s right hand, his trademark pudding basin hair style a perfect echo of the domes helms of the surrounding warriors.

He too beheld the enemy with an unblinking gaze.

“This is going to be tricky my liege,” he said to the king, “What do you think? Outnumbered aren’t we?”

As he spoke he took in Gort the High Hand with his eyes for some independent confirmation. But it was Sejanus Jacelon who answered.

“By my reckoning they have us at three to one with pike-men and maybe twice that with horse,” the Scroll Keeper said grimly.

“I expected more,” Peron growled, “I don’t think this is their main force.” It was a bold statement and all faces now turned to him.

Beyond and behind the leaders the allied army, which had previously rung with song and random good natured insults to comrades along the way, now fell silent. The only sounds now were the clink of mail and horse gear and the occasionally whinny from a terrified mount.

“We more than match them in gentlemen of horse and swordsmen afoot,” William Armarlon, the Duke of Timon said with some bravado.

The Duke was the commander of the larger Timbre contingent and brother to their King, John of the House of Armarlon. He was a huge man with imposing shoulders that made his head look small. An affect that was only heightened by the heavy armour he wore. Under his polished helm he was near bald which coupled with his prominent hooked nose gave him the appearance of a vulture. But this crude look belied his noble refinement and his fame in battle secured his leadership here. He stood second in this company only by dint of the presence of the King of Precips.

Peron nodded absently and then remembering the Duke’s importance added more brightly, “Indeed your Grace, I am mindful of the contribution of your countrymen; no doubt the finest swordsmen in the world. They will give the foe a run for their money. What say you Grand Maestro?”

The Grand Magus shrugged, he had little time for warrior bravado. Since the enemy had been sighted he had studied the patterns of the opposing troops and practiced a tentative mind link with the rest of the Magister.

“I sense no great magic,” Davidus said quietly, “A few warlocks’ and priests maybe, but I agree, their main force is not here.”

The King and his officers joined Davidus in studying the troops lined up ahead of them. But they were still away off and appeared as shapeless rough blocks of dark against the pale yellow grass of the plain.

Just then there came the blowing horns from the enemy ranks and several they could see shifting dots of men in the grey formation become more animated and begin to form up in lines.

“We always knew we would meet a larger force,” Peron said quietly so that his words only took in Davidus and William Armarlon. “I suggest we stick to the plan.”

“Our best pike men are still to the rear your majesty, perhaps we could fall back on them and double the manoeuvre as a faint. It might encourage them to do something reckless,” William suggested.

“Our swordsmen and archers can position themselves easily as you say, but we may have to accept that some of our lesser levies will not fall back in good order, not in time anyway. They may have to take position in the van,” Peron countered.

William shrugged. He had not favoured throwing away his best men at the point of the wedge anyway. Better he thought to anchor the formation with them to guard the lighter armoured troops and archers.

“They will try to surround us and hit us in the rear with their light cavalry,” Peron warned.

As he spoke he looked at Davidus.

“That can be handled,” he said simply.

A dead look touched eyes. Many would die that day, he thought.

The Duke nodded, he knew what mages could do.

“If they try that, then we will counter attack with our own cavalry and cut them up piecemeal,” Peron said sharply.

William darted a look at Davidus. The king was not as enthusiastic about magic as he might be, but if they were to keep enough of the army intact to make a difference then they needed not only a victory, but a decisive rout.

“Give the signal,” Peron ordered.

The cascade of trumpets that followed his command echoed down the ranks and one by one flags and pennants went up to convey precise formation orders. The war drums started up in a steady beat and for several moments it looked like the entire allied army was walking backwards in slow retreat.

Suddenly several horsemen from the Western Host broke off and charged the out-of-formation Easterners only to be met with great waves of arrows shot into the sky like clouds of midges that fell with deadly force among the attackers.

The response of the enemy was a curious one. For even as hundreds fell amid the twang and clatter of arrows yet heavier horse lunged forward in several vast but disparate charges that met much the same fate.

As these skirmishes ensued at the fringes, the main bodies of each army began to reshape themselves. The Western Host, suddenly left in ever widening ground began to march quick time to close up on their opposition.

Meanwhile the combined forces of Precips, Timbre and other allies seemed to fall into disarray with pike levies forming up at a right angle as if they didn’t know the line. At the same time foot soldiers in light armour appeared for a moment to run away while archers stood to provide covering fire.

For long moments the Allies looked as if they were in total disarray with great gaps in their lines. But gradually another line of heavy pike men could be seen to move up in good order until there were two solid lines at right angles totally screening the archers who still fired great volleys at the pursuing attackers.

If one had been a bird, from above it now looked as if the Allied pikes had formed one huge wedge like a great V-shape on the ground with lines of swordsman and archers alternately lined up inside a great coral. Behind this line and at a distance were two great clusters of horsemen ready to screen the flanks and guard against encirclement.

Not that the first moves of the Western Host attempted this. Instead the remainder of their attacking horse closed on the retreating pikes just as they stopped and got into line to receive the charge. Most tried to slew away at the last minute but either fell in a heap or crashed sideways into the line where they were hacked to pieces by supporting axe men and a few eager pike men who broke formation to stab at the tumbled riders and horses. A few more met a more horrendous fate and charged headlong onto waiting pikes skewing themselves like scarecrows. In one case a horse accepted a pike full in the chest and kept going until the point emerged under its tail. The weight of the dead horse came to a sudden a deadly stop dragging two or three Easterners down and sending the rider crashing four ranks over into the mass of standing troops.

By then the Western Host had realised their folly and desperate recalls sounded across the plain. It took a while, but eventually the Host lined up to face the waiting allies just out of bow shot.

“They must have lost a third of their horse,” William said excitedly.

“We got lucky,” Peron agreed, “But now gentlemen it begins.”

He sweeps all before him. He is Top of the tops, first among Doms, dread lord of the Subnation. He is the Dominator.

Then the door opens.

“Now Mr Smith we have called you in because there seems to be some irregularities with your account,” she says; a junior bank clerk who was in school less than two years ago.

She is pretty with too much make-up and a pair of glasses he could swear she doesn’t need. God I am being reprimanded by a girl who hasn’t even mastered personal grooming, he thinks.

“It is just a temporary cash flow issue,” he says.

“That is all very well, but this is the second time we have had issues with your account…” he tunes out.

He knows what she is going to say in the preamble. The only bit that interests him is whether or not the bank will extend the overdraft and that decision has already been made by this girl’s… sorry this woman’s superiors, he realises.

How dare you trifle with me with your impertinence, thinks the Dominator? No he says it loud and clear.

The girl is taken aback.

“Pardon?” she says nervously.

“Tell me do you usually talk to your elders like that?” the Dominator asks.

“Eh…” she swallows, not sure what to say.

“When was the last time anyone took you over their knee for a damn good spanking?” the Dominator growls.

The girl blushes and chews her lip.

“Please Mr Smith,” she says meekly, no, not Smith… “Please Lord Garth,” she says meekly; that’s better.

“Answer me girl,” the Dominator orders.

“Oh please you aren’t going to complain about the service are you?” she whimpers.

“What do you take me for girl, a whinger? Get over my knee,” the Dominator snaps.

The girl is disconcerted at having to take off her own skirt and is positively mortified when he orders her to take down her knickers. But she cannot complain.

As the spanking begins she only hopes that her boss doesn’t hear it and come to investigate. Because then she would have to explain how she upset a valued customer. Well at first that is her only hope, for pretty soon the spanking begins to sting and she is kicking and yelling as she earnestly hopes he will not spank her too hard and for too long. But that is up to him, for he is the Dominator.

“Tell me Mr Smith, what can you do to reduce your outgoings?” the woman behind the desk asks.

He is shaken and blinks before answering.

“I have some debt repayments that will be completed after next month and I don’t expect to have to have the car repaired again like last month. There you can see that most of the overdraft is a one-of payment,” he says leaning forward to point at the figures.

She nodded sagely as only one who has only a few months’ experience can. A small crinkle of a frown formed on her forehead; she had not had time to develop full worry lines between her eyes. The look remind him of his daughter when she used to have a particular difficult problem concerning her dolls.

The Dominator continued to spank the girl hard until her bottom was a nice shiny red and little tears spilled from her eyes.

“Now you impudent hussy, go and stand in the corner and think about what you have done,” he told her.

“Yes Sir,” she wailed.

The Dominator leaned back to admire the cherry sheen on her still exposed bottom as she meekly went to the corner.

“Very well Mr Smith, we can extend your overdraft for another three months, but do please get in touch if you have any more issues we should know about…”

He was no longer listening. Of course you are going to give me an overdraft, he thought, for I am the Dominator.

Ends.