Our story began here.

Reckonings and Reconciliations
Katrin had hardly seen Fear for days. In fact she had barely seen anyone she knew. Timon was still in chaos and whenever she ventured away from her quarters she encountered servants and soldiers running hither and thither with a will.

It wasn’t until three days after the battle that she finally got a note in her father’s hand. Then all it said was that he loved her, an uncharacteristic sentiment from him, and that he had much to do regarding his men and the disposition of horses.

He did however invite her and Fear to Downley before their return to Pandoria. That in itself was more than she dared hope regarding her father’s acceptance of her relationship with the Arch Mage.

She knew of course why everyone else was ignoring her. As a journeyman she had no standing whatsoever and her only official role was as the Arch Magus’s mistress. Katrin glowered at the thought, but it was true. As his apprentice she could not officially get engaged to anyone, let alone her master and that left her position as socially awkward. But she had hoped that Tabitha at least would have found time to come and see her.

Katrin sighed heavily and moved to the window to watch the men at work. All morning stone masons and tilers had been smarming over the outer ramparts of the city like squirrels gathering nuts. The noise was constant but for her it was the music of hope.

She remembered how she had been standing on the walls when Fear had brought forth an earthquake and damaged them. That had been a dark moment. She had feared then that she would lose him and the world with him. It was only now that could she think on it.

But what power had taken her there? Why had she even left the safety of the city to go to her man just then? The powers that be would say that she had had a Wild Magic episode of seeing. But she had never had an inkling of such power before and her gifts lay so squarely within thaumatology that she doubted now that she was any kind of seer.

If only she could talk to Amber or even Fear about it, but the last thought made her unaccountably uncomfortable. There were questions here and few answers.

*

The next day a message arrived from Meredith Greydove. She and Fear were formally invited to supper.

“You are… Hemple aren’t you?” Katrin asked the girl who had delivered the message.

The girl looked drawn and tired, but she smiled at being recognised and nodded.

“Yes my lady,” Hemple replied and dropped a small curtsy.

“I remember you from… we almost fought didn’t we?” Katrin had heard that the coven had done well during the battle. But she remembered to that they had had loses. “I’m sorry about your friends,” she added.

“They were quick deaths,” she said quietly, “Others were not so…”

Katrin pursed her lips in sympathy and re-read the note.

“Will there…?” “Have you…?” They both spoke at once and then laughed together.

“Sorry my lady?” Hemple giggled. It was something of an icebreaker.

“You don’t need to my lady me, not really. Those days are behind me now. Are we not colleagues?” Katrin told the girl. “What were you going to say?”

“It doesn’t matter my lady, my brain is a bit addled since… anyway you are the Arch Magus’s woman and I hear you will one day be a great mage in your own right, so Meredith says I must have some respect,” Hemple said shyly.

Katrin started to speak when she saw Tabitha lurking in the hall outside.

“Oh the gods,” she shrieked and dashed out of the room to embrace her friend.

“Katrin,” Tabitha gushed.

Hemple curtsied again and slipped away.

“So it is you who has been singing my praises to your witch friends,” Katrin accused Tabitha once they broke apart.

“Me and everyone else,” Tabitha said earnestly, “You totally saved the day out there when you helped the master.”

“And what about you…? Killing Draken like that,” Katrin gushed.

Tabitha’s face dropped.

“Sorry,” Katrin grimaced, “It must have been awful.”

“Well… kind of but…” Tabitha began.

“Oh Hemple, sorry,” Katrin said looking around, “Oh…”

“Don’t mind her,” Tabitha said, “She and some of the others got turned into rabbits on the battlefield. It tends to make one a little…” she touched her head.

“Oh the lords of Pandoria,” Katrin gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. “Do tell.”

“Later maybe,” Tabitha said carefully, “There is something else I need to tell you before you hear it from anyone else.”

Katrin looked up the hallway as if for spies and seeing they were alone said, “Come in.”

Once the door was closed there was an awkward silence like someone had died. Gort came unbidden to Katrin’s mind for some reason, while Tabitha thought of Gasgook.

Katrin looked at the former peasant girl and saw how much she had grown up. In another world they would never have met let alone become close friends.

“Do you want some tea?” Katrin asked politely. It was if an old order was reasserting itself.

Tabitha shook her head and Katrin could see she would speak, albeit with great reluctance.

“Whatever is it?” Katrin urged.

Tabitha took a deep breath and then clasped her hands.

“I am not going back to Pandoria,” she finally said, “There is nothing more I can learn there.”

It was the end of an era and they both knew it. Katrin sat down on her bed like a broken doll.

“Meredith has invited me and Erin to join the coven,” Tabitha continued.

“I see,” Katrin sighed.

“Oh don’t be like that,” Tabitha wailed, “Meredith and Amber think I am ready to enter the Fourth Circle and they think that… Meredith says… that one day I will surpass even them. Erin and I will be initiated together; oh she is such a powerful witch, who’d have thought it…? Did you know…?”

As Tabitha continued to gush, Katrin saw something of the other little girl who had left the Silver Shore all those years ago and she grinned. The two women talked into the afternoon, long and expansively about nothing in particular.

*

Supper with the coven was a huge success. The coven had commandeered a small inn in the backstreets of Timon and with a mix of persuasion, good will and plenty of coin had taken over the whole cellar bar.

The low brown beams put Katrin in mind of the place where she and Fear had first met after she had been recruited by Crane. But now instead of suspicious strangers there were a thousand candles and the laughter of friends.

“Oh hades, they are not going to show off are they?” Katrin whispered in Fear’s ear.

The remark was prompted by Peel transforming herself into the beast and leaping across from beam to beam in the ceiling. When she finally did drop to the floor in human form she was naked and made no attempt to get dressed all evening.

“I see what you mean,” Fear chuckled, “I think it is going to be one of those evenings.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Amber chided, “Come and have a drink or are you too grand now oh mighty Arch Magus?”

“Not too grand to spank you,” Fear countered with a grin.

“Now, now, that wouldn’t be dignified,” Amber shot back, but she was blushing.

“For you or for me?” Fear winked.

“I suggest we grant the balance on that,” Meredith said expansively as she called for more drinks with a wave.

All the feasting and celebrations up to then had been so formal. Most of the speeches and parades had featured warriors and noblemen at centre stage with the mages and witches awkward guests in the corner. So much so that as soon as they were able the Magister and friendly covens made their excuses and left as soon as the matter of the renegade sorcerers and magical prisoners was settled.

Not a few of the latter found themselves bound for Pandoria for an education. The rest, mostly those with more pretention than power, were paroled and allowed to return home.

This and other matters were a small feature of the talk around the coven’s table. Instead it was the first chance that the real victors of the Battle of Timon had had to celebrate in their own way. Although in fact only Fear and Katrin were there to represent Pandoria, all the rest were of the coven.

“Will you soon return to Pandoria?” Meredith asked Fear innocently, although her words were intended for Amber who had declined an invitation to join the coven as well as Tabitha and Erin.

Fear smiled and exchanged glances with Katrin. The truth was, he was in no particular hurry. His status there had changed forever and coupled with the fall of Gort, he was now undisputedly first in power and that did not make for friends.

Furthermore his position with regards to Katrin was exceedingly awkward and he was torn between openly taking her as his woman and allowing her to continue her education.

“My father has invited us to Downley for the rest of the summer and under the circumstance…” Katrin cut in to rescue the Arch Mage.

“Of course,” Meredith agreed, but her gaze turned to Amber. “Are you sure you don’t…?”

Amber nodded.

“My place is at Pandoria, especially with so many new young witches enrolling in the wake of the war,” she said.

“Erin will miss you,” Meredith said.

Erin sat oblivious in a huddle with Tabitha, Peel and Hemple giggling at nothing.

“I don’t think so,” Amber said sadly.

“Too dour, too dour,” someone called.

Then someone else called for a speech and was shouted down.

“We are not kings here,” Demdike cackled, but glasses were raised all the same.

Fear leaned in to Katrin so that she thought he would kiss her.

“You and I will have words tomorrow,” he hissed, “Do not think I have forgotten that you twice defied me.”

Katrin gaped.

“But I…” she wailed.

“I gave my word upon it,” Fear growled under his breath.

Katrin pulled a lemon face and folded her arms. No one but Fear noticed.

*

Katrin was all twos and eights the next day. She had half expected Fear to handle things when they awoke, but he had gone out early on business. That had left the girl to begin the process of packing and to make arrangements to meet her father at Downley.

Worse still, after the previous night’s activities she was rather more sharply aware of her head than she would have liked. Also for a good part of the morning her mouth felt like a sand-pickle’s nest and in no time she had drunk the dregs of her water jug.

She had no idea when Fear would return and her day was dominated by a rather unsettled queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that caused her to leap up nervously every time a sound emanated from outside.

At noon the door opened without ceremony and Katrin gave a start, which gave the maid with the tray almost as much a fright as she had had.

“I’m sorry my lady, I… I thought you might want to eat something,” the girl offered nervously.

“Eh… yes… um, thank you,” Katrin managed, recovering her composure. “Please put it down there.”

The meal consisted of a fresh jug of spring water, an apple and some bread with a selection of local cheeses. The water was a treat and Katrin realised that the combination of nerves and a hangover had given her a powerful thirst. As for the rest, the cheese was piquant enough, but in her current mood the bread tasted of cardboard and even the bitter-sweet chumleydale, one of her favourites, tasted sour.

Katrin was still disposing of the crumbs and feeling better despite herself when there was a knock at the door. She jumped up nervously. Even though she knew Fear was unlikely to have knocked, she still felt weighed down by apprehension.

“Come in,” she began, but no one above a flea on her lip could have heard such a mouse whisper. She swallowed. “Come in,” she said more forcefully.

The door opened slowly as if the person beyond was entering an unknown bar room in a seedy part of town and feared he may be robbed.

“Katrin,” a tentative voice called.

She knew it at once even as she failed to place it. Then the door swung wide.

Sir Mark De Lacy looked older than she remembered him and frailer. That was until he smiled. And then his face lit-up and like silver back mountain gorilla he bestrode the room and scooped her up in his arms.

“Katrin,” he exclaimed joyfully.

“Daddy,” she squealed.

The two embraced for far longer than was social custom and all the while Katrin’s feet hung a foot from the floor as her father spun her around. Finally he set her down and stepped back to look at her. He was still smiling, but now he gave her an appraising nod as if seeing her for the first time in their lives.

“I hear you were there on the battlefield,” he said. It was no accusation and his neutral tone held.

“Don’t be angry… I just had to…” she said sheepishly.

She was 12 again.

He nodded, but this time a frown crossed his face.

“Besides,” she mumbled, “Fear is already… he is…” She was blushing.

“I should damn well hope so,” Sir Mark said in faux anger.

Katrin returned a weak smile, but even this faint support for Fear and his relationship with her was welcome. The short awkward silence that followed was broken by her father.

“I am demobilised,” he said in a brittle voice. “My rank as general-of-horse was confirmed, but then I was retired.”

He sounded regretful.

“What about Downley?” Katrin asked.

“Delia says all is well there and that the enemy never came close. And now I have a decent pension to carry us past the slump in the market that is bound to follow, for I don’t think our lands will support us for a year or two” he told her. Then with an almost imperceptible hint of desperation he asked, “You are still coming…?”

Katrin nodded and grinning took his arm.

“And what about… him?” Sir Mark said carefully, “You have plans to marry?”

Katrin shrugged. She hadn’t the heart to tell her father that it would be years before she could marry, if ever. And that Fear hadn’t even asked her.

Sir Mark looked away at the window and nodded.

“Good view you have,” he said absently.

But before Katrin could reply he added, “They are going to make me some sort of lord, a baron at least, but more likely given my… standing, they will make me a count.”

Why did she think he was giving her bad news? Katrin held her peace.

“It is no title you can obtain,” he sighed, “And I have no sons.”

So that was it. Her father did not mind Fear so much, but unless they married and had children…

“What about Delia?” Katrin asked.

“Not marriage material, not from a political standpoint anyway, besides, she is not getting any younger, I fear that ship might have left port,” he said brusquely.

He felt rather troubled now, as if he was betraying Delia in some way. But for once he had to speak his mind to his daughter. He had seen too much death not to. One never knew how much time was left.

“There is time father, so much time,” she said, her words rushing at him in desperation. “I am young.”

“You are… but I…” he began.

“You are barely 50, well short of 60 anyway. In 20 years you’ll still be going strong and I’ll still be young. If Fear won’t have me before then, then I will find some rich lord to…” Katrin continued eagerly.

“Some poor magus more like,” her father laughed and then he really laughed as if a weight had gone from him.

Katrin eyed the cheese and regretted that she didn’t have more to offer him, but they were both laughing now, two people full grown who had survived and had a life time to become reacquainted.

“I had better go,” Sir Mark said at last, “I have things to do and it sounds as if you have… enough on your plate.”

“I suppose,” Katrin said ruefully.

He kissed her then and turned to go.

“Oh,” he said with a twinkle as he reached the door, “Tell that man of yours to lay on extra from me.”

Katrin gaped and shushed him away and he left chuckling.

*

Fear came just after three and immediately Katrin knew she was for the high jump. For one thing he didn’t smile, not even his sad little disappointed turn of lip. For another he held a long white rod instead of his staff. It was tapered so that it was as thick as his thumb at one end and ran to a little under pinkie breadth at the other. There was only one possible purpose for such a rod and Katrin felt her buttocks clench involuntarily.

He didn’t say a word at first, but merely lay the rod upon the small writing desk in the corner and then remove his robes.

Katrin followed every movement in morbid fascination, visibly gulping when he unhooked the button-beads of his shirt and began to roll up his sleeves. Strangely though, she found herself wondering if he should still be wearing black now that he was an Arch Magus. What colour did an Arch Mage wear anyway? Had she noticed the distracted thought she might have wondered at the workings of her mental defences.

“Disrobe to your blouse and stockings,” he said in a stern baritone voice.

At once she fumbled with the ties at the neck of her gown, but made no progress for moments on end as with humble doe-eyes she gave him all her attention, perhaps hoping for some reprieve.

“There will be two punishments,” he announced as he finished with the cuffs of his sleeves, “One for acting the stowaway, and the other at a later date for not staying with the healers as you were told.”

Katrin swallowed and looked down at the floor.

“But I… I had to come, you… we…” she burbled.

“You have no idea what you did or why do you?” he snapped at her.

She jerked and took a step back.

“No,” she admitted quietly.

“It may have been more than chance that you came, and on that we will ponder another time,” he told her, but he had reined in his anger a little, “However that doesn’t change the fact that you were grossly disobedient or that things could so easily have turned out differently. What if the Shadow Dreamers had lured you there for some purpose? What if you had been taken hostage? What if… if you had been…” Fear’s voice cracked at these last words and as he said, “Killed?”

Katrin opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. He was wholly right and she hadn’t even considered that until now.

Fear glared at her hard and she realised that she hadn’t even begun to undress. A situation she amended by working the ties and pearl buttons down the front of her gown.

“You try my patience still,” he snarled.

Katrin could see now why he had held back in correcting her until now. She had never seen him so angry. She worked the buttons faster and in a moment had stepped out of her dress and roughly folded it in half to lay it upon the bed.

She stood in just a shift and draws over dark almost black green stockings. For some reason she was shy with him now and turned her back.

“Quickly now,” he growled.

Katrin thought of something and shot a worried look over her shoulder.

“What if someone should come?” she asked.

But his eyes said he ‘so didn’t care’ and she hastily dropped her knee-long bloomers to her ankles and unbidden dropped to bend over the bed.

Fear felt the familiar gut-shot at her beauty, but steeled himself with resolve and took up the white rod he had purchased at the market. He tried not to be amused at the way it was raised in parody to another such appendage as he hefted it. He would have her mind him now and in future, for the woman of an arch mage would ever be in danger.

Her hips were round and full, framing her tightly split pale bottom like albino peaches sliced for a royal feast. For a moment he considered just spanking her and moving on to more attractive pursuits, but duty held him.

Katrin was delicately folded over the bed now, half kneeling and half bending, she never failed to be embarrassed at such times, but nonetheless she regarded her man over her shoulder with her big sad eyes.

“You think me unfair?” he suggested.

She gave him a small shake of her head and turned to fix her eyes on a spot on the wall.

The white tapered stick was surprisingly springy and whoever had made it knew their art. For in motion the curious rod became the perfect whip-cane as it sliced the air.

Katrin gasped. It was not for nothing that they were called cuts. Then as ever, just as the pain of the impact finished it truly began. She rode the sear like a wild horse, which her breathing now resembled as she clenched the sheets in her hands.

“You not only disobeyed me, you put yourself in danger,” Fear whispered softly. Then he struck again as he said more sharply, “How dare you think to know better than I? How dare you?”

Despite his apparent youthfulness sometimes she forgot that the Magic preserved him and that he was far older and wiser than she. After all, what did she really know of the world?

Katrin held on for a beat and then in a strained voice she managed, “I’m sorry.”

Fear took in the two hard long bumps of purple across her perfect bottom with a dispassionate eye and then placed another firmer stroke exactly an inch each under the lower one.

“Aaah,” Katrin yelled, no longer able to contain herself.

The three ‘sword cuts’ went deep across her bottom and she found the strength to curse the maker of the white stick. When I am a mage I’ll hunt him down and… Fear added a fourth right where she sat.

“Ooooh-yah,” she grunted and dipped her back before arching it in a rapid tail-wag. The gods this is undignified, I really, really hope no one comes to find out what the noise is all about, she thought bitterly.

“This is for playing at stowaways,” Fear reminded her, “It is less than the others got I suspect.”

Fear sliced another piece of her delicate hide and she gave full voice to a scream.

“This is…” she growled angrily, punching the flat of the bed and half rounding on him in protest. She didn’t finish that this was quite bad enough.

“Yes?” he intoned, resting the stick on his shoulder.

“Nothing Sir,” she muttered.

Fear whipped her again right where bottom fold met thigh and watched her lunge forward clawing at the bed.

There were now six neat plum lines across her bottom, the first extending from just above the crown of her curves, the rest spaced evenly down to the underside of her behind. She was crying freely now, although not truly sobbing, the main noise being her laboured breathing.

“Nothing Sir,” Fear mimicked her in a voice like steel.

His manhood twitched and he frowned. He so wanted this be about discipline. He was furious with her and not a little proud of himself for showing restraint after the battle. But now she had to learn.

“I am sorry, I am,” Katrin wailed, “But I had no choice, truly I didn’t.”

“And nor do I,” Fear replied.

The next stroke was atop of the others where she was less meaty. Katrin dropped forward on her face and roared in anger. But after a long struggle to breath she looked back at him with water rimmed eyes with something like contrition forming there.

“I know master,” she whispered.

Then taking careful aim Fear set about placing strokes between each of the first set as Katrin bucked and clawed on the bed unashamedly yelling for relief.

At the end of the hall outside a gaggle of giggling maids whispered excitedly among themselves as they listened to Fear’s admonishment of their mistress.

To be continued.

This is a republish for an entry in the Winter Spanks Cold Hands Warm Bottoms Blog Hop (2-4 January, 2014). If you comment on the original post you may be picked out for a prize. Please note that if you haven’t commented before or if you unwittingly confuse the arcane comment protocol then your comment may be held for moderation.

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Princess Sofia Molotov unleashed her full shapely pout at the ever stiffer wind and the heavy snowfall that accompanied it. Winter was hard upon them and soon she would be a prisoner in the castle for the rest of the season. Already her father had forbidden her from going out and none of dvornik would be available to escort her on one final adventure.

Luckily Sofia was generally considered too petite to handle the horse-sled alone. Indeed she was so petite that it was her father’s proud boast to prospective suitors that her waist could be encompassed by the span of a man’s hand. A ridiculous claim, she thought, because as narrow as she was it took almost two hands for such a feat. But still, this perception of her frailty only worked to her advantage as so far no one had thought to put her away her sleigh.

Donning snug fawn hunting breeches and a jerkin, she covered the ensemble with a sable coat and a huge fur hat to cover her long dark braids. Then as quiet as a snowflake on water, she made her way through the kitchen entrance to the yard.

Most of the servants were still sleeping on the hard stone floors, with only ragged cast-off coats between them and the chill. Although here and there more industrious serfs were shaking themselves awake to begin the task of making breakfast. But if any saw her then it was none of their affair.

Sofia reached the stables almost without incident, only staggering briefly as she stepped into the biting chill. She was thankful then that a hundred stoats had surrendered their winter coats for hers and pulled her cloak about her. She loved this part and grinned to display a row of perfect teeth in greeting.

As she did so a cloud of breath burst from her throat and tumbled whitish-grey towards the sky. Better still was the creak-crunch of her boots upon a hand’s-depth of snow and she gleefully stamped her feet as she made her way to the stable to enjoy the softly yielded squeak of her steps as she walked.

But it did not go all her own way. Without servants she had to remove her gloves to put on the horse’s harness and the tangy steel burned her fingers as she worked until pins and needles assailed her and she had to allow her hands the retreat of her pockets. In the end it took three attempts to ready the sleigh, but after that it was as easy as runners upon snow. Then she simply slipped away.

Luck was with her that morning as not only did none of the guards see her, but by the time she reached the forest under the castle, the wind had dropped and the snowfall had reduced to nothing but a light flurry.

“Hey you wondrous day,” she yelled to the trees in crisp aristocratic tones, “Catch me if you can.”

It took a moment to breech the line of fur trees, but then she let fly with the whip and sailed on into the crystal white sea of ice with great grey-brown masts of leaf-stripped trees lining her route.

Full story here.

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Once upon a time in a land on the outer reaches of Europe dwelt a man and his daughter. They both lived in what had once been a small castle, but was now little more than a fortified house on the edge of town.

Count Verity was a tall dark haired man of middling wealth and discernment, although not all that blessed as an intellectual. His daughter, Cinderella, was beautiful, being flaxen haired and blessed with deep blue eyes as clear and deep as the fabled ocean so far away. It was this perhaps that was to be her downfall.

The Count’s wife having died many years before, he decided to remarry a poor widow with two grown daughters purely because she happened to be one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. However, as pretty as the widow and her daughters were, they were not as fair as Cinderella. A fact not lost on the new Countess and her daughters.

Even then all might have been well but less than two years after the wedding Count Verity succumb to a fall whilst hunting and died three weeks later.

Cinderella was heartbroken of course, but that was not all she had to grieve. For no sooner had the good count been placed in the ground when Countess Verity ordered Cinders to vacate her rooms to make way for her own daughters and move to the servant’s quarters.

“Since she is living in the maids garret now, perhaps she should help with the chores rather more,” suggested the eldest stepsister Virella.

A small self-satisfied smile danced cruelly on her lips as she spoke, prompting Denise, her younger sister to snigger.

“Whatever you think,” The Countess said dismissively, “I have no time for the girl.”

“Then she doesn’t need all those dresses does she?” Denise sniggered.

“But…” Cinderella protested.

“We will start with that gown,” Viral sneered prodding Cinder’s particularly fine blue eye-matching silk dress with a sharp finger.

“My father bought me…” Cinders began.

“Your father is dead, now get undressed and get out of our sight,” Viral snapped.

“You can’t do this…” Cinders wailed.

The Countess who had been about to leave rounded on her and glared.

“You are barely 20 and the will states that I have full authority over you until you are 30 or until you are married, whichever is the longer,” she hissed, “And since you cannot get married without my consent…”

She let the full implication sink in.

Cinders was still considering this and pondering her options if she fled when the Countess seized her and pulled towards a divan outside her suite.

“Denise, fetch me my hairbrush,” the Countess barked.

With Virella’s help she was quickly stripped of her blue gown and silk underskirt. It being an age before women’s draws and such like, this left Cinder’s naked bellow her short shift so that her pert bottom was elevated across the Countess’s knee.

By the time Denise had returned with the hairbrush Cinders had already been spanked for long enough to give her a smooth cherry red behind at the Countess’s hands and tender in the extreme as the spanking was continued with the flat side of the brush.

“Oh please, oh mercy,” Cinders wept, but to no avail.

The Countess spanked her stepdaughter for long, long minutes until Cinders was a sobbing heap.

“Now since the maid’s room is not good enough for you, you will sleep by the hearth in the scullery until further notice. And I give Virella full authority to punish you as she sees fit if you don’t mind her,” was the Countess’s parting words.

*

Days and weeks passed and Cinders soon adjusted to her new regime. For one thing, opportunities for an unmarried woman were not abundant at this time and free of the normal conventions she was able to run in the woods and pick flowers without the constant presence of a chaperon.

True she had chores, but most of these were given to her out of spite and very little she had to do had very much offer the smooth running of the house. So little of what she did, or failed to do, came to the attention of her stepmother.

Of course if Virella or Denise caught her not doing her chores then she was punished. But then she was often punished at other times too.

The Countess, with a passing regard for her duties would infrequently summon Cinders to her rooms. There the girl would be scolded for the tattered rags she wore or her unkempt hair. On these occasions Cinders would be upended over her stepmother’s knee and soundly spanked with the flat side of a hairbrush for long, long minutes before being sent to the corner in the main hall.

Such times were a trial for Cinders because with her hands upon her head her short rags rose up behind to display her russet sheened bare bottom and she was utterly at the mercy of Virella and Denise’s teasing. But these were not the worst of times.

Often when she crept in following a walk in the woods or a day’s bathing in her favourite pool Virella would be waiting for her.

“You have not swept the hearth today, nor have you…” Virella would scold in that self-important way of hers listing a hundred chores that had either been done or were endless tasks and unimportant. The result was always the same.

Cinders would be sent back out to the woods to cut lengths of apple switches or birchen withes and directed not to return until she had collected all that she could carry. Then she would be set at the scullery table making putative rods long into the evening and well beyond supper time.

Then Virella and Denise would come to her and have her bend across the table to present her smooth white bottom to them while they ‘tickled’ it with the first of the birch bundles.

These thrashings were intense, like brands of fire, biting blisters would sear every nook and fold of her exposed bottom as she squealed and wailed at the onslaught. Each licking of viper-like rods lasting for a time well beyond counting until Cinders sobbed piteously.

Then with a grim Virella would take up a fresh rod from a great pile in the corner and big again and again until every rod was used up and scattered like brittle rain across the scullery.

“That you can have instead of your supper,” Virella would sneer, “Now get this place cleaned up before you get to bed.”

The days that followed these thrashings were the worst. For although Cinders was always left purged and renewed by them, she was too cowed to go out and instead had to get on her knees under close scrutiny of the girls while she scrubbed endlessly clean floors while they stood behind her mocking the violent rash of fire that scared her still exposed bottom.

Sometimes she would be taken over Virella’s lap for another spanking until she cried and pleaded that she would be good. But as stinging-making as this was, it was sometimes a welcome break from the being alone and she came to often ruefully regret it when they at last became bored and left her alone.

And so the summer days would pass picking flowers and swimming naked by herself. A time punctuated only by an occasional spanking from the Countess until she was again caught out by Virella and soundly thrashed without mercy.

*

And so things went along. The months turned into years as Cinderella experienced an endless round of scrubbing, sweeping, swimming, flower picking and some of the soundest punishments of any girl’s young life. But within it all she found a kind of peace, for after all she knew where she was and no one expected very much from her.

Then one fateful day news reached the castle from the capital. It seemed that the King’s eldest son had decided to marry and all the nobility of the land had been ordered to gather at the royal palace to present their daughter’s for consideration.

“There is going to be a ball,” Denise shrieked excitedly, “There is going to be a ball.”

Virella too was excited by the news but she contained her jumping up and down to the inside as she considered what to wear.

Secretly too the Countess wondered if she not yet beautiful enough to be considered, but then decided that marriage to a callow youth might not prove tiresome and so she decided to pin her hopes of aggrandisement in her daughters.

“But what about Cinderella?” Denise asked suddenly.

“What about her?” Virella said dismissively.

“Well the order says all nobility must attend the ball,” Denise said nervously.

To defy a royal order was a grave crime, but if they obeyed to the full regard then not only might Cinderella outshine them all, but someone might begin to ask questions about the equitable disposal of the late Count’s wealth.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Virella sneered.

And after a moment’s pause the Countess too shrugged and went about planning their attendance.

But as luck would have it, and as unlikely as it may seem, not far from the castle lived an old friend of Count Verity, a powerful witch who in absentia had appointed herself as Cinder’s godmother. Clementine Tardyhope had been following Cinder’s fate for some time and had been pondering for years what she might do about the situation when the news reached her that Castle Verity had accepted three invitations to the royal ball.

It did not take her long to realise that Cinderella would not go to the ball and she resolved to remedy that prospect.

Now matters get somewhat confusing. For in some versions of the tale Clementine gathers up various unlikely and assorted goods and manufacturers a coach and horse team complete with servants. Now given that one of the principal objects was a pumpkin, a vegetable completely unknown outside of North America at the time of this tale, we can treat these suggestions with a certain amount of doubt. Especially when carriages and horses were plentiful and a day’s labour for a coachman could be had for a small coin.

But however it happened on the day of the ball Cinders was scrubbed up and dressed in one of her old gowns (or had one conjured if you prefer) and put in a coach bound for the palace.

Now consider this. Firstly Cinderella was astonishingly beautiful and yet did not entirely know it. Secondly she hardly ever went to balls and unlike the rest of the aloof nobility gaped in a wide-eyed and charmingly innocent way about everyone and everything from the moment she arrived. And thirdly, she had no idea who the prince was or what he looked like and so spurned his advances when he asked her to dance.

The combination of these three things insured that Cinders was not only noticed, but became the centre of attention.

The prince was not best pleased to be spurned at his own party and so with righteous boldness he seized Cinders by the arm and dragged her on to the patio overlooking the rose garden.

“What do you mean by spurning my advances?” he demanded, “You could at least pretend to consider my suit.”

“But don’t you know that I am just a scullery maid and in any case you look far too gentle a soul to suit my… disposition,” Cinders said carefully.

Outraged at being described as too gentle and by being tricked by a scullion he upended poor Cinderella across his knee and tumbled up her skirts until he had exposed her pert round bottom. Then grabbing one of her own slippers he brought it down with a sharp report on her behind extract a pretty squeal from the girl.

It was such a satisfying smack that he spanked her again before looking on the girl anew. This, he thought, was going to be fun.

Thereafter he spanked Cinderella for a good few minutes until her bottom was as red and polished as a summer strawberry and she was wailing as ever she had when the Countess had at her with hairbrush.

“Ooh, you… you beast,” Cinders wailed and scurried away holding her behind leaving the amused Prince holding her slipper.

“Well done your highness,” chuckled the Lord Chamberlain emerging from the shadows.

The Prince shrugged and asked, “Who was she anyway?”

“The young Countess Verity I believe,” the Chamberlain answered.

“But I thought…” the Prince frowned.

“The other woman is the Dowager Countess, the girl’s stepmother,” the Chamberlain said smoothly, “I fear they do not get on.”

“Is that so?” the Prince mused aloud, “Perhaps you should make some further enquiries.”

“Your Highness,” the Chamberlain bowed.

*

A week later the Prince called upon the residents of Castle Verity and asked to see the Countess.

The Dowager Countess greeted the Prince with a gracious smile and invited him into the parlour.

“You are the Countess?” the Prince asked carefully.

“Indeed,” the Countess smiled.

The Prince appeared to ponder this for a moment and then he too smiled.

“I have in my possession a slipper belonging to one of this household,” he said, “I would match it to the owner for it is her that I will marry.”

The Dowager Countess greeted these words with a wide-eyed inhale and clutched at her heart. Before she could make a suggestion the Prince announced that he would see all gentlewomen in residence for a personal comparison.

“There are but two others,” the Countess said hastily.

“Only two you say?” the Prince said sharply.

“Indeed yes your highness,” the Countess gushed, “Myself and my two daughters.”

The Prince paused to see if she would say more and then he nodded and bid her summon the two girls.

“Shall I remove my shoe?” Virella asked eagerly.

“Your shoe?” the Prince said in a puzzled voice, “No, indeed not,” he said imitating the exaggerated manner of her mother. “For I have no interest at all in feet, I intend to match this slipper to a bare bottom.”

All three women gasped and gaped at him.

“I will spank all three of you, youngest to oldest and the one that matches I will wed,” the Prince said barely hiding his smirk.

“Mother, I don’t think…” Denise wailed.

“Yes spank her first and hard too, your highness,” the Countess snapped, “For I am sure she is the one.”

The Prince removed his coat and sat firmly upon an armless chair and took the reluctant Denise across his lap to bare her bottom. He wished at once that he had something more compelling with which to spank her, but nonetheless he did a fair job with the slipper and quite enjoyed himself for several long minutes spanking her until she howled like a sorry banshee at midnight.

“This is not the girl,” he said disdainful and at long last.

Virella gulped and began to back away. She had presumed until then that Denise had been the one, for she was certain she had made no impression upon the prince at all. Now she began to suspect a trap.

“Oh no you don’t,” the Prince growled and seizing the eldest he dragged her over his lap and bared her copious bottom to his wrath.

This time he took an age to spank the woman and by the time he was done Virella’s bottom was a blistered purple and she was sobbing like a queen who had lost her kingdom.

“That leaves only you,” the Prince sighed turning his attention to the Countess.

“I-I… you would marry me?” she spluttered wondering if a spanking was worth the price.

“I doubt it, but you are the only one left,” the Prince chuckled.

“Wait,” the Countess protested, “There is one other.”

“Then bring her to me,” the Prince ordered, addressing the still weeping Denise.

Then grabbing the Countess, he dragged her across his lap and bared her bottom for the longest hardest and soundest spanking he had ever given. So long did he spank her that the poor woman confessed all, over and over. Not that this stayed the Prince’s hand for he spanked her long into the afternoon until everyone in the castle and beyond knew of her fate.

“Now go and stand in the corner,” he snapped, “All of you and leave those bottoms bare.”

As Cinders who had watched all the proceedings with an admixture of awe and apprehension turned to obey the Prince took her arm.

“Tell me little one, why did you lie about being a scullion?” he asked her.

Cinders cast a glance at the row of three red bottoms and their sniffing miserable owners and then back at the Prince and shrugged.

“No matter, first I will spank you and then we will talk further,” he barked at her.

Cinders was quickly bared and once the pert dome of her bottom was uppermost on the royal lap she too was spanked. And while she did not suffer as the Countess had, she was spanked long and hard until she had thoroughly surrendered.

“No you too can go to the corner for you are their equal, at least until we wed and you can all think on that while I take my supper,” the Prince chuckled.

*

The wedding was a state event and princes from all over Europe came to pay their respects. Cinders had only placed one condition on the marriage and fully expecting her to be avenged on her stepmother and the two sisters the Prince agreed.

However Cinderella’s request was rather more unusual and after due consideration the Prince agreed. On that we will hear more shortly.

However the Prince was not content to let the scandalous Dowager Countess Verity and her daughters escape justice for their harsh treatment of Cinders and their usurpation of her position.

The two daughters were married off to modest yeoman famers who were charged not to spare their bottoms when they gave trouble and work them fairly for the rest of their days. In truth Denise was not so troubled by this and soon settled down much as Cinders had in those early days. But Virella was appalled and rebelled often in the first months of her new life.

On each occasion she was denuded from the waist and belaboured with straps and switches until her bottom was well striped and too sore to sit upon. Then she was set bare bottomed in the corner until her pride was well curbed and she was ready to apply herself to her chores. In time even she found peace and lived like her sister, happily ever after a fashion.

The Dowager Countess did not fare half so well.

About a month after the wedding the palace was quieter than usual and Cinders had awoken early. She still hadn’t got used to wearing fine silk every day and made her way self-consciously to breakfast. She only got as far as the foot of the stairs leading to the grand hall when she saw a maid servant scrubbing at the slate floor.

She was a raven haired beauty in rags so sparse and tattered that as she worked upon her knees the hem of the brief skirts rose up behind to expose the heroic curves of her bottom. It was clear that the woman had been soundly birched for the entire area of her spilt rounds was grazed with prominent tender purple rills.

Even as she thought the woman looked a little familiar she turned her woeful face to regard Cinders and the newly-wed princess gasped. It was the Countess her stepmother who was working as a maid in her own palace. The woman’s sad eyes seemed to say ‘go on, mock me.’

“The King has ordered that the former Countess be indentured as a scullion for at least five years,” a stern voice announced.

Cinders whirled around to see her husband the Prince at her side.

“Must we be so cruel,” she asked, her eyes still wide with astonishment.

“Perhaps if she applies herself without complaint in time she might be allowed to wed a worthy peasant,” the prince shrugged. “She has more hope than you did in her position.”

Nearby the kneeling former countess baulked at this news, for ever the schemer she had still held some hope of a reprieve.

Cinderella considered this for a moment and then lightly kissed the prince on the cheek.

“You are so wise my prince,” she said shyly.

The prince embraced her and kissed her back hard.

“Now are you sure you wish me to honour your… request?” he asked carefully.

He glanced significantly at the former countess still on her knees, reluctant to speak too much before the woman.

Cinderella returned a small uncertain nod and then licking her lips she whispered, “Yes.”

“Very well then,” said the prince, “All is prepared.”

*

In a quiet corner of the royal estates and far from the palace stood a small cottage with lime-washed walls and warm reddish-brown beams all set under a thatched roof. There were roses at the door and a winding cinder path to the door.

Inside it was much as any humble cottar’s house, but with an open fire place and flagstones upon the floor. There was also heavy oaken furniture that few peasants could afford, but it was as close to such an abode as the prince could conceive of. At the back there was a steep wooden staircase, almost a ladder, leading up to the half open attic floor where there was a wide quilt covered bed.

The rags on the bed were too brief for decency and were little more than rags, but nonetheless Cinderella stripped herself of her fine silks and packed them away carefully in a battered coffer in the corner. Then she donned the attire so that rough material scratched at her skin and when she pulled at the fabric small rents exposed her skin.

Then once dressed she descended the steps, taking care to hold on tight as she went and presented herself to her husband who had found the only serviceable chair in the whole house.

“You look very becoming,” he said, “But hardly much like a princess.”

“And when we are here you agreed not to treat me as one,” she said shyly.

He nodded as her eyes strayed to the implements hanging from the walls and she gulped. There were knouts aplenty, riding switches, paddles and all manner of dire rods of correction.

“This floor is filthy,” the prince scolded her, although it was not, “And you have not made up the fire,” which was so, for they had just arrived.

Cinders swallowed and glanced nervously at the grate.

“As this is your first offence here I will merely spank you with your own slipper that I have kept. But in future you can expect much harsher treatment.” The prince sounded severe and not a little angry so that Cinders feared she may have really crossed him in some way.

Then he winked and almost smiled; the last she would see of his kind side for the rest of the day.

It took him very little for him to bare her bottom for as soon as she was bent across his knee her short hem rose off her thighs exposing most everything below her waist. If anything the clothing was even more revealing than that worn by the former countess that day.

The slipper landed with a resound splat across both her proffered cheeks and she squealed. It had been some weeks now since her last spanking and that only the tame affair handed out by the prince in her own home. Now he threatened to spank her soundly, the bite of the soft leather across her bottom certainly promised as much.

In a few short moments the blasting sting took away her breath and she began to squirm and kicked at the treatment. Idly she wondered if she was unfair demanding such handling from her gentle prince against his nature. Then she remembered how he had first spanked her without prompting and his treatment of her stepmother and the sisters.

Thinking of the former countess she resolved that when next permitted to return to the palace she would enjoy sitting with a glass of wine and watch the woman endure a good sound birching. Then the sting set her bottom to a real tang and she realised that she would have to settle for standing for a while.

It was then that the first of a great many silver tears splashed onto the floor and she yelled in protest. The prince was settling in now to spank her for a very long time. During their days here she would have to be very diligent indeed, she thought ruefully as she again glanced at the rods and paddles.

Then the burn took her and all she knew was the spanking and the fire in her bottom. No girl ever wanted this, she wailed inwardly, but if it wasn’t a lie then she did not dwell overmuch on such a need.

And they both lived happily and unhappily ever after.

The end.

Winthrop stood among the rolling green hills bordered on one side by the deep verdant forests of the Dale and on the other by the winding river Afon. Such was its reputation as a finishing school of the old-fashioned kind that few paid attention to its academic pretentions or its customs.

The school existed in a time of its own much as it had since its founding over a hundred years before and had any one of its patrons and students called in at any moment since then they would have discovered it unchanged in any regard.

Rich families and guardians just stumped up the hefty fees and used it as a dumping ground for their wilder young women in the hopes that one day they might be of some use socially. At least while they attended the school no questions were asked. So when Lady This or Countess That was caught out with the more suspect of cigarettes or found naked with a man, two women and a pink sheep in a popular hotel they could be spirited away with honour.

Daisy Bell was one such as these.

She was just beyond her 20^th birthday with a dome of dark hair cut to a low fringe over polished hazel-brown eyes. She was a little shorter than most and little more curvaceously plump, which had occasioned her with the nickname Dumpling at former establishments. But at Winthrop she was largely ignored.

Daisy was happy enough to be away from her guardian and assorted distant relatives who each had their own agenda for her. Especially as after failing to attend a single class in the three months since her arrival, she had not had a single sanction or comment. This left her free to roam the grounds and read all the books in the library.

However, by the beginning of May she had become more than a little bored.

One day she was walking near the side way to the quad when she spotted Olivia Pennington. She was a slim tallish girl with pinned back red hair and big owl spectacles. Daisy knew the girl only slightly, knowing that she was one of the few girls that actually attended classes or did any studying at all.

Olivia was a little older than Daisy and the younger girl could only imagine what a young woman like Olivia could so earnestly study. Most of the women at Winthrop usually just went in for sport or more practical homely skills if they did anything at all.

Usually Daisy would have just given the girl a wide birth and made her way back to her room, but today she could not help but notice that Olivia was crying. As she paid attention Daisy could also see that Olivia was walking very carefully and with a rather awkward gait.

“Are you oaky?” Daisy asked. She didn’t feel particularly friendly towards the young woman, but it seemed the thing to do.

Olivia seemed startled and stopped to hug the books she carried more closely to her chest.

“Eh… yes, I’m fine,” Olivia offered tentatively.

“You’re crying,” Daisy said stating the obvious, “And what is wrong with your legs?”

“There is nothing wrong with my legs, I forgot to hand in my essay, that’s all,” Olivia sniffed, as if her words explained it all.

“Your essay?” the younger girl repeated, “What… what has that got to do with…?”

Olivia looked hastily around and then beckoned with her head for Daisy to come nearer.

“If you must know then come with me to my room,” Olivia whispered.

Daisy being bored and with nothing better to do, shrugged and fell into step alongside the slowly paced Olivia as she headed for her rooms.

The rooms at Winthrop were all well-appointed with their own bathrooms and separate bedroom from the study and reception areas. Olivia’s was no different, although it was unusually girlish and somewhat juvenile to Daisy’s mind.

As soon as they entered Olivia plopped the books she held on a nearby table by the door and turned her back. Reaching under her skirts she began to wriggle and in short order tugged her underwear down to around her knees and then flipped up the back of her skirt.

Daisy stepped back in surprise and was about to protest such a display from so scant an acquaintance when Olivia’s bare bottom heaved into view.

It was small and pert, boyish even, and would normally have been overly white and speckled with mottled freckles. But now Daisy could see that it was a starling red all over and crossing both rounds from the top of the cleft to where the under curves met the thighs were more than a dozen dark ridge-like welts; too many for daisy to easily count, certainly more than such a small bottom as Olivia’s could sustain.

“I told you,” Olivia said in irritation, “I forgot my essay and Mark Clark punished me.”

“But…” Daisy was horrified, fascinated and…

More emotions played through her mind now than there were welts on Olivia’s bottom.

“Don’t look like that,” Olivia sighed as she pulled up her pants. “I didn’t have to attend classes and I certainly didn’t have to agree to his terms for tutorials.”

“So why did you?” Daisy asked.

Olivia shrugged. “I thought I may as well get something tangible for my trouble and…”

She blushed, which was saying a lot for the fair redhead.

“Does it happen often?” Daisy was aghast.

“I am spanked over his knees most times, but sometimes I like to push it,” Olivia said ruefully.

“Like today,” Daisy ventured.

Olivia pursed her lips and nodded. “It makes things more interesting,” she told her new friend.

“Does it hurt?” Daisy tried to look past Olivia and through her clothes with a significant glance.

Olivia let her head flop to one side and returned a withering look that screamed ‘of course.’

“I bet I could give him hell and stay just the right side of the line,” Daisy mused aloud, “can anyone sign up for one of these courses?”

*

“I haven’t done it,” Daisy said bluntly.

Mark Clark frowned and folded his arms.

“May I ask why?” he said.

Daisy crinkled up her nose and shrugged.

“I couldn’t be bothered,” she replied.

Daisy was already showing her disdain by looking around at the rather masculine study and openly disapproving the Waterloo battle prints and a watercolour of the Battle of Trafalgar.

Clark appeared to consider this for a moment and then he said, “You want to leave my course and…?” he pulled a quizzical face.

“Not particularly,” Daisy shrugged, “I quite like your history lectures; they’re fun. I just didn’t feel like doing the essay was all.”

“Tell me, Miss Bell, suppose I felt like doing something and you didn’t,” Clark posed thoughtfully, “Which of our wishes would take precedence?”

Daisy shrugged. “Yours I suppose. Isn’t that how it usually works?”

“I am so glad we are clear about that,” Clark beamed. “Now do you remember what I said about…” he wafted his hand airily, “…discipline in my classes?”

Daisy nodded casually and affected a bored look.

Clark stood up and reached down to his desk drawer. It was the long one with walnut marbling in the wood. Opening it he took out a rather heavy battered looking leather pump and long thin cane. Then put both within reach on the desktop he took a seat in an armless chair across from where Daisy sat.

She was unresisting as she was hauled across his lap and only made a feeble protest as her navy blue pleated skirt was flipped up to expose her white knickers. However once Clark tugged the latter articles down to mid-thigh Daisy fluttered like a trapped bird and tried to reach back.

“I don’t suppose anyone ever spanked you before, but that is no deterrent to me,” Clark said taking up the pump.

He brought it down with a firm thwack that made Daisy gasp. She was just about to say that she had changed her mind about the essay when he spanked her again.

“Oh shit, this hurts,” she wailed.

She had had no idea what to expect when she challenged him, but all her furtive reading and fevered fumbling’s while alone had filled her thoughts for days. But the fantasies were nothing like this.

The leather pump rose and fell in a rapid spanking motion so that within a minute 30 or 40 heavy swats had landed and Daisy was bucking on Clark’s lap and struggling for breath. By then of course her bottom was an even red and had become a little swollen so that rubbery welts had formed along both sides of the tight split of her ample bottom.

Daisy made a gurgling sound as she tried to explain that she had enough now, but Clark had no intention of cooperating. Two minutes later Daisy reached the end of her tether.

“Look I’m sorry okay,” she said twisting in his lap and trying to claw herself out of his grasp. “You can… ugh… stop… now.”

There was real moisture in her words now and she was conscious of tears pooling at her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.

“We are not half down yet Miss Bell,” Clark told her, “And once we are I want you take the cane I have for you like a good girl. If not you will go right back over my knee and we will start again. Do you understand?”

“Oh Sir, oh Sir… please Sir,” she begged.

But Clark was only just beginning and began to spank the girl all the harder. Acknowledging defeat Daisy began to wail incoherently as she broke to proper sobbing.

*

Corner time was a surprise. After what may have been a 15 minute spanking Clark set Daisy on her feet and made her face the wall with her hands on her head. The fire in her bottom was too fierce to give her any immediate concerns about her dignity or the fact that her behind was still naked, but after a good cry she began to feel embarrassed.

“Can I come out of the corner now please Sir?” she asked respectfully.

“No,” Clark snapped as he turned his attention to his papers, “Not unless you want another spanking and to do your corner time outside the door.”

Daisy gulped and gasped, “Oh no Sir.”

Daisy couldn’t be sure but it was at least half an hour before she was told to turn around. Then she saw the cane in Clark’s hands.

“I want you to bend over and grab your ankles,” he said bracing the stick between two hands.

Daisy blanched and grabbed at her bottom.

“Can’t we talk about this Sir?” she gulped.

“No,” Clark growled.

Daisy dropped into half with a start so that she was folded at the waits and grabbed her ankles for salvation. This pushed her shiny red bottom out and upwards to meet its fate.

“The only thing I love more than history is punishing naughty girls’ bottoms,” Clark said sharply. “So if you want to mess with one passion then you will compensate me by indulging me in the other. Are we understood?”

“Yes Sir,” Daisy said, blinking rapidly.

She had no experience of this but Olivia had told her to fix her eyes on a spot on the carpet and think of England. Daisy managed this right up to the first slice across her tail. Then England could go and get buggered.

“Hey-yah,” she yelped.

The first stroke bit hard and went on nibbling until Daisy began to look fondly on the spanking.

She was still wrestling with the first stroke when Clark let her have the next.

“Oh ffffff-fudge cake,” she groaned, “I mean oh fudge cake Sir.”

Neither Clark nor Daisy counted the strokes but by the time the liquid agony reached her thigh-tops they were in at least double figures and she was gently sobbing. Then Clark began at the top again for a slow journey south with feeling.

*

Daisy’s bottom flared with every step and she could no sooner have stopped crying than crawled to the moon. It would be at least a week before she could sit down and if the only thing running through her mind hadn’t been ‘ow my bottom’ then she might have wondered about standing positions for essay writing.

“You went through with it then,” Olivia said suddenly walking up alongside her with a grin.

“Oh yeah,” Daisy said breathily through her tears.

“How was it?”

“Baaaad,” Daisy replied. “It hurts… hurts… hurts…”

“Are you going to do your essay for next week?” Olivia chuckled.

Daisy took a deep breath and offered her friend a mischievous look.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said with a wink.

Paula was decidedly the wrong end of her 30s and increasingly unsatisfied with her life. Her first two marriages had been disasters and her third although happy, had finally run out of steam.

She spent her days jogging or hitting the gym in a constant battle with those curves that were just a spot too generous in her view. Although her flame red hair, full bust and epic behind still drew glances on the street.

If her ex-husband and close friends were asked they would have said her passion was gardening and reading. But that was only half Paula Bright’s story. True she liked to read and spent hours perusing bookshops and libraries, but the sort of stories she liked involved big strong men and a heroine who could take a good sound spanking.

Paula glanced out the window at the rain and then back at yet another round of boring party invitations that were ‘oh so essential’ for her business network. In fact the only vaguely interesting one was from Paul Sparrow, the socialite and travel billionaire, but even that drew a shrug. Nevertheless, she decided to check out some background for any unlikely business tie-in before turning it down.

The formal biographies were all hyperbole as usual and only a chance follow up on his social interests led her to anything fresh. Paula was just scanning through a list of his declared hobbies when she saw the word spanking and did a double-take; surely a misprint? Then she saw some of the clubs he belonged to and did some more serious reading.

*

The thin straight-haired brunette couldn’t stop talking, even after she had asked someone a question. She was barely 20, Paula would guess, but given that the girl was more than halfway beautiful she suspected that Paul Sparrow would indulge the little madam.

Paul himself was a surprise. Although she knew him to be 55, he looked nearer her own age. And although he was tanned, it was a real sportsman’s tan, not the idle beach kind and his firm craggy features and even white teeth displayed no sign of any work.

Paula had been dying to get a word all evening, but the talkative brunette had monopolised the man all night and she had just about given up.

“Of course Mr Sparrow if you did give me a chance I would buck my ideas up and follow your guidance,” the girl said.

Paul had been about to speak when she continued, “I guess you heard that I got myself in a bit of a mess? It’s my own fault really, I never listen you see. Me and my big mouth…”

Paul coughed and then he finally asserted himself in a firm baritone, “I have heard all about you Miss Stein…”

“Kimberly,” the girl offered, interrupting him again.

“…Kimberly. But I wonder what you have heard about me,” Paul continued.

“Oh that…” Kimberly blushed, “Well if you took me on in your little family, so to speak, I expect you could lick me into shape. I know I need it and I would take my due.”

“I am not sure you really know what being in ‘my little family’ as you call it really entails…” Paul continued.

“Oh I do, really I do, Stacey told me…” she suddenly became self-aware, “Oh, I do go on don’t I? Stacey said… well she showed me the guidelines and… I saw what you…”

By now Paula had been drawn like a magnet to the couple and had come close enough not only to fully hear the exchange but had made her presence obvious. Paul Sparrow eyed her with interest and then turned back to Kimberly.

“I believe in a good spanking for feckless and wayward girls, and you are in no way too old, believe me. If I were to deal with you as you suggested…” he said.

“Oh do,” Kimberly gushed, “I deserve it, really I do.”

“What do you think Ms…?” Paul asked suddenly rounding on Paula.

“Bright, Paula Bright,” Paula said smoothly, “What do I think about what?”

“About me taking this girl on and giving her good sound spanking? Do you think she could handle it?” Paul chuckled.

Kimberly, not having realised Paula was there, looked startled.

“Just a spanking? I should think it would take just a 100 strokes of a good stingy cane just to get her attention,” Paula said silkily.

“The cane,” Kimberly gasped.

“Why not?” Paula shrugged.

“And you think you could take a hundred strokes do you?” Paul asked with interest.

Paula had no idea, but her head was spinning and it was all she could do to breath.

“Of course,” she boasted.

In a spirit of competition the upstaged Kimberly piped up, “Well so could I. If that’s what I deserve for all the screw-ups you know about.”

Paul half swallowed his lips thoughtfully and nodded.

“I mean it,” Kimberly pressed him desperately; “I’ll take a full slate of whatever I am due of the harshest interpretation you can make of the rules. I know you have rules and penalties and…”

“Yes I know,” Paul sighed, “The rather indiscreet Stacey told you. I will have to settle with that young lady too.”

“You mean you will do it?” Kimberly gushed.

“What do you say Ms Bright? Can you take 100 strokes? If you can without crying off I’ll give you a job or a contract or whatever it is you have been angling for. If young Stacey can and you can’t take more than her then you lose. But you won’t know how many that is until after, but she will get less I suspect. Not being…”

“As old?” Paula said with pursed lips.

Paul cast an eye over Paula’s generous curves and said, “Not old,” he winked, “Just more mature and more experienced than this delicate flower.”

Paula tried not laugh and failed and covered the fact that she had been won over by saluting the man with her glass.

*

Paul sat studying the nervous Kimberly who stood before him in just her blouse and stockings.

“While on secondment to my… public business, shall we say, you have been late… well almost every day, and very late…” he ran a finger down the page, “Five times? You have failed to attend a training session and… oh dear, you lost a client folio and it had to be sent… let me guess…” Paul turned the page of the file, “…late.”

Kimberly blushed and looked at where she usually wore shoes. For once she didn’t speak.

“I am going to defer the rest of your… sins until you either do or do not make the grade,” Paul said closing the file.

“But I promised to…” Kimberly wailed, determined that he should have no reason to say she did not take her due as agreed.

“Be quiet,” Paul snapped. “You have quite enough to contend with for now. This is not a game.”

“Yes Sir,” Kimberly said, now cowed.

“For being late three times, an over-the-knee spanking. For repeat of offence another spanking. For being very late, yet another spanking, augmented for repeat offending. Then we have four further counts requiring six, nine, 12 and 15 of the best with my cane. A stout paddling for missing a training course and as for losing the client portfolio…” Paul sighed.

Kimberly gulped but straightened up and said firmly, “Yes Sir.”

“So what does that make before I take your other offences into account?”

Kimberly had already been counting and blushed.

“Four spankings, one augmented, one with a stout paddle and 42 strokes of the cane Sir,” Kimberly said bravely.

Paul was impressed; she was perhaps not the flake she seemed.

“Can you handle that all in one go?” he said, “Remember you may get something on top and then we have…” Paul glanced at the file, “Quite a bit to catch-up on another time.”

“It’ll do me good Sir, I need someone to give a firm hand,” Kimberly said, but her voice was tight and barely a croak now.

*

Kimberly was a mess. The first spanking had left her kicking and panting with a strawberry red bottom peeking out from under the hem of her blouse. The second, directly afterwards, carried out with a short hand-paddle, had her barking at the moon. Then after only a minute or so and long before it was over she had broken down into tears.

Now she stood facing the corner with her bare welted bottom well-displayed and make-up running down her face.

“That’s what I consider a spanking and an augmented spanking. You’re already tender enough for the cane aren’t you?” Paul said as he studied his handiwork.

“Yes Sir,” Kimberly said miserably.

It hadn’t taken her long to stop crying and all in all she thought it hadn’t been so bad. But at the back of her mind she thought about the cane and the rather heavy count. But if that old bag Paula whatshername could take it then…

“I am going to put you back over my knee and spank you at my leisure after we are done so now I want you to bend over the desk for the paddle,” Pauls finally told.

“Yes Sir,” Kimberly said meekly.

The paddle was not as stout as she imagined and she knew he had heavier ones. She hoped he didn’t think she would break. She had meant what she had said about paying her dues. Nevertheless the paddle was big enough and crafted from thick leather.

“Just 12, I think,” he said as she offered up her bottom. “You will have enough to contend with if you survive this lot and still want to join my little inner sanctum.”

Kimberly nodded; she was saving her strength for the main event to come.

The first swat was breath-stealing and her eyes flew open in surprise. She was still wrestling with it when the next swat really lit a fire. She knew by rights she should get three or four times the swats with a serious paddle for her sins, but just then she was so very grateful for Mr Sparrow’s mercy.

As the rest biting blasts landed her cries sounded like laughter at first, but then these wailing ‘chuckles’ gave way to true sobs and she had to use all her will power to hold on and continue to offer her bottom.

I’ll never sit down again, I’ll never, never sit down, she told herself over and over. But she took a strange comfort from the conviction that she deserved it.

“You still not sitting down Kimberly?” her friends would say.

“No, not yet, maybe by March, I really deserved it you know, I am such a screw-up. I will probably be spanked again before then and serves me right,” she would say, “Make sure you tell everyone, it is so much more embarrassing that way and it will do me good.”

A voice called her back to the real world.

“Kimberly, can you hear me?” Paul was saying.

“Yes Sir,” she said miserably.

“You can go to the corner again,” he said gently, “I’ll cane you later, much later.”

Kimberly sucked in air sharply through her nose and painfully straightened up. The corner looked so cosy and humble, and so very far away.

“Yes Sir,” she sobbed.

To be concluded tomorrow.

Our story began here.

Paula was about as far from feeling cool and confident as it was possible to be. In fact if this was a kin to a walk in Hyde Park, then she was wading through wire grass on the Mongolian Steppe. Aside from that, the day was like any other and as much as she imagined that everyone she passed on the street knew. Apart from the occasional admiring glance that she didn’t quite believe, everything was quite normal.

It had taken her ages to decide what to wear and in the end she had purchased some very expensive black silk matching underwear and suspenders. She decided that her best pencil business suit would serve over the top, but part of her wondered is he wouldn’t just have her naked.

Paula blushed. If she were honest she hoped he would ‘take’ full advantage, it would be an adventure, but then he was only going along with this because… she sighed. She had no idea really.

The office was down a narrow cut – off a side street and through an anonymous door. It was a mid-Victorian build that had not altered in style since Edward VII had drawn breath and it had that comforting if fusty smell that only old but well-maintained houses had.

Paula knew that it was not a building from which anyone actually worked and that only Paul Sparrow’s inner circle knew where his real lairs were located, but at least the cheerful formality suited the occasion. She could not believe that she was really here at all.

She was admitted a few moments after the doorbell had sounded and almost at once a smiling Paul Sparrow had appeared at the top of the ornate carved staircase immediately inside.

“Sorry I’m late,” she called up, “It’s quite hard to find.”

Then she realised that she was making excuses and blushed.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Sparrow said pleasantly, “You don’t work for me… yet,” he added, “You are my guest. Please come up.”

Paula returned the smile and put her best and most confident face forward.

“My temporary study is this way, but I prefer if we go around for now,” Paul said brightly as he lead the way. “You may find out why later.”

He seemed to indicate a pair of double Victorian panelled doors, as if they held some treasure. Paula nodded in acceptance, quite sure that she had no inkling of the man’s many secrets and she would waste no time to guess.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he said coming to the point. “After all you had been…”

“I am sure,” Paula said breezily, “Are you? I mean I am not exactly one of those pretty little things you play with.”

He frowned.

“Sorry, I just meant… well I’m not…”

“Please don’t put yourself down, but for a novice… well 100 strokes is rather…” Paul began.

“What makes you think I am a novice?” Paula said quickly.

In her mind she had been worked on by pirates and princes. What was one billionaire?

Paul looked uncertain but he smiled and led her into an old-fashioned study.

“If you change your mind just say…” Paul considered a suitable phrase.

But Paula rolled up her eyes and said, “Please, no ridiculous safe words, if I change my mind midstream you’ll soon know about it and I imagine…” she had been about to say that she imagined that if they came to any permanent arrangements then she expected to have no say at all, but that was extremely forward and presumptuous of her. Not to say a pipe dream. So she said, “I imagine a man of your experience will be able to tell.”

He smiled pleasantly and agreed with a nod. “Remember, you only have to beat our poor Miss Stein’s count,” he told her.

He knew she was lying about being experienced, but if she took half as many as she agreed in good heart he would find something for her as a reward.

“How do you want me?” Paula said, she wanted to get it started before she was mauled to death by the insects clawing at her insides.

“You had better remove your outer clothing and your… well anything that might get in the way,” he said.

He felt oddly nervous, as if with a real woman he wouldn’t measure up. To cover himself he studied the cane options and wondered which would allow her to go the distance without too severely marking her.

Paula returned a tight nervous smile and turned away to undress.

“When you’re ready bend over the desk and make yourself comfortable,” he told her.

Paula wished now she hadn’t worn such brief underwear. All the magazines told her she was overweight and all the slim little things Mr Sparrow was used to her were… well how could she…? She swallowed and blushed. Only her pride kept her from fleeing. Without pause she stripped to stockings and bra and quickly bent over the desk to present her full matron behind to him.

Sparrow watched her bend and sucked in an excited breath. There was something satisfying about the submission of a mature woman; not that she wasn’t still young to him. He was after all nearly old enough to be her father.

He studied her full round bottom and smiled. It was not as trim as Kimberly’s had been, but then she was a tad too thin for his taste. And although Paula had some dimples and stretch marks on her thighs, her bottom was heroic and offered plenty to work on.

“I am going to give you the caning in sets of 12,” he said finally. “Try to stay the course for a set and I will then proceed only with your consent.”

“I understand,” Paula said in a thick voice so that she had to swallow.

“That is eight sets with four at the end,” he told her just to make sure she got it.

He had given out a 100 strokes before, more than once, but that was with very hardened cases. He had been astonished when Kimberly had taken all 42 strokes on top of some very sound spankings. It would be interesting to compare.

Paula was nodding.

I bet she wants to get it over with, he mused. Then he made a start.

Paula flinched when he tapped at her bottom, but he couldn’t resist rubbing down her offered curves anyway. Then he drew back his arm and let her have a medium stroke across both cheeks.

*

The caress of the stick seemed to go on for eons and Paula felt her bud tighten. She was also acutely aware of her sharp smell of arousal and blushing prayed that he wasn’t. She had dreamed of this moment so many times and now… she was afraid and excited and didn’t want it to happen… and at the same time revelled in her reluctance.

The stroke hurt before she either heard or really felt it, like it all happened backwards. She was still marvelling at the thwick-crack in the air when she realised her mistake. It hadn’t hurt at all, not really, for that initial toy pain was just a hint, a foretaste of her fate. About a second and a lifetime after the first true impact came the bite and she made saucers with her eyes.

“Omigod,” she gasped.

Paul loved the whitish pink line he had made and watched it deepen in colour as she squirmed. As he watched, the pale tramline rose in a long bump and became darker still.

“That was just a tester stroke,” he muttered as he caned her again, this time a little harder.

“Sheeeeesh,” she spat and bucked and fluttered on the desktop.

“That is more the way of things,” he said.

Paula was still clenched up and wondering if she could hang on for the twelfth stroke so that she could end it.

“You know, I think we will have you count them,” he said, then he tapped her bottom gently with the cane, “So how many is that so far?”

“Two,” she said in a sullen voice.

“If you don’t want to do this then we won’t,” he snapped at her, “But if you are going to do it, you will do it with good grace or I will lay them on so hard you will beg to end it.”

Paula flushed and felt genuinely ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “That was two so far…um… Sir?”

“Thank you,” he said, “You’re doing well.”

She nodded and he struck in hard again.

“Oh ffff-fah-fahk,” she shouted and then gulping down air she said, “Three Sir.”

“Three Sir,” he repeated cheerfully, “Now we are cooking on gas.”

Paula grasped the top of the desk as she took in slow steady breaths of air through her nose and gritted her teeth. She rode the lines of sawing fire in her bottom as if she were riding a fiery tiger.

*

It took a lifetime to reach the end of the first set, but to Paula’s surprise she wasn’t crying. The strokes on her bottom felt tight and embraced her curves like they belonged and she couldn’t help rolling her bottom at Paul in the most undignified way.

Even more of a surprise was when she heard herself answering, “I am ready.”

She was still pondering this in wonder when the next stroke landed and she actually yelled. For a moment she almost leapt up and rounded on him for the insult and then she remembered what the game was.

“Fffffffffffffffffffffff-errrteeen…. Ss-sir,” she groaned.

How could that stroke be worse than the others she wondered? But not for long as the next stroke followed on and carved a piece of her soul like warm ham.

“Four-teen,” she grunted sharply, “S-sir.”

Paula shamelessly bucked her bottom up and down enticingly as if to shake free of the clinging sting. Sparrow indulged this for a while, enjoying the deep purple ridges that overflowed red into the full expanse of her behind.

There was plenty of room for half a hundred, he mused, but then he would be working over blisters and then they would both know who she was.

*

When Paula found herself saying a number it sounded wrong. It was too high a count and she quailed inwardly. He would punish her for getting it wrong and rightly so. Then he caned her again and even as the throbbing bite held her in its thrall she automatically wailed: “Fer-fertee-ssssix ssssssssssssir.”

“Third set over, you are doing so well,” Paul said enthusiastically.

Paula nodded but used the rest of her strength for heavy breathing. For some reason she resented the pause in proceedings, perhaps she just wanted to get it over with, she rationalised.

“Look, are you sure you want to continue?” Paul said eyeing the purple corrugations on her now vast behind. It couldn’t have swollen that much, but the new colouring and texture gave it added emphasis and she looked magnificent.

Paula’s face was wet and she paused to wipe her nose. But she wasn’t truly crying, not yet.

“I’m okay,” she said.

He nodded and picked up a slightly lighter cane. His lightest short of a riding switch.

“We will see how you feel at the halfway mark,” he said solicitously.

“Halfway?” she mumbled.

“Yes, you’re nearly there,” he grinned.

*

The lighter cane had hurt more, but oddly she welcomed it. It meant she was still in the game. But an age passed before the set was over and by the end she was clinging on to the edge of her comfort zone. Was she crazy?

Paul stooped to examine her raw bottom and frowned. She was holding up well but her behind was so sore it was a wonder that no skin was broken.

“Right young lady, I want you in that corner,” he barked at her.

“Wh-what?” Paula was confused.

“I am going to make you stand over there in that corner for a while,” he reaffirmed.

Paula gaped at him and then at the corner. She was blushing now and for a moment she considered telling him it was not part of the deal. But she knew now that it wasn’t true. Almost everything had been a part of the deal from the moment of her submission.

Standing up was a trial and the blood flooding into her tortured bottom seared as badly as another round of 12. Her breathing was ragged again and she had to grit her teeth. Suddenly the corner looked like safety.

“How long for?” she sighed and then instinctively added a “Sir.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The answer was ‘until he told her otherwise.’

As she put her face to the corner as meekly as any Victorian maid her bottom throbbed with fire and she had to ride waves of pain in awe. Forty-eight, not even quite halfway, not truly and that extra few made a difference as she couldn’t have believed before.

The tears came suddenly and violently. Great gouts of hooting wails accompanying the virtual cascade down her cheeks.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, patting her on the shoulder.

This comfort only served to make her cry all the more.

Paula sobbed for a good 15 minutes or more before getting hold of herself. She felt like a shiny new bucket after the scrub-water had been poured down the drain: empty, clean and rubbed raw behind as if that was where the brush had been applied. But she supposed that in a sense it had.

Now she had to contend with the humility of the corner without her tears to distract her. Idly she wondered what would happen if someone else saw her there. The idea hit her in a surge and she felt as if she were falling. The buzz was like too much coffee or a ride in an open top sports car and she felt dizzy. Nor did the feeling fade and the tension grew.

It was another half an hour before Sparrow called her back. Then she her heart went into her mouth and she gulped. Please no more, she prayed silently.

“You’re about done aren’t you?” he said gently, “A brilliant achievement for a first time and it is your first time isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“I am going to spank you for that lie as soon as your bottom can take it,” he chuckled. “Come on get dressed.”

Despite the unrelenting burn in her bottom her heart lurched at the spanking threat and Paula felt somewhat squirmy. Nevertheless, she shook her head. It wasn’t finished. Not the task, not the punishment and certainly not her transformation.

“You have a place in my inner circle, a job if you like, just name your terms,” he said. “If you like, you can go vanilla. I have a lot of…”

“We have a deal,” she said firmly, “An arrangement. Don’t disappoint me.”

Sparrow nodded. Then making one more appeal he said, “You have already topped young Kimberly, there really is no need.”

But Paula smiled and taking careful steps moved forward and bent back over the desk to offer Sparrow her blistered behind.

The rest of the caning seemed to go quickly and was not half as bad as she had feared. Somehow that disappointed her and she wondered at that. But she knew that it was not the pain or the fire that had changed, but her. Each count was a promise; each ‘Sir’ a submission and she embraced it all.

Not that it stopped the tears. Her second round of sobbing was like a purge; as if all the oceans of the world had flowed through her and left her scoured. This time, however, he held her and she folded into his arms totally his; for that moment anyway.

“Now come with me,” he said at last, the stern edge having returned to his voice.

She welcomed it. His tone promised a spanking if she disobeyed and she would deserve it. But the fire with every step told her this was not one of her stories and all that befell her would be on his terms.

“Leave those,” he said when she made a half-hearted attempt to retrieve her knickers and skirt.

Sparrow led her into the hall and back to the doors he had left closed earlier. She was curious now, as if beyond the Victorian panels her new life was waiting.

He threw back the doors to reveal a dark wooden panelled wall. Facing which was a half-naked Kimberly, hands on head, with her bare bottom exposed. Paula admired the way the girl did not flinch and marvelled at the extensive network of welts that webbed her purple-red bottom. She couldn’t help a glance back over her shoulder at her own bottom for a comparison.

“Both of you have one more spanking coming,” Paul told them. “You can wait here for it together.”

“Yes Sir,” Paula said decisively.

Kimberly’s agreement was somewhat tardy and meek. Paula snorted with pride.

Sparrow watched as the woman went to stand next to the girl and was pleased that she placed her hands on her head without being told. They would both stand there for a while until he was ready for them.

*

Sparrow allowed Paula to turn around and watch Kimberly’s spanking. He pleased to see that she was composed now and was thoroughly enjoying the girl’s discomfort.

He had opted for taking Kimberly over his knee for a simple and thorough hand-spanking, but on her raw blistered bottom his palm felt like a fiery taws and she relived every stroke of the cane she had taken earlier that day.

As a result she mewled like a scolded kitten and kicked up her legs in total surrender.

“I’m sorry Mr Sparrow Sir, I’m so sorry,” she wept.

But Sparrow spanked her for a good 10 minutes before dismissing her.

Knowing it was now her turn Paula’s tummy tingled, but she was glad that the girl had been allowed to scurry away in a flood of tears and was not to watch her turn.

“This for lying about your experience,” Sparrow told Paula as he took her across his knee.

“Yes Sir,” Paula whispered as she embraced her new home.

The spanking, her first, began as a thrill. But given as it was on top of 100 cane strokes it soon lit a fire and in very short order Paula gave out with ever more shrill and livelier yelps.

“You will remember this as no other,” Sparrow whispered to her.

“Yes Sir,” Paula wailed, but she clawed against him all the same unable to help herself under the spanks.

“Steady now, there is no hurry,” he told her gently, “We are going to take our time.”

Then with just his hand he finished her and made her his.

The end.

Our story began here.

Home for the Heart
Fear had acceded to Katrin’s wish to delay their departure for one more day. Although she really would have preferred a week, she thought ruefully as she eased her behind onto the seat of the coach.

It would take many days to reach Downley and despite her punishment she wanted to make the most of them before they reached home where they would have to have separate rooms.

“Are you still angry with me?” she said shyly and then winced as the padded seat proved too hard.

He snorted in amusement as she jerked to her feet and scowled at him.

“It looks like you will have to kneel up on the seat,” he said with a smirk.

Katrin blushed, her chastisement was probably already the talk of Timon and she wasn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction by giving them such a humiliating display. But a second attempt to sit transferred the ache to her face and she openly winced again as she took some weight on her hands.

“Perhaps once we are on the open road I might be permitted to kneel on the floor,” she said tartly with an exaggerated tone of dignity.

“Perhaps I should pin your skirts up and make you kneel on the outrigger,” Fear teased her.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Katrin gasped, very much afraid that he might.

He laughed and then sighed, “It’s a long journey; I’ll put a cushion on the floor once we are out of sight of the city. But remember I haven’t finished with you,” he added with a frown.

Katrin tried to glower at him, but that ended in a blush and she cast her gaze downwards. Then the coach pulled away with a lurch and Katrin was thrown back hard upon her bottom.

“Ooh sheeesh,” she groaned, adding ruefully, “Maybe I’ll just risk kneeling right off.”

Fear indulged her with a smile and tossed a cushion at her from the seat beside him.

“Thanks,” Katrin said shyly.

*

Downley appeared as it always had, solid and permanent with its grey and red brick walls and high ground floor windows, a legacy from more dangerous times. Katrin frowned at the thought. When had things been more dangerous than now, she mused. But as she took in the scene another thought entered her mind. This is where it all began. Katrin sighed.

The trees that framed the house were still dressed in summer green, but here and there a yellowing interloper could be seen among the leaves and one or two of these had been shed like premature confetti for an unconfirmed wedding.

The only thing that had changed was perhaps the track that led to the front apron. It was more rutted than Katrin remembered and as the coach lurched she praised the fact that her bottom was no longer quite so tender as it had been almost a week before when they had set out from the capital.

“Are you sure I will be welcome here?” Fear asked in his serious voice.

Katrin took his arm and grinned.

“Of course, father was very clear about that,” she nodded enthusiastically. “A De Lacy woman taking a lover is a scandal somewhere well below one becoming an apprentice to a Magus. Besides, the war makes everything seem so… unimportant now.”

Fear smiled back allowing an escape of air through his nose. The best he could manage by way of a laugh just then. After all, Lord De Lacy, as he now was, was not a man to be trifled with and no amount of magic would protect him from a jealous father.

“You’re nervous,” Katrin gasped in amusement.

Fear became uncomfortable and shifted on his seat.

“I wasn’t always a mage,” he said, “I remember climbing out of young girls’ bedrooms with an angry Papa in pursuit.”

Katrin giggled and Fear returned a broad grin that lasted all the way to the front door of the house.

Delia Cain stood impassively on the front step and beside her were two maids; Ellen, who Katrin knew well and another, a short rust-haired girl with too many freckles.

Katrin noted that her former governess who was now her father’s mistress had small flecks of white in her immaculate black hair, but far from looking older, she looked younger than before. Katrin noted with amused approval that the woman had made no concession to vanity with regard to her hair. Not because she was against such things, but because the woman had thrashed her many times for just such a crime.

Katrin and Delia eyed each other, both with a slight blush touching their faces. Both had been severely punished at the other’s hands, Katrin extensively over several years. But at their last such encounter it had been Delia who had suffered.

“My lady, I am so glad to see you,” the former governess gushed.

“Delia,” Katrin said warmly.

After a pause they embraced as if Mark had indeed married her.

“Lord Downley is…”

Katrin giggled at the pompous opening and Delia smiled.

“Your father is in his study, he’s been working for days,” she said with a laugh as she caught herself on. Then to Fear she offered a small bow. “Welcome Arch Magus, Trudy will show you to your room.”

Fear remembered that Ellen was the taller maid and so offered his smile to Trudy who giggled and stared back at him in awe. Katrin saw the exchange and pursed her lips in disapproval.

“Thank you Mistress Cain,” Fear said pleasantly and then reached out to rescue his bag from the struggling Trudy.

*

Mark De Lacy, the newly made Count of Downley, was framed by the door of his study as Katrin entered the front hallway. For a moment his face had a thunderous look as if he had lost something and was still looking for it. His stern countenance seemed to scan his daughter for the least thing worthy of his approval.

The woman he now faced looked like his daughter, but she was now grown and poised like her mother and the old nobleman scarce recognised her. The he saw her scowl as she had as a child, a small crinkle marring the bridge of her nose. In his mind he heard her say ‘oh Daddy’ and his face cracked into a smile and he grinned.

Katrin abandoned dignity and sprang across the hall into his arms.

“Oh Daddy,” she cried.

The County swept her up into his arms and did a pirouette for a full circle. As they returned to face the door Mark caught Fear’s eye and mouthed the words, ‘thank you.’

“I trust your journey was acceptable,” Mark said at last as he returned to a more dignified posture, “The roads are so terrible at the moment, I have to attend a county committee meeting next week to discuss it. The damn war you know.”

“We stopped off at a few inns on the road,” Katrin said sheepishly with a blush. Memories of the night before assailed her and she was certain that her father knew.

“As you say the roads were quite bad my lord,” Fear put in.

Mark nodded and smiled awkwardly at his rival for Katrin’s affections.

“Are you here for long? I mean, perhaps tomorrow I could organise a hunt?” he asked carefully.

Katrin beamed at him and did a girlish half bounce as if the prospect of riding the estate was all she dreamed of.

“We are in no particular rush,” Fear said, “But I am afraid Katrin and I have something else to attend to tomorrow and I doubt that our girl will want very much to sit a horse for a few days after that.”

Katrin gaped and rounded on her man, her face crimson at such words being spoken before the servants.

“Ah,” Mark said, but a small smirk touch his face and he rubbed it away with his hand. “What has she done now?”

“Oh nothing as yet, I rather suspect that she wouldn’t dare,” Fear said sharply, his eyes defying Katrin to berate him. “But we have still to resolve the matter of our girl’s incursion onto the battlefield against orders.”

She knew ‘that look’ and swallowing her embarrassment ducked her head.

“What still?” Mark said with a frown.

“We had another issue to resolve before that and have been on the road since,” Fear replied, I thought it prudent, not to mention kinder to defer the matter until our arrival.”

“Absolutely,” Mark said casually, “Not my business anyway,” he added looking at Katrin significantly, “Not these days. Delia will attend to anything you need.”

Delia, who had been standing discreetly back, looked dismayed at the suggestion she should get involved and to cover her embarrassment made scolding faces at Ellen and Trudy, ushering them away.

“Oh I think I can handle things,” Fear said, still looking at Katrin, “But I trust you will not be disturbed by the noise and any undignified displays? I mean to make a point.”

“Oh it is of no account,” Mark said dismissively, “These walls have seen worse. Come and have a drink.”

Katrin gulped and ducked her head again.

“Come on I know I…” she wailed, but it sounded far too childish to continue and she settle for offering the retreating men a rueful pout.

*

Katrin felt silly getting up so early. After all, who would know if she didn’t? But Fear had been very specific and in very certain terms he had explained what would happen if he even suspected that she had not obeyed him.

Worse than surrendering to a punishment of her accord was the attire she had to wear. The brief muslin shift was ridiculously short and the thin material was no protection against the pre-dawn chill. She particularly resented the way in which the cloth just covered her in front so as to give a veneer of respectability to her shame, but was hopelessly revealing behind even if she tugged the cloth down at the back.

An inspection over her shoulder in the long mirror in her room showed exposed bottom cheeks well below the hem. She glowered angrily at the display and made to stamp her foot. Damn the man, he is so strict and father thinks it is funny.

What made her all the more apprehensive was that the only clothing she had been permitted, no required to put on, were stiff canvas slippers of the kind that she might wear for gardening. This was more than a hint that she would be taken outside, which in her current mode of dress was mortifying.

But it had happened before now. Life under Delia’s hand had often led to such experiences and she blushed at the memory. In her mind she reluctantly prayed that Fear intended to switch her, but she rather suspected that her morning would be spent gathering birch rods for a stiffer sanction.

The worst part of that was that she would be outside all the longer and at greater risk of being seen.

However, before that she had to go down to the morning room and stand in the corner with her hands on her head and be there when the first of the household had risen. Damn the man.

Katrin felt an absolute fool as she faced the corner of the room and for a long minute or two she contemplated sitting in the window seat until she heard the maid get up. But servants were such quiet creatures and it was a certainty that Trudy or Ellen would appear announced and see that she had not obeyed her master.

She could hear Fear now, “I trust all was in order when you came down?”

The maid would blush and stammer her betrayal even if unintended. And even if Fear questioned only her, she would fail in a lie. Damn the man.

Katrin gave a heavy sigh and silently cursed the corner before striding defiantly into it. My hands don’t need to go on my head right away, she thought, but her arms lifted without volition and her fingers found their way to her crown and locked themselves there. It was a kind of magic, she thought bitterly. Damn the man.

*

Katrin first sensed, rather than heard Trudy gaping at her predicament from the middle of the room. She had been standing with her nose in the corner shivering at the chill around her exposed bottom for some time. Not long enough for her arms to ache overmuch, but she had long enough to zone out a little. Perhaps that’s how the maid had entered the room unheard.

“Eh… my lady I…” Trudy stammered.

Katrin felt a blast of shame flood her face and bit back a hint of tears.

“It’s alright… Trudy isn’t it? Just go about your work,” Katrin said in a rather wan voice, “I am sure you have seen a punished girl before.”

“Yes Ma’am, Ellen and I are often in that very corner. Mistress Cain is most… I mean,” Trudy realised that she was being over familiar and felt her buttocks clench, “Well yes… eh… my lady… I’ll… the grate… yes ma’am.”

Trudy gaped once more at the sphere of Katrin’s exposed hips and the tight curves of the deeply split bottom so humbled before her. Here and there were tiny traces of brown and yellow bruising, belying a previous spanking of some sort. But those marks were old and did nothing to mar her master’s daughter’s astonishing beauty.

Trudy was glad that her own bottom was not so inviting or Delia would have blistered her much more often than once a week, she thought ruefully, her hand straying to rub at her behind.

Then thoughts of a spanking and her own bottom spurred her back to work. In a moment she was on her knees humming into the grate as she washed it down and got ready to replace the flowers that adorned it during the summer months. Another few weeks and I will have to start lighting it, she mused absently.

“La, la, da,” she sang much to Katrin’s annoyance.

*

Half an hour after Trudy’s appearance the house came fully alive and it seemed that the morning room had more visitors than a seed table in an orchard.

Every one of these unwelcome witnesses paused significantly at Katrin’s exposure and either coughed and left the room, as her father had, or made an amused sound like Ellen’s giggle.

Only Delia tried to ignore Katrin’s plight, but not having to meet the young journeyman’s eyes, she found herself remembering when the tables had been turned and the suffering had been hers.

It was an amusing enough thrill when one’s own bottom was not for the chop, she thought with a shrug, and no harm would come of it. After all it was just a colourful tradition they all suffered from time to time, even Delia when Mark put his mind to it. It would probably do the proud Katrin De Lacy some good.

Knowing Delia was behind her watching, Katrin sighed and renewed her acquaintance with the fresh hot blood at her cheeks. The whole house was drinking in her curves for amusement and she couldn’t even look them in the eye and say it wasn’t fair. Not really. Oh damn the man. Involuntarily she stamped her foot and a tear rolled down one cheek.

Delia just had to giggle at that.

“Poor girl,” she muttered, “But you have had worse and it will soon be over.”

*

Finally Fear arrived and stood with his arms folded regarding his love.

“Turn around,” he said in a dark rich voice.

All resentment drained from Katrin then and she slowly turned and looked at the mage sheepishly, nervously biting her lower lip.

“You are a student of Pandoria, my young apprentice. It is a disciplined life and one that requires active thought and active decisions. Am I correct?” Fear said calmly.

Katrin blanched and nodded. She hadn’t seen Fear so angry.

“You of all people should be aware of dark subtle forces and the importance of consulting with someone more experienced before yielding to such influences,” Fear continued. “That you were ‘drawn’ to the battlefield is a case in point. Where was your will? Can you tell me that you would do so again, if you were in your right mind I mean?”

Katrin swallowed. She hadn’t seen it like that before and if it had been anyone else on the battlefield she would have kicked herself for yielding to such a summoning.

“But I…” Katrin said in woeful voice.

“What did you? Saved the day did you? It is possible. We will never know now will we? I might have prevailed anyway. But what you must see, what it is essential that you understand is…” Fear sounded urgent now and took a step forward so that she backed away. “…that-is-not-the-point.”

Katrin swallowed and averted her eyes as if looking for an answer in the recently cleaned grate.

“We have a great power you and I. And with it comes a great responsibility. A cliché I know, but it is true. You cannot be so susceptible to outside impulses,” Fear hissed at her, “Can’t you see that?”

Katrin tightened her jaw and unfocussed her eyes. The sensation had come from within, she was sure of it? Wasn’t she? Doubt filled her now. She didn’t know, not for sure. It had seemed to be the right thing at the time. But she remembered the Beast and how it had assailed her. If she had been as weak then… she shuddered.

“I see you begin to understand,” Fear sighed.

Katrin licked her lips and offered him the merest of nods.

“Now this is your home, you were punished here,” Fear said gently. “It made you who you are and… and that brings me to the most important thing. Here you are safe, here you can make mistakes. And as we go on, I will be your home. But if you ever, and I mean ever, put your life so recklessly in danger, regardless of what you have been told. Then my precious love I will put you so firmly in your place that you might not sit down for a month.”

Fear seized her by the shoulders then and shook her.

“Do you hear me?” he barked. “I don’t care if you are a mage or even make it to being the Grand Magus, you will deal with me in such matters.”

It was a promise, an eternal promise and Katrin’s heart pounded in her chest. What did it mean?

“Has it not occurred to you why your family, your father has permitted me to handle you so?” Fear allowed a small light to his eyes.

Lifting her head to meet his face, Katrin’s eyes darted back and forth in her head as she tried to contemplate the unfathomable. The hope was exquisite and she could not name it even to herself.

“Last night I asked your father for your hand in marriage and he agreed,” Fear said in a calm slow voice.

Katrin’s eyes went wide and she could not help smiling.

“But we can’t… you’re a mage and I’m… the rules… what about…?” she gabbled.

“I am Arch Magus and I make my own rules,” Fear said sharply, there was danger written in his eyes, “If necessary we leave Pandoria and I will train you myself. I know enough to get you to adept level in any discipline you chose,” he promised.

“But…” there was one more thing; it escaped her like a mot in the eye as she confronted it.

“Katrin De Lacy… Lady Katrin, Journeyman of Pandoria, will you consent to be my wife?” Fear did not go down on one knee as was traditional, that would have been absurd in the circumstances, but he made a curt bow like a courtier.

Katrin felt a flash of pride, not to be asked, but as a noblewoman who had been so scarcely regarded in a marriage deal. But then she remembered that she was half naked and until a moment before had been standing in the corner like a naughty youngster.

The internal dialogue might have continued but the explosion of joy overtook her and rushed at the man clung to him for her soul’s existence.

“You bastard,” she wept.

“Is that a yes?” he grinned, tears pooling at his own eyes. “I know… I mean I hadn’t intended to ask you until after… but…”

Katrin nodded. She didn’t care. Nothing mattered.

“Can we tell father?” she gushed.

Then Fear frowned.

“Not just now, we have something left to attend to, don’t we?” he said.

Katrin gaped. “That’s not fair,” she wailed. “I mean it is but…”

Her mind was in turmoil.

“I mean to start as we will continue, do you understand?” he said sternly.

“Yes Sir,” she replied with a bite of her lip.

“Now let’s get this over with,” Fear sighed.

*

Katrin walked at a nervous crouch as if lowering her body would lower the hem of her impossibly short shift. At that moment even the prospect of marriage, a happy arrangement that whirled around in her head like a drunken bee, could distract her from her mortifying plight.

Fear had led her through a side door of the house and onto the small lawn that abutted the house between the west wing and the woods at the edge of the estate.

As she shivered and cowered on the step, Katrin noted the unkempt grass that was now ankle deep and wondered when the gardeners would return to see to it. It was a stray thought that kept her sane but it led her to hope that there would be few if any estate workers about to see her so exposed. She shivered again, this time not from the cold and blushed, the heat on her face in contrast to the chill about her legs and the lower curves of her naked bottom.

It was still yet early and it was not until they stepped out of the shadows that the sun felt warm. But still Katrin shivered and looked nervously about for any glimpse of a witness.

It was not the first time that she had been half-naked out of doors to be sent to collect birch rods or a switch, but it had been a long time since and in another life. She was well past 21 now and might be considered far too old for such a shameful indignity, but the truth of her life was that it was not for her to say.

In the panicked circle of emotions in her head this last idea was actually a comfort and led her to think again of her sudden betrothal to her master. She glanced back at Fear behind her and gave him a shy rueful smile.

He scowled at her and pointed angrily at the woods ahead.

For a moment he reminded her of Dniester, and what the old uncompromising wizard might have been like in his younger life. Despite everything she had a love for that old bastard too. But it was a transitory thought overtaken by the Arch Mage’s sharp directing finger that not only had to be obeyed, but directed her to the relative sanctuary of the trees where she might not be seen.

Still at an undignified crouch, Katrin scurried across the lawn to a gap between a holly bush and an old rowan tree quickly gaining the welcome chill of the shade.

“I am trying to make a point here and you just make cow eyes at me,” Fear snapped at her. “I have a good mind to march you down to the village to find the makings, down to the village on the open road,” he added.

“But its four miles,” Katrin gasped, “And everyone would see. I’d never live it down.”

She tugged at the front of her shift defensively, glad that at least it offered some covering, but that only raised the hem at the rear even more and did nothing to mitigate her plight.

Fear couldn’t help enjoying this more humble demeanour of hers. He had no intention of being as cruel as all that and he doubted that Mark would approve anyway. In fact he had taken care the day before to ascertain that most of the men and estate workers had yet to return from the war and that the only likely witnesses, if any, would be women and the very young.

However, Katrin did not know of any of this and she would squirm a little in sacrifice to his very sharp point of view on her discipline.

“So what, you will learn to obey,” he said, his voice hard. “I might even pause there at the tavern for an ale. You would look cute standing in the corner by the bar or does the village have some stocks? I could stay for lunch perhaps,” he teased.

Katrin’s jaw hung low and she blanched. It was impossible to tell if he were serious. He was certainly angry enough at her failings. And she had made a commitment in her heart years before that she was his no matter what and that she would submit to all. That morning’s betrothal only reinforced that.

Remembering that she felt a tickling warm glow that extended to between her legs, despite it all, this submission was a thrill. For a moment this comfort dulled her plight and she came again full circle in her emotions.

“Your eyes are smiling again,” he barked, do you think I am playing games?”

“No Sir,” she said hastily and ducked away deeper into the woods praying that he would not carry out his threat.

*

The forest was alive with birdsong that trilled in counterpoint as myriad flocks announced the intruders in their midst. The day was becoming warmer now and the sun had now journeyed above the tree tops and rained sunbeams through the canopy like curtains of light.

If Katrin had not had been almost naked and on her way to collect punishment rods for her bare bottom, she would have thrilled at the day. Drawing on the patterns, she saw it all in vivid swirls which overlaid the perfect mundane. Water and Earth power surged through it all until the forest resembled a garden for the gods in which late summer butterflies danced on air before alighting on luminescent flowers.

Katrin stopped and sighed, drinking in the scene as balm to her soul. For just a moment her nudity felt like an appropriate sacrifice to it all.

Fear might have scolded her, but he too saw it and all it might be. It was all there to be shaped to his will, a garden in which he could play like a deity. But a true master knew when to withhold his hand… and shifting to the mundane he studied the greater beauty of Katrin’s curve… and when to commit.

“Come on,” he chided her.

After a bit they broke from the trees and onto a track that Katrin knew led to the road to town. The wagon ruts in the ground were partially overgrown like a newly healed scar. It was another sign that there were few people about.

Nevertheless Fear’s threat assailed her and she bit her lip as if to prevent the heart in mouth tumbling onto the ground.

“What is the furthest you have ever been to collect birch rods?” Fear asked casually.

Katrin gulped and pointed deeper into the woods. She could not lie.

“A mile further on is the edge of some farm land. The best switches grow where it is most exposed to the field,” she said woodenly, staring at him expectantly.

“There are none closer?” he asked.

But he looked thoughtfully in the direction she had pointed and nodded in approval so that Katrin felt sick. As a girl it had been shameful to be watched by field hands as she collected switches. Delia had been cruel and she hated such punishments worse than any other.

She swallowed hard and in a hopeless voice replied, “Only back near the house where switches were cut for winter punishments.”

Fear nodded again and said, “I am enjoying this walk. I will remember it well. We will make a turn of the grounds and return for those.”

For a moment Katrin was terrified that he would lead them up the track to the village road but after a pause he turned the other way to follow the path deeper into the trees.

“You bastard,” Katrin sighed with relief. But she was careful to keep her words well under her gentle breath.

*

Katrin now stood facing the wall in what had been her old school room. In the middle of the room someone had thoughtfully pulled the flogging bench from the wall and dusted it down. The windows had been left open to air the room, which now smelt of polish and old leather.

Coupled with the walk in the woods and the undignified collection of birch rods, Katrin felt utterly humbled. Old feelings of scolding and tummy nerves tumbled through her mind and soul. She was transported back to endless schoolroom days and shameful spankings while maids tittered at the door, all this on the day she had been betrothed; long would it be a memorable one. She felt her face flush.

There were several birch rods now steeping in buckets and Katrin had no idea if he would use one or many. In her surrender she found it did not concern her. Her man would decide.

There it was again, the circle of bitter thrills. Her heart lurched again.

She looked closely at the wall in front of her nose until it defocussed and excluded the room behind her. Then she imagined she was in the corner at the inn with a gang of smirking labourers and shopkeepers all enjoying the view. Belly tightening shame flooded her and she shifted a little in her fantasy.

The stocks were harder for her to picture. But she wondered if she would mind the game so much if they were already married and about to leave the next day. Married, she gasped inwardly forgetting the inn. There it was again, the circle of bitter thrills. The gods she was aroused.

*

An hour had passed and at last Fear called Katrin from the corner to take her place over the flogging bench.

It was an antique, brought by her mother’s father from Timon. A solid affair of dark oak with a soft leather ‘ladies’ saddle’ on top of the frame. There was a place to kneel and bend right over or the furniture could be adjusted to hold a miscreant with straps.

Delia had made much use of it for birching Katrin in former days and no doubt from time to time the maids still felt the benefit. But Katrin had always wondered if her mother had suffered on the contraption or her grandmother, and how many before that?

Delia had told that her grandfather had given it to Mark as a wedding present. Thanks grandfather, she thought ruefully, I bet mother really appreciated that too.

It now stood before her like a threat and she scowled at it as if it were an old unwelcome friend at a feast.

“I am going to put you across my knee and spank you first,” Fear said and took her arm.

The reprieve was a pyric one. Katrin found herself upended over Fear’s knee and snuggled down with her bare bottom upper most. Exploring her generous curves with is hand he set the target area tingling in expectation. Then just as she began to enjoy it he let fly with a sharp slap that made her squeal.

There was no gentle warm up for her, Fear just set to spanking her soundly until she bucked and gasped over his knee. Within in moments her bottom was deeply red with fingertip blotches quickly merging into one.

“Have I been a cruel master?” he asked his voice a low rumble now.

“No Sir,” she groaned.

“Am I unjust now?” he murmured, his hand made an extra hard effort.

She sniffed and rapidly shook her head.

The spanking made tangy echoes of the walls and ceilings and there was no doubt it could be heard by anyone who came close enough to listen. The hand on flesh was so distinct that the indignity was hard to disguise. Katrin blushed a colour near to rivalling her bottom at the thought of it.

“Please, they can hear, it’s embarrassing,” she wailed.

“Embarrassing is it? Perhaps you would have preferred a trip to town?” he rasped.

“Nooo,” she squealed, kicking her legs in protest.

Katrin could later have sworn that the spanking lasted a week and even Fear had to shake his bruised hand in discomfort once he finally stopped.

“The gods, your bottom is firm,” he complained.

“Oh I’m so sorry,” she said in a sullen sarcastic tone.

“Oh don’t be, I have a cure for that,” he told her.

As he put her on her feet Katrin remembered the flogging bench and the waiting switches. For the first time since he had asked her, the prospect of marriage was far from her thoughts.

“Oh,” she sighed dejectedly and then bobbed up and down in distressed frustration.

*

Hard over and bare bottom upwards Katrin felt so vulnerable. She was still pondering this when the room was filled with a rattling-roar like wet hail on a tin roof. The shush-thwack that followed ended at her bottom and the breath-taking impact was followed by fire.

“Aiyeee,” Katrin shrieked.

It was a betrayal of her resolve and with white knuckles on wood she swallowed down air in a resolve to do better. She did for a count of four, but then the fire on fire was continuous and pain danced across her face.

“I… I… I…” she muttered over and over rolling with the burn.

Her thighs were now lightly sheened with sweat which loaned a gloss to the polished red that bubbled on her bottom. In response Katrin sniffed back unbidden nasal moisture, but a bead of water rolled from one eye around her nose down to her philtrum.

The next blast of the rod drew another scream and Katrin tumbled into true sobbing. Then with each further rain of pain she let out with something like, “Ay-yay-aiie,” and growled in angry frustration.

Fear birched on until Katrin’s empurpled behind was temporarily ruined and the first rod was in tatters. Katrin was left prone and sobbing in the wake.

“You have a choice now,” it was cruel he knew, but she was too accepting and his point needed that she took no salvation from buried pleasures. “I can spend rods until your reserve of anger turns to full contrition and then let Delia return a favour you once did her…”

Katrin’s eyes widened and she remembered her gift of devil root and a long, long day of misery for the woman.

“…or you can stand in the corner with the door open for an hour so between bouts of correction. The latter will take near as long and be far more shaming, but physically much less demanding.”

Katrin sucked in one long miserable breath and wailed, “That is the coward’s way.”

“It is the more merciful road that leads to humility and my true purpose,” Fear said gently.

“How… h-how many more times will I be birched?” she asked humbly, her words were laden with moisture.

“Not so many if you truly understand my point,” he told her, his voice still gentle.

“I do, I do,” she wailed.

“Then what is my point?” he asked soothingly.

“That I must be strong and obey you,” she sniffed.

“Yes, but above all it is yourself you must obey if you are to command the magic isn’t it?” his palm itched and he feared he did not have enough rods.

But Katrin nodded.

“That’s what I meant by being strong,” she said.

“Truly?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Then I will thrash you twice more,” he sighed, “Once to finish you off to be sure and once more because…?”

“…a contrite bottom is more tender and willing and more fittingly learns its lesson,” she quoted.

It was one of Delia’s favourites. But until that moment she had never fully understood the truth of it. Now Fear would complete the education her governess had begun.

“Good girl,” Fear smiled.

“Thank you Sir,” Katrin said meekly, managing a smile back over her shoulder.

“Alright, now into the corner with you and don’t you dare move,” he chided her. “We will continue you this in an hour or so.”

*

Katrin lay face down on her bed in a stupor. Her long dark hair was combed out across painfully white sheets at her shoulder while her body curved elegantly on top of the bedspread. Delia ran her eye down Katrin’s prone smooth white skin, which was only interrupted by the purple welted domes jutting up like tender hills between her long legs and the narrow sculptured waist.

The former governess stood supervising Ellen who dabbed gently at her mistress’s sore bottom with a cold wet flannel. The maid was totally in awe of the raw tender aftermath of the worst punishment she had ever heard of, let alone seen.

“I half expected you to bring devil’s root balm,” Katrin said ruefully. “It would probably serve me right.”

Ellen’s eyes noticeably widened at the suggestion and she gaped at Delia for the least sign that the woman could ever do such a thing. Then drawing on personal experience she hastily concluded that she would and dipped her head to the task in hand.

“That was an option the maestro had discussed with me, but I understand that he persuaded you to another course,” Delia said gently.

“I bet you’re disappointed, but then I am disappointed with myself rather, I turned out to be a bit of a coward didn’t I?” Katrin said somberly.

“It would be hypocritical of me to deny that I wouldn’t have extracted a measure of satisfaction from a little cruel participation, but I don’t think it was needful and I think things turned out for the best,” Delia said lightly.

Katrin snorted derisively, but then shot Delia a glance and saw sincerity written there.

Katrin dropped her head and stared blankly at the pillow and beyond it to space.

“I totally surrendered you see,” she said quietly, “As meekly as any maid.”

“Well you do have a very sore bottom ma’am, I am not surprised,” Ellen piped up.

Katrin laughed, able to now, although she still remembered standing in the corner just hours before like a naughty girl set there for the edification of girls like Ellen.

“Ellen,” Delia cried impatiently, adding in an irritated voice, “You can go now.”

“Girls like that don’t understand such things as the submission of the marriage bed. But you feel stronger now don’t you?” Delia said once Ellen had gone.

Katrin nodded, but the movement brought on a wince.

“Here let me,” Delia said taking up the cloth from the bowl. “I have some kinder balm somewhere; I think you’ll going to need it.”

Katrin smiled and nodded gratefully.

*

Katrin did not emerge from her from her room until the day that followed the next. Even so she could only walk with slow careful steps and sitting down was completely out of the question.

It would be embarrassing whatever she did, but standing as in times of old to take breakfast off the dining room mantle was beyond shame. So she opted instead for standing behind her chair to pick at her plate until hunger overtook her and she could eat more enthusiastically.

Her father took scant notice of her discomfort and barely spoke a greeting until he had polished off two lengths of bacon and a sausage served with egg sauce.

“Lughnasadh is well passed and in any case propriety demands that we wait at least a month after the announcement,” he said at last.

Katrin frowned, she was unsure what he was talking about, but the question died on her lips and then intensified when her father continued with: “Mabon will serve us better anyway and you and Fear will still have time to attend the Conclave before winter.”

“Mabon, Conclave? What… what are you saying?” she asked.

“The autumn equinox is an auspicious time to be wed,” Fear said as he entered the room, “And traditional too, in lieu of a spring wedding anyway, but I don’t care to wait.”

Wedding, Katrin gaped; she hadn’t expected things to move so fast.

“In any case, I want it decided before we confront the Conclave and our friends at Pandoria,” Fear continued.

“Conclave?” Katrin said absently, but she was still thinking about a Mabon wedding.

“A messenger arrived while you were… indisposed, the Magister has called a Conclave,” Fear sighed as if he dreaded such an event.

*

They gathered under a sycamore tree outside the Temple of Hatra. The late summer had given way to autumn and the nights would soon draw in.
Although various greens still dominated the surrounding forest many of the leaves had turned golden with the occasional patch of bronze. But the day was warm and a silver yellow sun burned in a clear blue sky as sharply as any at Beltane.

The temple stood between the town of Downley and the De Lacy Estate and although it was bone white and well-furnished there was no permanent priest and the building was mostly used for storage for vessels and other equipment used in ceremonies throughout the year.

The squared-off stone was fronted by eight thick columns each representing key markers in the pagan year. This was reflected in the carvings and decoration on each pillar, beginning with imbolc and ending at yule.

Someone had decorated the temple and surrounding grounds with seasonal vines and flowers from the woodland, but the only people in visible attendance were Fear and Katrin, Mark De Lacy, Delia and the priest with the two witnesses.

The priest, Hadron, had been called upon from the town and was well-known to Katrin and her father. He was a rather dour man who never smiled except in his cups and had been the priest for years, ever since fleeing Timon a generation before following charges of dark arts and dubious Wiccan practices. But the grey clad man looked too grizzled and frail to be so celebrated now.

The witnesses included the senior town alderman, Benedict Chapman, a tall skinny man with sharp features, and his wife, Maud, a much younger woman of noble birth and a spiral of neat blonde braids piled on her head like a cone. She was rather pretty, but the hair fashion didn’t suit her and she looked a fright.

Katrin didn’t care one jot. She was exploding with joy and could not stop grinning even as her father and Fear were determined to look so sombre. She knew that beyond sight within the trees Ellen and Trudy stood with many people from the estate and surrounding villages, all of whom would attend the feast at the house that night. But for now this day was for the family and the priest’s entourage.

Katrin’s simple white dress glowed translucent white in the sun and the lightest of breezes made the fabric cling fetchingly to her barely concealed form naked beneath the cloth. In Pandoria it was the colour of Air Magic, neither her gift nor right to wear and before donning it that morning she had wondered what brides wore there. But now such thoughts were gone from her and she was lost in the moment, a moment that hung in time and seemed last forever.

No one had spoken for an age and the only sound was the light breeze in the trees and the occasional lowing of a cow. To Katrin it felt magical, but she forswore the patterns to test the feeling for fear that the spell would be broken. Her faith in such things as gods was weak, but if they held truth then even her magic could not have defined them.

Another light gust rippled the treetops and somewhere an insect buzzed as if oblivious to the change of season. Then finally the priest stepped forwards and began to speak.

“We call upon Mabon ap Modron, the Child of Light, god of this season, and upon Cernunnos and the Green One. We call upon Dagda, the All-father as your humble children. Please oh great ones hear our prayers and bless these children and give them virtue.”

The wind seemed to die away at his words and even the cattle fell silent. Katrin felt her heart stop and she cast a glance at Fear. But his eyes were closed perhaps in prayer and she wondered at that even as it added to the true magic.

But seizing the moment Katrin knelt between Fear and her father and clasped her hands in supplication.

“Who offers this woman?” Hadron asked.

“I do,” Mark said boldly. “I name myself Mark Euan De Lacy, Count of Downley.”

“Who claims this woman?” came the old man’s ritual reply.

“I,” Fear said, his voice seemed to catch a little as grooms often do. “I name myself… Arlon Sebastian Fear, formerly Black Mage of Pandoria whom some call Arch Magus.”

Katrin stole a sideways at the revelation of Fear’s middle name. She had never heard it until now and almost giggled childishly.

“Who gives herself freely into this bond?” Hadron inclined his head and asked the now still wind.

Katrin gulped and for a moment could not find voice. Then she said, “I do. I name myself Lady Katrin Matilda De Lacy of Downley, Journeyman of Pandoria.

Hadron bowed to the assembled company and then turned to bow to the shrine beyond the pillars of the temple. At this point Mark handed Katrin a small bundle of twigs formed into a punitive rod of various trees and shrubs and decorated with coloured ribbons.

She blushed as she accepted and prayed that the full traditional ritual would not be observed. After all it was common enough in the region. It was also customary that such matters not be discussed with the bride beforehand.

If the wedding had not been in haste, her friends would have gathered and stripped her bare at an all-female feast and she should have been whipped and spanked in merriment to embarrass her. At least she had been spared that.

Pausing for a moment, and still on her knees, she blushingly kissed the rod and handed it back to her father.

He might now demand that she pull up her gown and offer her behind for a lick of the ‘whip,’ but more likely he would deliver the blow over her gown.

But after hefting it for a moment and smirking at her, Mark handed the rod to Fear who took it with a bow. At this point Hadron stepped forward and raised his arms to the sky.

Fear extended an arm and Katrin stooped lower to kiss the rod again. The hush fell while Hadran remained motionless and blank-faced.

The Arch Mage would either swat her rear with the rod or put it in his belt, either action would conclude the wedding ceremony and they would be married. Fear grinned and choosing the latter he swept his wife into his arms and kissed her.

From the woods a hundred villagers and townspeople emerged all applauding and in short order they hefted the couple onto willing shoulders and broke into song.

To be concluded in the final chapter Reformation.

The island fell away from them at this elevation, a teardrop of rock in a turquoise sea a thousand miles from anywhere. The sub-tropical forest that dominated 10 miles by five of private haven was impossibly green and only here and there did purple rocks poke through like natural towers that gave vantage points like the one on which they now sat sipping cool drinks.

The Petard was a private nation unto itself, a luxury destination for a certain well-paying elite, which was something Edward was beginning to think his latest beautiful employee was having trouble grasping.

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” Elisabeth said in amazement.

Edward leaned back and eyed the raven-haired woman with a dispassionate curiosity for a moment. For someone of her background and experience, she sometimes seemed somewhat naïve.

“You have crossed two oceans to ask that? Didn’t you read the files you were sent?” Edward said sharply.

At 40-something he was perhaps little more than 10 years older than Elisabeth, but where his steel grey thinning hair backed this up in spite of his youthful trim heavy build, his eyes were far older and wiser.

“Yeeess,” Elisabeth said carefully, “But…”

“You didn’t quite believe it?” he concluded.

Elisabeth pursed her lips, making her look her age.

“I thought given the situation and the indemnity and permissions I had to sign, not to mention the rather generous pay and pension provisions, well that I would be required…” her words tailed off as she paused still puzzled. “I mean, I watched that movie you sent, it was quite graphic as I recall, I assumed you wanted to make sure I knew what I was letting myself in for.”

“Well that is correct, but corporal punishment as it applies to you was just a matter of course in case it was needed. All the women on my staff have to put there tidy little behinds on the line or it wouldn’t be fair,” Edward explained.

“Mine is not so little, let’s be honest, is that why?” Elisabeth looked hurt.

Edward grinned.

“Not at all, you’re prettier than most of the rest put together,” he lied, “But damn it all, you’re a motivational therapist and management development consultant. There are 46 women on this island all thinking they are here to take my money and party. I can’t spank them all when they get out of line and that’s what they are counting on.”

“So you are serious, you want me to handle the day-to-day punishments,” Elisabeth said in an incredulous tone, she also sounded disappointed. “But I thought… I mean I was trying to get away from that kind of thing, you know, enforcing disciplinary procedures and responsibility.”

Edward sighed and looked up at the sky in frustration.

“Let me be frank Liz, you’re great, no I mean it, but I have at my disposal some of the most beautiful women in the world…”

“And most of them are at least 10 years younger than I am,” Elisabeth put in.

“To put it bluntly, yes, but that is not my issue, not personally,” he insisted, “You are definitely more my speed… but you know what I mean.”

“You are all charm,” Elisabeth said tartly.

“Look these girls are not some kind of harem…” he began again.

“That is exactly what they are,” Elisabeth countered him, “I know, because that’s what I signed on for. You own me if you want, I am at the mercy of your wicked ways, right down to a whipped backside and a three year contract period of eating off the mantelpiece.”

“Yes, well great, I’ll take you up on that, but that’s between us sure… the girls… they are for my clients and other guests as and when… You don’t think that I have time? do you see?”

Elisabeth was beginning to.

“Look,” Edward continued, “If you want to join the fray and let me get someone else then absolutely. You’re a good fit. You can serve drinks naked or I can stick a pony tail up your bum and you can compete in the pony races… whatever.”

Elisabeth blushed; it had been kind of what she had imagined.

“But I need a supervisor and woman to keep the girls in line for me,” Edward said wearily. “You don’t actually have to wallop anyone if you really don’t want to, but hold the line. Set some boundaries, there are plenty of dominators to help.

“Okay, okay, I guess if that’s what you need, I am here to serve and I already made that commitment,” Elisabeth replied now mostly mollified, “But I am no dominatrix, in my book it is better to receive than to give.”

“But you can handle it?” Edward asked pointedly.

She nodded.

“Great,” he sighed, “Now remember they are tough girls and in my name you own their little bottoms. Do what you want, have fun, just keep them in line and weed out those whose greed was too big for their backsides, if you know what I mean?”

“I thought you only hired the genuine submissive?” Elisabeth said, suddenly concerned. “Besides they are all over 21…”

“Sure they are, older mostly and I do only recruit girls who are into the lifestyle, but with all expenses paid, £60,000 a year, plus pension, plus bonus, plus £100,000 severance payment… you know one of my girls on a medium contract can walk away with a cool million. Well you begin to see my point, even with screening… you know… we get the wrong element sometimes,” he said sounding irritated with her now. “Hell, it makes me feel bad if the girls don’t really dig it and some of my clients can play rough. I really don’t need anyone freaking out.”

God how naïve was she anyway? The thought troubled him for a moment and then he shrugged, it was quite charming in a way.

*

That morning Elisabeth had found out that Candy and… she struggle to recall and then shrugged, the leggy one anyway, had been skiving off and smoking dope on what they imagined was a private part of the island. Drugs were strictly verboten for the staff and strongly discouraged among the clients, which was a hard sell when two girls got caught doped up.

Damn it, she thought, can’t they just do what they’re supposed to?

She had taken them off the recreational service rota and sent them for a good bottom blistering from Alec, a man who could extract discomfort from the most hardened submissive. Furthermore she had put the girls on triple cleaning duty, including scrubbing out the sceptic tank, a job normally done once a year by outside contractors. The week looked set to be warm for several days; she didn’t envy them.

“Oh please Miss,” Candy had wailed.

“Don’t please Miss, me,” Elisabeth had snapped at the girl, “Once Alec is done with you I want to see that tank shiny and clean enough to run drinking water through it. If not, you’ll do it again with a toothbrush… or have I’ll Alec supervise you as you lick it clean…” she added fancifully.

The leggy one was bug-eyed at these threats, but ash-blonde Candy only returned a pout. Elisabeth wondered if she might not be into that too. How do you punish a punishment addict?

“Oh but, please Miss, when can we go back to normal duties?” the leggy one asked wringing her hands, her limbs all a dangle as she chewed on bee-stung lips like a woman starved.

“You can graduate to pony service or gimp maids at the end of the month, whatever Alec thinks you like least,” Elisabeth told them with relish, maybe she was a sadist after all, she considered, few women liked permanent assignment to either. One of these duties would be irksome to one or the other.

That truth was written in Candy’s eyes now and for the first time since getting caught she looked miserable. The leggy one looked like she was going to cry. Candy is the ringleader then, Elisabeth knew she was going to be trouble.

Once Elisabeth had witnessed them both stripped and facing the wall in Alec’s dungeon she left them to it. Alec was scary, only hard-core girls went to him for recreation; Elisabeth only wished she had the guts.

She checked her i-phone for another task and for once saw that everything was under control. Right, she thought, I need an attitude adjustment before I turn into a freak.

Tom was her favourite dominator, and the most creative. He rarely stuck to a script and selecting a scenario with him was always a rollercoaster ride. Elisabeth found him spanking a small Latino girl over his knee. He must have been at it sometime because her bottom was a hard dusky red and she had given herself over to full-bloodied tears.

The fact that the girl was still wearing a t-shirt and had her jeans down around her ankles suggested a genuinely punitive episode and Elisabeth was intrigued.

“So what has she done?” Elisabeth chuckled as she strolled up onto the warm cedar-wood dojo-like cottage.

Tom was sitting in a white wicker basket chair like one from a 1970s porn movie and held the mewling Latino firmly across his lap.

“Found her spying on me and a very shy client. The woman was not amused,” Tom growled.

“And all she gets is a spanking?” Elisabeth said curiously.

“I was just getting started,” Tom barked down at the girl.

He was a stocky man of average height, with tanned arms that were just too thick for him. On top of his squared-jaw head was a short rash of grizzled grey and dark hair.

Elisabeth studied the girl’s eyes and decided that she was about as welcome as a tsunami about then. The girl had an obvious crush on Tom and from his gentle handling it may have been reciprocated. Elisabeth felt an irrational flash of jealousy then and crushed it.

“I’ll have her assigned with Candy and… and thing,” Elisabeth said casually, “At the end of the month she can serve as your personal… whatever on an Unlimited for… oh until we are short-handed.”

Elisabeth didn’t care so long as the girl pissed off just then. But despite being relived of the girl’s discipline and the promise of a long-term gift, Tom looked pissed-off at her interference.

“Well?” she addressed herself to the girl, “Cut along.”

To her credit the small bare-bottomed woman looked at Tom for her orders. But after a scowl the man reluctantly nodded. The woman leapt up and pulling her jeans over her overlarge red behind, she scurried away.

“So what can I do for you?” Tom asked.

“What did the client want?” Elisabeth boldly asked, but she was blushing.

“Victorian ward, very old-fashioned,” Tom told her, but his arms were folded and he looked annoyed, adding “And unrestricted.”

Elisabeth’s throat tightened so that she felt it in her ears. An unrestricted with Tom was a fantasy of hers, but she had never dared with any more than she would have with Alec.

“With or without?” she asked, thinking that she could really use another kind of workout just then.

Tom frowned and looked Elisabeth up and down, he hadn’t finished with Maria and was furious at the woman’s intervention whatever her needs. Why did the disciplinary supervisor have to be a woman, he wondered and not for the first time?

“It was a special,” Tom muttered, “And I am not going into details.”

Elisabeth was curious now and there was only one way to find out.

“I’ll take it, but with…” she began.

“No,” Tom growled.

“But…”

“You can take it, but no conditions, amendments or forewarning,” he replied firmly.

The tightness in Elisabeth’s throat was all the way down and she was wild with anticipation. All the red flags were up, but she was a woman with a need. After all she was safe…

“And I reserve the right to improvise as per usual,” Tom added.

He could see from her eyes that she would bite and he had long dreamed of an Unlimited with the pesky woman.

As for Elisabeth, she knew she should run now. But instead she said, “It is going to be total purgatory isn’t it?”

Tom looked like a spider just then and he smiled; but only a little. Then he opened the door to the dojo to admit his fly.

“Oh God,” Elisabeth groaned.

*

The corset was too tight and pushed her breasts up to a ridiculous aspect. The rough cotton draws over silk stockings scratched a little and Elisabeth wondered why he had bothered with them, surely he wouldn’t permit them to her for long?

“You will do what you are told, girl,” Tom told her, his voice hard and deep, resplendent in its authority.

God he didn’t he have to try, she gushed inwardly.

“So you thought you could escape did you?” he growled.

Elisabeth frowned and wondered if this was part of the scene, it certainly seemed real enough.

“We will deal with that little matter first and then you will tell me where your sister is hiding,” he said.

So it was part of it, she relaxed.

“Smirking are you girl?” his voice sounded sharper now.

Should she resist or be smart-mouthed? She was just pondering her response when Tom turned to the corner and picked up a bucket. There was a funnel and a rubber hose inside, which he removed before filling it with hot soapy water.

“You know I don’t do…”

“Be silent and go and face that wall,” he bellowed.

“Tom I…”

Tom put down the bucket and took two strides towards her. Then upending her across his knee he partially pulled down her draws and slammed his palm down hard across her bottom.

“Ouch,” she yelped, puzzled at the lack of warm up.

The spanking that followed was hard and fast and in a minute Elisabeth was kicking and gasping for breath as she bucked under the onslaught.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” she wailed.

“No you’re not,” he said in disbelief and began to spank her harder.

“Tom… I…” her voice trembled and she clamped her mouth shut to ride out the sting.

He lit quite a fire before he was finished and what she had taken for dry breathy sobs, to her surprise was augmented by some dampness around her eyes.

“Now go and stand in the corner,” he barked at her.

She didn’t need telling twice. The corner made her blush, not her scene at all, but she wasn’t exactly a time-out virgin. Strangely her head swan as if from wine, red no doubt, she thought ruefully as she sneaked a rub of her bottom. But then she had to contend with the sound of hot water landing in the bucket.

*

Tom made her kneel up on the leather bench and fold herself right over with her arms grasped behind her thighs. This made her bottom stick obscenely upwards and exposed as she rarely had been before.

The brass antique nozzle at her anus felt cold and the physical discomfort began to contend with her shame as it press at her narrow opening.

“Tom, please,” she whispered as finally the metal broke the last of her resistance and eased itself deep into her innards.

Intimate now with his every movement she felt him raise his arm, and something slurped.

The stinging heat was impossible and flooded her like liquid steel as it penetrated her like a devil goat to the core of… of, oh cripes… she gasped her breaths tumbling over one another as they escaped ahead of the surge which began to assault her behind the eyes.

Elisabeth was given corner time in lieu of relief until she rocked, cramping at the wall.

“Please Tom,” she begged.

Finally she traded one humiliation for another and she cried. That’s unexpected, she thought, but it felt strangely cleansing in more ways than one.

“Over you go again,” he said as he started to refill the bucket.

Elisabeth gaped at him and started to cry again.

*

It took two more spankings for her to comply fully with his demands and then she had to simple endure the cleansings that burned intimately in her bottom over and over until she was uncertain of the count.

“Now where is your sister?” he asked.

“Couldn’t I have a more logical safe word?” she asked, breaking from a character she hadn’t really got into yet. “I mean… how am I… am I going to answer that when…?”

“There is no safety for you and I want only one word and that is of your sister,” Tom barked ignoring her.

Then she had remembered that she had agreed to an unlimited. Oh God, she quailed, but the idea thrilled her.

*

As he strapped her across the bench again her anal bud throbbed and tickled her all the way in. But the sensation was amazing. Why hadn’t she…? Then she saw at once the taws and the birch rod. Both looked mean.

The strap had a rough edge like sandpaper and the birch was halfway to being of the penal variety. This was supposed to be a naughty ward scenario, she baulked. But then she remembered that he had said there were refinements. Oh God she was in the hands of an evil dastardly Victorian guardian with criminal intent.

Before this was over she would begin to wish she had a sister to surrender to his wrath.

She’s in the cupboard, blister her bum good. Give a million enemas and I’ll help. The little scene ran through her head as a false comfort.

“Please, eh… please don’t, I’m sorry… don’t…” she muttered, begging was another distraction, she loved to play at it sometimes, but she wasn’t usually so sincere.

Instead of the taws though, Tom took up a huge battledore paddle with lots of small holes drilling in its striking surface.

“Your sister hated this in her sorority days. But strangely…” Tom patted her bottom with the beast as he spoke.

Elisabeth wondered if he were actually speaking of the client now. A bead of lubricant tickled at her split and ran to her bud in an echo of the throb at her anus. She blushed. It was impossible he couldn’t see it. His laughter confirmed it.

“Oh well I’ll just have to go harder then,” he chuckled.

The sudden blast of the wood on bottom was soul stealing.

“Yah,” she gasped, unable to be more expressive with the wind knocked from her sails.

*

Elisabeth’s bottom stuck up like two great grazed knees and she was sobbing for England. Never had she felt anything like it and in no uncertain terms he had promised her the taws and birch for desert.

“Tight enough for you?” he whispered in her ear.

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir,” she wailed her distress.

But all the tears were a counterpoint to hot water that trickled elsewhere.

“I don’t suppose you will be so keen for my attention next time I am busy will you?” he whispered in her ear, as if soft words didn’t count as a character break.

“No Sir,” she sobbed miserably, but part of her wasn’t so sure and suddenly she wanted to be thoroughly sorry. She needed it.

“This taws is interesting,” he said stretching between his hands, not that she could see, nose down and still crying as she was. “I had intended a lengthy dose for our little voyeur, but she can wait. You will have the pleasure first.”

“Yes Sir,” Elisabeth croaked.

The rough leather soared across her flesh like fire and she shrieked.

“See what I mean?” he asked.

Elisabeth drew a hard breath and finally gasped a soft, “Yes Sir.”

“Your blistered bottom is about paddled-out,” he said with genuine regret, “But this hurts as much and I can go for a very long time with it.”

“Yes Sir,” she gasped.

Her knees ached from her posture, a sure sign that her bottom was needful, but she hated the up-thrust indignity of it.

“Shall we continue?” he posed the rhetorical question.

The tongue of leather fire licked her again forcefully and she had no need to yell for relief. The throaty howl she made was heartfelt and entirely natural.

*

For the first 40 minutes she cried lovely tears. It was all she had in her surrender. Then as she came to herself she felt him watching and the throbbing itch in her bottom was the thing. That took over an hour to ease and by then she was beginning to ache from her punitive vigil, becoming bored even.

“If we are done…? I could…” she offered meekly.

“I have a few days off now,” he replied casually, “Besides I haven’t birched you yet.”

Elisabeth gulped. “Then at least can we… I mean…” she blushed.

“Sure,” he said brightly.

*

Elisabeth loved anal sex, but not when her hands were cuffed in the small of her back and certainly not when coupled with pleasuring him with her mouth. For once she thanked God for the extensive enema earlier that day. His cock felt massive in her bottom as he rode between throbbing raw cheeks; every curve of her hips seared by the birch.

“Please, please, please Tom, let me come, please let me come,” she begged.

“May be after your second birching, or your third,” he said finally allowing his manhood to pulse fiercely in her bottom. “Or… or…. Ahhh.”

“Oh God Tom,” she groaned.

“Do you really want to go?” he gasped as he collapsed beside her.

“Bastard, don’t you dare release me yet,” she wailed.

Tom laughed and rolled over.

“Like I said, I have a few days off,” he said with a yawn, “But I expect Edward will be pissed off at you if you drop out for that long; such a shame.”

End

Perhaps it comes on the wind, for I have never seen it come another way. One day it is funny and then you can hardly believe what you did at all. But anyway, it was all so long ago now, and as the man said ‘it was another country.’

I was but a girl back then and much too young to know a single thing. Although at the time I would have spat in your eye if you had told me. I had finished even with big school and dreamed of college, imminently approaching, a woman grown now and free.

But for then the town beckoned and boys in pubs who Megan and I called men because they drank beer and stout until they fell down or smashed windows and faces when they didn’t.

“Be back by 10,” my father said. I didn’t tell Megan of this chain.

But Megan had temporal chains of her own and I laughed at her when she told me.

“Home by 10.30 like a child,” I said and laughed again.

For a moment I considered dread and the weight of father’s wrath if I should be so late, but then what could he do? I was a woman now.

The pub was wild and we sang to the old juke box while sipping Babycham with a slice of lime and an umbrella. In those days you knew you had scored when a boy bought you two or three Dalek-stems. This is what we called them on account of the glasses that looked like appendages of the pepper pot foes on that TV show of the time. This meant you had to have a snog in the alley round back.

If you liked the boy then his hand might stray into your blouse and stay there for a slow count until you slapped him. The slap meant you weren’t a slut and could tell the girls of your outrage until next time. But next time you hoped he would make a play for your knickers. While at the same time you hoped he wouldn’t. Oh the contradictions of a woman, you then believed. But outcomes here were never spoken of as a slap did not counter slapper and the envious catcalls whispered around town.

Just before 10 I decided to miss the bus, but Megan made doe eyes at the clock.

“She has to be in by 10.30 you see,” I teased loudly so that the boys could hear.

Megan looked so lovely in red, although the boys did not laugh so much. One or two drifting away as if to night club appointments, but the town had none. But I was happy enough to run for the 10.15 up the hill; my father might only gently scold if I was less than half the hour late. But as we hit the street the big red bus was a diminishing square as it retreated up the road and Megan looked sick.

“What will he do?” I ask, “Your Da I mean.”

Megan pulled a face I had once seen at the headmaster’s door when we were called as truants. Three on the bum is nothing for a big girl, but I knew that it was the letter home she feared and not old beaky’s stick.

But we are women now and 18; all the world was waiting for our wisdom, which we could hardly contain. In those days even my mouth was smart.

The last bus never came and so we trudged it two miles to the lane where we both lived, Megan’s house being nine doors down from ours.

“Good night Meg,” I said more cheerily than I felt.

Megan did not say the empty words; her footfalls were too leaden with doom. I remembered the letter home and I think then so did she.

Halfway home I conceived of mischief and fuelled by four or five Babychams I crept back to the kitchen window in the lane by Megan’s backdoor.

The shouting was over and slippers had been drawn. Well one anyway and I swallowed my giggle as something thrilled within me.

“Da I’m too old,” Megan wailed, but it did not save her bottom.

Bent over knee and unseemly bared, she was polished with wallops and wailed as she was whaled.

The colour red suited her no less than it had in the pub, only then it had been at her other end. This was much more fun and for long minutes Megan’s Da was John Wayne and this was a movie.

The cherry red spheres bucked for a time until finally they were sent to cool at the wall while Megan’s skirt was held ruefully bunched at her waist as knickers settled at half-mast in mourning. The show wasn’t over then, but home beckoned and I was happy then to doubt my womanhood if stingy caresses was my peril.

Would I be spanked like Megan, all red, sore and sorry while standing in the corner like a bad girl? I knew everything back then, as I told you, but I could not then fathom why this idea thrilled me so. Never had a return home been so exciting.

“You’re late,” heralded my humble entrance.

“Last bus was cancelled,” I said meekly and shuffled in the doorway.

“Bloody typical,” said my father before sending me to bed unspanked.

Now I look back, this rite of passage was an unfulfilment for me. Unlike Megan, who has dined out on the spanking revelations of her youth, which are mental erotica for one of my disposition. If only I had such an adventure to call upon in my dreams, but sometimes youth is wasted on the young.

The bags were all packed and lined up in a neat row of three, largest to smallest in the hall. The door stood like a sentinel beyond with sharp light streaming through the little square window set halfway up. If she peered through it she would see the street and freedom.

Constance knew if she did look she would see the brownstone steps and Mr Edwards’ Model T parallel to the curb. All she had to do was open the portal to the world and turn left for the railway station.

She turned at the bags and then at her coat on the peg. She could just brush her hair first, before she braved the world. She owed herself that much.

The hall mirror was modest and tasteful like everything else in the house. She studied it now rather than the face looking back at her in the glass. The girl there had sad blue eyes and was much too cowardly to fly the nest. She could not meet them.

What had she said at breakfast? That they had never loved her, especially him, she choked back a sob as she remembered. They had only allowed her to remain out of duty. Well now she was a woman, she told herself and had out grown them.

The outburst had not travelled well from her lips to their ears. Somehow it had landed with pain that had become written upon their faces.

“I’ll go then,” she had said in a dead voice.

He looked up then and studied her. He shrugged with his eyes, but the pain did not fade.

“That is your choice,” he said at last, “Your father certainly left you enough money.”

“Yes, and I can spend it how I like and with whom I like,” she had spat back at him angrily.

“You know that is not true,” he replied softly, “Not while you live under this roof. Think of your reputation. What would your father have thought?”

She might have retreated then. After all she knew the rules. She could just have apologised and accepted their ire. But then Edith and the others would have mocked her and perhaps shunned her from their society.

So instead she had told them of her decision to leave. He had nodded at this and without a word he had put on his coat and left.

“See,” she yelled after him, “You never loved me.”

In the present Constance risked a glance at the proud one in the mirror and saw only a brat.

“Damn you,” she cursed as she looked away and at the door.

*

The book was another portal of escape. She loved reading and often lay on her bed or in the seat under the window for hours losing herself in paper. But now the words were silent on the page and leaf after leaf turned over unread as she stared forlornly at the tome before her.

It was the silence that distracted her. It roared and filled the house, drowning out all sounds but those muted ones from the street and the ticking of the clock. Perhaps that’s why she did not hear the front door or his footfall on the parquet floor.

“You decided to stay then,” he said.

She could tell that he was striving to maintain a neutral tone, but there was no pain in his voice, not as there had been that morning.

“Yes,” Constance replied not looking up from the unread book.

“Then we have matters to attend to don’t we?” he said in his stern voice. His neutrality now surrendered in favour of control.

At least he sounded like him and not the near broken thing she had tried to hurt at breakfast.

“I’m sorry about…” she paused.

She was going to say, she was sorry about last night. But her regrets extended beyond that now. Beyond breakfast even. So she looked at the floor and whispered merely, “Sorry.”

He nodded.

“I know,” he sighed.

He carefully removed his coat and stepped back into the hall to hang it on the hat stand by the mirror. But the tall array of wooden branches that had been a wedding present held more than just hats and coats. From an up thrust hook from which also hung an umbrella, he took the long pale stick. She heard it rattle on the wood and felt her heart lurch within her chest.

He re-entered the room then with the cane in his hand and tapped it firmly on his left palm. She noticed he had already rolled up his sleeves of his shirt to reveal two tanned arms speckled with dark hairs. She could also see the brown mottles on his skin and small blemishes there. Life was full of such imperfections. But like with the mirror she could not meet his stern countenance leave alone his steel grey eyes.

“Come on,” he said in a sad voice and she nodded in reply.

The skirts of her soft check dress came off her thighs easily, but the thick cotton panty-briefs had a hard journey to make. Constance tugged on them reluctantly but such immodesty stayed her hands for an age before they betrayed her and slid south.

She shot a horrified look in his direction but he had averted his eyes, so she had time to ensure that she was covered in front if not behind.

The small firm curves of her denuded bottom were emphasised by the bunch of white cotton still atop the black silk stockings she had purchased from Hecht’s. She was far too big behind in her estimation and heat burned in her cheeks.

At least she didn’t need to be directed and walked awkwardly to the chair to fold herself over with her bottom uppermost.

“Heels together girls, no one wants to see what you had for luncheon,” her old schoolmistress’s vulgarisms coming to mind.

He tapped her bare bottom twice with the stick, bringing her to the present and she fixed her eyes on a spot on the wall as she had once been taught.

“We will forget about this morning. I know you were upset,” he said gently, “This is for returning home late last night with alcohol on your breath.”

“Yes Sir,” she murmured and swallowed.

The first stroke took her by surprise. But then it always did. It was a bearable line of pain with an after-burn like a match. She took it in silence, but blinking hard.

The second was worse. Her bottom was expecting it and obliged its sting. The cane was so much more sophisticated than a spanking, grown-up almost, she pondered. But the slipper was more merciful.

Only the hairbrush was a rival and that was more humbling too. But that all depended on how many strokes he had for her.

“Ooh,” she wailed as the third sliced a cut under the first two.

“H-how many please Sir?” she asked meekly.

“As many as you deserve,” he replied, striking her again and extracting another bitter wail.

As many as that, she thought miserably, then aloud, “I suppose I am not too big for the hairbrush after all Sir.”

“I’ll leave that to her when she wakes you later,” he said, the cane adding some sharp punctuation. “You know she is very disappointed and cross with you.”

“Wakes me?” Constance wailed, scarce able to hold back her tears now.

“Yes, after this you will go to your room for the rest of the day,” he scolded her.

“Yes Sir,” she yelped as another stroke cut home.

She lost count around 15, but it may have already been more. It was so hard to reckon when your bottom was in purgatory. That may have been a half-way point. It was certainly no sooner in the proceedings than that.

But by then she was very sorry and was telling the neighbours so by her howls. There would be smirks and sharp looks for weeks now and all her grown-up pretensions would be scattered.

Finally he left her and she fell prone to the floor sobbing for a time. Did she really face a spanking later? But she knew she deserved it and had accepted as much by not flying the nest. They put up with so much from one who was not one of their own.

But she loved them as they loved her.

The end.

Audrey stood at the end of the long concrete road with a sense of trepidation. The wire gate looked as flimsy as a Christmas decoration, but the seaman in blue with a 303 at his shoulder said otherwise. Beyond him were a row of poplar trees standing as sentries on either side of the driveway that led to the red brick buildings further on.

For the first time Audrey Coleman wondered if she had done the right thing. But it was too late now, she decided and seizing up her bag she put her best foot forward and marched up to the sentry. The Women’s Royal Navy Service needed her if they were ever going to win the war whatever her husband had said.

Thoughts of Edward and what he might say when he found out set her nerves tingling again so she decided not to dwell there.

“I say,” she called to the sentry who pulled himself upright even as his eyes narrowed to regard her with suspicion. “I am looking…”

“You have a chit ma’am?” he said brusquely.

“Oh that old thing,” Audrey said in irritation and put down her bags.

She patted down the elegant curves of her pre-war skirt suit, hoping that her neatly tied back hair said that she meant business. But if it did, her girlish expression and crinkled brow spoilt the effect as she searched for the letter she had been given.

“Oh it’s…” she said suddenly as she brightened.

It took a moment more to retrieve the document from her hip pocket before offering to the man.

“I can see it ma’am, so you can come ahead,” he told her, “But you have to show it to the duty POW.”

“The… I say, isn’t that a prisoner of war Sir?” she asked in puzzlement.

The sentry looked suddenly uncomfortable and risked a glance around.

“Don’t Sir me, ma’am, I’m just an Ordinary Seamen see. And POW stands for Petty Officer Wren, but come to think of it at this time of day the Chief Wren may be on duty,” he explained. “You’ll soon get the ‘ang of it see.”

“Oh I see,” Audrey replied, not at all sure that she did.

“Straight down the road and turn right past the inner guard room,” he said quickly, “Just show your chit if you’re stopped again, but there are still other recruits drifting in so they won’t be too surprised. You did know that you were late ma’am?”

“Oh am I?” she said in exasperation, “Only a day or two I expect. I had better hurry then.”

*

After glancing at the letter the woman at the desk said over her shoulder in a bored voice, “Another officer cadet gone astray chief.” Then to Audrey she said, “Just stand there… ma’am, someone will see you in a moment.”

It didn’t take long for the matronesque martinet to emerge from the inner office with a face like thunder. She was a heavy-set woman in immaculate blue and her eyes flashed with danger.

“Name?” she said sharply.

“Oh… I… its Audrey… eh… ma’am is it?” Audrey ventured.

The woman gave up at once and launched her gaze at the seated woman at the desk.

“Officer Cadet Coleman, Chief, assigned to B Block,” she shot back.

“Coleman you’re late,” the Chief barked, “And stand up straight when you talk to me, ma’am.”

“Sorry ma’am I…” Audrey said with a wince.

“Attention ma’am,” the Chief screamed, “And don’t call me ma’am, I call you ma’am, ma’am.”

“Oh terribly sorry, I just knew I would have trouble…”

The Chief leaned forward and fixed Audrey with a stare that drove her to silence.

“Officer Cadet Coleman, shut up, ma’am,” she whispered harshly, then to the seated woman she snapped, “Give her, her papers and get her doubled over and kitted out. Then double her over to the CO’s office.”

“Yes Chief,” the woman replied and began to scribble something down.

*

The uniform didn’t fit and Audrey tugged at it trying to make it stretch here and then by way of a futile improvement. The women in the little shop with all the uniforms and hats weren’t very friendly and although there was no one else waiting she had been served and ushered out in less than five minutes; much less. She had then been given 15 minutes to find her block get dressed and report to the CO’s office. Now she was late again.

“Excuse me…” she ventured to the man inside the outer office.

“Coleman isn’t it ma’am?” he said at once. “You’re late aren’t you?”

He smiled indulgently.

“I know…” she began, but he cut her off.

“Commander…” then he paused as if he had just noticed something and then carefully added, “He’ll see you in a minute ma’am.”

Then he picked up the phone and said, “There is an officer cadet to see you Sir, one of the late arrivals… yes another one Sir. By the name of… yes Sir.”

Audrey looked at the man expectantly and he obliged by nodding significantly at the door. To confirm she pointed in the same direction and waited until he gave another nod. This was going to be fun, she thought, and held a small satisfied smile to herself, much to the puzzlement of the Leading Seaman at the desk.

For effect she managed to find her military soul and for once straightened up before marching in great ceremony into the office where she came to something like attention.

“Cadet Officer Coleman reporting for duty,” she snapped out while saluting, well after a fashion.

Commander Edward Coleman looked up in horror at the sight of his wife in uniform; worse still, in uniform and in his office.

“Great God,” he gasped.

“Hello Eddie,” she grinned. “Surprised?”

The officer who had been leaning on the table briefing the Commander on some papers slowly straightened himself up and quietly slipped away.

“You don’t look very pleased to see me,” she said somewhat sheepishly. She hadn’t really expected him to be.

Edward leaned back in his chair still aghast and looked his wife up and down. He was well used to sudden surprises in his game and now he had another military problem to solve.

The tight dark curls on his head were constrained by the ‘back-and-sides’ cut and the few flecks of silver around his temples. Otherwise he looked every bit the young man in a hurry that war tended to throw up. But Audrey had missed him and his large powerful arms that hung from his broad shoulders, all the broader in uniform.

“So Officer Cadet Coleman,” he drawled sharply and switching his attention to the paperwork on his desk, “You are a day late reporting for duty.”

The papers included her letter of assignment plus a slip attached by the Chief Wren confirming that she had finally turned up and had been put on CO’s report. Edward studied them carefully as he would and had for the other cadets who had reported late.

“Edward…?” Audrey said tentatively, “It’s me…”

“I can see it’s bloody you,” he barked, “And call me Sir when we are in uniform. So you decided to join up after all did you? Or is this some kind of joke?”

“No I… I am really a Wren,” she admitted.

There was a long pause while she tried from the middle of a pained face to catch his eyes with her own.

“Sir,” he bellowed, “You call me Sir.”

“Edward… I mean… isn’t that rather…?”

He gave her a look garnered from his days as number one on a destroyer and her mouth became a tight pensive line.

Then grudgingly she muttered, “Sir.”

Edward continued to regard her sternly as if in the presence of an enemy and at any moment he would shout ‘open fire.’ Then he heaved a heavy sigh.

“I don’t suppose I can get your papers revoked?” he groaned.

“Signed by Daddy… eh… the Admiral,” she said cheerfully, but managing to swallow a triumphal smile and adding a quick and bitter, “Sir.”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, conceding defeat. “Although what you really need is a damn good spanking.”

This brought on a blush. After all it had happened, but nonetheless her sense of triumph grew. He couldn’t spank her now, not if she were a sailor.

Seeing her expression he frowned and said, “You know I have to deal with you as I would any other cadet?”

“Deal away,” Audrey told him, carefully adding a delayed, “Sir.”

“Very well,” he said brusquely, “Cadet Coleman, you are 24 hours late in reporting. Have you anything to say?”

“I lost that railway warrant thing,” she replied conversationally as if they were at breakfast, and then added; “Besides I needed some shopping before I came. Oh darn it… I mean Sir.”

“I see,” he said icily, “Is that all you have to say?”

Audrey pouted for a moment as she considered his words and then nodded saying, “Pretty much, eh… Sir.”

“Very well,” he intoned, “A CO’s report for absence without leave usually requires 30, but I am always lenient on new recruits, I find it saves my arm, so we will make it just 15. But you were late reporting here at my office today and your uniform and lack of naval decorum is unacceptable. You will report to your cadet captain and take a tick. I suggest you don’t dawdle as he is liable to make it two.”

Audrey was at a loss what to ask first. She might have said 15 what, but she was more intrigued by the phrase ‘take a tick.’

Luckily Edward realised her confusion and offered an explanation. “A tick is like a demerit. Three ticks and you get taps with a wand; between six and 12. Get nine ticks or more in one month and you will see me. Although you are liable for COs report at any time.”

Audrey was scarcely any the wiser, but taps didn’t sound too bad. So she asked about the other instead. “And that requires 30?”

“That’s right,” he said firmly, waiting for a response.

Instead of supplying him with a ‘sir’ she asked, “Thirty what?”

Edward who had already stood up and had started walking towards a tan wood cabinet under the window when she spoke. The furniture had a scroll front that opened all the way down so that tall objects could be stored. Now he turned to regard his wife and latest cadet with a degree of circumspection.

“Strokes, of course,” he said incredulously, “With a cane.”

Audrey’s eyes flew wide open.

*

“Do you want me to summon the Chief?” Edward asked as he tapped the chosen stick on his palm.

“No thank you,” Audrey said with a growing sense of unreality.

He ignored her failure to address him as sir and told her again. “Remove your skirt and slip, then turn about and prepare to lower your drawers.”

“Do you deal with all your cadets like this?” she asked sullenly.

“Yes,” he said crisply.

“Oh,” she gaped.

“Come along Cadet Officer Coleman,” he chided her, “I haven’t got all day.”

Audrey clamped her jaw down hard and scowled at him and then turning her back unhooked her skirt clasp then lowered the zip at the side. It wasn’t as bad as it might be, after all he was her husband, but she still found the need to blush as she neatly folded her skirt and placed on a chair by the door. Her white regulation slip quickly followed and she dipped at the knee to touch her toes as she had in school.

Edward coughed.

Audrey gave him a pout and then with a frustrated grunt slid her drawers down to her knee, exposing her bare bottom behind.

“You know if you did want to play the wife card I could just spank you,” he said with barely concealed amusement.

“No thank you Sir,” she said tartly.

Edward shrugged and moved behind his wife and eyed her bare bottom wistfully. He was already missing her enough and now she was oh so near and yet a thousand miles away from him. Didn’t she understand? On top of that it seemed a pity to mark her beautiful bottom as he must.

Oh well, he thought, at least it would probably do her good.

“Remember cadet, next time it will be 30 from me,” he said as took the first practiced swing.

The crisp line of pain that assailed Audrey’s bottom was a revelation. Instantly she was sorry and heartily wished she had taken up the offer of a spanking. But it was worse than that; worse even than she remembered from school. This was a military grade caning with a senior grade cane. It began where the old school stick left off, but like that old friend went on cutting for several moments after the slice.

Not that she was going to give the beastly man the satisfaction.

The next stroke tore a grunt from her throat and she jerked at a bend. She had to dance at the knees to ride it out and either she felt it behind her eyes or her jaw was clenching too hard, because now her face ached too. It was hard to contend with two lines of fire at once.

The third made her gasp and then she was breathing like a woman drowned. How appropriate, she thought ruefully.

Edward placed five strokes over about 30 to 40 seconds and then paused. There were plum lines on Audrey’s bottom now, running from cleft top to under curve. They had already begun to raise up a little like a relief map and redness was spilling away from them to colour her whole bottom. He thought of roses and snorted in dry humour.

But so far Audrey hadn’t yelled out over much or broken from position; a legacy of the Spartan school she had attended, he didn’t wonder. But she was struggling rather with her breathing and he knew from how she gripped at her shins that she desperately wanted to stand up and rub.

At the top of the minute he recommenced and began placing the strokes between existing lines.

“Ooh Sir,” she squeaked at the eighth. But she said no more, even though every muscled strained for her to hold on.

At 10 Edward took a step forward and tried to catch her gaze. She didn’t turn but her eyes were rimmed with red and pooled with tears.

He left it then for 20 seconds while she breathed raggedly and swayed at the bend. Had it been any other cadet he would have thought her brave but would have had no further sympathy for her.

The last five were a bitch.

Audrey went bug-eyed for the entire duration of the set, while actual tears rolled down her cheeks. She was altogether silent for these last, but her pain was mainly announced as strained grunts.

“Alright girl, stand up,” Edward barked, for a moment forgetting she was his wife.

Audrey sucked in air at the nose and gingerly gained the upright. She was heedless of flashing her front and Edward looked away unaccountably embarrassed.

“Get your things on and get out,” he said wearily.

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir,” she said miserably.

As she reached the door he said, “Audrey…”

She looked at him lovingly for that one word.

“I told you not to enlist,” he sighed, “And why here of all places?”

“I just had to darling,” she whispered.

He snorted in amusement, partly glad she had and inwardly cursing the frustration of their position.

“As your commanding officer consider yourself dealt with. But I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when your husband finds out,” he chuckled.

“No Sir,” she said ruefully and then winked.

But as she braved an embarrassing stiff walk across the outer office she began to think about getting a tick and the resultant taps. Somehow she didn’t think it was going to be a good thing on a thoroughly sliced bottom. As it was she wasn’t going to feel like sitting down for a week.

In the summer of 2011 a curious scene was conceived. A dark tale of a young ambitious woman and an old man who knew more about her and her world than he would ever let on. At first glance it was a simple caning, but it soon became apparent to the author that far from being just a conventional school setting, somehow directly or indirectly, the fate of a world hung in the balance. But just who were these players? The spell of Magic had begun to weave its way into the author’s mind.

Now almost two and half years later this story is nearly told and in due course the last chapter and epilogue will be published. Hopefully there will not be too many loose ends and perhaps at the last perhaps some questions will remained unanswered. Life is rarely tidy and nor is this tale.

Perhaps fittingly for such a perilous story, for a while it might not have been written at all. And even if it had been it may have gone the way of many such mercurial shorts and become a ‘here today, gone tomorrow’ disposable curio on a page. However, the author had long entertained the idea of a romance between a sinister young mage and his beautiful apprentice, but had been unable to put any depth into the characters or find a convincing storyline.

Then the author saw how an ambitious and powerful man might be distracted by love and a power-seeking woman by an older mysterious man. Of course social conventions, stalking demons, stern instructors and war might intervene first. But could love triumph?

So armed with one scene and a romantic concept, the author began to research and develop a backstory for an extensive new world with its own rules of magic, cities and cultures. The result might be described as the Wizard of Earthsea meets 50 Shades of Grey, but more than that it encompasses not only demons and dragons, but a drawn out world with its own lore and customs where young apprentices wrestle with their newfound power and a hidden desire to surrender it.

Originally the story was intended to focus almost entirely upon the noble Katrin De Lacy and her master Arlon Fear, the young magus assigned to teach her on the path of knowledge and to becoming a mage herself. But it soon became apparent that the other characters would not easily roll over. So in addition to Katrin and Fear, personalities such as Tabitha with her love-hate-love relationships with anyone who would spank her; Amber Sage, the sexually ambiguous wise young student teacher and witch; and above all the mysterious and uncompromising wizard Dniester who had first inspired this tale, began to show that they would not be so easily vanquished.

It is an epic adventure amounting to over 200,000 words and set over several years. So for the reader it is quite an investment and for those looking for a routine spanking tale, then this plot and characterisation-heavy story may not be for you.

But along the way the adventure combines extensive and frequent spankings and other imaginative punishments with love and adventure, the domestic and the collegiate, and the hard core sinister with the tenderness of the willing submissive.

It also encompasses sex and spanking, love and betrayal as well as wars, quests and demonic possession. Of course not everything and everyone are what they seem in this exploration of power and transformation. So perhaps you should proceed with caution. Otherwise be ready to see the world and the nature of the world in a new light. You may find that it is Magic.

If you want to read it from the beginning then you will find it here. But there is also a useful guide to the characters and circumstances of their world to be found here.

Our story began here and now concludes.

Reformation
The mage-wind was light and filled the smooth pale canvas sails like scoops of white ice cream on a warm autumn day as the craft pitched and rolled on the slate grey ocean. The voyagers had spared no expense and the vessel had neat classic lines like a ship in a bottle and was as fresh as sea spray in the Indian summer sunshine. Above decks dozens of sailors came to life and scurried up rigging as it positioned itself on the breeze. But not one of these fevered mariners glanced ahead at the cloud bank which had quickly grown ahead of them and even the hardiest muttered anxious prayers to the gods as the ship turned confidently to make straight for the swirling wall of grey and white.

Only the pilot and two passengers braved the sea change calmly and they had come this way before. They knew, as ever, that the island was hidden from view by the preternatural fog that shielded it. A magical obstacle known to all as the Pandorian Barrier.

Katrin De Lacy Fear remembered her first breach of the mist and shuddered. Even now she was not entirely immune, but unlike the sailors, put her faith in the pilot who stood at the prow. He was a man cloaked in grey with jagged scar down his right cheek while at his chest danced a silver medallion, the two entwined glyphs upon it seeming to twist and turn as if they lived. Once she had been apprehensive of the weather crafter, but these days Vosper was an old friend and his presence ensured their safe arrival at port.

To Katrin it felt like coming home and with her husband on her arm she hadn’t a care in the world. But she wasn’t entirely insensitive to Fear’s dour countenance and thought better of gushing happily as they approached the magical isle of Pandoria, home of the all-powerful Magister.

One reason for Fear’s reluctance to return had been demonstrated by the standoffishness of the crew. It went far beyond the usual cautionary respect paid to a magus and every man aboard knew of the Arch Mage’s part in ending the late war.

Even Vosper had been unusually respectful and diffident, as if being now two ranks below him they could no longer be friends.

“He is uncomfortable with his new status,” Katrin had confided in the wizard at the outset of the voyage.

Vosper had snorted and shot a glance in Fear’s direction.

“As well he might,” Vosper had replied lowering his voice, “He is not the young fresh face I once knew. To think he could smash mountains with a thought.”

Katrin rather doubted that, but kept her own counsel on that score.

“It is well he has you to anchor him to us,” Vosper added, his voice hard-edged and serious.

Katrin shot a glance at her husband not liking the implication of the weather crafter’s words.

“Do you think I will be expelled for marrying a magus?” she asked to change the subject.

Vosper had shrugged and turned back to the wind.

“A storm is brewing,” he said casually, “It will need some attending.”

Back in the present the ship swung about in Vosper’s thrall and came at the Barrier at a dash.

This time the faint cries of the imagined disconcerted barely touched Katrin and she passed into the mist almost as readily as Fear and the wizard. Only the crew were afraid.

*

As the ship docked with a bump somewhere a bell was ringing and periodically a creak of wind-stirred sail would tear at a tethered mast. The only other music to herald their arrival were the gulls dancing and wheeling overhead as they sang for their supper. But nothing in the town had changed, although Fear felt obliged to scan the patterns in all four elements as if for a hint of transformation and although there was no evidence for it, for some unaccountable reason he certainly felt something had changed.

On the quay there was no welcome committee and most of the sailors and dock workers studiously ignored the celebrity who now stepped ashore. But there was one face in the crowd who fixed the newlyweds with his gaze.

“Sejanus Jacelon,” Fear called over heartedly and then perhaps seeing the man frown he bowed slightly and added formally, “Scroll Keeper.”

Sejanus, who had been standing still enough to be a mooring post, bowed stiffly back in equal measure and adjusted his dark brown robes under his chain of office. Then acknowledging the Arch Magus further, he hefted his staff slightly upwards as if summoning a porter with an umbrella.

“The Grand Magus sends his apologies,” Sejanus said as soon as Fear and Katrin drew near, “But he had a meeting.”

“Davidus is well?” Fear asked excitedly.

Katrin grinned expectantly.

“Praise the gods he is,” the Scroll Keeper said in a neutral voice.

At this news Fear smiled for the first time in days, as if the smallest part of his woes had been lifted. Even the cries of gulls seemed to soften, their laughter somehow less mocking.

“If it is convenient though, he will see you at once… Arch Magus,” Sejanus ventured, as if he doubted his own authority.

“I am at his service as always,” Fear replied, adding, “And yours.”

“And your… wife,” Sejanus said carefully, nodding gently to Katrin.

Katrin returned a deep curtsey, eager to display as much respect by a mere journeyman to a mage as she might.

“If we are still welcome here then I would…” Fear paused and tried to read the old man’s eyes. They had never been close and the Scroll Keeper might bear resentment for his past confidences with the Grand Magus. But seeing no hostility or surprise he continued, “…request some new quarters for my wife and me; in town perhaps.”

“Naturally, naturally,” Sejanus said dismissively as if he had feared more dangerous demands from this new power, “Options are available and anticipated.”

Katrin heaved a sign and clapped a hand to her throat. But Fear merely returned a terse nod.

*

The latticed windows in the Grand Magus’s study cast rectangles of light onto the floor, crisply framing Maxine Du Jared as she stood elegantly before Davidus Grimm. Here sunlit diamonds fell on her coat causing patches to shine bright blue and throwing the adjacent shadows into something like black redressing her as a sombre Harlequin. Then as she moved forward her face too moved into this light and her jet black hair shone to complement her beautiful pale face. Today her smile reached her eyes.

“So Fear returns,” she said, “We had better cut this short I suppose.”

“I suppose,” Davidus sighed, “And I had so hoped to finalise the details before Arlon got back to complicate things.”

“He won’t oppose us,” Maxine said with a hint of uncertainty.

“No,” the Grand Magus said after a moment’s pondering, “But it would be as well if he never suspected that you and I had had an understanding from the beginning.”

Unaccountably a long supressed memory came to mind and Maxine recalled a time when she was yet a journeyman and Fear a newly pledged adept trying to hammer home the secrets of Earth Magic. Her buttocks clenched a little and she even blushed.

“I rather agree with you,” she said hastily.

Davidus chuckled gently as if reading her mind.

“Tell me, what would you have done if I had died and our back-up plan had been needed?” he said curiously. “Would you have made a play to be Grand Magus?”

“I suppose I would have had to, just as I led everyone to believe, but the gods forbid that I would have succeeded. Despite my public posturing, it is really not me is it? In any case I am certain our plan would have worked and Gort would have settled on Fear as a compromise candidate,” she said sadly.

“Yes,” the Grand Magus sighed.

“Damn the man for getting himself killed,” Maxine spat.

“I hardly thought that you…” Davidus was taken aback. He remembered that Maxine had suffered much as a novice under Gort in her first days at Pandoria.

“Why does everyone take me for such a heartless bitch?” Maxine said with a pout.

“I really can’t imagine,” Davidus said tartly and hid a smirk.

“So now with Fear as Arch Magus we have to call a conclave to recognise him,” Maxine said quickly to change the subject.

“And that opens the door on the other reforms we have so long planned for,” the Grand Magus chuckled.

The two mages studied each other carefully like cats out-blinking their rival over milk. Meanwhile the sun had shifted around a little or perhaps Maxine had moved, for the light no longer shone on her face as if her true intents had slipped back into shadow.

Finally it was the cool dark Water Mage who spoke.

“Recognition for Wild Magic is long overdue I suppose,” Maxine said reluctantly, “At least it offers a wider recognition for women.”

“And one other,” Davidus said gently, his gaze now softer.

“About that,” Maxine began, “Is this going to be some kind of honorary thing or do you mean to…?”

But the Grand Magus shushed her by putting his finger to his mouth.

*

Lucy Pettigrew sat in front of the mirror trying to touch her upper lip to her nose while holding her long red locks out sideways at right angles to her head. Such a mature look, she thought wistfully as she let her hair fall like a curtain over her face forming a mask. Then after several attempts at blowing the tresses away she parted them delicately with her fingers to face the woman staring back at her.

“Now where did you come from?” she asked the image in the glass, “When did you get all so grown up?”

Somehow while nobody was looking she had become the senior novice in her section of the Dovecote and some fool had made her monitor.

“Now what do I do?” she cursed, “A cherry red behind I can handle, but I can no more dish it out than Tabitha could. Where are all the Rachel Dvanjesters when you need them?”

In her very humble opinion it was a project doomed to failure. What if they assigned her some of these ex-western witches to look after? They would eat her alive and then so would the housekeeper.

Lucy sighed and sent a ball of white light spinning across the room for the hell of it. As it dispelled the gloom she saw the tome before her anew. The embossed flames on the cover came alive and danced as they weaved around the old words in classic that announced ‘Fire Magic.’

“I wonder how they did that?” she gasped, now completely forgetting her domestic worries and snatching at the book. “Someone set pattern magic into… ah yes,” she studied the binding carefully, “No… um, just ordinary leather it looks like.”

A puzzle to solve. Lucy Pettigrew liked puzzles.

*

Conclave had not been called the previous year on account of the war and now with Imbolc behind them and Ostara fast approaching this special meeting was unprecedented. So it was that the Apprentice Hall was full of students, both male and female. If anything there were more than there ever had been, although now most of the numbers were made up of new initiates crowding the upper levels.

On the other hand, Katrin, who had been assigned as a senior journeyman for the first time, had had the pick of where to sit in the women’s section on the lower level. Not that the men’s section was as full as it might have been. The war had certainly taken its toll; Katrin supressed the urge to cry. So many did not come back and she sucked in a breath and held it until the wave of sadness passed.

To make matters worse her friends Tabitha and Erin were not there either, but at least that was for better reasons. Nonetheless the thought crushed her until she had to turn her attention back to the proceedings.

The main stage was dominated as usual by the Magister, but here too the ranks had thinned out. Apart from Gort, two other mages had fallen, a narrow escape some had said. Then there were those who had been secretly working in the West who had diplomatically declined to turn up. Katrin ran her eye along the row of seated magi and tried to remember who had been there before and who was missing.

Katrin had heard that for symbolic reasons the old practice of formally elevating adepts and mages would be done during conclave. So before day’s end new faces would gather from the floor where the adepts now stood and ascended quite literally to take their place among the Magister; a morale booster and rather clever, Katrin thought. It would be a visible sign of renewal.

She looked again for the familiar faces. The traitor Lucy Greystoke was dead, as was William Tulore, Katrin sighed. Who else? She realised she had not even known the names of the other fallen and could not now remember them. She would learn them by way of penance, she thought But there were yet some old stalwarts. Looking down she saw Denton and Nadine. Next her sat Maxine Du Jared and Gareth Parmenter. But as yet Fear was not present, nor the Grand Magus or the Scroll Keeper.

Her concentration was broken as a bright voice said behind her. “Who can you see?”

Katrin glanced back and saw Rachel Dvanjester sliding into the seat next to her. It was obvious that the dark-clad  Journeyman was in some discomfort. And she sat gingerly and winced when her bottom touched the chair. No doubt she had Maxine had exchanged ‘words.’

“Just seeing who is missing,” Katrin said, but her eyes smirked.

Rachel pursed her lips and blushed.

“Your man not here yet then?” she asked, still grimacing and shifting in her seat. “Do you think the rumours are true?”

Rachel studied her friend carefully. Katrin did not need rumours, as Fear’s wife she was now in the loop, or so it might be supposed.

“Rumours?” Katrin asked casually.

“Well as Arch Magus does he now take precedence over the Grand Magus?” Rachel did not break her gaze.

“Arch Magus is just… well it’s not a political office is it? So of course the Grand Magus still stands first. Anyway that is what they are debating isn’t it?” Katrin said irritably.

“Oh I rather think these things have been arranged beforehand,” Rachel said slyly.

But Katrin was no longer listening.

“Something is happening,” she whispered.

Sure enough the far doors opened and the Grand Magus entered with Sejanus half a step behind and Fear a good pace behind that.

“Oh what tangled webs…” Rachel murmured.

“What’s that?” Katrin asked absently, all her attention on her husband.

“Just politics,” Rachel chuckled and then leaning too far on her seat she was made to wince and half stood up. “Ow,” she hissed.

*

“It rather looks like we made it,” Davidus began.

The room erupted and everyone got to their feet. The collective expression of relief brought Katrin and many others to tears. Nor did the ovation stop for some time and in the end Sejanus had to stand next to the Grand Magus to help him restore order.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…” Davidus continued.

There was laughter now, and lots of it until some regained their feet to again applaud. Davidus had been referring to this riotous assembly, but he decided that it would have been a far better opening for his speech.

“We will be here all month at this rate,” Rachel said dryly.

“We made it,” Davidus tried again, “And that is worth your recognition yes…”

People made to sit although the laughter continued.

“…but we must remember those who did not,” the Grand Magus added.

The laughter died and half a thousand heads somberly nodded.

“Not just those among us, but the many, many thousands who had their worlds turned inside out.” The Grand Magus was a past master of working a room and not a mouse coughed now. “But I have no true accounting of that,” he said with a sigh, “So instead as we remember, the Scroll Keeper will read the rolls of the fallen.”

“Be upstanding,” someone called and the creaking of hundreds of chairs roared out to break the silence.

Then as hush again fell Sejanus said in a soft strained voice, “Gort the High Hand, William Tulore, Lucy Greydove,” this drew mutters, but it was true, she had been a victim of the Triptych too. Katrin shed a tear.

“Basil Wheaton…” he continued naming one of the other fallen mages before moving on to adepts and the others.

The list was long and Katrin found she knew some of the names and had not realised they had died. A fact that she berated herself over as she gave herself over to more crying.

*

There was a hard silence in the room as tangible as the dust that drifted through the air to catch the light. Each of them there was held in its thrall of the dour list for long moments after it had been read. Then the Grand Magus stood again and moved to centre stage.

“Long will we remember them,” he intoned.

The assembly variously repeated, moaned or mouthed the words back at him, but there was no applause and Davidus Grimm was able to continue with his address.

“But there are, I am happy to say, many new faces among us,” he said with a smile, “Many of whom are followers of the Craft or as we call it here at Pandoria, the Septum Ordis. Others of you may cleave to Wicca or some other denomination and it is this that brings us to our first order of business. For too long we have studied Wild Magic from afar and in this regard we have done the world a great disservice.”

He paused then to await the uproar, but none came.

“A sober and steady reaction,” he said sharply, “And worthy. The world has changed and we must change with it.” Davidus drew a deep breath and then uttered the most significant words he had ever gifted the world, “We must embrace the study and teaching of Wild Magic, witches of the Fifth Circle and beyond must be recognised with the status of adepts and allowed to study fully and openly…”

There were gasps and a ripple of discord, but still no outcry, although some noted the visible discomfort of Sejanus Jacelon and other conservatives. But there was one standing aloof with the adepts who nodded sagely, his views now tempered by war and long experience.

“And so say I,” Dniester said sharply.

The old wizard never spoke his mind and the room descended into a cascade of whispers.

“Can I hear a word against this?” the Grand Magus called.

“It is not a proposal yet Grand Magus, Dniester is not a mage and cannot formally second it.” Sejanus reminded their leader.

“I stand with this motion,” said a commanding voice and all eyes swivelled bat-ball style to look at Fear who was now standing.

It crossed a few minds that technically Arlon Fear too might not, strictly speaking, still be a mage, but since that hadn’t been ruled upon no one dared point this out.

“I recognise that some details will need to be worked out and we will proceed with caution. For instance, the ban on certain grimoire will stand. But nonetheless, it is commended to Conclave and I call for words against the motion,” Davidus said.

Sejanus Jacelon, the leading conservative cast down his gaze and waited while many looked from him to Maxine Du Jared now the only other obvious conservative of distinction.

Finally a lesser mage stood and muttered that he favoured a committee to consider it all before any changes were made; a fairly feeble counter and one that eventually fell when no one would add their weight to it.

And so to unconvincing applause, the Conclave grudgingly accepted the Grand Magus’s proposal. Unconvincing that is except for in the upper tiers where the novices and initiates sat. Here they fair brought the house down in approval, leaving the old guard in no doubt where Pandoria’s future lay.

*

“Before we proceed to the elevation of adepts and the new mages, we have one other matter to conclude,” the Grand Magus announced.

The room had fallen quiet again and hundreds of pairs of eyes exchanged glances.

“I refer of course to the phenomena that largely saved the day at the battle of Timon,” Davidus said in an even voice.

The scattered glances all focussed on Fear now and Katrin’s heart lunged into her mouth.

“There has been academic speculation over the years concerning the legends and ancient claims of the existence of arch magi. Although in my view none had put forward any definitive definition of such.” Davidus paused and looked around at his audience, pleased to see that they knew at least in part knew what was coming. “Well we now know that such a person can indeed exist and this poses a number of questions…”

The Grand Magus listed a few areas of debate and concern and discussion quickly moved to the floor among the adepts. The general feeling was that Fear was more or less a super mage and his position was much the same as it was before. Further to this, academically speaking, it was quickly agreed that after the functioning offices, he should take precedence in matters of protocol.

There was also to Katrin’s mind a rather frivolous debate about what colours an arch magus should wear, all this without any reference to the woolly mammoth in the room. She was reminded of the old joke, where does a behemoth sit down for breakfast? Answer, anywhere he likes. This was to be the general thrust of the debate concerning all manner of irregularities concerning her husband; not least that he was her husband. Katrin did not miss a flurry of scandalised glances in her direction when ‘she’ was mentioned without being named.

In the end it was decided to put the matter in committee to work out the details or in other words, let the whole thing shake itself out and wait and see. Davidus had won. Katrin had to admit she was relieved, but by now like Rachel, she was just about conclaved out and becoming bored.

Meanwhile below on the stage Sejanus Jacelon had again taken the lead and was reading out a list of senior journeymen who had been elevated to adept. It wasn’t a long list and there were eleven in all. Among them Amber Sage who according to the earlier motion had been recognised on account of her Wild Magic abilities. But suddenly Katrin was no longer bored and she and Rachel were quickly on their feet, Rachel gratefully so, to applaud the proceedings.

Also among the new adepts Rachel recognised Sarah Sojourn and blanched. Sarah was a rising star in Air Magic, but she had also been the disciplinarian who had led the way to getting Rachel thrashed by the panel.

“Your old friend I see,” Katrin remarked wryly, “I wonder if she is going to join the teaching staff.”

Rachel swallowed. She prayed not, for the sake of her sister students if nothing else. There was a young female Dniester in the making if ever there was one, she thought ruefully. But the announcements continued and it didn’t take long for the rest of the journeymen to be elevated until the last one was greeted with wild applause that quickly extended to the others.

“That brings us to the appointment of two new mages,” Dniester announced.

It wasn’t many, Katrin thought, but it would go some way to replenish the Magister. Below the hall went quiet. Although someone coughed and from above could be heard the faint sound of rustling paper, no doubt some novices were taking notes of all things.

Then two adepts walked onto the stage carrying staffs. Katrin recognised neither of them and wondered if this wasn’t to be an anti-climax. But instead of receiving honours the two men bowed to the Grand Magus and surrendered the stout poles into his hands. Then bowing again, they left the stage.

Katrin strained her neck to scan the front row of adepts to see who might be called. She earnestly hoped at least one of them would be a woman, but the odds were against it with just two appointments. And so it was to prove.

“Alexander Arcmaiden,” the Scroll Keeper announced. The room went wild as the little known former adept mounted the stage, especially when Sejanus added to his announcement the words, “Strenuus Magus.”

The omens were indeed favourable and Katrin and Rachel grinned widely as the tall young yellow-blond man strode out bedecked in dark mustard robes to grasp Davidus’s hand and take the staff of magus.

With only one more mage to elevate there was no hurry and reluctantly Arcmaiden was persuaded to make a short speech. An unprepared one it would seem judging by his clumsy words. But he was charming and handsome enough, and not a few female students discovered a fantasy of being the next Katrin De Lacy to this latest rising power. And furthermore Pandoria had a new War Mage.

There was another appeal for order and this time the Grand Magus looked solemnly out across the hall to wait for the audience’s full attention.

“This next appointment will be regarded by some as an honorary one,” Davidus said at last. “But this recipient is one of the old school and has achieved more in his life than the rest of us here assembled. In the recent war he so distinguished himself and so confidently displayed mastery of his powers that few can doubt that he is a true mage. If any of you doubt my words then you can take it up with him.”

“Dniester Darius Dniester,” Sejanus announced, adding, “Grey Magus.”

There was a short stunned silence and then a thousand voices cheered. Although it was never known after if it was on account of finally learning the full name of their long-time tormentor or from genuine affection.

Dniester himself strolled casually onto the stage while regarding the assembled rabble with a gaze of faint disapproval. It was missed by no one that he still held his infamous dragon’s tooth. Then on reaching the Grand Magus, Dniester took the staff with a casual air and the words, although few did hear them, “Thank you David.”

“Long overdue old friend,” Davidus replied.

Then Dniester turned to the crowd and bid for to silence, which quickly arrived.

“I have had an easier time taming dragons,” he said.

The laughter was brief as no one was quite used to interrupting the former wizard and now famous dragon slayer. Then Dniester held aloft his staff and then hugged it to his chest magus style.

“I have waited long for this, but I don’t think I will be retiring my old partner just yet,” he said pointing to the upper galleries with his cane. “And to think I hate damn politics almost as much as I hate war. Let’s not do that again for a while.”

Then perhaps the oldest man in the world turned and took up his seat with the Magister to thunderous applause.

*

Amber Sage could not quite believe it. A day had past and yet she stood in her cave arranging and rearranging bottles on a shelf as she always had. Shouldn’t she… she put the jar of blue willow down on the bench and immediately picked up again as if seeing it with new eyes. The Conclave had pronounced her an adept. The little witch from a Berrydale, who would have thought it?

Amber finally put the jar back where she had first got it from and ran her fingers through her hair. She didn’t feel any different. She didn’t know anything new. All the same she went to the drawer where she had put the short adept’s wand she had been awarded and took it out. It certainly looked real.

“Quite impressive isn’t it?” a dark voice cut into her reverie. Its tone held power, perhaps a threat and although it was familiar, for that moment it was too bound up in another emotion for her to untangle it.

Then she placed both with a word; Fear.

The Arch Magus had not eschewed his dark robes and still looked the part of a Black Mage as ever he was. But then so far the only suggested attire for one of his power had been a piebald rainbow affair and Amber didn’t think that that was Fear’s style.

“You startled me,” Amber accused as she took half a step back.

“Are you afraid of me too Amber?” Fear asked gently.

“Oh yes Arch Magus, I am not insane,” she whispered, but nonetheless she braved a tentative smile.

“That’s ironic,” Fear chuckled, “Seeing as now you are a full member of the faculty I can no longer spank you with impunity.”

Amber relaxed somewhat and smiled more broadly at his jest.

“If I ever thought that you had so little regard for my position and professionalism then I would never have let you spank me anyway,” she told him.

“So you are saying that I should still spank you when you need it,” he countered with a wink.

Amber blushed, “you know what I mean,” she blushed.

Fear drew back his hood and picked up a random bottle off her bench.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s harrow root, more use in salad than healing,” she snorted, “Why would you concern yourself with that. The jar next to it contains…”

He was regarding her with amusement now.

“…oh but you knew that and you’re just teasing,” she sighed.

“No I didn’t, I have no idea what half these herbs are or what you can use them for. Not these or thousands like them that you could turn to your hand,” Fear said seriously, “Nor could I summon a demon, or raise the dead or…”

“Neither can I,” Amber groaned, but she suddenly saw where he was going. Nevertheless she had to point out, “But you can manipulate Wild Magic and you have affinities with other elements beyond your natural gifts.”

“That’s true, yes there are certain arts I can shape almost as well as you can, but in other areas I am less than Tabitha or Erin when they came here,” Fear continued.

“Alright I get it, you are no god and you do have your limits,” Amber agreed.

“Which brings me to my purpose,” he said.

Amber nodded. Of course there was a purpose; he did not come to renew their long dead romance.

“There was a prophecy concerning my wife wasn’t there?” Fear took a step closer now, the smile melting from his face like snow on a blacksmith’s anvil.

“So Meredith and Demdike told me,” Amber replied in a neutral voice.

“I need to know if the fates are done with her.” There was iron in both his words and eyes.

Amber shrugged.

“I am not party to that, truly,” she sighed, “But the Triptych is destroyed and…”

“The Shadow Dreamers are still out there summoning fresh demons no doubt,” he interrupted her.

Then he told Amber of the summoning that had brought Katrin to the battlefield. Of how she had felt compelled to seek him out at the moment of danger. He even told her, as he had told no one else, of the details of Katrin’s part in his and Timbre’s salvation.

“Now tell me, as a friend, are there forces out there that still have designs on my Katrin?” The man had desperation in his eyes and he stood as haunted as any mortal lover.

“There is a tome called the Book of Relqus,” Amber said carefully. “It is not known to the Magister as far as I know; I can certainly obtain no copy of it from Sejanus or the Grand Magus. Even Meredith told me it was lost. But Demdike knows things, poems and spells handed down. We now think that these things are a verbal telling of at least part of this book. But if that old woman knows anything else about Katrin then she has not said. I swear it.”

Fear nodded.

“There was no more to that part of the prophecy as Demdike knew it or she would have told us. Katrin’s part was done…” Amber tried to sound insistent. “Besides, didn’t she once urge you to kill Katrin? If your wife was an obvious player in a greater scheme…”

Fear relaxed a little as he recalled the old seer’s words. But perhaps then she hadn’t fully seen Katrin’ part in what followed. He had to know.

“But you cannot be certain?” he pressed.

“Not without locating a copy of this book, no,” Amber admitted. “But no such book exists. It is now only a legend.”

“This is your area of expertise,” Fear said softly, “Will you look into this for me?”

“Of course,” Amber assured him, then deciding to raise the other matter she ventured nervously, “And the Shadow Dreamers, I know Meredith hunts them. She asked… she requests… if there is a need…?”

Fear nodded. “If she gets any word on an active chapter she can call on me,” he promised.

“And the Book of Relqus?” the witch asked. “What will you do now?”

The last thing she wanted was for an Arch Magus to go tearing up the world looking for a long dead prophecy in a book he could never find. But Fear was grinning now.

“Absolutely nothing,” he chuckled, “I have had enough adventure. I am a married man. Besides if Sejanus doesn’t have it then no one does… In any case I can leave the matter safely in your hands can’t? Maybe one will turn up and we can plan better for the next round of demon troubles.”

Amber stepped forward and taking the man’s arm kissed him fraternally on the cheek. He was perhaps he same old Arlon after all.

“Oh Amber,” Fear said as he left, “Congratulations on becoming an adept.”

“And congratulations to you on becoming an Arch Magus and saving the world,” she threw back in a mischievous tone.

“And they said I would never amount to anything,” Arlon Fear replied with a wink. And then he was gone.

Epilogue
Pandoria was finally getting back to normal and the new intake, later this year than most, had begun to settle in. Lucy Pettigrew had finished her rounds; her first as monitor and to her relief had found nothing of significance. Well nothing that couldn’t be handled by a firm friendly word and a warning anyway.

Her grasp of thaumaturgy theory was pretty solid by now and in most regards she could hold her own with most journeymen. However her weakness was meditation. Without honing these skills she would never get a clear grasp on the patterns and her promising fire gifts would remain erratic.

But Lucy was a young woman with almost limitless introspection, which often became part of the problem. This was why she could never quite surrender her thoughts and was easily distracted. But it did offer her hope of a solution. By taking a rational approach she had been able to see that her progress had foundered during the war when she had been left to her own devices. A situation not helped by then being made monitor.

The trouble was that without firm guidance she could coast the written tests and then return to her quarters to become lost in a book. Nor had things improved with the return of the Magister to Pandoria.

Basil Wheaton, the Fire Magus who was nominally Lucy’s master had been killed. She had been sad about that as she had liked him, but he had had a definite hands-off style and in truth she had hardly knew the man. He hadn’t even ever really spanked her or punished her in any regard. As a consequence she had hoped to re-apprentice with Gort on his return, but he too had succumbed to the war, which was a grave inconvenience for them both.

However, as a mere novice, theoretically her gifts were still in development and strictly speaking she did not need a Fire Mage to mentor her. Therefore there was one obvious candidate now without an apprentice. A man of experience and a reputation for severity when faced with a gifted student who did not live up to her potential. It was with this candidate in mind that she had returned to her room after her tour of the corridor to prepare for a showdown.

The silver hairbrush was cold and hard in her hand and she ruefully remembered the last alternative use it had been put to. But a stiff tug through her bright orange-red locks reminded her that it had been a while since the brush had been put to either definite purpose at all.

Lucy didn’t mind her rather bright hair colouring, but even though she wasn’t vain, her preternaturally white skin was almost ghostly and only the sea of brownish-red freckles gave her face any definition at all. It was ironic that one who burned so easily had ambitions to manipulate the fire, she pondered. The other thing that bothered her was the rather frayed gingham dress that she wore. It clashed horribly with her ensemble and marked her out as the island peasant she was.

“It’s no good,” she said aloud, “I’ll have to wear the orange silk blouse and ghastly red and green tartan skirt. At least the green is dark and sparingly ingrained in the pattern.”

*

The Ivory Tower was as forbidding as ever to a novice like Lucy, but it also had a charm of its own, having withstood the ages. More importantly it was the home of the newly installed Grey Mage, Dniester, who had made it known that he was very much open for business as usual.

Better than that, as a magus he was expected to take on an apprentice and since Erin Stone’s departure that post was vacant. Given his fearsome reputation there was not the slightest chance that anyone already arrived at Pandoria would actively seek his sponsorship. Lucy Pettigrew reconsidered all of this once more and then mounted the steps for the long climb to the upper story.

As ever, by the time she got to the great and severe entrance to Dniester’s study he was expecting her. The old man was a master at reading the footfalls on the stairs that led to his rooms.

“Come in little one,” his voice rasped from within before Lucy had even put knuckle to woodwork.

Lucy gulped and then steeling herself pushed open the door.

Dniester stood in the middle of the room staring at a point on the ceiling and as she entered he put up one hand to silence her without turning. If there was any purpose to this, then she did not learn it and after several moments the Grey Mage shrugged and turned to look at her.

“You have come to request a boon of me,” he stated simply.

Lucy revealed no surprise, although she felt it, and she replied, “In a way I have maestro.”

Dniester’s eyes narrowed now. He liked that she did not ask how he knew, although the demeanour of her footsteps on the stairs outside had told anyone with ears the obvious. But he doubted she was that wise.

Realising he was waiting for her to say more Lucy added, “I have come to offer my services as your apprentice. I believe the position is vacant.”

Oh I like her, Dniester thought, even if she is merely a tool of ambition.

“You are a child of fire, don’t deny it, it is clear to me as the freckles on your face,” he said at length. “I am of the Grey, province of Air and Water. How do you think I could further your ends?”

“Your methodology is second to none for one thing maestro,” Lucy said boldly, “For another, my weakness is motivation and concentration, not theory.”

Dniester cocked one hirsute eyebrow in surprise, a rare thing for him. Then he said imperiously, “Tell me little fire girl, do you not fear the dragon’s bite?”

“I am terrified maestro,” Lucy admitted, “But… faint heart and all that, besides I pride myself on knowing what I need to get where I am going.”

“Pride and ambition,” Dniester said disapprovingly, “Neither will serve you well in my service.”

“Then maestro, I think perhaps that we understand one another,” Lucy said, now rather meekly biting her lower lip.

*

Lucy’s small tight bottom was presented like two mottled sparrow’s eggs as she lay across saddle stool under Dniester’s gaze. Although the old Grey Mage was confident that they wouldn’t break.

The close questioning that had delivered his new apprentice to this position had at first started off well enough for her. He was amazed at her grasp of thaumaturgical theory, a subject that she so quickly warmed to that both of them forgot that their discussion had been intended as an examination. It was clear that Lucy Pettigrew’s academic accomplishments could have challenged an adept.

But when he asked her to do a simple meditative contemplation she had become shiftless and her gaze had wandered. Still it was a promising start and he had tried another tack. He had asked her about her habits, attendance and general practical knowledge.

“Now that is where you have me,” Lucy had said with a screw-faced wince and from there her assessment had rapidly gone downhill.

So now she was prone and he held the dread cane.

“Let me see if we can improve your concentration a little,” Dniester remarked dryly as he moved his trusty old dragon’s tooth into position for a bite.

“Yes maestro,” Lucy squeaked. Suddenly she felt very humble and exposed.

The ivory stick struck in a blur. White on white it left its track amid speckles of brown on smooth pale domes and Lucy came alive. Every nerve in her body protested and the little academic distracted herself by posing questions. Dragons are reptiles, discuss.

She thought then of crocodiles’ teeth and how the first sting of their bite is augmented by the follow up twist. Dragons are the same then, she screamed inside. Then the dragon bit her hard again and she gasp-grunted in pain.

Dniester had never seen such a white bottom on a girl, it was true then what they said about some redheads. The two hard strokes across her behind were as red as sun-fire at its setting and pathfinders for two more slow strokes. Lucy welcomed these with a full voice and beaded tears splashed on the stone floor a cubit from her inverted face.

Dniester paused at six. Rarely was such a game girl given over to tears so quickly. But at least the caterwauling was muted as she earnestly tried to take it modestly.

Still her prone bottom held swollen tracks like six red worms fat to bursting. The little fire girl was feeling the burn now and her master had it in mind to take her to at least a score.

“You and the dragon will become quite well acquainted in our years together,” Dniester warned her, “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”

It seemed fair to tell her, he thought, after all as uncompromising as he was with students, for a personal apprentice he could brook no failure. She and he could expect no less.

“Please maestro,” she begged. Ambiguous, yes, but it was the best she could do with her remaining courage.

She had fed off spankings and always left scope for more. But she would reck this rod as she hated it. Never come back, never, she prayed. But needs make for better prayers than wants and it was this song of pain the gods would answer. Dniester was their prophet.

He caned her hard again and she gave an angry grunt as she went cross-eyed with woe.

“Please maestro,” she groaned again, please don’t give me such choices, she prayed.

The Grey Mage took her to the 10th stroke before he demanded an answer.

“You’re sure you want to sign articles with me?”

“Yes master,” she growled angrily, using the familiar form of the apprentice, “I will serve you.”

It was acceptance enough truly, but her demeanour was lacking, he decided.

“Well if you are going to use that tone then we will start over my girl,” Dniester scolded her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lucy wailed.

“Too late,” he snapped, “Get up and go and stand to face the far wall and think about your attitude my girl. Then we can start again.”

Miserably Lucy got unsteadily to her feet and limped half naked over to the wall. Her bottom was striped with agony and she knew she wouldn’t sit down for a while even without another round. But this was what she needed, she knew that now, something to focus her mind and make her ponder in adversity.

It was dreadful to think that she would return again and again, it was so hateful. But inside as she faced the haven of the wall and her spiritual home she knew that she loved to hate it. It was like fire spice in sugar cake, part of the texture of her life. Lucy Pettigrew would ever return to the fire no matter how it burned her. It was a kind of magic.

The End

Actually this story should be called ‘that thing you really, really want until you get it and then you definitely don’t want it anymore until a long time after when you forget what having it was like and you want it all over again.’

It could also be equally called ‘one summer so long ago that I have probably forgotten so many details that I have mixed a lot of it up.’

Reading the first draft back I realise that I come across in the story as very young, which I was of course, but not as young as all that. I was old enough to know better, but then maybe it didn’t actually happen exactly as I tell it here, which rather fits the notion about wanting all over again after really forgetting what it was like.

Who am I? You may well ask. Jane will do, although I always fancied Candice or… anyway let’s stick with plain Jane. Not that I am plain, well not very. Okay I am probably very ordinary looking with nondescript blondish hair that I used to wear longer than I do now. In my mind I was golden blonde, but in reality I was a dark honey at best.

I can’t decide what colour my eyes are, it always seems to depend on the light or what mirror I am using. On forms I always put hazel, but then someone told me that was a kind of brown. I don’t have brown eyes, definitely not. They are more like greyish-blue with mottled browny bits. You know, ordinary human eyes. Anyway, I am a bit on the short side. My breasts are too small, my mouth is too big (in every regard) and so is my bottom, not that anyone ever says so.

These days I work in project management for a manufacturing company, but back in the day, quite some time after college, I was a temp for a few years.

Okay check notes. Tick characterisation. Sorry I should leave that bit out of the final draft, but my writer’s course said I should describe all the main characters.

Oh, I missed out Carol.

Carol was my best friend, well still is, and this particular summer we went to stay with her cousin in Shropshire.

Carol was, is, taller than me and dark haired and kind of curly. She has greenish-blue eyes and, most especially back then, she has classic curves in all the right places; so the pretty one in the outfit.

The other main character in this story is him. Should that be capped-up? Him? That’s better.

He is actually called Russell, but I hated that name, so for creative purposes I’ll call him Brad or Peter? Can we settle for John? I’ll probably just keep calling him Him anyway, but great big tall hunks with broad shoulders, dark heavy hair and eyebrows and lantern jaws (I actually don’t know what a lantern jaw is outside of a Mills & Boon but let’s say he had one) have to be called John at the very least.

Now I fancied Him from the absolute minute I saw him. But being linked in his mind with Carol, his kid cousin I got the sense that he hardly noticed me.

He had a stern paternal manner with Carol and she absolutely hated it. I loved it.

“You girls going somewhere nice today?” he would say as we gathered in our shorts by Carol’s car.

Carol would shrug and I would get tongue-tied. Then we would get into a breathlessly hot car where bare thighs stuck painfully to old PVC seats and we’d choke on that hot car smell while the worn air-con wrestled with the climate.

At this point I should expand the narrative with colourful scenes of Shrewsbury, stately homes and long winding country lanes with old-world pubs and summer butterflies. Maybe I will, but in truth I don’t remember where we went or what we did.

Every night we would come back with conflicting agendas. Carol would try hard to avoid John and I would contrive to include him in our evening plans.

“What’s wrong with him anyway?” I asked her once.

Carol wasn’t exactly forthcoming and started blushing.

“His mother sort of brought me up for a while,” she mumbled, “And he sort of helped sometimes.”

It was another week before I found out what her beef was.

One evening we drove into Market Drayton. We thought one glass of wine with dinner and we could drive home. But it never stops there does it?

Now I am not saying we got drunk. But we had more than one and it was near midnight when we got home. John’s exterior lights were already out and Carol very slightly knocked three ‘bricks’ out of the stone wall out front and totalled the left headlight on her car.

I knew something was up because Carol went quiet as soon as we got out of the car. Nor did she want to talk and instead of a nightcap she went straight to bed. So I did too, leaving the car where it was. In the end I think John must have parked the car that night, but in any case the wall and front headlight told its own tale. I found out all of this the next morning when I got up to look for Carol who wasn’t in bed.

Now at the back of the house was this shed-outhouse thingy. It was brick and had its own loo. It was nice really, all done out with scatter cushions and old paintings. So we used to hang there when we wanted to smoke or have a few beers without John frowning at us. I presumed that Carol had ducked out there for a crafty one and headed out.

I got halfway across the lawn when I heard ‘clapping’ and some yelling. I think now maybe I knew what it was, but that wasn’t how I remember it. Puzzled, I ran along the path and down the side to look through the back window rather than the door.

I must have known mustn’t I? Or else why did I not go in? Anyway, I am round the back peeking in the back window.

In the centre of the room was an old settee covered with an old Union Jack as a throw. John was sitting there with Carol draped over his lap. It took a moment to take it in, then I realised that her denim shorts and knickers were down at her ankles and her bottom was completely bare and mooning up from his lap.

He must have been spanking her for some time because her bum was totally scarlet and she was yelling in this weird wail. One moment high-pitched and then throaty and hoarse. She was completely helpless across his knees and even from my angle I could see she was bawling. I mean sobbing for her life with tears and snot down the chin. Sorry, but she was.

John was spanking her with this old blue canvas shoe and the noise of each impact was terrific. But as I watched the scene it was hard to say what I felt. I remember some tingling in my tummy and some light-headedness. I also felt the heat rise on my face as I blushed in embarrassment for her.

Obviously I should have either run in there to stop him or slipped away quietly and leave them to what was after all a family matter. But remember we were not exactly kids. I mean not by a damn sight. So what did I do?

I hunkered down and watched the rest of the spanking while my heart raced in time to the relentless rise and fall of John’s arm. At any moment I thought it would be over, but it went on for a long time. All that while Carol was bawling and kicking her legs.

Finally John said, “You ever going to drink drive again?”

She wailed out with a long drawn out ‘no’ and he asked her again with swats. This went on for a bit before he said, “Don’t ever tell me you are too old again because you know I will prove you wrong.”

“I know,” Carol replied in a small miserable voice.

“You know what happens now,” he scolded.

Carol nodded meekly.

“Shorts and knickers stay down and you can go and face that wall,” John said sharply, his strait arm ending in single finger.

I was amazed at how quickly Carol pulled herself together.

“And if you move before you are told you can stand in the corner in the kitchen where Jane can see,” he reminded her.

I was totally amazed now and gaping to myself. Even more so when she said quietly, “I’m sorry John.”

“Good girl,” he said with a smile.

As soon as he was gone I just had to talk to her about it.

“Carol, are you alright?” I gushed excitedly as I burst in.

The look on her face as she half-turned from the wall was priceless.

“Piss off,” she hissed, snatching her hand away from a blatant admission that it had hurt.

“What did he do?” I asked, as if I didn’t know, then with now a closer look at her bottom I gasped, “Oh my God.”

“What do you think he did?” she groaned, turning back to the wall.

“Was this about last night?” I pressed.

“What do you think?” she breathed.

Then she started to cry again.

“Listen,” she sniffed, “Please just go away, it’s alright, I deserved it I suppose.”

“But… why are you just standing there?” I asked. It seemed so juvenile.

“Jane, just piss off will you?” she yelled at me over her shoulder.

I took the hint and left her to it.

Of course after that I was absolutely obsessed with everything to do with it, not least John. Did he spank her often? When was the last time? Does anyone know? Did it really hurt that much or…? And a thousand other eager questions about Carol’s spanking history with John.

Finally she admitted that it was just a thing between them and sometimes it cleared the air. So I asked if that was why she didn’t like him. Carol actually laughed at this.

“I do like him. It is just so embarrassing. And well, if you must know, last time he spanked me for… well, something else. He said if I didn’t behave when you were here he would spank me again and make sure you knew about it,” she said sheepishly.

“But he didn’t say a word,” I protested.

“Yeah well thanks for that, he didn’t need to did he?” she said and rolled her eyes up.

I did notice that after that she and John seemed to get on much better. Even when she sat uneasily for a few days after, she was much more pleasant, cheerful even, when he told her to behave herself.

“Yes John,” she would sigh.

None of this eased my obsession and if anything it fed it. Finally I broke.

“John,” I said to him one day when Carol was in town shopping, “I know what you did to Carol.”

“I thought you did,” he chuckled.

“Well it wasn’t really her fault, you know, I mean I bought the wine, she said a glass not a bottle…” I let the words hang.

“But she was driving,” he said sharply.

But I noticed that I had his full attention.

“I know but…”

“And you aren’t exactly part of the family are you?” he said in a neutral tone.

I shrugged. I was also blushing.

Then he heaved a sigh.

“So you think you need a good spanking do you?” he growled.

I noticed he was folding his arms and staring at me like an old school teacher. It was enough to make me gulp, but I felt all gooey inside.

What followed was a blur. He took my arm and led me to the little shed out back. Once there he sat down on the flag-covered settee and hauled me over his lap. It happened so fast, as did the tugging down of my shorts. Instinctively I made a grab at them to keep them up, but he responded by taking down my knickers and pushing both shorts and pants all the way to my ankles where I couldn’t reach them.

I remember looking back and seeing my big bottom sticking up in the way. Then he grabbed that canvas shoe from somewhere and walloped my behind with it. I have since read spanking stories where it is all lovingly described and people talk of a ‘million bees’ or searing pain. My memory is of heat. Sudden and overriding and rapidly getting hotter. In about a minute flat I went from being stunned to going mental.

There was an odd distant wailing sound and it was a moment before I got that it was me. Then I was crying too, more even than Carol I think. My only other clear memory was of being sorry. Sorrier than I had ever been about anything.

I ran a gamut of emotions I think. Anger came and went quickly to be replaced, as I said, by regret. But it was all so intense. When he was finally done with me I felt like I had been emptied out and refilled with something better.

When he told me to go and stand in the corner I obeyed without question. In fact it wasn’t until Carol came back and started to laugh that I felt at all embarrassed or ridiculous.

“This is too much fun,” she giggled, “Please try and leave, oh please. See what he does.”

I didn’t. In fact just to put me in my place, John left me facing the wall for a good long while. And unlike with Carol, when he came back it wasn’t to release me, but to sit and admire his handiwork.

John and I spent more and more time together after that, although it wasn’t the last time he spanked either of us. But I noticed more and more that it was me who was the object of his ire.

I have to say that the space between spankings was about as long as it took to forget how absolutely unbearably horrible a spanking was. Then I would test him until he obliged. That’s what I mean see about wanting and forgetting. It is an endless cycle.

Three years later I married Him and it has been this way with us ever since. Well I just had to, didn’t I? Oh and yes, his name is really Russell. But I kind of like that, it suits him.

The end

Henry Vaughn heaved a deep sigh and turned the letter over in his hand. He reread it for the third time in the hope that it would tell him something different, a futile exercise, he knew. Now he had a big problem on his hands.

The heavy set man sat back in his chair and grabbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. His thick greying eyebrows came together now with a frown adding to his stern countenance. Perhaps if he wrote back for verification, he considered, at least that would give him more time to consider his actions.

The trouble with that idea was that he would be betraying a trust of sorts, not that the board would blame him. He felt sure that any appointment he made would be backed. But something had to be done; there was a principle at stake at the very least.

He had been the Cade County Commission and Chairman of the Board of Education for 15 years now; a respected position enhanced by the fact that the Vaughn’s had been in Cade County since its founding. He had an aunt who was even a Cade, for the Lord’s sake. Added to that he was a war hero and 30 years before he had been stalwart of the Southern cause.

Now there was this little parcel of trouble to sort out and at the heart of it was a damn Yankee, a pretty and likeable Yankee, but an outsider nonetheless. This definitely required some careful consideration.

*

It was long after school and a message had been sent home that Edith Caldwell would be kept behind for some considerable time.

Despite a fiery red hair to match her angry disposition, the girl was pretty. At 18 she was like many of her fellow students and compatriots, a young woman at war with the world. Not to mention heavily over invested in entitlement and a bully to boot.

At least that was the opinion of Eleanor Whitlow, the newly appointed Cade County school ma’am who had caught Edith not only cheating on her math paper, but coercing another student in aiding abetting her. Now the little madam was trying to test her.

The trouble was Eleanor was from Boston, a fact that many of her students were not inclined to let her forget. This made for few friends in town and a student rebellion was not to be tolerated.

“You ain’t gonna whoop me neither,” Edith spat on seeing Eleanor reach for the paddle that hung on the back wall of the one-room school.

“Oh I think that I am,” Eleanor said with a steely voice.

At 22 and less than a year out of the college, Eleanor Whitlow could ill afford to be soft. She was all too conscious that the slight age gap with her older students and her small statue both served to undermine authority. And so too for a reason that she could not fathom did the fact that she was blonde and fairly presentable.

“I’ll, I’ll… tell my Pa,” Edith said nervously as she shifted from foot to foot.

“Oh, your father will hear about this to be sure,” Eleanor told her charge.

Edith pulled a pained expression and opened her mouth to speak.

“Well you don’t have to,” Edith said quickly, now sounding a tad more conciliatory, “I mean, we could just forget the whole thing.”

“I am afraid that I cannot do that,” Eleanor sighed.

Edith clutched at her chest and eyed the paddle with expansive apprehension.

“My Pa will give me a licking,” she wailed.

“No doubt he will,” Eleanor shrugged.

Edith gulped and started to wring her hands.

“I suppose I could smooth over some of the details if you took your punishment bravely,” Eleanor suggested. “But I warn you I mean to take my time in advancing your education.”

Edith swallowed hard and then with a triumph of will gave a curt nod.

“You saw how I paddled Jane Metcalf last week,” Eleanor said sharply, “And don’t deny it; I know you were peeking from the window.”

“I never…” Edith began, but one warning look from the mistress stopped her. So seeing nothing for it she again nodded.

“Then please prepare,” Eleanor directed.

The petite school teacher then watched as a dread-crushed Edith took heavy steps to drag the heavy leather padded chair to the front of the class and push the back of it up against Eleanor’s desk.

Then with one final appeal with her eyes, she hiked up her voluminous skirts and reached under to let down her draws. It was a short hop then to clamber onto the seat to kneel facing backwards and support herself with her elbows on the desk.

“Raise your skirts a little more and then bend right over and grab the far side of the desk,” Eleanor instructed her.

Edith hesitated for a long moment and then with misery itself carved on her face she obeyed. This posture served to present her pale bare bottom upwards and out; a tight peach ripe for the polishing.

“I bet you can’t whop me for as long and hard as Pa does,” Edith said sullenly as she stared defiantly ahead at the blackboard two strands of red hair escaped her bun and fell across her forehead to frame her eyes. Her stubborn pride now exceeded her good sense.

Eleanor shook her head at the challenge, noting the hint of fiery fur peeking between the girls thighs and marvelling at just what a classic redhead this girl was. The girl was goading her, this was too much. Nonetheless, professional detachment was called for.

“Put your legs together girl,” Eleanor scolded.

Edith obliged just as the first swat landed with a heavy crack that startled even Eleanor.

*

The spanking had been underway for some minutes now and Edith was hunkered down with her face low to the desk top so that her poor belaboured behind was well thrust upwards. It was a posture of defiant exhaustion for which her bottom was paying a heavy price. The whole surface of hams and hinds was stained red and had even turned dark and purplish around the crowns and lower curves.

But still the girl had done no more than let out with the odd angry grunt, determined that Eleanor would not get the better of her.

By now both women’s hair was giving way to a tangled mess with strands of hair plastering to their foreheads in perspiration and it was a close call to which of the two was the most out of breath. Eleanor had to even pause for a moment to mop her brow. How could the girl be so stubborn?

She moved to Edith’s side and took in the firm set of her mouth and watery eyes.

“You know this doesn’t end when you decide to give up,” she told the girl.

Edith gave her head one quick shake of denial and Eleanor sighed.

She brought the paddle down in a hard two-handed swat and this time the girl grunted. But it was all that Eleanor could do. Even with a dozen more like it.

The diminutive teacher mopped her own brow and lined up the paddle for another go around.

*

School was out now and the last of the students had straggled down the lane to the town and the farms beyond and he guessed that the teacher would be alone for a talk. So Henry Vaughn had decided to confront Miss Whitlow with what he had discovered.

The light in the old school house announced that Eleanor had indeed not yet left, but for some reason Henry took a glance through the window before stepping inside.

He wasn’t entirely surprised to see a girl bottom up across the desk. The paddle was widely used in Cade County and the fact that the student concerned was none other than the troublesome Edith Caldwell gave him some grim satisfaction. Eleanor’s predecessor had been far too soft and it was good to see that someone had finally taken the Caldwell girl down a peg or two.

Then he remembered the problem in hand and winced. He knew that he had made the right appointment and yet… there had to be some way around it.

His pondering was interrupted by the conversation inside and suppressing a faint sense of unease he put his ear to the window to listen.

“Now Edith,” Eleanor was saying, “I hate bullies and I hate cheats. You are both. There is no excuse for it. Now you are trying to get the better of me and that too I will not have.”

Edith shifted over the desk, her bruised burgundy bottom bucking in slow motion. There were now two blistered welts on the crown and the lower curves; tender spots that would steal the girl’s sitting privileges for days to come, if not a full week. Eleanor, knew this from bitter, bitter experience, a certain knowledge that had not long faded from her mind. A lesson learned that she could put to good effect now. For one thing, she certainly knew how to paddle.

“I told you, this will not be over just because you end your defiance,” she scolded.

Edith groaned and then sniffed heavily. The surrendered tears came slowly, but come they did.

“No ma’am,” she finally wailed.

Eleanor looked relieved.

“You’re a silly girl, aren’t you?” the teacher sighed.

“I don’t mean to be ma’am, really I don’t,” Edith sobbed.

“You cheated, you were defiant and you tried to make others so,” Eleanor said sharply.

“Yes ma’am,” Edith replied miserably.

“So you know you deserve this don’t you?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alright then,” Eleanor sighed with finality. “Let us finish this then.”

“Ma’am?” Edith wailed in panic.

“A punishment is best served on a repentant bottom,” Eleanor said grimly, “And I warned you about your stubborn defiance.”

“Ooh, yes ma’am,” Eleanor cried as she sagged in her place.

Henry watched as the paddle landed with an earnest vigour a dozen more times.

“Now girl get your nose in the naughty corner where I put the little kids and you can have a good cry. Then we will finish where we should have started,” Eleanor ordered the girl.

Henry chuckled, not really knowing what poor Edith would suffer next, but he was quite sure she was in capable hands and he left.

*

The half an hour in the corner to cry herself out had been mortifying enough. But now Edith was required to write out on the blackboard: “Defiant girls are spanked; I will not bully and cheat my school fellows.”

Worse still she had to do it with her bloomers down and her skirts pinned into the small of her back. If her father sent her brother to find her… Edith quailed. And what if Thomas came with friends like Danny or even Michael Bingham?

Although her wrist ached she applied herself with the punitive task until the whole board was full up. So anxious was she to complete the humble task. Then with doe-eyed submission she looked longingly at her teacher.

“Wipe it up and start again,” Eleanor told her, “We have a long way to go yet.”

“Ooh, oh… oh yes ma’am,” Edith whimpered and shot an anxious look at the door. She just knew it wasn’t locked.

*

The following evening Eleanor had this time sat down at her desk without incident. The students had all been quiet as church mice without the ringleader stirring things up. And Edith, whose blush had not left her face all day, was as meek and humble as anyone could wish. Although judging by Thomas Caldwell and his friends whispered mutterings, they were fully party to what had happened the night before. No doubt the boys had crept back to peek through the windows to find out what had been keeping Edith so long.

Well it was none of her affair and at least Eleanor could settle down and mark some books. So it was then a surprise to hear the door open and see Henry Vaughn, the commissioner of education come in.

“Mr Vaughn,” she said with an enforced polite smile as she got to her feet.

“Miss Whitlow,” Henry sighed, readying himself for the confrontation to come.

“Is there something wrong?” Eleanor inquired apprehensively.

Henry sucked in air through his nose and let it out with a purpose. Then he strode the length of the schoolroom and deposited the letter he had received from Boston on her desk.

Eleanor eyed it suspiciously and then seeing the heading, her heart caved a little and she felt sick.

Although the missive confirmed her attendance at Boston Ladies College as she had claimed, it informed the Cade County Commissioner that any references he had received from them must have been forged. Furthermore, it read, far from being top of her class, Eleanor Whitlow had barely graduated, and with grades far lower than Henry Vaughn had suggested.

“I-I can explain,” Eleanor squeaked.

“Can you? Can you really Miss Whitlow?” he growled.

“I just, I only…”

“You overegged your pudding somewhat didn’t you?” he pressed her.

Eleanor dipped her head and nodded.

“And the letter of references?” he snapped.

“An old college friend, she… she eh… ‘borrowed’ some headed paper and copied out her own letter of recommendation,” Eleanor admitted.

“I see,” Henry sighed heavily, “Can you see any reason I should not dismiss you at once?”

Eleanor’s heart withered in her chest and the ground all but opened to drag to a deserved hell, which would have been preferable right then.

“No Sir,” she said miserably.

Henry sighed again. He had hoped for some simple explanation or at least a plausible denial.

“The trouble is, and by all accounts, you are the best teacher we have ever had here….” he groaned, “Damn you woman. Your predecessor was, well quite frankly hopeless and in just a few months our students have made great progress,” he explained regretfully. “Why in tar-nation couldn’t you have been honest?”

Eleanor swallowed and then looked down at her shoes.

“’I hate cheats. There is no excuse for it.’” I believe you said, “And you have played the people of this county for fools.”

Eleanor looked up and gaped at him. They had been her exact words to Edith the night before. He must have been listening.

“I ought to send you packing, but your treatment of Edith Caldwell yesterday suggested another possibility to see honour served,” he said in calm dark voice.

Eleanor’s eyes widened and she took an involuntary step backwards.

“Y-you wouldn’t,” she gasped.

“And why not?” he said with a stern rise of his brows.

“B-but…” Eleanor could scarcely get a breath and shot a worried glance at the paddle on the wall.

“I could give you a choice,” he growled, “But quite frankly I don’t want to lose you and you would be a fool to leave without references. So all that remains is you to look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have it coming Miss Whitlow.”

Eleanor gulped and he waited a moment longer before speaking.

“I saw most of how you handled Edith and I heard the rest from some boys who didn’t know I was there,” Henry told her. “Can you think of any reason that you shouldn’t get the same?”

She felt the blood drain from her face and her heart was set to pounding in her chest.

“Mr Vaughn, I-I am a grown woman, y-you cannot mean to… I mean, I’m too old to be spanked,” she spluttered.

“Are you? I think not. You are not much older than Edith and younger than my own daughter whom I would spank soundly if she had behaved half as badly as you,” he said in tones that did indeed remind Eleanor of a disappointed father.

“But you can’t,” she wailed.

“I can and I will,” he snapped, “Although I do not intend to force you. I have great faith in your integrity and repentance.”

Eleanor swallowed hard and regarded the paddle as if it had been suddenly imbued with a just inevitability.

“Please make the preparations Miss Whitlow,” he said a sharp calm clear voice. As he spoke he began to remove his jacket.

Then as she swayed close to a swoon he turned and walked to the door to lock it. The blinds were tattered and scarcely adequate but nonetheless he made a slow tour of the room closing each one at the windows. By the time he turned back Eleanor had removed her outer gown and draws and had bent over the chair at the desk where she had placed it.

Her bottom was womanish and fuller than Edith’s and he meant to make his mark.

“Mr Vaughn,” she croaked, “This is… is most unseemly.”

But her glowering red face was turned down in a kowtow to the wall. So he took the paddle form the wall and studied it closely. It had a sheen to it and he hefted it firmly as returned to stand behind his poorly behaved teacher.

“Ever been paddled before Miss Whitlow?” he asked.

She nodded and in a thick voice rasped, “Yes Sir, in Boston, in much this position.”

“More than once I’ll be bound,” he chuckled. “When was the last time?”

“Not long before I came here,” she admitted, “I… I was held back three semesters you see and then had to… well, I missed a year…”

Her broken story served to distract her.

“This paddle drill was borrowed from your old alma mater wasn’t it?”

Eleanor sucked in a breath and nodded.

The paddle stung her then. A crisp clean band of pain searing her bare bottom cheeks as she lurched forward and emitted a squeak.

Two dark pink pebble-dash patches rose up quickly, one for each curved cheek, and he spanked her again.

“Ah,” she lurched, her pretty face rolling to the ceiling before dipping again.

Then the swats came slow and steady. From outside if anyone were to pass it sounded like a spinning jenny was weaving away inside the school room; a rhythmic and relentless clack-clack over and over slowly marking time every two seconds.

*

Even though he had taken four long rest breaks, both of them were thoroughly out of breath by the time Henry put down the paddle. By then the night had a beard and Eleanor was sobbing gently under a purple-red leathery-welted bottom thrust uppermost from her prone body. She had blisters to rival any she had given Edith and not an ounce of strength for the least resentment. In fact despite her ordeal, or perhaps because of it, she felt better. The burden of her white lies had finally been lifted and she at last felt that she deserved her position in Cade County.

Henry now sensed her acceptance and finally putting the paddle down, he quoted her words at her, “A punishment is best served on a repentant bottom,” so we may return to this later. “Now you may stand and take up the chalk.”

Eleanor shot a horrified look at the naughty corner where she had set Edith. It was too shameful.

“Oh you will stand there later, much later, and by then you will be glad to do it. Accepting it as you will, the lesser of your shame. No doubt you’ll never look at it the same again,” he chuckled. “But for now I want you to write out, “Teachers who cheat the board, cheat their students and will be soundly spanked.”

It was a shameful truth and suddenly the fire in her bottom fell far short of redemption for her. She clutched at her seared rear and heaved a sob

“Yes Sir,” she said miserably as she picked up the familiar chalk.

“Don’t worry, I will remain while you do it,” he told her. “Oh and leave your skirts up and bloomers off won’t you? That is how it is done?”

Eleanor sobbed back a breath and nodded as she set about the given task.

“H-how many?” she meekly asked.

“Just keep going until I tell you to stop,” he said firmly.

Eleanor suspected that she would fill the board several times over before the night was over. But after just a line or two Eleanor stopped and muttered something.

“What was that?” he growled.

“I said, I am sorry,” she sniffed.

He nodded and replied, “I know.”

Then after another scratch-squeak of chalk she paused again and said, “Mr Vaughn.”

“Yes Miss Whitlow.”

“Thank you,” she said in a wan voice.

“You can thank me later after I finish your spanking.”

“Ooh,” she wailed and flashed a horrified glance at the still warm paddle on her desk.

It was just what she would have done in his place, she decided, and with a mortified sigh she returned to the chalk.

Kate Francis had been driving for hours and the short cut was beginning to look like an extensive detour. Why was driving America always such fun in the movies, she thought as she looked down at the air-con; is that thing even working? She tapped at it angrily, taking her eyes from the road.

She looked up just in time to see the sparsely wooded yellow-grass verge coming towards her and she quickly levelled off.

A bead of sweat rolled down her lightly tanned frown-crinkled forehead into her polished brown eye and she swiped at the sting in irritation. Her once pressed white business blouse was sticking to her now, and she could feel a nasty trickle down her butt crack under her smart pants.

She shot glance at the driving mirror and saw that although her dark mascara was holding up well, her formerly neatly tied back hair was becoming frayed so that even the dark brown ends frizzed almost silver where they caught the light.

Then a scream of a horn on the bend dragged her attention back to the road and she narrowly missed an oncoming pick-up.

“Jerk-off,” she screamed at the driver as his vehicle retreated in her mirror.

She was still glowering at it as she crossed the county line and almost missed the sign that announced Cade County, established 1828.

“Where the goddam fuck is this?” she cursed and reached, half looking, for her route map.

As she did so her sunglasses, which up to then had been perched on top of her head, tumbled and she made a clumsy grab at them. This time the car was less forgiving of her inattention and she slewed at the corner and found the ditch; taking down a hazard sign in the process.

*

As far as Kate could tell she was unhurt, but the same could not be said for the car. She was still cursing her luck when a loud shrill hoot made her start. She whirled around to see a white Plymouth cruiser slow to a stop behind and the words Cade Count Sheriff’s Department embossed in Black and Gold on the hood and down the doors.

The severe looking hard-faced 30-something woman at the wheel looked pissed. But it was the small confederate flag incorporated into the police badge on the door that raised her hackles. This was the last thing she needed: a female red-neck small town cop.

At almost five-eight, the dark-blonde deputy was half a head taller than Kate. Her beige uniform with piping was immaculate, an image topped off by mirror shades and white badged-sheriff’s hat. She looked in good shape and might have been half pretty if she hadn’t been a cop.

“You alright there ma’am?” the woman drawled.

Here we go, Kate sighed, rolling her eyes up.

*

Terri Vaughn first saw the Mustang as it swerved at the bend. The reckless road position, at just on the speed limit, made her palm itch and set her teeth on edge. With kids you could never cut any slack. Fifteen years in the Cade County Sherriff’s Department had taught her that much.

Then she saw that it was a woman driver with New York plates. She looked respectable enough and had probably been on the road for hours. Well if she was just passing through then Terri didn’t need to make it her problem.

Then the driver seemed to duck down behind the wheel as if reaching for something and the car began to slide. It peeved her to think that some poor fool was about to become road kill and all she could think of was the accident reports she would have to deal with. I’m such a bitch, she berated herself. But the truth was, she hated paperwork like some folks hated cockroaches or warm beer.

But before she could even call it in or even get alongside the ditch-laden wreck, the woman driver got out and dusted herself off. Thank the heavens for passing mercies, Terri thought, she really hated paperwork.

As she pulled up she announced herself with a burst of siren and began to appraise situation. The woman looked like city folks from up north, which tallied with the plates. Her clothes were good, if a little unsuited to the Tennessee summer and she was wearing the lower half of an expensive looking pants suit with a blouse that looked like nothing in store back in town.

So long as the damn fool wasn’t drunk then this was a small write up and a ‘let’s be on your way,’ Terri hoped.

“You alright there ma’am?” she called over.

At once the woman stiffened and rolled her eyes like a teenager Terri was more used to dealing with in these situations. She looked around 30 and fairly pretty, if you got past the ‘important business’ image.

“I’m just fine and dandy,” the woman spat back, “Just look at this fucking thing.”

Terri frowned at this. The sneered sarcasm was perhaps excusable, but Terri had been brought up to believe that people, especially women, did not curse like that. Darn it, if she had spoken the f-word in front of her ex, let alone her folks, even at 30, she would have been invited to the woodshed, Cade County deputy or no.

“Maybe if you had taken a little more care at the bend then this might have been avoided,” Terri suggested.

“Maybe fuck,” the woman cursed again, “Maybe if these goddam roads and signage weren’t so far up hicksville’s ass then I would have seen the curve in the road.”

Terri’s jaw tightened. The woman was in shock, but all the same…

“I assure you ma’am, the signs meet state requirements and the road is perfectly maintained for the correct speed,” Terri said in a hard neutral voice.

“You saying I’m speeding now,” the woman spat angrily, “Oh that’s just typical of small minded America. Okay, okay, I get it, how much is this going to cost me?”

Terri froze and the native tick at her right eye, the one that she got whenever she had to supress annoyance, moved into her sinuses. Everyone knew that Terri Vaughn wasn’t above cutting through the bull when the need arose. There were ways and means for keeping the mayor’s daughters’ records clean without resorting to paperwork. But she never took a bribe, not even in kind. If anyone did make with the generous to make a problem go away, then there had to be a public benefit and all cash went to local charity.

The woman reached into the car for her purse.

“Ma’am,” Terri said icily, “I can point you at a mechanic and a decent hotel, but can I strongly suggest…”

“Oh I bet you can,” the woman sneered, “Some of your cousins no doubt. What? You get a slice of the action do you?”

*

“I’m just fine and dandy,” Kate said irritably. I am not dead, if that’s what you mean; she thought, and then muttered under her breath “Just look at this fucking thing.”

“Maybe if you had taken a little more care at the bend then this might have been avoided,” the woman said, but there was more than a supressed criticism in her tone.

“Maybe fuck,” Kate groaned, irritated at having the obvious stated. But the way she remembered it the bend had come at her from nowhere, as if someone wanted her to have a crash, so she muttered angrily, “Maybe if these goddam roads and signage weren’t so far up hicksville’s ass then I would have seen the curve in the road.”

Maybe the hick crack was too much, she immediately regretted, but for fuck’s sake, she didn’t need this.

The deputy said something officious, but Kate wasn’t really listening, but then she heard, “correct speed,” as if it had some significance.

Here we go, I might have known there would be a shake down, Kate groaned inwardly. Maybe she could smooth things over with a contribution. But she couldn’t help being annoyed.

“You saying I’m speeding now,” she snapped angrily, “Oh that’s just typical of small minded America. Okay, okay, I get it, how much is this going to cost me?”

Kate could have sworn the woman had smiled like a cat with a mouse as she suggested that she could set her up with a mechanic and a hotel. Just how long did the damn cop think she was going to stay in this dump anyway?

“Oh I bet you can,” she groaned, unaware that she spoke her next thoughts aloud.

“You know what ma’am,” the cop bristled, “Reckless driving, damage to county property, attempting to bribe an officer of the law… I am going to have to run you in until we clear this up.”

As she spoke she pulled the cuffs from her belt and turned Kate about so that she was facing the wreck of her car.

“Wh-what the fuck?” she gasped.

The handcuffs pinched a little as they clicked into place and then like a bad movie she heard her rights calmly and clearly in her ear.

*

Cade County Sheriff’s office was a small red brick building that had been built back in 1929 to replace the old one deemed too small for the needs of the 20^th century. It had a front communal area with two desks and two interior doors. One leading to the sheriff’s own office and the other to a short corridor to the rest room, off which were three large cell cages.

All the way there Kate had sworn at the stone face cop announcing that she was a freeborn American and that they had no idea who they were messing with.

None of this had made the least impact on Terri, and Kate had been thrown in cell nearest the door still wearing the cuffs and abandoned there to sit on a rough stained mattress on one of the two iron bunks.

“You can’t do this to me,” she screamed.

Terri, who had been about to walk out into the front office, paused at these words and made a slow turn before peering sternly over the rims of her mirror shades to drawl, “Oh yes I can.”

She waited a moment to let the words sink in and then she was gone leaving Kate to the afternoon heat.

*

The sun was orange red and slanting through the small cell window before Kate heard the least sound from the outer room. By then she was cursing the name of Cade County and her arms ached. Even then it was a while before the door opened and Terri returned carrying an old battered chair and unlocked the cage door.

Setting the chair down in the middle of the cell, the deputy dropped down astride facing backwards to regard Kate with a hard stare.

“You calmed down yet?” Terri asked conversationally.

Kate sucked in her cheeks and glowered back without answering.

“I see,” Terri sighed.

“You can’t keep me here,” Kate said sullenly.

“I certainly can’t,” Terri agreed, “The sheriff’s gone fishing and we only have one other deputy. We just don’t have the facilities.”

Kate was about to speak when Terri made tut-tut with her mouth and sternly wagged her finger.

“You see the thing is ma’am, my only recourse is to run you up to the county jail,” Terri explained, “It is an old-fashioned kind of place that dates back to the ‘30s when we last got any investment in law enforcement around here. The women’s wing is…” here she made a pensive hissing sound, “well frankly, it’s kind of brutal ma’am. You bad-mouth anyone half as bad as you have been shooting off at me, well then…” she paused, adding as an aside, “You ever felt a prison strap on that prissy little bee-hind of yours?”

Kate gaped. It was like Badham County, she just knew it.

“Now the only way I can get them to take you is by writing up all the charges and if I do that then all that paperwork will take quite a spell; we’re just not set up for it you see. Then it has to go to the judge. It will take at least a week to get a hearing date and make arrangements for you to see a lawyer…”

“A week,” Kate gasped in a shrill voice.

“At least ma’am, now even if I can’t make the bribery charges stick, well I reckon you’ll get 30-60 days with a fine,” Terri told the by now disconcerted Kate.

“You-you just can’t… I mean I was only…” Kate wailed.

“Well I tried to help you, tried to be reasonable, what choice did you give me?” Terri said calmly.

“I didn’t mean…”

“Besides, you got a mouth on you like a drunken sailor. If I had spoken to anyone like that, let alone the law, then I would have felt a razor strop and more across my bee-hind. Now if you were just one of the local girls then that’s how we would handle it,” Terri said with regret.

Kate licked her lips and went ashen.

“I had a job interview, just a job, you get me. I didn’t even call them. I’ll miss it now… oh shit.” Kate seemed to be talking to herself, trying to establish some normality.

“Ma’am, you have a potty mouth don’t you. If the sheriff was here it’s a cinch he would have put you across his knee by now and you would have been down at the motel feeling sorry for yourself instead of languishing here,” Terri sighed.

“I’m so sorry; please can’t you just let me go?” Kate pleaded.

“You want it handed the local way?” It was Terri’s turn to gape.

“You can’t put me in jail, you just can’t,” Kate said miserably.

Terri looked significantly about her at the cage.

Suddenly Kate stood up and angrily shouted, “Fuck you, I’m going,” before making a break for the open door.

With her hands still cuffed behind her back and Terri less than six feet away, she didn’t get far.

“You know, I tired of this 30 going on 15 attitude of yours,” the deputy drawled, “I am tired of your filthy mouth and I am tired of your snatching every olive branch I have tossed your way and breaking into little pieces. Are all of you Yankees so pig-headedly dumb?”

Kate got as far as the door to the outer office before she could get no further and kicked at it in bitter frustration.

“You know, you’re not the first kid to try that,” Terri sighed, “I remember a young lady who was busted for drink-driving. She had less of a potty mouth than you do, but twice the attitude. Old Sheriff Miller yanked down my shorts and blistered my bare bottom good for that stunt. Nothing to what my folks did, mind you…”

Kate broke off from her assault on the door and took a fresh look at her captor.

“Let me put some perspective on that for you,” Terri said wearily, “Then if you want to make out a complaints slip I’ll get you one. The judge files them under T for trash anyway, but you could always complain to the state authorities. There is always a do-gooder there happy to pander to the liberals.”

Kate was still mulling over Terri’s revelation when she was taken by the arm and led back to the cell. Then she was lost in wide-eyed confusion as the deputy sat down in the chair and tipped at the hapless traffic offender across her lap. Kate’s bottom ballooned big and full at the seat, and Terri nodded in appreciation.

“In Cade County we take these down,” Terri drawled as she efficiently worked the hook and button on Kate’s pants and eased them down her thighs.

Kate wriggled in surprise, but with her hands still cuffed she couldn’t resist. Instead she began to buck somewhat until her breath became laboured in the evening heat.

“These too,” Terri said casually as she hooked her thumb into Kate’s panties and slipped them down over her bare bottom to meet her pants around her knees.

“This… this is… oh my God,” Kate muttered frantically.

“Now ma’am I am going to give you the spanking of your life. No doubt one that you have been needing for a very long time,” Terri said sharply as she let her palm swing down like a paddle.

The crisp smack twanged back off the bare cell walls and left a clear red hand mark on Kate’s right cheek; one that was quickly matched on the left. In a very few minutes two or three dozen spanks had landed and the now mewling woman had a bottom the colour of sunset and was panting like a fat man walking up hill in summer.

Ordinarily, it would have counted as an efficient spanking; one worthy of the law. But even after five minutes Terri showed no sign of bringing it to a close and continued to spank with a will.

“Okay, yah, I get it,” Kate wailed, her voice wavering as tears mixed with her sweaty face.

In fact both women were perspiring hard in the oppressive cage, the only difference being that Terri was used to it.

“I guess you are beginning to get the idea now ma’am,” Terri drawled.

“Yes Ma’am,” Kate barked out with a snap, blinking hard.

“Do you always curse at people when they offer you help?” Terri said sharply.

“No Ma’am,” Kate gasped. But inside she knew that she probably did more often than not.

“Well I’m helping you now ain’t I?” Terri said pointedly with a volley of spanks.

“Yes Ma’am,” Kate agreed in a wail that ended in a sniff.

“Am I going to get any more trouble form you?” Terri asked, landing another swat.

“No Ma’am,” Kate answered miserably, now on the edge of open sobbing.

“Then I think you are about done for now,” Terri said, setting the girl on her feet.

The still handcuffed Kate, unable to grab her behind for a rub, danced up and down with a face inscribed with woe.

“Now you have a choice,” Terri sighed. “I can go get that complaint form for you if you want it, and write you up for the judge. Don’t worry; I’ll drop the bribery charges. You’ll only do 30 days with time served or pay the fine I expect. Or I can go and get the sheriff’s paddle from his office and we can settle this here and now.”

“But I thought…” Kate gaped, tears now escaping from her eyes.

“That was truly nothing. Just a little something from me to get your attention,” Terri said dismissively and shrugged.

“If I take the…” Kate swallowed, “The paddle, are we really done?”

Terri gave an emphatic friendly nod and almost smiled.

Five minutes later she returned with a rubberised leather paddle near three feet long with a striking head twice the size of a man’s hand. It was black with holes large enough to put a man’s thumb through. Kate counted 12.

“This is the county attitude adjuster,” Terri said proudly, “Ain’t it a doozey? Felt myself more than once.”

Kate gulped.

“You still up for it?” Terri asked.

Kate took a deep breath and answered with a tiny nod.

“Good for you,” Terri said brightly. “Turn around.”

Hesitantly Kate obeyed and felt her cuffs being released.

“Pull your pants up ma’am, I have a spare room back at my place, ‘less you want me to call the motel? Your car will be fixed in three days, I already called them, but I can get a renter by the end of tomorrow,” Terri said as she nonchalantly rested the paddle on her shoulder like a National Guardsman.

“But I thought…?”

“Nah, you learned your lesson, I guess you showed willing and now we have an understanding,” the deputy answered with a grin.

Kate let go with a heavy sigh, but strangely she felt a slight pang of disappointment.

“You want the renter ma’am?” Terri asked.

Kate shook her head. “It’ll be too late,” she shrugged.

“Sorry about that ma’am, but I got you a deal at the mechanics, he’s my cousin,” she winked. “And you’re welcome at my place until it’s fixed, with no rent. Save you some I guess.”

Kate brightened. “It’s Kate. Kind of silly you ma’am-ing me; not under the… eh, circumstances. And I’ll be happy with your offer of a room.”

“I suppose so. I am Terri by the way,” Terri chuckled. “There’s a diner down the street, I’ll join you there with your bag as soon as Billy-Joe comes in to relieve me. Shouldn’t be long now.”

Kate nodded shyly. Then at the door and finally her freedom she whispered, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome ma’am, I mean Kate.”

Kate nodded again as she unconsciously grabbed at her behind.

“Oh Kate,” Terri said, her gaze following Kate’s hands, “Remember now, no cussing, or you and me might have to have more words.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Kate gasped, but she was blushing.

The Semester of Standing for Supper is the latest DJ Black story published by LSF publishing. You can buy it here.

It is 1971, and Hilary, a fourth-year student in her final year of a course in English and History, is following in the footsteps of her Aunt Clarisse who graduated in 1965. Clyburn is a New England women’s college with a proud tradition of firm discipline dating back to 1879.

However, Hilary’s grades have been slipping and her recent class attendance has been sub par. Her tutor, Professor John Harmon, takes her to task when they next meet in his office, indicating his disappointment with two rounds of his infamous wooden paddle, topped off with the cane. Hilary is aware that if she does not straighten up, he may sentence her to a far more humiliating ordeal.

Debagging, is a quaint term for what amounts to a very public correction. A punishment that involves spending the entire week with her bottom uncovered. Such is life at Clyburn, an establishment in which so many butts are blistered and their owners remain standing for supper.

The big fat F was written in red and Cassie felt sick. Her last paper had been a D, her third that semester, and she had been sure that even in the worst case scenario she would have scraped an E minus at minimum. Okay that wasn’t exactly great, but her grade average was still above a B, or had been before this damn F and she still had time to raise her game, didn’t she?

The problem with an F is that it automatically generated a letter home to her folks and she would have to contend with concern and even a berating from that quarter.

“Darn it,” she sighed dropping onto her bed and blowing her wayward copper fringe out of her eyes.

The girl in the make-up mirror wore an expression she hadn’t seen since her teens. It was a look Cassie had developed for herself after years of practice. Now that bygone face stared back at her for a moment; the almost metallic green eyes lapsing into a stare of practiced hard-done-by injustice, which was complimented by that old sullen pout. Then Cassie shook her head and focussed on the fact that she was now near 22 and a woman.

Back in her first year in college an F had gotten her a resurrection of some old family customs and she actually felt oddly queasy as her buttocks clenched. Getting a spanking at home during Thanksgiving had been a shock. The bottom blistering she had gotten in her dorm room had been downright mortifying.

Finally her folks had engaged the services of Mark Tillman, an old friend from mom’s home town who worked as a professional educationalist and mentor. He had been more used to delinquents and Bible Belt brats gone off the rails, but for the French family he had made an exception.

An early rebellion from Cassie had triggered a spanking from him that had set the agenda for the rest of her freshman year. Even now she blushed at the embarrassment and intensity of some of their encounters. Thank God she was too old for all that now and it had been a year since she had needed him and more than two since he had last spanked her. Well, she guessed she had deserved it; after all she had only been a kid back then.

Cassie picked up the letter and began to rehearse excuses in her mind. Maybe if she got a B minus on her next paper she could… then she saw the date on the letter. It was over a week old.

“Shit,” she exclaimed aloud.

She had been off partying during the long weekend and must have forgotten to check her mail before she set-off. So why hadn’t her mom or dad phoned?

“Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered as she frantically gathered up some books and prepared to hit the library.

Then she remembered she had to meet Jones and the others down at Fandangos and sighed. It took her almost 10 seconds to decide that tomorrow would be soon enough for study.

“Why did you have to be an F?” she cursed the note that now lay discarded on her bed.

*

The next morning her head didn’t hurt much at all and she worked her mouth as her eyes stole a look from her slumber at a blurred bedside clock. Despite the lack of pain something was drumming in her head and she sat up. No, not her head, it was the door to her room.

“Hold up,” she called and swung her legs from under the duvet.

Looking down she saw that she had one sock on and one half off, neither matching, and although she had gotten as far as putting on a short sleep-shirt, the lower half was still in a tangle on the floor and she was still wearing her panties.

The door hammered again firmly and Cassie yawned.

“Wait can’t you? I’m coming,” she growled at the unwelcome visitor.

She could see now that it was almost 11 and for a moment she wondered if she had missed something. But a glance at the calendar showed a reading day or as she and her fellow student’s called it, a free.

The shirt just covered her panties so with another yawn she staggered to the door and opened it.

The man outside was a head taller than she was and wore a medium dark brown leather jacket, like one a pilot might wear. Under that he wore a check shirt that reminded Cassie of her rural home and for some reason she first checked out the shoes to see if work boots completed the picture. They didn’t.

Instead she saw strangely familiar academic brogues under dark green denim pants. So when she looked up she wasn’t surprised to see a tinning mop of well-cropped curly salt-n-pepper hair and steel grey eyes regarding her with a look positioned somewhere between disappointment and disdain.

“Mr Tillman,” Cassie said in nervous surprise.

“Your folks called me,” Mark Tillman said in a stern baritone voice.

“Oh… eh… yah, I meant to call them,” she replied, belatedly raking her hair with her fingers and tugging at the hem of her shirt in front.

“Is that a fact?” Tillman drawled easing his way passed his former charge and taking in the room behind her.

“I haven’t had a chance to… ah… clear up,” she muttered, her voice trailing away as his eyes fell upon an empty vodka bottle.

Then as she watched he crossed the room and ran a finger along her unopened laptop and inspected the dust he had collected on his fingertip.

“I was… eh… away for the weekend…” she explained.

“It’s Wednesday,” he replied bluntly.

“Yeah, I… eh sort of got back yesterday afternoon,” Cassie told him with a growing sense of unease.

“I dropped off at the faculty building on my way over,” Tillman said casually. “I still have that letter from your parents countersigned by you, remember?”

Cassie nodded dumbly. She did and blushed as she remembered the circumstance in which she had signed it.

“So how are your grades going would you say?” Tillman asked suddenly rounding on her with that old-fashioned demeanour of his.

“Not too bad I guess. I have a B average…” she said more brightly than she felt.

“Try D plus,” he shot back, “As for the rest…”

“Well it’s nice of you to look in on me but…” Cassie began.

“You firing me?” Tillman growled, “Is that what I have to call your folks to say?”

Cassie gulped.

“No I… that is…” she felt the heat rise as the floor seemed to sag.

It was embarrassing to be back where she was last year then she saw that Tillman was staring at the hairbrush on her make-up table.

“I think it is time I reacquainted you with the basics again, don’t you?” he drawled.

*

The moment she had seen Mark Tillman Cassie had expected a scolding and even a crackdown on her behaviour. After all, even she knew things were out of hand and that she was in veritable freefall. The realisation was embarrassment enough. But the moment Tillman picked up the hairbrush and patted against his hand she knew what ‘reacquainted with the basics’ meant.

“Come on,” she wailed as she took a step backwards. “You can’t possibly… I mean…”

Tillman ignored Cassie’s peony gaping and said, “No roommate these days I see, that makes things rather easier doesn’t it?”

“But you can’t… I’m… I’m over 21,” she said miserably, her thoughts a cascade of denial.

“Then it is time you started behaving like it, isn’t it?” Tillman said sharply. “Do you remember what I told you last time?”

Cassie’s eyes dashed back and forth in her head as if her mind were racing ahead for an answer to her fate.

“I was just a kid back then, 19 and… and…” Cassie protested.

“You were 20 I think and I seem to remember a certain promise, in writing yet,” Tillman said calmly as he reached out for her to take his hand.

Cassie gulped as her head dizzied with hot blood that throbbed at her cheeks until it reached her ears. She remembered what ‘in writing yet’ meant. She had written out 500 times the convoluted legend, ‘reckless lazy brats are never too old to be spanked, is a sentiment I share.’

She had signed off on every page and the thick bundle had spent the rest of the semester pinned to her peg board. It had been a bitch to obscure with other notes and a dried flower, but she had dared not remove it on pain of a spanking. She was damn sure her then roomie Marlene had seen and read it. She had prayed for months that no one else had.

“Were you lying when you thanked me for my efforts and signed off on that rather tedious exercise?” Tillman asked.

“No Sir,” Cassie said quickly, “But…”

Tillman was still extending an arm out to her and this time she meekly took a step towards him and allowed him to tumble her across his knee. With the curve of her pantie-clad bottom in his lap she suddenly remembered something.

“The door, please, I didn’t lock it,” she gasped.

“Who would be so rude as to burst in unannounced?” he told her sternly, “Not everyone is as badly behaved as you are.”

With these words he drew her panties down her thighs and lined up the flat of the brush.

Oh my God, she thought, as wild thoughts whirled through her mind. This is…

“I do hope you still have that paddle I bought you.” His words broke into her thoughts.

She had once been required to hang it on the wall in plain sight.

“It is just an old sorority paddle,” she had had to say more often than she cared to, before praying that no one asked which sorority she belonged to. Only her roommate studiously ignored it. A sure sign that she knew exactly what it was for.

Her mind raced now as she struggled to remember where she had put it. But she hadn’t forgotten what he had said he would do if she lost it. Luckily, in her position her nose was just inches from the carpet and she spied the beastly thing under the bed and hastily told him.

“It goes back on the wall as soon as we’re done and next time you’ll feel it,” he told her sharply.

“Yes Sir,” she agreed, her voice edged in panic.

The hairbrush swept down and landed squarely on her sit-spots. It was far worse than she remembered, but she was still more concerned about the embarrassment just then. The harsh crack rang back off the cheap thin walls and as the next landed it was a cert that her neighbours either side would be in no doubt as to the origins of the sound. She only prayed that they were out.

“Oh-yah,” she gasped at the third and thereafter she had to bark out in distress at each spank as the shame of it quickly made way for the burn.

The spanking quickly became a continuous blast of heat and sound until Cassie was kicking and bawling as much as she ever had.

“Mommy he spanked me,” she had told her mother over the phone after the first time, “Right on my bare bottom.”

“Good,” had come the reply, “I don’t care if he spanked you in front of all your friends or in that nasty diner of yours. You’ve been far too big for your boots young lady.”

It had been foolish to complain, she knew that even before she had. After all as her mom went on to point out, she had agreed to in writing when Mark Tillman had become her mentor. Originally it had been preferable to the hot homecoming alternative and besides, until it had happened she had never believed that it really would.

At least with Mark, there had been decidedly less public embarrassment than at home and the worst he had even threatened her with was corner time outside her room in the corridor. After a while, and as she saw and embraced the improvement in her grades and life in general, she had come to prefer Tillman’s guidance to the old-fashioned welcome she had to contend with at the end of each semester.

All this ran through her mind as she bawled, bucked and danced across Tillman’s knee until she was thoroughly sorry. Even so the hairbrush blazed its painful tracks across her bare bottom for a good 10 minutes before he finally let up. By which time she was lost in hearty sobs and felt as if her tail end was fit to melt.

“You know I’ll give you more than this don’t you?” Tillman drawled.

“Yes Sir,” she wailed.

She had dropped to a crouch at his feet now and was claw-rubbing at her bottom as pulling off fire-wasps. Even from the corners of her eyes, which she dared not take from Tillman, she could see her bottom curves were a deep strawberry red as if she had sat in gloss finish paint.

“Next time I come around and you’re in this state. Next time I hear you dropped a grade to anything less than a B, and if you’re not a B plus grade average at the end of the semester, there will be hell to pay. Frankly you are a straight A student, and I won’t be off your case until you show me that.” Tillman was speaking low and tight, with a velvet-glove menace.

“Yes Sir,” she sniffed.

“Now since you don’t want to work, you can go stand in the corner for an hour or two while I assess the damage and make certain arrangements to have your last three essays re-submitted,” he told her, nodding at the only relatively clear space in her room. “Then in your spare time you can write 1,000 times: I am a lazy reckless brat and I am not too old to have my bare bottom spanked. Now tell me the rest.”

Cassie had already got halfway to the wall when she stopped and gaped at him. Then seeing he wasn’t joking she swallowed and reluctantly whispered, “I have to sign every page and put it on my peg board.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“And hang the paddle back up,” she murmured.

He nodded and half smiled, saying, “Good girl. I’ll be phoning you every night to make sure you aren’t out. And I’ll be back on Saturday to check on all your progress.”

Cassie sighed and turned back to the wall and felt her heart sag. It was so embarrassing, she thought miserably, and the door still isn’t locked. But the chance to re-write her last few essays would put her on track and suddenly she wasn’t in freefall anymore.

“I don’t expect you’re off the hook with your folks yet,” he added as she clasped her hands in the small of her back just above her exposed red bottom. “They are desperately worried that you are returning to the bad old days.”

Cassie rolled her eyes where he couldn’t see them. It would take a year at least to get Mark Tillman off her… backside and she wouldn’t be surprised if he was called upon him to see her through her masters.

“I bet they are,” she said ruefully, “I just bet they are.”

Well ‘old’ only in Internet terms. It has stood now for approaching five years and apart from the occasional sprucing up is as much as it was.

The other day I decided to revamp the sign post at the entrance and to my surprise went on to sell 40 books in one day. Now that doesn’t exactly mean I can give up the day job as much as I would like to increase productivity. But it does help with hosting, PC and software costs. So that is nice.

Not my point though.

The mini revamp made me wonder if most people even knew the bookshop was there. I know about once every six weeks I shameless plug a book, but that is much to do with fillers as anything. So I thought it was worth maybe posting on the entire bookshop.

Some of the stories can only be obtained by buying the book. The Russell Corner, first published in 2009 and now re-worked and on its second edition, is a comparative bestseller and can only be read if you buy it. For a first novel and an early example of my spanking work it has been surprisingly well-received. To me it seems clumsy and intense.

Also some of the short story collections contain stories that have never before been published. Other projects are in the pipeline.

So if you didn’t know, then do check out the Bookshop in the Corner or the LSF DJ Black shop, which offers slightly different titles in some regards.

Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.

Four be the things I’d been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.

Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.

Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.

                                       ― Dorothy Parker

Jenny noticed that Claire was always happy. She always had the right clothes and everything always seemed to go her way. The same could not be said for Jenny however.

In college grades eluded Jenny and then a decent job until the only break from frequent unemployment was boring temp work in increasingly low pay.

The same might be said for Claire, Jenny supposed, not the pay part, not the boring part. But both had left college without prospects, only Claire seemed to make the most of it and get asked to stay where Jenny was let go.

“It is so unfair,” she moaned to Claire one day in college.

Jenny sat opposite her friend with a serious pout and positive glowered from under her blue-black fringe as she spoke.

Claire shrugged.

“Tom and Michelle always say that life is unfair and it is what you make of it,” Claire said dismissively.

That was another thing about Claire. She was always going on and on about Tom and Michelle. ‘Tom says this and Michelle said that,’ Jenny was given to miserably mouthing behind Claire’s back.

“Well if I had someone to look out for me then maybe I would get the breaks too,” Jenny said sullenly.

She remembered how Claire had got a great room in Tom and Michelle’s expansive house for practically no rent. Jenny’s people wouldn’t even spring for a sub.

“Well I have talked to them about you and they have often said they would be happy to help,” Claire replied breezily.

Jenny frowned and glared at Claire suspiciously as she sipped on her juice straw, not a golden blonde hair out of place. She barely knew Claire’s ‘adopted family’ and yet they knew all about her.

“Yeah so why do I only hear about this now?” Jenny said scornfully.

Claire shrugged again.

“I didn’t think you would go for it,” she said carefully, “They are old school and I have to fall in with their rules. Not your scene at all I thought.”

“Yeah, well maybe you thought wrong,” Jenny spat back and then folded her arms.

Both women were silent for a time and then Jenny tentatively asked, “What do you mean old school anyway?”

Claire sighed and put all her attention into her juice. But she could tell that Jenny was not going to drop it.

“You remember how I told you that during my teens and even after…” she began carefully.

“Oh you mean about home being strict and that you missed it when you got to college,” Jenny said enthusiastically.

She had always been intrigued by some of the things Claire had alluded to. She remembered on their first day in halls when Claire had lost some money. She had blurted “I am so going to get spanked for this.”

Claire had been a lot more scatty and disorganised in those days and Jenny remembered that losing things and being in the wrong place were not uncommon for her back then. The spanking comment had been typical of her. But she had always been embarrassed when pressed about it.

It hadn’t taken long for her to realise that other girls in hall weren’t spanked and she had shut up about it. That was until one drunken evening when she admitted that she missed the firm handling.

“But what has that got to do with Tom and Michelle?” Jenny continued.

Claire fixed her eyes on the juice glass and blushed.

“You don’t mean…?” Jenny gaped.

“I told you that you wouldn’t go for it,” Claire said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“Yeah but… that’s your thing, not mine,” Jenny said eagerly, “I can play by rules sure, but… well you know. Maybe they could help me a bit. I mean just a room maybe and… well whatever it is they do that keeps you so… oh I don’t know. I just keep fucking up.”

Claire winced at the F-word. Tom would never stand for it.

“I’ll speak to them then,” she said, amused now at the scheming vacant gaze that had washed over Jenny’s face.

*

Jenny hadn’t known quite what to expect. The house was large and grand, just short of a manorial home. It was Georgian she guessed, with large eight-pane windows and smooth yellow bricks. It was free standing in its own grounds at the end of a long winding golden brown gravel drive. She particularly liked the monkey puzzle tree at the bend in the track. Running her eye to the top of the house she counted six floors, including a row of small windows in the roof itself where no doubt a century before had been the maids’ quarters.

Tom was around 10 years older than Michelle, a thick set man in his mid-40s with thick dark silver-streaked hair and bright blue smiley eyes. His wife was dark blonde with tasteful highlights. Not exactly a head turner Jenny thought, but attractive enough with a work-out body. She too had blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled.

“Let me take your bags,” Tom offered.

“I only have one,” Jenny told him shyly, “I wasn’t sure if I would be staying. I mean…”

“Oh, why is that?” Michelle asked brightly. “We have plenty of room and from what Claire says you need a bit of a leg up.”

“I know but…” Jenny blushed; she was sure now that she wanted to stay more than anything.

“Fine, then that is settled,” Michelle said maternally, “We want to give you the space to find yourself, if you’ll take it?”

Jenny nodded eagerly.

“We spoke on the phone and I know that you have talked to Claire,” Tom put in, he shot a somewhat irritated look at his wife who winced, and then he continued “We offer four specific things, room with board, our guidance, some rules, and consequences for breaking them.”

Jenny remembered what Claire had said and the rather stern almost scolding lecture she had got from Tom on the phone. The rent was a token amount and the rules meant being home by 10 on a work night even if she was between jobs. It also made provision for a required savings plan.

Tom had also spoken about retraining and the importance of good food and exercise. It all sounded fair enough until he got to the consequences part. A breach of the rules resulted in a five pound fine unless she preferred the alternative. Jenny had blushed at this point knowing as she did how they handled Claire. Tom had told her that after three rule breaches and she would be grounded like a teenager and faced other pre-agreed consequences.

Realising that Tom was waiting for her to say something Jenny nodded and then after a pause added “I understand.”

“Do you?” Tom said pointedly.

“Don’t I have to sign something?” Jenny said quickly to distract from his stern gaze.

“It’s just something our lawyer arranged, nothing special, we once had a problem with a girl we tried to help,” Michelle put in dismissively.

Tom seemed to glare at her for a moment and then cut in to say, “No, it’s a legal document and you should never be dismissive about such things. I suggest you read it and sleep on it, then sign it if you still want to the next morning. Actually we have three versions, so from the outset you have to make some hard choices.”

Jenny felt a surge of panic at the prospect of a decision. She knew Claire had seen a lawyer before signing and thought about it for a month. It was typical of Claire these days. But she had had previous experience of Tom and Michelle.

“Can’t I just sign the one that Claire signed?” Jenny said quickly. “I mean it’s on the terms you said right?”

“Of course you can…” Michelle began, her smile broad and encouraging.

“You had better read it first anyway. The devil is in the detail as always,” Tom said quickly, again shooting an irritated look at his wife.

“There’s no need to be so officious Tom,” Michelle said sticking to her guns, “She can always change the arrangement and sign a different agreement later.”

Tom nodded and Jenny heaved a sigh. She had so wanted what Claire had, perhaps in ways she couldn’t quite face. Now despite the pangs in her tummy, she felt excited at this new turn in the page of her life.

*

The rules or the deadly sins as Tom called them were not that odious in the main. But they were strictly enforced. In her first week she was just eight minutes late home and Tom bawled her out as if she was just a kid. The 30 minute scolding was worse than the five pound fine.

On the Saturday Jenny had left her room in a mess and a cup with cold tea, a forbidden beverage in the bedroom, getting spilled on the carpet. She had tried to cover up the mess and when Michelle had caught her scrubbing the carpet with bleach, Jenny had denied that it was tea.

“What you need is a good spanking,” Michelle growled at her.

That had been before she had admitted to the lie; another of the deadly sins. But the threat strangely thrilled her, as if she stood on an abyss.

She remembered fooling herself on reading the arrangement document. She had agreed that her sanction regime could be altered unilaterally by Tom if he felt that the fine system wasn’t working. Fooling herself because in her heart she knew what that could mean and yet she denied it.

Now the spanking threat made her queasy and brought her situation home.

“You’re grounded,” Michelle told her when the truth came out. “Until next Monday, that means you will not go out except for a course or to work and you will be in bed by 10 o’clock every night.”

Jenny gaped at her and was about to yell that it wasn’t fair. Then she saw Tom regarding her from the doorway and she blushed. It was totally ridiculous getting grounded like a teen, but that was what she had agreed. Damn, she blushed even more furiously and kicked something across the room.

“That’s enough of that young lady,” Tom scolded her.

*

Jenny couldn’t quite see letting anyone spank her. But it troubled her that she was even thinking in those terms. Then again, it was insane that a woman approaching her mid-20s was grounded like a little kid and getting sent to bed at 10 o’clock.

Before coming there she had thought sticking to some rules was worth the price of a great and not to say inexpensive place to live. It gave her a chance to save some money and get organised, but for the first time in her life she had structure and rules and it was turning out to be hard. Maybe once she got into it and settled down she could tell herself that she didn’t have boundaries and it wouldn’t be so embarrassing.

It was a resolve that lasted all the way to Friday night. With two days left of being kept in, she met a cute guy at lunch break who had invited her to a party. What could she say? Can I meet you next weekend as I am grounded?

Her plan was simple. Come home from her temp job as usual and then go to bed just after nine. Then once everyone assumed she was in bed she could easily slip away and get to the road to meet the pre-booked taxi.

Of course the plan required leaving the back door unlocked and disabling the security light that came on with a motion sensor. But she would be back by… well her thoughts hadn’t gone that far, but as long as she didn’t drink too much she could sneak back in before anyone noticed.

*

Jenny’s footfalls on the gravel path were louder than she thought possible and she had to keep stopping to listen hard. An owl hooted in the dark, a single ‘who?’ followed by another as if she were being challenged. It was silly of course, it was close on two o’clock and no one else would be up now.

To keep down the crunch of her steps she moved onto the side lawn and made for the paving at the back. Something darted away in the shadows and she froze. The vixen triggered the security light washing both the sleek red animal and Jenny in its cold white glare. The fox gave her one look of disdain and then slunk away into the undergrowth.

“Damn, I fixed that,” she cursed, breaking for the back door now.

It was locked. Shit, shit, shit, her mind raced, she felt sick. Well it didn’t mean that anyone knew it was her doing or that she was gone out. Only that someone had discovered the security was off. Nevertheless she made a dash for the front door, which she had a key for and risked the creaky main staircase. That was a nightmare in itself. Each step groaned and announced her weight upon it and she had to pause to listen. Damn these old stairs, she berated the house.

Her room was a haven of relief and she stood for an age with her back against the door closed behind her.

“Oh yes,” she whispered in triumph, “the Jen-machine does it again.”

Then her bed beckoned like a giant fist of cotton, embracing her as it drew her in. She might just have drifted off when a tap at her door brought her back.

“Good night Jenny, we’ll talk in the morning,” Michelle whispered from outside.

*

“I want the truth,” Tom said sharply. “We know you went out last night. You got back at two.”

“No it was about…” Jenny protested, she was going to fight for every minute.

Claire looked embarrassed for her and shifted uncomfortably in her chair in the main lounge, while Michelle stood nearby hugging herself tightly, concern etched on her face. Jenny wished they would go away.

“Don’t argue with me, I don’t want to hear semantics,” Tom barked. “You went out without permission while grounded, you came back late by any standard without telling anyone where you were going.”

Well yeah, Jenny thought, letting attitude touch her face.

“What I need to know is, did you leave the back door unlocked and turn off the motion sensors?” Tom’s eyes were hard and fixed her in a glare. “Think before you answer, I really, really don’t want any lies.”

Jenny nodded, two pools of red marking her face. She dipped her head to study where her canvas slip-on indoor shoes met the carpet.

Claire visibly winced at the admission, but Michelle relaxed a little, looking relieved even.

“So you know you did wrong?” Tom said sadly.

“Yes,” Jenny said. Her voice was more a sigh than a whisper.

“You understand that you might have put this house, our home,” he added urgently, “in danger and everyone in it?”

“I didn’t…” Jenny looked up, horrified now, “I didn’t think, really I didn’t mean to,” she wailed.

Tom held her gaze until she looked away again, the blush extending across her whole face and head.

“I know,” he said at last, “And you didn’t lie about it anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Jenny whispered in her smallest possible voice as if hoping he would forget she was there.

“Well grounding didn’t work did it? The fines are going to get you into debt at this rate,” Tom sighed, “So let’s try the old-fashioned way.”

Sometimes one can’t bring to mind what one knows. It is almost as if the body runs on autopilot with regard to the social conventions, while somewhere in the gut and the back of the brain a small dread of acceptance grows.

It was like this now with Jenny. When Tom told her to stand up and let her jeans down, she couldn’t make sense of the words.

“What?” she asked, now biting nervously at her thumb.

“I said, stand-up and slip your trousers down,” he told her.

Behind him Claire bit her lip and Michelle nodded encouragingly.

“My jeans?” she corrected him distractedly.

“Stand-up,” Tom said sharply, his voice rising a little.

Jenny jerked and then as if peeling herself from superglue, she reluctantly got to her feet while her hands fluttered around her waist.

“That’s it, take them right down,” Tom told her.

“W-why? I mean… you can’t,” she looked at Michelle for salvation.

“Young lady you have a spanking coming and I am going to spank you. I want you to take pants and trousers down and come across my knee,” Tom said calmly.

Jenny’s mouth formed an O and she felt more heat rising in her face. Maybe her epic blushing had used up her blood now, because she was a little dizzy. But somehow the active more aware left brain moved her hands as by their own volition and she unbuttoned her jeans to slid theme down in minimum compliance.

For Tom it was surrender enough and he dropped into the leather settee beside her and pulled her firmly across his knees. Efficiently then, he slid Jenny’s knickers and jeans down her legs to her calves and adjusted her on his lap.

Jenny, robbed of adequate words, just gasped.

As Tom’s hand rose above his right shoulder as Claire clapped her hands to her mouth and Michelle frowned. Then he gave Jenny’s bare bottom its first spanking. At this her face became animated with pain and confusion while her naked hips rolled her deep-set curves.

The spanking continued for long minutes before Jenny’s gasps and wriggles gave way to a grunt. By then her bottom was fiercely red and tears had pooled at her red-rimmed eyes.

“Oh,” she said and groaned at each spank after that, her muted cries competing with her heavy fast breathing.

The only other sound, a louder one, was the rise and fall of Tom’s hand as he played out the music of crisp drumming thwacks.

“I never spank to anything less than a surrender,” he said in a determined voice, “And make no mistake, next time it will be harder and I won’t just use my palm.”

“Uh, oh, I’m sorry,” Jenny wailed and then she began to cry.

They were gentle tears at first and then she began to bawl, repeating over and over that she was sorry.

“Tom,” Michelle whispered.

He looked up with a glare and then his face softened as he nodded.

“Alright, you’re done,” he said at last, “You’re grounded for another two weeks and for the rest of this morning you can go and stand in the corner. Knickers down, mind you. And be thankful you didn’t lie to us.”

Jenny didn’t react for a moment, but lay there hugging his thighs and sobbing heartily. Then finally she said, “I’m sorry, so sorry.”

“We know,” Michelle said gently and stepped forward to help the hobbled Jenny stagger to the corner.

“Am I forgiven? I thought I had screwed up again?” Jenny asked, as the corner embraced her. She was certain that they would make her leave.

“Well you did, I suppose, big time,” Michelle winked, “But now you know what you’re going to get. And yes you are forgiven. But if you ever leave the back door unlocked again… I’ll spank you too and I doubt if you’ll sit down for a month.”

Jenny nodded, suddenly embarrassed as she realised her position. This was crazy shit. But at least she felt safe and for the first time, she belonged maybe.