AbouteBookseBooks - Short StoriesNotes on DisciplineBlogSpanking GamesFree StoriesFAQsLinks

Below are four free short stories for you to read and enjoy: Destined for Punishment, Another Dozen Strokes, Caught and Caned and Always on the Bare. They are only samples of my work, if you enjoy reading them, please take a look at my ebooks on my book page or find them all on Amazon




The moment Edward walked into Annette Blake's office she had already decided she would punish him. Somehow, or other, she determined, she would find reason to bare his bottom and set it ablaze. Now, having seen him in the flesh, she was even more determined to do it. It would be wonderful to see the shock on his face. He'd probably never been subject to the sort corporal punishment she had in mind, so it would doubtless be far more painful than he could possibly have imagined. She would take delight in wiping that confident smile off his face.

Edward, of course, was oblivious to this. He was oblivious to the fact that the rather starchy, but very attractive woman, who was about to interview him, had already decided to offer him the job before his never punished bottom had settled in the seat opposite her. All he was aware of was that he had just walked through an office full of attractive girls, and this job, if he was offered it, presented an opportunity to get to know them better, as well as an increase in his salary. All he needed to do was to convince Ms Annette Blake that he was the right person for the position on offer, and he was confident she would fall for his charm and self-confidence.

"According to your application form, Mr Coppock, you have three years previous experience as a recruitment consultant. You've worked for one of our respected competitors. Perhaps you would care to tell me why you have decided to apply for a position with my company?"

"I see it as career progression," he replied, oozing self-confidence. "Blakes Recruitment is regarded as one of the best accountancy recruitment agencies in the business, and I consider myself to be a first class recruitment consultant. I have the required accountancy qualifications, so it's a perfect match."

He leaned back in his seat, as he spoke. He was so sure of himself, and Annette Blake found her desire to discipline him escalating. He spoke with almost a swagger in his voice. How delightful it would be to reduce that voice to a whimper, as he cowed under her punishment.

As the interview continued, Annette Blake's expression gave nothing away. Edward was blissfully unaware that she already knew all about him. She made it her business to know about people in her industry. She had first become interested in Edward when she had seen a photograph of him on one of her competitors ‘meet the team' web page. She frequently spoke to her competitors, comparing notes on the staff who moved between agencies. It was in all their interests. She knew that Edward was a womaniser, and that he had made a habit of seducing his female colleagues. It was easy for him, as he was a very good-looking twenty-six year old. She knew that his numerous conquests at his previous job had led to friction in the office, and that he had been advised to 'jump before he was pushed' by his previous employer. She had no doubt that he would continue his disruptive behaviour if she employed him. After all, she had some very pretty girls working in her office, some of which, she guessed, would find Edward irresistible. She was well aware that employing Edward might not be a particularly wise business decision, but she needed her fun occasionally, and Edward, in particular, was somebody she was quite sure she could have some fun with.

The interview was thorough, and Edward, who was an experienced interviewer himself, was impressed by Annette Blake's interviewing skills. She was also considerably more beautiful in the flesh than the photograph on Blake's website suggested. She was also quite intimidating. He guessed she was in her early forties, with shoulder length, almost black, shiny hair. She used just a hint of make-up to set off her fine features, and she appeared to have a shapely, toned physique under her immaculate, conservative, grey, business suit. However, her most disarming feature was her beautiful, piercing, brown eyes. As she regarded him over the top of her fine, gold rimmed spectacles, she seemed to be seeing right through him. She gave nothing away as he answered her questions, but her eyes never left him.

What Edward didn't realise was that much of the interview was a farce. Annette Blake had done her homework thoroughly on Edward Coppock, and she knew the answers to most of the questions she fired at him. She was conducting the interview he would have been expecting, partly to gain his confidence, and partly for her own amusement.

The interview lasted over an hour, and Edward felt he must have impressed Annette Blake with his confidence and knowledge, but she gave little away. He had been expecting she would make an offer there and then, but that was wasn't her style. She wanted to play the game with Edward, to keep him in some suspense.

"Thank you for attending, Mr Coppock," she said, rising to her feet, to indicate that the interview was at an end. "I will consider your application and will contact you in due course."

He left feeling a little less confident than when he had arrived. He really wanted this job, and this was confirmed as she accompanied him back through the main office, and his and his eyes fell again on the lovely girls he would be working with. One particularly pretty blonde girl smiled in his direction.


The provisional job offer arrived by email three days later, and it couldn't have arrived soon enough. Edward had outstayed his welcome with his current employer, and had been advised that if he hadn't offered his resignation by the end of the month, he would be dismissed. Neither he, nor his employer wanted that, but Edward was not a saver, and his bank account was never in much credit. He had explained to his boss that he couldn't afford to be out of work, and had persuaded him to keep him on until he had found another job. Now he had it. Annette Blake suggested that he should make an appointment to call in at her office to go through the details of his employment contract with Blake's Recruitment, before accepting the position, but Edward had already skimmed through it, and it seemed quite standard.

The atmosphere in the office of Edward's current employer had been poor for some time, largely due to Edward's various affairs with the girls in the office, so when he did submit his notice, he was relieved when he was allowed to leave at once, with a gift of one month's pay. He phoned Annette Blake and an appointment was made for the following morning.

The pretty blonde girl smiled again as he walked through the main office of Blake's Recruitment the following morning. Annette Blake offered him a seat in her sumptuous office then closed the door.

"I wanted to make sure you have read and understood the contract of employment you will be signing before I formalise your employment offer," she said, as she took a seat at her desk opposite him. "Perhaps you have some questions?"

"I have read through it, and it seems quite standard. I didn't see anything that would be a problem for me."

"We are a small, independent company," she continued, "and we set our standards above those of our competitors. That helps to make us exclusive and successful. You need to be aware that I have some unwritten rules that I expect staff to comply with. They are rules that might not sit well in a contract of employment, but I enforce them."

Those piercing eyes again. She maintained eye contact with him. She seemed not to blink as she spoke. She was impressing on him that he had better listen, because she meant what she was saying.

"I expect my employees to be totally professional at all times," she continued, "and that applies to everything, and includes dress code, communication with clients and staff."

"That's fine," he replied. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

"I also do not expect relationships with other members of staff to be anything other than professional, or put bluntly, no office affairs."

He was unable to hold her eyes. It almost sounded as if she might know the real reason for him leaving his previous job.

"Well, that's not the sort of thing I would normally get involved with," he replied, hoping he was sounding convincing, "but people do develop friendships at work. Surely you can't enforce rules on that?"

"I can," she replied without hesitation. "I'm quite sure you understand exactly where I am coming from."

He looked down again. She did know about his affairs.

"Your employment will be probationary for two months, and during that period I don't need a reason to dismiss you, and after that, if I find your conduct unsatisfactory in any way I will be able to find a reason to dismiss you. Trust me."

He did. He found himself uncharacteristically speechless.

"I don't want there to be any misunderstandings, Mr Coppock. You need to understand the rules before you agree to work for this company, so I advise you to think carefully before you sign the contract of employment. Failure to comply with both written and unwritten rules will have consequences."

She continued to regard him for several long seconds, before she picked up a pen, then signed the documents she had on the desk in front of her. Once signed, she pushed the documents over to his side of the desk, then offered him her pen.

"Welcome to Blake's Recruitment," she said, with the hint of a smile, when he had signed both copies.


Annette Blake immediately seemed a little more relaxed. She had made her point, he reasoned. She seemed to know a more about him than he had thought, and she had warned him to behave himself. She couldn't seriously expect him not to make friends with his new colleagues. Surely, what she was really trying to impress on him was that if he did form any relationships, he should keep it discreet. He was sure he could manage that.

He started the following Monday. Annette introduced him to his new direct boss, Senior Recruitment Consultant, Jessica Fox. Jessica was about thirty and a tall, attractive lady, with long brown hair, brown eyes, and like Annette, she was dressed conservatively in a smart suit. She was polite, but not overly friendly towards Edward, and he got the impression that she was fiercely loyal to Annette.

Annette left Jessica to introduce Edward to the staff he would be sharing the main office with. There were three other recruitment consultants, Selina, Cassie, and Erica. Cassie was the pretty blonde who had smiled in his direction a couple of times.

Also, with her office set off to the side of the main office, was Frieda, the IT expert. She was dressed more casually, in jeans, had short blonde hair, and didn't look to have bothered too much with her appearance. She briefly looked up and said ‘hello' when they were introduced, but seemed engrossed with her computer screen.

While Edward was being introduced, Annette returned to her office. She closed her office door, then sat at her desk, reflecting on her decision to employ Edward. Since starting the company thirteen years earlier, it had always been her policy, when recruiting staff, or making other important decisions, to ask herself the question ‘Will this benefit Blake's Recruitment?' The answer had to be a definite ‘yes' before she would proceed. But in the case of employing Edward, the answer was ‘possibly not'. However, she was still happy with her decision to employ him. This decision had been made for the benefit of Annette Blake.

She had started the company with her then partner, Jason. The first two years were promising, but it all went spectacularly wrong when she discovered that Jason was having an affair with one of their employees. Blake's Recruitment was lucky to survive, but Annette had managed to pick up the pieces after the departure of Jason and his lover. She hadn't seen either of them since. Annette had thrown herself into rebuilding Blake's Recruitment. Initially it was in an effort to put the hurt of Jason's betrayal behind her. She became obsessed with the success of her company, and worked with a passion. There was no room for men in her life as she had no intention of allowing betrayal to hurt her again.

As Blake's Recruitment began to prosper, so her hurt of betrayal gradually faded, to be replaced by anger. She was angry with Jason for destroying her trust of men, and she found it difficult to imagine ever having a loving relationship with another man. A turning point in her life occurred when, about a year after Jason's's departure, she met up with an old university friend, Eve, at a reunion party. Eve and Annette had both left university at the same time, and Eve had secured a position in a city accountancy practice. Annette was astounded and fascinated to learn that her old friend had now abandoned her promising career in accountancy, and was now a professional dominatrix. Eve told her it was just as lucrative as accountancy, but far more fun.

After that, Eve and Annette had stayed in touch, and Eve, concerned by her old friend's lack of social life, invited Annette to a fetish party. When Annette witnessed the caning of a willing slave it had been a revelation. She realised that she had a sadistic steak, and administering punishment to willing slaves was the perfect vent for her anger with men. Before long, Annette was a regular participant at the club, and she developed a real passion for administering corporal punishment. Her cool, piercing eyes, and refined voice, ensured she was one of the most sought after disciplinarians at the club. It was at the fetish club that Annette had met Jessica, who was now her Senior Recruitment Consultant, and later, Frieda, now her IT expert.

As Annette now reminisced, she glanced out through her office window to see Edward being introduced to his new work colleagues, then she opened the bottom drawer of her desk. After rummaging around at the bottom of the drawer, she pulled out an old framed photograph of herself and Jason, standing arm in arm, on the day they had opened Blake's Recruitment. As she looked at the photograph, feeling anger building up inside her, then she looked back out into the office at Edward. He was the spitting image of Jason.


Blake's Recruitment was the most professional company Edward had worked at. During his first day, Jessica spent time going through the exacting and slick quality control procedures. All instructions were concise and logical. He was issued with a company smart phone, and advised to keep his personal phone switched off during working hours. Jessica was efficient and pleasant, but there was no time for any office banter.

Later, that afternoon, Frieda turned out to be a bit more fun than he had originally thought, when she took his photograph for the company website. She invited him to her office, which was more of a computer workshop, with all manner of computer related test equipment. In the corner was a mini photographic studio, consisting of a camera on a tripod, a desk, with a PC, notepad, pen and phone arranged on it. Studio lighting was arranged either side of the desk. Frieda sat him down behind the desk, then spent some time making him look more presentable, by straightening his tie, arranging loose strands of hair away from his face, and smoothing his jacket lapels. When she was happy with his appearance, she took her position behind the camera. She took a few test shots, then made some adjustments to the lighting, before taking her position behind the camera. She seemed to be a perfectionist.

"We need you looking, intelligent, caring and approachable," she said, smiling, "so sit up straight, pick up the pen, and have it poised over the notepad, then smile at the camera, not with too many teeth, please."

She took a few photographs, then checked the results.

"Not bad, but I think we might be able to improve on your smile. Try to think about something nice".

"I'll try," he replied, "but I might have to think of something that might get me sacked."

"Think of that, then, but don't tell me what it is or I might have to report you to Aunty Jessica"

She smiled again, to confirm that she was joking, then took a series of photographs.

"Those should do," she said, after reviewing the results. "A bit of photo editing, and I should have you on the company website within an hour."

The company website was a work of art, and he learned over the next few days that it was all the creation of Frieda. His photograph on the site, along with his profile, was very impressive. The website was easy to navigate, informative, and polished. It set Blake's Recruitment above all local competition.

As Edward settled in, he began to learn how the company hierarchy operated. It was very much an ‘us' and ‘them' organisation. The recruitment consultants had little contact with Annette. Other than ‘good morning' or ‘good evening' there was little dialogue. However, Jessica, known by her underlings as Aunty Jessica when she was out of earshot, spend some time each day in Annette's office, with the door closed, and all instructions and directives from Annette came through Jessica.

Frieda, too, spent a lot of time with Annette, and it was recognised by all that Frieda was a bit of a genius, and a real asset to the company. The website was constantly being refined, and any software or computer related problems were corrected by her promptly. Frieda was often the first one to arrive in the morning and the last to leave. As with Jessica, she seemed totally loyal to Annette, and made sure that no computer related problems interrupted the efficient running of the company.

Edward kept his head down for the first few weeks. He needed to learn the company procedures and he was fed selected applicants to interview by Jessica, then kept under scrutiny as he processed them. She was always polite, and pleasant, but never failed to correct him if he deviated from company procedure.

An important landmark was reached when he made his first placement, a high paid accountancy position with a prestigious city practice. The placement attracted a substantial commission, and Edward was both delighted and relieved. Jessica congratulated him with a genuine smile, and later that day, Annette came out of her office to tell how pleased she was.

Now, at last, Edward felt he had arrived, and felt a lot more relaxed about his position in the company, so when Cassie and Erica invited him to join them for lunch at a local sandwich bar, he was happy to accept. In view of his bizarre interview with Annette, he might have been wary going to lunch with just one female member of staff, but reasoned that going with a couple posed no risk of accusations of womanising.

At the sandwich bar, without Jessica's scrutiny, Edward was able to chat with two of his lovely work colleagues without having worry so much about what he said. He'd already gotten to know Cassie a little, but hadn't had much contact with Erica. She was an attractive brunette, and usually quite quiet. Both Cassie and Erica appeared in about their late twenties, and were obviously good friends. Erica had worked for Blake's for almost three years, and Cassie for about a year and a half. They told Edward that, as far as they were aware, Edward was the first male to have worked for the company. They hadn't been aware that there was any policy about not employing males, but both had thought it a little odd that none ever seemed to be taken on.

"It's a good company to work for," said Cassie, as they sipped coffee, "It's very efficiently run, and the money is good, but we in the main office are very much left out of the discussions that go on in Annette's inner circle."

"You mean with Auntie Jessica and Frieda?" suggested Edward.

"Absolutely," confirmed Cassie. "The three of them spend a lot of time in Annette's office, with the door closed. Nobody has any idea what they talk about in there, but the company works well, so I don't worry about it. I used to worry, when I first arrived. I imagined they were talking about me, and how disappointed they were with me, but I'm still here, so I don't worry now."

"They've always done that," said Erica. "They socialise together as well. I've seen them head off in a taxi together a few times after work."

"Has Annette said anything to either of you about not flirting in the office?" asked Edward.

"Yes, she did mention it when I first joined," said Erica, "but she didn't make too much of a thing about it. It's never been mentioned since."

"She mentioned it to me as well, when she interviewed me," said Cassie. "I told her that I prefer boys, and as there weren't any in the office, she didn't need to worry. Perhaps she does now," she said, smiling at Edward.

Edward smiled back. It was a definite hint that she liked him.

"What's she said to you?" asked Erica.

"She made quite a thing of it," replied Edward, "and she talked about unwritten rules regarding office affairs. She suggested it could lead to dismissal. I've been almost frightened to talk to you. But I feel on safer ground now I've made a placement."

"Oh, yes. Your first placement," said Cassie, cheerfully. "Have you been out to celebrate?"

"Not yet."

"When I made my first placement," continued Cassie, "I took my colleagues out for a drink after work. I'm free tonight. What about you, Erica?"

"Can't make tonight," I'm afraid, "but don't let that stop you."

"What about the others? Shouldn't I invite them?"

"You can, but you'd be wasting your time. Selina is completely in love with her new boyfriend, and never does anything without him, and Annette's inner circle would never socialise with anyone on the outside. There's a customary Christmas party, but that's it. So if you want to celebrate, it just you and me, Edward."

"Well, OK, that would be lovely, but do you mind if we keep it really discreet."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure Aunty doesn't get wind of it. Why don't we meet in the wine bar across the street. It's called The Trodden Grape. The inner circle never go there. Why don't you go there after work, then I'll join you a few minutes later?"

"OK. Agreed."

And that was it. He'd got a date with the lovely Cassie. As they walked back to the office, he happily suspected that the whole thing had been planned by Cassie, and Erica had agreed to go along with it.


The date with Cassie was amazing. They met as arranged at the wine bar for a few drinks, then went to a nearby restaurant for dinner, after which Cassie as good as invited herself back to his flat for a night of fantastic sex. She took a cab back to her own flat in the early hours, so she could change for work. They both vowed to keep their new relationship out of the office.

All went well for a few weeks. Edward and Cassie met for frequent dates, but maintained a professional relationship in the office, especially when Aunty Jessica was around. Edward had settled in and was making some good placements, so he felt he was no longer under such intense scrutiny.

Edward wasn't initially quite sure when he and Cassie slipped up, and their secret became known, but his best guess was that he and Cassie must have been overheard when they had had a bit of flirtatious fun in the kitchen. Set off to the side of the main office, it was where one could make tea or coffee, or heat snacks in a microwave. On one occasion, Annette was in her office with Jessica and Frieda, with the door closed and her window blind shut. Selina was out with a client and Erica was on the phone in the main office. Erica obviously knew all about Cassie and Edward, so she was nothing to worry about. Cassie went into the kitchen to make tea. Shortly after, Edward finished a phone call, then crept up behind her.

"Any idea where I can go to get a good fuck tonight?" he asked, as he mischievously grabbed her right buttock.

Cassie was momentarily surprised, causing her to drop a cup. It smashed on the floor.

"I know just the place," she said, as they laughed, before clearing up the mess together. As they left the kitchen, Edward noticed that the door to Annette's office was now open, and Jessica was already seated at her desk. Nothing was said, and Edward hoped that his bit of fun had gone unnoticed.

* * *

A few days later, during the afternoon, Edward received a phone call from Annette:

"Do you have to rush off this evening, Edward. I need to talk to you about something?"

"Er, well, I have actually arranged to meet somebody," he replied. "Could we talk earlier, or tomorrow?"

He'd arranged to have dinner with Cassie.

"I think it would be better if we spoke this evening," she replied. "Can you cancel your appointment?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so," he replied, with alarm bells ringing in his head.

"Good. I'll see you in my office at five thirty."

She hung up before he could reply.

Now he was really worried. He had a quiet word with Cassie, explaining what had happened, and they arranged that he would phone her as soon as he'd finished his meeting with Annette. They could meet up a bit later than planned.

At five thirty, everybody left. This was most unusual. Most staff left at five-thirty, but Jessica and especially Frieda, almost always worked later. He was very nervous as he knocked on Annette's office door.

She opened her office door, then glanced around the empty office, before inviting him in. She closed the office door behind her, then invited him to take a seat at her desk.

"Something regarding your conduct has come to my attention," she said, as she took her seat opposite him.

"You will remember, of course, the conversation we had regarding my rules on flirting in the office?"

"Well yes," he replied, nervously.

"It's a shame, then, that you didn't take our conversation seriously. Especially as you are still employed here on a probationary basis."

Edward couldn't think of anything to say. There was no point in denying it. She obviously knew about Cassie and him.

"Unfortunately, with regard to the disciplinary action that's required, my hands are somewhat tied by employment legislation. It would be far more satisfactory for both you and I if I had other options available to me, but, sadly, I don't, so as your employment is probationary, I don't seem to have any alternative but to dismiss you."

Edward couldn't believe what he was hearing! How could she impose such a harsh punishment for something so trivial!

"Can't you just give me a verbal warning? Can't I just promise not to fall foul of your rules again?"

"No. That will be seen as a weakness. Standards must be maintained, and I will not allow them to slip. I won't allow that. I'm afraid the only option I have, legally, is to dismiss you. I wish I had other options available, and in years gone by, there might have been other disciplinary choices I would be have been quite happy to employ, but today, regrettably, they are not available. I'm afraid I must ask you to clear your desk this evening."

"Oh, please, surely not," he replied, almost in tears, "There must be an alternative to the sack. You said there might have been other ways of dealing with it. Surely you could suggest an alternative to dismissal?"

"Absolutely not. It would not be appropriate for me to suggest anything that is not strictly in compliance with employment legislation. However, I may consider suggestions you may wish to make."

"I don't know what to suggest," he replied, sensing a glimmer of hope.

"Then perhaps you should use your imagination. Show some initiative. After all, I expect initiative from my employees. I will be prepared to listen to any suggestions you might wish me to consider."

His mind was in a whirl. She was toying with him. He could see from the look in her piercing eyes that she was enjoying his mental anguish.

"It's almost as if you're hinting that some sort of corporal punishment might be acceptable to you," he said, inwardly cringing at the thought.

"I couldn't possibly suggest, or even hint, that you should be subject to corporal punishment," she said. For the first time since he had met her, she was actually smiling.

"However," she continued, "if a suggestion such as that came from you, I would be failing in my duty as a responsible employer if I didn't consider it. In fact I would be happy to consider an alternative to dismissal, because in other respects you are showing promise."

There followed a long period of silence. Unbearable for Edward, but Ms Blake seemed mildly amused by it.

"That might be preferable to losing my job," he eventually said, in almost a whisper.

"What might be?"

"Well, perhaps some sort of corporal punishment," he replied, hesitantly.

"Are you suggesting that you should be subject to corporal punishment?" she asked, with her smile returning.

"Well, yes."

"Then you will need to be more specific. Tell me exactly what you are suggesting I should do."

Edward could feel his face blushing, as Ms Blake studied him with amusement. This was the most humiliating conversation he had ever had.

"Well, I suppose some sort of spanking," he eventually said, in a voice he didn't recognise as his own.

"And where do you think you should be spanked?" she asked, at once. "What part of your anatomy?"

It was clear to Edward that she was enjoying every second of his humiliation.

"Well, here," he replied, blushing further, and pointing to his seated bottom.

"And do you think you should keep your clothes on while you are spanked?"  

"I would hope so," he replied, aghast at the prospect of baring his bottom.

"Well, I'm afraid your suggestion is unacceptable to me," she said. "I thought we were getting close to a solution, but I'm afraid we aren't quite there."

He looked briefly into her mocking eyes. She was smiling again, delighting in his discomfort.

"Bare?" he whispered, looking at the floor.

"So, if I understand you correctly," she replied, after enjoying watching him flush even redder, "You are suggesting that you deserve to be spanked on your bare bottom, and that in accepting such a spanking, you are hoping to avoid being dismissed for inappropriate behaviour?"

"Yes," he replied in little more than a whisper.

"Then you must ask me," she said quietly. "You must look me in the eye and ask me to soundly spank your bare bottom for inappropriate behaviour. You must say that you deserve nothing less, and you are very grateful that I am not dismissing you. Do you understand?"

He nodded, with his head bowed in shame.

"Good. In that case, is there something you want to ask me, Edward?" she said quietly.

With great difficulty, and with his face raging red, Edward raised his eyes to look into the cool eyes of his employer. In a voice that was trembling, he began his request.

"Please will you soundly spank my bare bottom for inappropriate behaviour. I deserve nothing less. I'm very grateful that you are not dismissing me."

Her smile slowly increased as he made his request. She continued to hold his eyes, long after he had finished.

"So, Edward. This is entirely your idea? You are making this most unorthodox request because you think you deserve it?"


"I agree to your request. I will soundly spank you, and I think I should do so now, before I change my mind."


She rose to her feet from behind the desk, then moved to sit on the green, leather settee set to the side of her office, behind the coffee table. She moved the coffee table to one side

"Stand up," she ordered.

He rose slowly to his feet. His legs felt weak and he feared they might give way beneath him.

"Take off your clothes," she instructed, crisply.

"What! All of them?"

He couldn't believe this was happening. This was so humiliating!

"Yes. All of them."

She was smiling again. She was really enjoying this.

Feeling completely ridiculous, he began to slowly undress. Her eyes never left him. His face remained flushed, and to his dismay, as he began to remove his trousers, he realised he was becoming erect. He turned his back on her as he continued to undress, praying for his erection to disappear. It didn't. It grew harder, and by the time he had shamefully removed the last item of clothing, his under pants, his erection was standing, stiffly in front of him. He had never felt so embarrassed and humiliated as he turned to face her with his hands clasped in front of his crotch.

She said nothing for several long seconds, as her eyes roamed his naked body. She didn't mention his state of arousal. She hitched up her dark skirt, then parted her shapely thighs.

"Over my lap, please," she said, eventually, patting the top of her left thigh.

She raised an eyebrow, when he didn't move.

"I don't think it would be a good idea to make me cross, Edward," she said, a few seconds later, "so I suggest you comply with my instructions promptly."

He moved slowly to stand in front of her. His hands were still cupped in front of his erection. A turmoil of emotions churned in his head, as he felt her right hand grasp his shoulder to guide him over her left thigh. As he leaned forward, he was forced to lift his hands away from his crotch to support himself as he lowered his upper torso onto the seat of the settee to her left. She raised an eyebrow as she noted his arousal. His erection pressed hard against her thigh, as she took his weight.

He was still trying to get his head around what was happening to him. She was treating him as if he were a naughty boy. It was obvious she was enjoying his humiliation. He was frightened, now. He'd never been spanked, but he guessed it would be painful. He also was aware, and constantly reminded by his erection, that this was also a very erotic experience.

With his bare bottom uppermost, over this beautiful ladies lap, he had never felt so vulnerable, and that vulnerability was intensified, when she grasped his right wrist with her left hand, then pressed it into the small of his back. He realised it served to both keep him in position as she spanked him, and prevented him reaching back to shield his bottom. When she then closed her thighs, to grip his like a vice, it was becoming apparent that she had spanked before. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing. He braced himself for the pain of his first ever spanking, but instead he felt her right hand gently stroking his upturned, bare bottom.

"Tell me, Edward," she purred, as her hand continued to caress his naked flesh, "will this be your first spanking."


"I think I'd like you to address me as 'Miss' when I'm punishing you."

"Yes,  Miss. I've never been spanked before."

"Then it should be an interesting experience for you. I'll do my best to make it memorable."

He felt the grip on his thighs tighten further, and the grip on his right wrist increase. The gentle caress of his bare bottom stopped. He felt her torso move as she raised her hand.


It was harder than he had expected. Her hand slapped down on his right bottom cheek with a sharp crack. Then came an intense sting that made him gasp.


He gasped again, as her hand slapped down even harder in exactly the same place. He was shocked and dismayed as the sting intensified. After just two spanks, the pain was already almost unbearable.


The intensity of sting escalated further as the same cheek absorbed another hard slap. Panic began to rise up inside him.

"Please, Miss, No! I've changed my mind. I can't take this," he gasped, as he began to struggle.


"We have an agreement," she replied, through gritted teeth. "I'm keeping my side of it, and you're keeping yours."



Edward was struggling and gasping when, after six slaps, she turned her attention to his left bottom cheek. His bottom seemed to be on fire as the spanking continued mercilessly. As his desperate struggling intensified, so the vice-like grip of her thighs increased. When she had roasted his left bottom cheek with six, sharp slaps, she returned her attention again back to his right bottom cheek.

After what seemed to Edward like an eternity, but was actually about a minute, the rain of stinging slaps stopped. She relaxed the grip of her thighs and released his right wrist. He slipped off her lap onto his knees, and his hands immediately cupped his burning bottom cheeks. His eyes were moist, red, and wide with shock. She looked down at his stubbornly hard erection with amusement.

"You're not supposed to be enjoying this, Edward," she said, a little breathlessly, as her eyes fell on his erection.

"It was agony," he gasped, "I didn't realise it would hurt so much."

"You're talking as if your spanking is over," she said, leaning back against the back of the settee, still regarding him with amusement. "It isn't over. I haven't finished with you yet, and in view of that," she pointed at his erection, "I'm going administer the final part of your spanking with my hairbrush."

"Please! No!" he pleaded.

"You'll find it in the top right hand drawer of my desk," she said, totally ignoring his pleas. "Bring it to me now."

"Please. I can't take any more," he sobbed.

"If I have to fetch it myself, I'll double what I have planned for you."

Humiliated, in despair, with his erection still refusing to go away, and his red bottom cheeks still burning, he rose unsteadily to his feet to fetch the hairbrush.

"Oh please, no," he sobbed, as he took the hairbrush from the drawer. Annette Blake chuckled quietly at his reaction.

This was no ordinary hairbrush. It was large, made of dark wood, with an oval head, with smooth, rounded edges, but the most frightening feature was its weight. It was heavy, and Edward guessed it would sting like the devil.  

His hand was shaking as he nervously offered it to her. She took it from him, then playfully slapped her hand with it, then feigned pain. She was quite obviously having fun.

"Back over my lap, Edward," she said crisply, as she parted her thighs again, then reached to grasp his arm with her free hand.

"Oh, please, no," he pleaded, pitifully, resisting her. "I really can't take any more."

"Nonsense," she quipped, cheerfully, as she roughly dragged him over her lap.

She immediately scissored him in position with her strong thighs, then gathered his left wrist behind his back again. He sobbed in dread as she placed the flat back of the hairbrush on his right bottom cheek.

"A dozen, nice, hard, spanks should suffice," she said, "that's a dozen to each cheek, of course."


Edward had thought her hand spanking was agonising, but he was horrified by the sting of the hairbrush. He gasped in a lungful of air as his brain attempted to comprehend the new intensity of the sting. It defied belief.


When the hairbrush cracked down hard for the second time, it was too much, far too much. Agony overlaid agony to produce a sting off the scale. He threw his head back and squealed. Panic overcame him. There was no way he could take even one more stroke. He began to wriggle insanely, in an attempt to escape, but she held him firm.


He shrieked, and his writhing over her lap became frantic. She increased the vice-like grip of her thighs, and he was sure he heard her giggle, as she raised the hairbrush again.


Edward's world turned red. He writhed and squealed and pleaded for all he was worth, but the hairbrush continued to crack down hard. Annette Blake was methodical and merciless. She delivered twelve sizzling strokes to his right bottom cheek, before switching her attention to his left cheek. Had Edward been able to see her face, he would have seen her jaw set in determination, and her eyes bright with excitement as she looked down at his rapidly colouring, writhing bottom. Ms Annette Blake was a true sadist, and she was in her element. The more he wriggled and writhed, the more she loved it. She was aroused and she would have loved to have continued beyond the twenty-four strokes, but she was a lady of her word. The spanking stopped. Besides, she didn't want to frighten him off, as she had plans for more exciting punishment for Edward.

She put down the hairbrush, but she didn't release him. As he hyperventilated, she looked down at his now very colourful, trembling, bare bottom.

"I'm pleased we have been able to address your unacceptable behaviour without the need to dismiss you, Edward. I hope you are too," she said, when he had quietened down.

He felt her hand, now gently rubbing his burning, throbbing flesh. It was very erotic, and she couldn't have failed to notice his erection hardening even more against her thigh.

"Yes, Miss," he replied, breathlessly, worried that she hadn't released him.

"Apart from the matter we have just addressed, I've been pleased with your work. You are showing promise."

"Thank you, Miss."

She was still gently stroking his raging bottom.

"I do know you have a history of office flirting," she continued. "I know that you were close to being dismissed from your previous employer for the same reason, but you resigned first. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes, Miss."

"If I manage to mould you into shape," she said, as her hand continued to rub his bottom, "I think there is an excellent future for you here."

"Yes, Miss. I hope so."

"However, we haven't got off to a particularly good start, and in view of that, I'm proposing to increase your probationary period by a further two months. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss."

"I shall be watching you like a hawk, Edward. If you disappoint me again during that period you will find yourself back in here, but you won't be facing the choice of a spanking or dismissal, you will be facing the choice of a caning or dismissal. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss."

"You might not enjoy that quite as much as you still appear to be enjoying this," she said.

"Please, no!" he begged, as the gentle caressing of his bottom stopped, and he saw her pick up the hairbrush.

"Let's make sure you don't forget."

The grip of her thighs tightened again. He was sobbing with dread as he braced himself.


He shrieked hysterically and writhed in agony as she reignited the fire in his right bottom cheek, before turning her attention to his left cheek.


"Do we understand each other, Edward?" she asked, breathlessly, when his shrieking had subsided.

"Yes, Miss," he sobbed.

She released him from the grip of her thighs. He  slipped off her lap onto his knees, grasping his burning bottom cheeks, and with tears flowing from his eyes.

She was almost, always, a lady of her word, but, she reasoned, as she looked down at him, a lady is entitled to change her mind.


"She did what?" asked Cassie, incredulously.

"Keep your voice down," he replied, looking around the wine bar, with his face flushing red.

"You did promise not to tell anybody," he whispered, quietly, leaning forward over his glass of wine. "You won't, will you? I don't think I could face work if everybody knew."

"Are you serious? She spanked you?" she replied in a whisper, now leaning forward herself. "She can't do that. You could probably have her arrested."

"Well she did it, and I really don't want anyone else knowing about it," he replied, clearly embarrassed.

"You're having a joke with me, aren't you," she said, after studying him for a few moments. "You're making this up. Annette wouldn't spank a member of staff. She's far too sensible."

"Believe me, I'm not making it up, but you must promise me that this won't go any further. I couldn't face the others in the office if they found out."

After her initial scepticism, Cassie now seemed to believe him, her smile suggested she now found the idea of Edward being spanked by his boss amusing.

They had eventually met up in the wine bar about two hours later than previously arranged. The activities in Annette's office had taken less than an hour, but he'd felt in no fit state to meet Cassie when he'd left. He'd needed to go back to his flat to take a shower and recover from the events. He soon realised that he had no choice but to share the details of his experience with Cassie if their relationship was to continue. He'd been shocked by the angry marks the hairbrush had left on his bottom, and they would not be fading fast, so Cassie was bound to see them.

"She knows we are in a relationship," he explained. "I don't know how. Perhaps Jessica heard what went on when I crept up behind you in the kitchen, when you dropped the cup. Annette accused me of breaking her rules on flirting in the office. I'm on probation, and she threatened to dismiss me."

"That's a bit harsh," said Cassie.

"That's what I thought. But she was serious."

"So then she offered to let you off with a spanking?" she said. "It all sounds unbelievable."

"No, she didn't. She was quite deliberate in not suggesting anything. She insisted that any alternative to dismissal would have to be my idea. I had to suggest a spanking. I could tell she was steering me towards it, but it had to be my suggestion. Eventually she agreed, then she insisted that I actually ask her to spank me. It was the most humiliating experience of my life. She was playing a game with me. I could tell."

"I don't know why," said Cassie, stifling a laugh, "but I find the idea quite funny."

"It's no joke, believe me. The pain was unbelievable. You should see the state of my poor bottom!"

"That I must see, and you must tell me all the details," said Cassie, still amused.

"Later," he said. "When we get back to my flat."

* * *

"That was amazing!" exclaimed Cassie, as she lay on her back, breathless and naked, after they had made love for the second time in less than an hour. "You'll have to get Annette to spank you more often. It's obviously good for you."

The sex, when they returned to Edward's flat had been the best they had ever enjoyed. As he had recounted the events in Annette's office, he had been in a state of continual arousal. After making love for the first time, he told her that Annette had threatened that she would cane him if she had occasion to punish him again. This seemed to cause more arousal in Edward, and they had made passionate love for a second time.

After getting out of bed the following morning, the severe bruising of his bottom made even walking painful for the first few minutes. After that it was OK, but he was reminded of what had happened each time he sat down. He wondered if Annette would say anything to him, but she behaved as if nothing had happened. He also wondered if Jessica or Frieda knew what had gone on in Annette's office. After all, it seemed very odd that both had left the office early on the very day that Annette had spanked him. But they too, didn't appear to act any differently towards him. It seemed very much business as usual.

But it wasn't business as usual. Edward knew that Annette was watching him like a hawk, and he knew that if he broke her unwritten rules again, she would cane him, and he was pretty sure she intended it to happen and was looking forward to it. The prospect terrified him, but it also excited him, a lot.

In the meantime, his work was going very well, and just two days after his spanking, he secured the placement of a highly paid executive, Mr Cox, earning for Blakes Recruitment a huge commission. He was star of the month. Annette was obviously delighted, and she phoned him to invite him to her office for a chat later that afternoon, just before the office was closing for the day. Cassie raised an eyebrow in his direction as he turned to smile at her, just before knocking on Annette's door.

"Have a seat, Edward," she said, as she closed her office door behind him, then took her own seat.

"That's an excellent placement," she said, as her eyes levelled on him, "Probably the most lucrative this month. I wanted to congratulate you personally."

"Thank you, Annette."

"Do you have time to celebrate with a glass of sherry?"

"Well, yes. That would be very nice."

Edward sensed that she had other things she wanted to talk about. She rose to her feet, then opened a small bar set behind her desk. She returned with a bottle of Valdespino sherry and two small sherry glasses. She poured them each a drink.

"Well done," she said, as she raised her glass, smiling.

He raised his glass, then took a sip.

"For special occasions only," she said, as she savoured the expensive sherry, then leaned back in her chair. "I don't usually condone drinking alcohol in the office, but on occasions such as now, it's appropriate."

"Yes, thank-you."

He was in awe of this lady. She remained leaning back in her chair, regarding him with the hint of a smile on her face.

"It appears that your decision to suggest alternative disciplinary measures to dismissal was the correct one, Edward."

"Well, yes," he replied, cautiously. "I'm very happy working here."


She continued to regard him in silence for some time, as they sipped sherry.

"How are you recovering from the spanking?" she asked. Her eyes never left him.

"Still a bit sore," he replied, feeling his face beginning to blush, and also feeling the first signs of arousal.

"Good. A sound spanking should leave you sore for a few days. It serves as a useful reminder that office rules should be adhered to."

"Yes, of course," he replied, unable to maintain eye contact.

"But after about a week, when the soreness has gone, that reminder will no longer be there to assist you, Edward, will it?"

"Probably not, Miss," he replied, looking down at his empty sherry glass, and feeling his arousal growing.

"But, of course, I think you know that I am always here to help you, if you need reminding of the rules?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Would you like me to top you up?" she asked, cheerfully, topping his glass up, before he could answer.

"What does Cassie think about it?" she asked, out of the blue.

"About what, Miss?"

"About you being spanked by your boss, of course. I know you are seeing each other, so I assume she knows. Am I right?"

"Yes, Miss."

"So, what does she think?"

"She seems to find it amusing. She even suggested that it seemed good for me. I've made her promise to keep it to herself. I'd be mortified if it became general knowledge in the office."

This seemed to delight Annette.

"I'm sure she's right, Edward. I also think spanking is good for you. After all, we wouldn't be sitting here celebrating the successful placement of Mr Cox, had you not asked me to spank you. Perhaps a caning would be even better for you."

Edward briefly made eye contact with her. He was very nervous. His arousal was now such that it would be impossible to hide if he stood up.

"I'm sure you remember what we agreed. We agreed that if further disciplinary measures were required, the cane would be used, didn't we?"

She was smiling as she spoke. Edward could feel his face was flushed red. His erection was rock hard.

"Yes, Miss," he replied, looking down at his glass.

"I pride myself on preparation, Edward," she said, after observing his reaction for a while. "I like to think that the success of my business is in no small part due to preparation. I like to be prepared for any eventuality. So, for example, if I find I have no paper clips left in my desk drawer, I know there will be another box of paper clips in the stock room. Our minimum stock level policy is just simple preparation. Are you with me?"

"Well, yes, Miss."

"So perhaps it won't surprise you if I tell you that I keep a few disciplinary implements in my office, will it?"

"Oh, well, no, Miss."

"Would you take a look through the window, please, Edward, to make sure everyone has left," she instructed.

There was now no way to hide his erection. With his face flushing an even brighter shade of red, he rose to his feet, then lifted the centre of the Venetian blind.

"Everyone has gone," he said, as he made his way, self consciously back to the desk.

She was smiling, and dangling a key on a key ring from her right hand.

"I'd like you to see the canes that will be put to use, should the need arise," she said, as she offered the key to him. "I keep them locked in that cupboard, along with a few other items."

She indicated a tall, light oak cupboard, with a glance. Her eyes dropped to his erection, and she raised an eyebrow, as he took the key from her.

He fumbled with the key in the lock, as his hands were shaking, then opened the door to reveal that the cupboard was a wardrobe, containing a selection of smart clothing on hangers.

"Behind the clothes," she prompted.

He pushed the clothes to one side. He felt his pulse quickening as his eyes fell on a selection of canes, standing in an umbrella stand at the rear of the wardrobe. Also, he saw a variety of thick leather straps hanging from hooks. The straps were split into two tails halfway along their length. He recognised them as tawses.  

"Bring the canes here," she instructed.

There were five of them, of thickness's varying from about eight to twelve millimetres, and lengths of up to about a metre. They were all bound at one end with leather of different colours, to form a grip. He'd never seen a real cane before, and the prospect of any one of them being applied to his bottom was terrifying. He put the canes down on her desk, then took his seat. He gulped down the remainder of his glass.

"I trust you're not driving," she said, as she topped up his glass again.

"As you can see, Edward," she said, as she picked up a cane that was about average for the selection. "My office selection of canes vary in size, and the severity ranges from very painful to excruciating, so I am able to deal with misdemeanour's ranging from relatively trivial, right up to the most serious. However, you should be warned that a caning with any of these, applied to your bare bottom, by somebody who is proficient, would be, shall we say, unforgettable."

Edward gulped, as she flexed the cane, demonstrating its flexibility.

"You may be surprised to learn, Edward," she continued, "that I do have considerable experience in administering the cane, and I am considered to be quite proficient."

Edward winced, as she swished the cane through the air.

"Yes, this is a nice one," she said, as she swished it gently through the air a second time.

"Anyway," she said, turning her attention back to Edward. "I think that's enough about canes. Perhaps you would care to put them back in the wardrobe. They can stay there, that is until they're needed, of course."

Edward didn't know where to put his face. His erection remained stubbornly hard, as he picked up the canes, then returned them to the cupboard.

She couldn't have made herself clearer. She was planning to cane him, and she would find the slightest excuse, and she would delight in doing so. He also knew that she was also aware that he found the prospect both terrifying and exciting.

"I've enjoyed our little chat, Edward," she said, smiling, as he handed back the key. "It's important, I think, that employees and their employer understand each other, don't you think?"

"Yes, of course."

"And I think we understand each other, don't we?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Then I'll wish you good evening, Edward."


"She didn't spank you again, did she?" asked Cassie, when Edward arrived at her flat later that evening.

"No, but we talked about it. Let's go upstairs?"

"I'm in the middle of preparing dinner," complained Cassie.

"That will have to wait," he said, "I need you in bed, now. Otherwise I think I'll explode."

Cassie didn't argue. She was a girl with a real sexual appetite, and she recognised the look in Edward's eye. This promised to be sex not to be missed.
* * *

"So what happened?" she asked, when they eventually sat down to dinner about an hour and a half later. "You seem to turn into a sex maniac every time you spend any time in her office."

"She called me into her office to congratulate me for the placement of Mr Cox. She got out the sherry, but then she switched the conversation to discipline, and she reminded me that my next misdemeanour will result in a caning."

"I wonder why she's so interested in punishing you?" mused Cassie. "She's never spanked any of her employees as far as I know. There's definitely something going on between Annette, Jessica and Frieda, though. They socialise, but nobody knows what they get up to."

"She's definitely a sadist. I'm sure she getting off on spanking me."

"You haven't done anything with her, have you?"

"No. Nothing, I promise. It's just that so obvious that she is enjoying punishing me, or frightening me by talking about it. The trouble is, I'm finding it erotic, and getting aroused, and she's obviously noticed. She's even scolded me about it, saying that I shouldn't be enjoying it. Although it's obvious she's enjoying it too, I don't get the impression she has any designs on getting involved in any sex with me."

"Well, I hope not. I have no intention of sharing you with my boss. What will you do if she does invite you to her bed?"

"I'll say no, of course," replied Edward, hoping he sounded convincing, but not convincing himself.

"So the reason you come back from meetings in Annette's office behaving like a sex maniac has nothing to do with you finding her sexually attractive. It's just the discipline that excites you?"

"Yes, that's exactly right. I didn't know I had this thing about discipline until Annette spanked me. That's all it is."

"Well, I have to say, Edward, I'm not convinced that Annette won't try to get you into bed, and if she does, I won't be able to live with it. It can't have missed your attention that you are the only male in the company, and as far as I'm aware, you are the only male she's ever employed. Why you?"

"I assumed it was my experience."

"Well I'm not so sure about that. No offence, I can see you are good at your job, but she's obviously passed over a lot of equally qualified males in the past. I think she's singled you out for other reasons. It's apparent that she's a sadist, but I think she has special feelings about you. I'm beginning to think she fancies you. Do you fancy her?"

"No, of course not. She's my boss. I'm just surprised by the effect the discipline has on me. It's not her," he lied.

But seeds of doubt had been sown. After the best sex of their lives, over the following few days, both Cassie and Edward sensed that their relationship had peaked. Cassie did toy with the idea of buying a cane, then surprising him with it, but something told her that it wouldn't work. She realised that he needed it to be Annette who would introduce him to the cane, and she imagined that, when Annette had complete domination over him, Edward might become her plaything. Cassie wasn't prepared to wait around for that to happen. The last straw for Cassie was when it dawned on her that, when Edward and her had enjoyed their most passionate sex, it was because he was probably imagining he was with Annette.

Edward and Annette had a few more dates, and slept together once more, but it wasn't the same. He wasn't surprised when, just a few weeks after their relationship had started, Cassie told him it was over.


The atmosphere in the office was a little frosty for a few days, but then Cassie made an effort to convince Edward that she still wanted him to be her friend, except, of course, there would be no more sex.

For Edward, his life entered a period of limbo. The work of placing applicants continued, but the underlying atmosphere was one of anticipation and inaction. Punishment at the hands of Annette had changed his life for ever. He was upset that his relationship with lovely Cassie was at an end, but he couldn't help his feelings for Annette. He was obsessed with the prospect of being summoned to her office for the caning that he was sure was coming. He also dreaded it. He was fascinated, excited and terrified by her. What did she want, though? She had made it quite obvious that she wanted to punish him, but why him in particular?

Over the following few weeks, Edward did nothing that would give reason for Annette to summons him to her office. Edward knew that it was him who was expected to make the first move, and from the fleeting glances from Annette through her office window, he sensed she was becoming impatient.

The reasons for his inaction were two: The first was that he still held a genuine affection for Cassie, and didn't want to hurt her by flirting with any of her colleagues. The other reason was his dread of the caning. But the waiting couldn't go on. He had to make a move. The fantasy of a caning from Annette was eating away at him like a drug. It refused to go away, and it might have been his imagination, but he seemed to notice more frequent glances from Annette through her office window.

Four weeks after Cassie had ended their relationship, Edward climbed out of bed an hour earlier than usual, knowing what he had to do. He'd been restless during the night again. He had to be bold and end the state of limbo in the office, and he felt if he didn't do it now, he never would, and Annette would give up on him. He was terrified of the implications, but also extremely excited. He sat down at the kitchen table to compose the email that he'd been toying with in his mind for over a week:

Dear Annette,

I am writing to you, in confidence, to tell you that I think I need to take up your kind offer of help. I'm sure you will remember telling me that the beneficial effects of a spanking can fade, as the soreness fades. The soreness has gone.

Although you may have not have noticed any inappropriate behaviour from in the office over the past few week. I don't think you can conclude that the spanking you kindly administered has cured me. You will probably be aware that Cassie and I have broken up, so I can't flirt with her, and the other ladies in the office are not available. Even if they were, I wouldn't want to hurt Cassie by flirting under her nose.

There is, however, one lady at Blakes Recruitment who I would love to get to know sexually.

Any chance of a fuck, Annette?

Yours sincerely,


As he read through the draft email, Edward cringed at the thought of Annette reading it. It was a grossly inappropriate message to send to an employer and definitely a sackable offence, but he was almost sure that Annette would relish the opportunity to punish him in the way he now yearned to be, and he didn't see any harm in letting her know that he found her sexually desirable. The worst that could happen was that she would sack him, but if his email fell flat, he didn't really want to continue working for the company. He reread the email, and then saved it as a draft.

In the office that day, Edward was on the brink of sending the email to Annette on numerous occasions, but then lost his nerve. He was unable to concentrate on his work, and he grew frustrated with his own inaction. Towards the end of the day he had the email up on his computer screen, with the mouse arrow hovering over ‘send', when he looked up to see Annette looking at him through her office window. Perhaps he was wrong, but her expression seemed to be saying: When are you going to do something?

While she was still looking in his direction, his finger clicked on the mouse. He glanced down at the screen to see ‘message sent', then back up at Annette. She was no longer looking in his direction. Perhaps she was reading his message at that very moment.

What had he done! He read the sent message with dread welling up inside him. Up until a few moments ago it had all been a fantasy, the fantasy of sending an outrageous sexually suggestive email to his beautiful boss. But now it was reality. He was in absolutely no doubt that there would be consequences. He had never been so terrified and excited in his life. He was unable to look in the direction of Annette's office again until he left at the end of the day.  

Edward barely slept that night. Tomorrow would probably be the day of reckoning. It could only end in one of two ways: A caning or dismissal.

The phone call came at mid morning.

"I received your email, Edward," said Annette.

He looked up to see her watching him through her office window. She hadn't glanced in his direction all morning until now.

"I'd like to see you in my office this evening."

"Yes, of course," he replied, nervously.

"Wait until everyone else has left, then knock."

An observer of Edward would have seen him glance at his watch many times as the rest of the day progressed. Edward could think of nothing other than his appointment with Annette.

Once again, it was notable that Frieda and Jessica left the office unusually early, at five thirty. It was now obvious that it was under instructions from Annette. Perhaps they knew what she had planned for him. Selina was the last to leave. She looked at him quizzically as he sat, nervously fiddling with a pen, before saying good night, then leaving him alone in the office with Annette. This was it. He waited until he was sure she had gone, then rose to his feet. His legs felt unsteady, as he made his way to Annette's office. He mind was in turmoil. Part of him thought he was insane. Why was he about to willingly submit to agony?

Annette opened the office door a few seconds after he had knocked. She looked stunning. She always did, but perhaps today she had spent a little more time making sure of it. She glanced around the empty office, then closed it after Edward.

"Sit down," she instructed, as she took her seat opposite him.

"The content of your email was outrageous," she said, as her eyes seemed to see through him. "Certainly grounds for dismissal. But I believe you may wish to suggest an alternative to dismissal, in which case I will be pleased to hear it."

"Yes, Miss. I wonder if you would consider caning me instead."

She regarded him for a while, with the hint of a smile forming.

"It would need to be a severe caning, and on your bare bottom," she said at last. "You do understand that?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Then ask me."

"Please, Miss. I deserve a severe caning on my bare bottom. Please will you administer it?"

"Very well," she said, after several long seconds. "Stand up and take off your clothes. All of them."

Once again, he was embarrassed by his own arousal, as he slowly undressed. He was visibly trembling.

Within thirty seconds he was standing self consciously, naked, in front of her, with his hands clasped in front of him.

Her eyes slowly roamed his body. She seemed mildly amused.

After what seemed an eternity, she took a key from her desk, then held it out to him.

"You know where the canes are kept," she said.

She looked even more amused as he took the key, and in doing so was forced to expose himself. His hands were shaking as he fumbled to unlock the wardrobe. He shuddered in dread as he reached in to grasp the canes. Her eyes never left him. His face was flushed as he placed the selection of five canes on the desk in front of her.

She rose to her feet, ceremonially took off her jacket, hung it over the back of her chair, then selected the same, mid-sized cane that she had selected when she had shown them to him weeks earlier. As he looked on in dread, she flexed it. He physically winced as she swished it sharply through the air.

"Yes, this will do nicely," she said.

She walked over to the settee where she had spanked him, then pointed the cane at the wide settee arm.

"I want you bent over this," she said. "Toes on the floor, head on the seat, bottom well up."

He was so frightened, he was unable to move.

"You will receive twelve, nice, hard strokes. But if you are not in position in the next few seconds, I will increase that to eighteen."

She smiled when he suddenly sprang into life. Edward had never felt so vulnerable, humiliated and terrified, as he lowered himself over the arm, presenting his upturned bare bottom for her to cane.

"Twelve strokes is not sufficient punishment for your outrageous message," she said, as she looked down at the twin, unmarked, globes she was so looking forward to decorating, "However, as this is your first caning, I am showing leniency. If you give me reason to punish you again I will not be so considerate. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Miss," he whimpered.

He flinched as she lowered the cane to rest gently across the centre of his upturned bottom cheeks.

"This is a very special moment for you, Edward," she said, quietly, as she adjusted her footing. "There can only ever be one first caning, so I shall try to make it as memorable as I can for you."

He whimpered in dread as she tapped the cane gently across his bottom.

"You might be shocked by how painful the cane is, but you are to remain in position for all twelve strokes. If you move out of position, I will add strokes, always. Is that quite clear?"

"Yes, Miss," he sobbed.

"Then I suggest you take a deep breath."

She continued the gently tap the cane across his bottom. Her eyes were locked on her target. He tensed and held his breath as the cane was raised.

SWISH - CRACK!                 

The cane made contact with the report of a pistol shot, sinking deep into the twin globes, then bouncing out, leaving raised white, tram line weals. For the briefest moment, he felt little, then a searing white-hot line of fire erupted across the centre of his bottom cheeks. He gasped in disbelief at the intensity of the sting. In the first second after impact, the unbearable sting seemed to intensify. He reared up, squealing in agony, then sank to his knees to the side of the settee, with his hands clasped to his raging bottom cheeks, and his eyes wide in shock.

"Back in position at once," she demanded, crisply. "That stroke obviously doesn't count."

He looked up into her face. His moist eyes seeking some compassion. He saw none. The intense excitement he had experienced in the build up to his punishment was now replaced with agonising reality.

"If you are not back in position in five seconds I will add another six strokes," she said, firmly.

Sobbing with dread, he staggered back to his feet, still clutching his bottom, then hesitantly bent back over the arm to present his bottom again.


No sooner had his face touched the seat, than the second stroke bit in venomously, just below the first. The agony was off the scale. He squealed and writhed, as the unbearable pain escalated, before starting to fade, but he forced himself to stay in place. He vowed to himself never to allow himself to be caned again.

"That was a little better," she said, "So we can count that one. Let's try another two, without moving out of position of course, then I'll treat you to a short break."


Edward howled as the agony as the two very enthusiastically administered strokes seared across his bottom cheeks to join the other burning, throbbing strokes. His bottom tossed, clenched and unclenched, but he gritted his teeth, and managed to stay in place. She stood over him, cane in hand, watching the weals mature, waiting until his fuss had calmed to quiet sobbing.

"Nine more strokes to go," she said, cheerfully.

"Please, Miss. It's far more painful than I thought. Can we stop now? I really can't take any more," he pleaded.

"It's supposed to hurt. That's the whole point. I have no intention of stopping, and if you ask again I will add another six strokes. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss," he sobbed.           

"Now, getting back to your email. Was the rather vulgar question at the end of your email asked simply to provoke me, or was there more substance to it? I want you to answer honestly. If I think you're lying I'll add six strokes, so take your time to answer."

He flinched as he felt her left hand gently trace the throbbing, burning weals raging across his bottom. Her tender touch was in complete contrast to the ferocity of her caning.

"I guessed it would provoke you, Miss, but the question was real. I find you very attractive, and very erotic," he replied, breathlessly.

"Do you. How sweet," she replied. She seemed pleased with his reply.

"Of course, as I am your boss, I'm forbidden fruit. You do realise that, don't you?"

"Yes, Miss," he agreed at once, desperate now not to provoke her in any way.

"OK. You've had a little rest. Time for your caning to continue. Prepare for three strokes, this time. I want you to take all three strokes without moving, and to give you some incentive, if you move out of position for just one stroke, I will repeat all three. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss," he replied, terrified.

He sobbed involuntary as she placed the cane across his sore, throbbing bottom.


He screamed in agony as she reignited the blazing sting across his writhing and gyrating bottom cheeks. His feet stamped and shuffled around, and he pressed his face into the seat of the settee as he fought the desperate urge to rise up.

"Half way through, Edward," she said, when he had quietened sufficiently for her voice to be heard. "That's provided you behave, of course."

"Now where were we? Oh yes, we were talking about  the vulgar question you asked in your email, and I think we'd agreed that the answer to your question was no, didn't we?"

"Yes, Miss," he sobbed.

"And you understand that if I receive any more outrageous emails from you, your punishment will be more severe?"

"Yes, Miss," he whimpered.

"Six to more to go, so let's try another three. Same rules."


She didn't give him a chance to prepare himself. The three, brisk, hard strokes left searing, white hot lines of fire across his poor writhing bottom. His gasping and squealing sounded pitiful.

"The end is in sight, Edward," she said, cheerfully, "Just three more strokes to go, if you're good, but you need to know that I always make the final strokes the hardest of all, so you will need to try very hard to stay in position, because I will repeat all three if you don't. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Miss," he sobbed.

He felt her gentle her delicate touch, again, as her hand explored his burning weals.

"Prepare yourself," she said, as the gentle caress of her hand ended.

He was sobbing in dread as he braced himself.


She was true to her word. He had to fight for all he was worth to stay in position as the final three, extra hard strokes bit venomously into his raging bottom.

"Your first caning is over, Edward," she said, as she put the cane back on her desk.

He slid down off  the settee arm, then sank to his knees. He hesitantly ran his fingers over his burning, throbbing bottom, and was not surprised to find his cheeks covered with angry, raised weals. His eyes were red, but his arousal was obvious.

While Edward dressed in silence, Annette sat at her desk watching him, thoughtfully. When he'd finished dressing, she invited him to sit at his desk.

"Sherry?" she asked.


"So, Edward," she said, as they sipped sherry, "Now you know the consequences of sending your employer inappropriate emails."

"Yes, Miss. It was far more painful than I expected," he replied, as he sat uncomfortably.

"I meant what I said," she continued. "If I have occasion to punish you again, it will be more severe."

"I've learned my lesson, Miss. I'll do my best to make sure there isn't a next time."

For the briefest moment, Edward thought she looked disappointed.

"I'm pleased to hear it."

"Besides, " he continued, "I wouldn't be able to take anything more severe. I'd find it impossible to stay in position."

"Rest assured that that wouldn't be a problem. If I were to punish you again I would invite you to my home. I'm better equipped there, and I have a sturdy structure called a whipping bench. You would be securely strapped in place. You wouldn't be able to move out of position."

Edward swallowed, as he tried to visualise the terrifying prospect.

"There won't be a next time," he assured her.

"In that case I think we are finished here. I'd like you to spend some time reflecting on what has happened here this evening. If you have any comments to make, you may email me more discreetly here."

She handed him a card, with her private address, phone number and email.

"This is the address where you will be dealt with if there is a next time."

"Yes. Thank you, Annette."

Edward left Annette's office with his bottom still burning. It had been the most shockingly painful experience of his life, and he vowed to never again allow it to be repeated. However, it had also been hugely erotic, and he was totally besotted with Annette. She was making it clear that there would be no sexual activity, but he suspected she was becoming aroused when she was punishing him, and  the gentle touch of her hand, between cane strokes, seemed to confirm this. She obviously enjoyed punishing him, and even as he nursed his burning bottom, that excited him.

His bottom was still throbbing and burning when he arrived back at his flat. He was shocked when he looked in the bathroom mirror. It was covered with a lattice of angry weals. She had kept her word. His first ever caning had been memorable.

As the time passed that evening, his confusion increased. When the first stroke of her cane had whistled down, then bit sickeningly deep into his poor bare bottom, the pain had been breathtaking, and he had been desperate for the punishment to stop. As the punishment continued he had vowed to himself that he would never submit to a caning again. But now, just hours later, the memory of submitting to Annette was intoxicating. Part of him was desperate to submit again, to please her, and perhaps win sexual favour.

Sleep did not come easily that night. Not just because his bottom was still throbbing, with the occasional sharp, stabbing pain, but because his mind was in a whirl. His submission to Annette changed everything. He suspected that she wanted to punish him again, but now that he had experienced the reality of a caning from her, the prospect terrified him, and he would never want to go through the ordeal again. But it also excited him, and he fantasised about the possibility of it leading eventually to a sexual relationship.

He was still very sore when he arrived at the office the following morning, and he was reminded of the caning every time he sat down. He did wonder if there would be any knowing glances from other members of staff. He still suspected that Jessica and Frieda knew what was going on. However, he didn't pick up on anything to suggest they did know. Annette, also, behaved as if absolutely nothing had happened. It was business as usual.

* * *

Nothing of note occurred for the next two weeks, except that that the evidence of his punishment had eventually begun to fade. The soreness of his bottom had been a constant reminder of the agony he had suffered at her hands, and he remained adamant that he would never give her reason to punish him again. He was now convinced she wanted him to, she'd even given him her personal contact details, and he read that as an invitation to send her another suggestive email. He also, occasionally noticed her looking at him through her office window, and he had the feeling she was willing him to give her reason to punish him again. The idea was still very exciting, but fear of the dreadful pain he would endure prevailed. There was no way he could go through that again. However, his brain was still confused. The knowledge that she wanted to punish him was very exciting, and he was quite sure she gained sexual pleasure from thrashing him, and if it led to a sexual relationship with her, it would be a dream come true.

It was while he was daydreaming about the seduction of Annette, that Jessica approached him late one afternoon.

"We're in need of somebody to stay on to interview an applicant. It's an accounts clerk, a Mr Johnson. He's just phoned to say he's been delayed, and can't get here until six o'clock. Unfortunately, I can't stay this evening. I was wondering if you might be able to see him?"

"Yes, I can do that for you. But I don't have office keys, yet, and I don't have the alarm code."

"Well, it's probably time you did. We have a spare set, you can have those, and I'll show you how to operate the alarm. It will be very helpful if you can see Mr Johnson. Thank you"

Edward was pleased to help out. It was one more sign that, after a shaky start, he was considered a trusted member of the team. The rest of the staff left promptly after the end of normal office hours, and he noted that Annette, Jessica and Frieda all left together.

He didn't have long to wait for Mr Johnson, and after taking a few details, and confirming what sort of position he was looking for, he established that Mr Johnson was a suitable applicant for at least three vacancies they had on their books. By six-thirty, Edward was alone in the office for the first time.

Before he left, curiosity got the better of him. First, he went to Annette's office. She didn't keep her door locked, but admission was usually by invitation only, and the last two occasions he'd been invited in was to be punished. It was exciting t be in the same office, and to cast his eye over the contents of the room again. Even just looking at the settee, where both punishments had been administered, found him becoming aroused. Next he sat at her desk, to see the view she had. Was it just by chance, he wondered, that the one member of staff she had a view of through her office window, was himself. Her desk drawers were locked, and he felt guilty for trying to open every one of them. She had two computer monitors on her desk, and he wondered why she needed more than one.

After soaking up the atmosphere for a few moments, he went back into the main office, making sure her door was closed.

Before leaving, he decided to have a quick look in Frieda's office. Frieda was still a bit of a mystery to him. He knew she was a computer wizard, but she seemed to spend an awful lot of time in her untidy office, with the door closed. The website was first class, but he'd worked with other people who had looked after company websites, and they didn't spend the time that Frieda seemed to devote to it, so what else might she be doing?  As he looked around the assortment of computer terminals, and servers, not understanding what any of it was exactly for, something on the floor, under her desk, caught his eye. It was a memory stick. He reached down to pick it up, making a mental note of exactly where it had been. It was labelled ‘Edited BACKUP/June-July 18'.

He knew he should have left it where it was, but he realised there might be a mine of information on it, so he took it back to his desk, placed it in his own PC, then copied it to a spare memory stick he kept in his desk. It took some time to copy, indicating a lot of files. Feeling guilty, but excited, he returned Frieda's memory stick to the floor under her desk. She'd probably find it in the morning, and be none the wiser that he now had access to all the secrets it might hold. He set the alarm, locked up, then left for home, keen to study the contents of the memory stick at his leisure.

Back at home, he discovered the memory stick contained some text files, but the majority of the space was taken by a  number of video clips. Each clip was dated, but had no other identification. He opened the first one. It was a video that had been recorded in the general office, and from the date, he deduced it had been recorded on the day of his first interview with Annette. It featured Cassie and Erica chatting:

"What's your verdict on him, then?" asked Erica.

"I wouldn't mind sharing my bed with him," replied Cassie.

"You better not let Aunty catch you saying such things," giggled Erica, "She'll be straight into Annette's office, and then you'll be in trouble."

The clip ended when they switched the conversation to their opinion of a new pair of shoes Erica had just bought. Edward was mystified by the recording as he hadn't seen the CCTV camera that was obviously mounted at ceiling level in the main office. The clarity of the picture and the sound quality had both been very good. Then he played a few more clips, selected at random, and they typically featured members of staff engaged in fairly harmless office banter, when they obviously thought they were alone. A common strand was that the conversations either included opinions of Annette, or Jessica, or personal details of partners and some sexual preferences. The staff were being spied on, and they didn't know it. What also surprised Edward was that he could see from the video clips that they were taken from different locations, so there were numerous concealed cameras in the office.

It suddenly dawned on him that the CCTV system might still have been recording while he had been alone in the office. There might be a recording of his snooping, in which case he might be in real trouble. But it was too late now. He couldn't undo what he'd done, but he clung on to the hope that the CCTV system was switched off at night.

It was the sixth video clip that really grabbed Edward's attention. It began with Annette sitting at her desk, with Jessica sitting opposite her. It was immediately obvious that Jessica was far from her usual, calm, self. Edward could see from her face and her fidgeting, and fiddling with her hands that she was nervous. Annette was looking at her computer screen, then she switched her gaze to Jessica.

"Whichever way the figures are presented, Jessica," said Annette, "the profits for the month are four percent under target. We both know what that means, don't we?"

"Yes, Miss," replied Jessica, in a voice that was trembling, and hardly recognisable.

"You'd better make sure we're alone," said Annette.

"Yes, Miss." Jessica rose to her feet, then moved out of shot.

"Yes, Miss. The office is empty."

"Then I suggest you prepare yourself for your punishment," said Annette, smiling. "Take off your clothes, all of them."

The camera view switched to another, where Jessica could be seen standing next to the settee in Annette's office. Edward could hardly believe what he was seeing. He watched, mesmerised, as Jessica began to slowly remove her clothes, placing each item at the end of the settee furthest from the camera. In less than a minute she was standing timidly in front of the settee, gloriously naked. Her conservative clothing had concealed a superb figure.

"I think we used the cane last time, didn't we?" asked Annette.

"Yes, Miss."

"Then it's time you benefited from a taste of the tawse, Jessica. Fetch the Lochgelly."

The camera switched again to show Jessica approach Annette from behind. Edward's eyes feasted on her perfectly sculpted, flawless, bare bottom, as she accepted a key from Annette, then went to the wardrobe, from which she removed a sinister, thick, dark, two tailed, leather tawse. She returned to Annette's desk, then handed her the implement.

"You know what to do," said Annette, smiling. 

The camera switched back to the view of the settee, just as Jessica walked into view. Without any hesitation, she draped herself over the arm of the settee, presenting her delightful, upturned bottom for punishment. Edward almost stopped breathing as Annette appeared, brandishing the tawse.

"Six strokes for each percentage point under target, plus an extra six for being under target for the second month in a row. I make that thirty strokes."

"Yes, Miss," whimpered Jessica.

Edward watched in fascination, as Annette reached down with her left hand. Jessica's bottom twitched delightfully, as Annette's hand gently stroked the flesh she was about to set ablaze. It was an erotic touch, and it appeared to Edward that he was watching a game they both loved.

"It seems that the marks from your last caning have faded," said Annette, quietly, as her fingers gently traced Jessica's trembling bottom cleft. "Perhaps I was too lenient. I think I might use a heavier cane next time. Does that sound like a good idea?"

"Yes, Miss," said Jessica, quietly.

"You know the rules, Jessica," said Annette, as she lifted her hand from Jessica's bottom, then took her position to Jessica's left. "If you fail to stay in position during punishment, I will add strokes. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss," whimpered Jessica.

Annette stood, with the tawse hovering just above Jessica's trembling bottom, and with her eyes locked on her target. There was a pause of several, long seconds. Edward was holding his breath as he shared in the suspense.

With a graceful twist of her hips, Annette raised the tawse. It snaked over her right shoulder, before being brought down with vigour.


The heavy, twin tails made impact across Jessica's delightful bottom with the report of a pistol shot. Her bottom cheeks were momentarily flattened by the weight of the leather, sending ripples down the flesh of her thighs. Her bottom cheeks wobbled as the tawse tails bounced back out, then her cheeks began to writhe, and she gasped in a lungful of air, as the agony registered.


The tawse cracked down even harder, overlaying the same area of her writhing bottom. It was too much for Jessica. She squealed, then reared up, then sank to her knees, clutching her burning bottom cheeks with both hands.

"Back in position at once," ordered Annette, crisply. "That last stroke will need to be repeated."

"You're taking too long," said Annette, as Jessica stubbornly remained on her knees, still clutching her bottom cheeks. "Your punishment has increased to thirty-six strokes, and I might as well start again. Furthermore, I will increase it by another six strokes if you are not back in position in the next five seconds."

Jessica hesitantly removed her hands from her bottom, then rose to her feet and bent back over the arm. Her bottom was decorated with red bands where the tawse tails had made impact, and to Edwards amazement, she actually hollowed her back, which had the effect of pushing her bottom out. It was as if she was inviting the tawse, and Annette wasted no time in accepting the invitation.


Now the tawsing started in earnest. As Annette methodically raised the tawse, then brought it down with venom, Jessica squealed and writhed over the arm of the settee. Her bottom cheeks wriggled and bounced as the tawse tails steadily added vivid colour to them. As Annette settled down to a steady rhythm, administering one stroke about every ten seconds, Jessica began to anticipate the strokes, thrusting her writhing bottom out, just as the tawse was about to impact. Jessica seemed to be actually taunting Annette with her bottom.  It was the most erotic thing Edward had ever seen. Each time the tawse made impact, Jessica's bottom cheeks performed a dance, clenching and unclenching, wriggling and writhing, but never failing to thrust back up just before the next stroke cracked down. All this was accompanied by squealing and gasping. It lasted about six minutes, and Edward was stunned.

Jessica remained bent over the settee arm, quietly groaning, with her bare bottom now very colourfully decorated with red and purple, Annette moved out of the picture. She returned a few seconds later, then reached down to gently caress Jessica's bottom.

"You took all thirty-six strokes without moving, Jessica," she said, quietly, as her hand gently pushed between Jessica's upper thighs. Jessica parted them slightly, to allow access.

"I didn't think you would," continued Annette. "Why do you think that is?" Her hand pushed deeper, causing Jessica to grown in pleasure.

"Perhaps it's because you were too lenient," panted Jessica.

"I can't think of any other explanation," agreed Annette, as her hand disappeared further between Jessica's thighs. "Perhaps you'd like to suggest how we might rectify that?"

"A few strokes with the heavier cane, Miss," replied Jessica, breathlessly."Quickly!"

"Six of the very best, then," said Annette, as she withdrew her hand, then stepped out of frame.

She appeared a few seconds later, wielding a fearsome looking cane.

"Not six, Miss," gasped Jessica, "Twelve, very hard. Quickly!"

Annette wasted no time. She took her position, then raised the cane. Edward found himself holding his breath again.


The cane sank deep into the twin globes, before bouncing out. Jessica gasped, but stayed down.


The brisk, very hard caning that followed had Edward wincing. How Jessica managed to take it was beyond him, but she did. She groaned, and squealed, and her bottom wriggled deliciously, as Annette briskly added a dozen vivid stripes to her already colourful bottom.

The cane was tossed aside, and Annette reached behind her back, unzipped her skirt, then stepped out of it. Edward couldn't believe what he was seeing, as Jessica slid off the settee arm onto her knees, then roughly pulled down Annette's knickers, before pushing her face urgently into Annette's crotch. Annette gasped, grabbing Jessica roughly by the hair to keep her in place.

After about a minute, during which Jessica lapped greedily and noisily from Annette, Annette pulled Jessica away. Jessica knew what to do. She lay down on her back along the length of the settee, to wait for Annette, who was urgently tearing off the remainder of her clothes. Annette then straddled Jessica, facing the other way, so they could each feast off the others love juices. They orgasmed after a frenzy of drinking noisily from each other as their lithe, shapely bodies writhed together. The video clip was over. Edward had never seen anything as erotic in his life.

It wasn't until the early hours that Edward finally dragged himself away from his computer. He skipped through a few more video clips, all of office banter, but he estimated that he had viewed only about a third of the total videos on the memory stick. He realised he had been so engrossed that he hadn't even eaten. He prepared a quick snack, then attempted to sleep.


As soon as Edward sat down at his desk the following morning, he realised where the CCTV cameras were hidden. They were in the ceiling mounted smoke detectors. He'd never paid any attention to them until now, but now he could see that there were more of them than you'd normally expect to see in an office. There were four in the main office, one in the small kitchen, and he guessed there must be at least two in Annette's office. Each smoke detector had four small holes, equally spaced around their circumference, any of which could be concealing a miniature camera. Although he hadn't yet seen the video evidence, he now realised that his frolics with Cassie in the kitchen might have been recorded and.

Once again, he wondered if the CCTV system had been recording while he had been alone in the office the night before. The prospect of the punishment that Annette might administer terrified him. His concern grew when Annette held a closed door meeting with Jessica and Frieda during the afternoon, but that was nothing unusual, and after the meeting, nothing was said to him, nor did he pick up on anything wrong, so Edward began to feel a bit more relaxed. Perhaps, he comforted himself, the CCTV system was switched off outside office hours.

After work, Edward couldn't get home soon enough to continue viewing the videos on Frieda's memory stick. He skipped through numerous office clips, which he by now knew were mostly recordings of staff making comments about the management, or engaging in mischievous banter. However, he eventually came across one that looked far more interesting:

Annette was in her office with Frieda and Jessica sitting opposite her, and Frieda was biting her lip, and fidgeting, while Annette regarded her with her cool eyes.

"And now we come to the main reasons for me calling this meeting," said Annette, calmly. "Profit projections for the month are below target again, and the website was down for three hours. Frieda. You are responsible for ensuring the website doesn't crash. Perhaps you'd care to explain why it did?"

"I'm sorry," replied Frieda, nervously. "It was a web code error."

"I see, and who installs the web codes?"

"I do."

"So what you're really saying is that it was your error?"

"Well, yes."

"Well it is simply not good enough," said Annette, then turning to Jessica. "Make sure everyone has left, please."

Jessica, who Edward could now see, also looked nervous. She rose to her feet, then moved out of the frame.

"Everyone's gone," she said, as she resumed her seat.

Annette leaned back in her chair, looking at the two nervous ladies sitting opposite her.

"So what are we to do?" asked Annette, as Jessica and Frieda looked down at the desk. "Projections suggest we will not reach our monthly profit target, and if we don't it will be your responsibility Jessica. To compound that, the website is unstable, so clients are sometimes unable to find us."

Jessica and Frieda continued to look down at the top of the desk. Hands and feet were fidgeting.

"Frieda," said Annette, after an uncomfortable pause, "You have earned yourself a hot cross. You know what to do."

Frieda briefly glanced up at Annette, with a shocked expression, and the hint of a smile passed Annette's lips. Edward looked on, becoming increasingly excited, as Frieda began to unbutton her jeans. What was a hot cross?

"Jessica," said Annette, "you will administer the tawsing. Frieda will receive a twelve stroke hot cross, and if I feel that even one single stroke is not as hard as Frieda deserves, then I will repeat the entire tawsing, and you will receive the same sentence yourself. Understood?"

"Yes, Annette," replied Jessica, looking down at her hands on the desk.

For a few moments, nothing was said, as Annette and Jessica watched Frieda undress. Edward found himself becoming very aroused as Frieda gradually revealed her shapely, trim figure. Eventually, she stood in glorious nakedness, then turned to look at Annette.

"Place yourself in the required position, Frieda," said Annette, "Jessica, fetch the shortened, heavy Lochgelly tawse."

Both Frieda and Jessica looked at each other apprehensively, before Jessica took the key offered by Annette, then went to the wardrobe. In the meantime, Frieda walked unsteadily to the settee, but instead of bending over the arm, as Edward had expected, she knelt on the seat, then bent right over the arm, to rest her forehead on the office floor, with her hands either side, to support the weight of her torso. The effect was to project her beautiful, trim bottom up towards the ceiling in the most erotic manner.

Annette rose to her feet, then took a position to the side of Frieda, where she could look down at her presented bottom. She was joined by Jessica, who was now holding a thick, dark, leather tawse. Edward guessed it to be about forty centimetres long, and it was split into two tails at the business end.

"Press your knees further into the settee arm," instructed Annette, "and keep your head on the floor."

A quiet whimper passed Frieda's lips, as she shuffled her knees further in, presenting her bottom in an even more prominent posture.

"I suggest you keep your knees firmly together," suggested Annette, "and you know, of course, that if you move out of position you will receive additional strokes. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss," she whimpered.

"Jessica, you may proceed," said Annette, taking a half step back. "Four strokes diagonally left, then four right, then four right down the centre. Remember what I said. They must be hard and accurate. I want a nice, neat, clearly defined cross, and you know what the consequences will be if you disappoint me."

Edward could hardly believe his eyes and ears, as Jessica took her position, standing close to Frieda's right shoulder. Frieda flinched as Jessica gently laid the tawse diagonally across Frieda's upturned bottom, with the far end of the heavy tawse resting just at the lower part of Frieda's right bottom cheek, where it met with her upper thigh. The body of the tawse crossed the centre of her gaping bottom cleft, and the upper part of the tawse crossed the upper part of her left bottom cheek. 

Edward held his breath as Jessica skilfully flicked the tawse over her right shoulder, then, with her eyes locked on Frieda's upturned bottom, and her jaw set in determination, she twisted her torso, then brought the two leather tails down sharply.


The leather tails curled around the contours of Frieda's pert bottom, flattening the flesh and causing the tawse tips to sink into the soft flesh at the very top of her right thigh. Ripples of flesh shuddered through her bottom and thighs as the tawse bounced out. Frieda gasped, and her legs momentarily straightened.

"Keep you knees pressed into the arm and your bottom presented as instructed," ordered Annette, sharply.


The tawse bit again into exactly the same area. Frieda squealed, and her entire body trembled as she strained to keep her knees pressed in and her bottom presented. A red band was beginning to develop, diagonally across her bottom, with darker spots at the lower part of her right bottom cheek, where the tawse tips had bitten in.


Frieda gasped in a lungful of air, and her trembling intensified as the tawse overlaid the previous strokes.


Frieda squealed again, and her right leg straightened, as her efforts to stay in position failed her.

"Knees back in place at once," ordered Annette. "Repeat the stroke, Jessica."


Frieda howled as the stroke bit in almost as soon as Frieda had managed to present her bottom as instructed.

A vivid diagonal band of red had now developed, tinged with purple at the very top of her right thigh, Frieda sobbed as Jessica shifted her position to stand by Frieda's right shoulder. The tawse was lowered gently onto Frieda's trembling buttocks, diagonally, to cross the red band by ninety degrees.


As Frieda, gasped, sobbed and writhed, Jessica administered four, sharp strokes across Frieda's trembling globes. Gradually, another red band began to develop, to produce, finally, a distinct, red cross.

Frieda began to sob in dread, as Jessica shifted her position, then lowered the tawse  along the length of Frieda's bottom cleft.

Edward found himself holding his breath again, as he tried to imaging how excruciating the next four strokes would be. Frieda, he was sure, already knew. They'd obviously played this game before.

"Keep your knees pressed into the arm," reminded Annette, as the tawse was raised.


Frieda shrieked as the tawse bit savagely into the most sensitive areas of her bottom. The tawse tips, in particular, found a particularly sensitive spot, right at the very lowest part of her bottom cleft. The muscles in Frieda's trembling thighs stood out like rods of iron, as she strained to clench her bottom cheeks and keep her knees together, to deny the tails of fire any more access than they already had.


Frieda's shrieking became hysterical, as her writhing bottom soaked up another three, brisk strokes, all aimed to bite into the same, sensitive area.

Both Jessica and Annette stood in silence, watching the fresh, central, red band form, as Frieda's bottom twitched in time with her sobbing.

Edward was mesmerised. He had lost all sense of time, as he looked on. Frieda had made no attempt to rise from the settee. He sensed that she knew her punishment wasn't over.

When Frieda's sobbing had eventually stopped, Jessica lifted her eyes from the red cross, to look apprehensively at Annette.

"You know very well, don't you, Jessica," said Annette, with the hint of a smile forming, "that that wasn't hard enough?"

"Yes, Miss," replied Jessica, quietly.

"Then you know what you must do, don't you?"

"Yes, Miss."

Edward watched in absolute fascination, as Jessica handed the tawse to Annette, then began to slowly undress, folding each item of removed clothing, then placing them carefully on a chair, until she stood, beautiful and naked in front of Annette.

"Perhaps you'd care to join Frieda," said Annette.

Edward watched, spellbound, as Frieda shuffled sideways on the settee arm to allow room beside her for Jessica. He now looked down on two delightfully presented bare bottoms.  One was decorated with a broad red cross, intersected with central band of red, which appeared a little darker in the shade of Frieda's bottom cleft. The other naked bottom was perfect and flawless, but soon to be decorated. He was now almost painfully aroused.

"In fact, your performance was so lacklustre, Jessica," said Annette, as she took her position close to Jessica's right elbow, "that it seems to me that you were intent on deliberately provoking me. Am I correct?"

"Whatever you say, Miss," replied Jessica, almost flippantly.

"That's rather unfair on Frieda. Now she must endure a repeat of her tawsing, harder. Do you have any suggestions, Jessica?"

"Yes, Miss. I'll take Frieda's strokes," offered Jessica.

"How sweet of you," replied Annette, smiling, "But we can't allow Frieda to escape the punishment she deserves. I will, however, allow you to take a little of the burden from her. I will reduce her tawsing by six strokes, which of course will be added to yours. Does that seem a little fairer?"

"Yes, Miss," replied Jessica.

"Very well. Perhaps, then, you should both prepare yourselves. I want both of your bottoms well up, perfectly presented, with your knees firmly pressed into the arm throughout. The slightest deviation will result in additional strokes. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss," they both replied in unison.

"We'll start with you, then, Frieda."

Frieda visibly braced herself, as Annette's eyes homed in on her thrust up, colourfully decorated cheeks. The tawse was raised, then brought down with passion and venom.


It was in a different league to all previous strokes. Frieda hissed in air through her teeth, and the flesh of her bottom and thighs rippled.


A second eye-wateringly hard stroke overlaid the previous with the report of a pistol shot. Frieda shrieked in agony, and her bottom began to weave from side to side as she attempted to cope with the pain.

After waiting to see the colour of the red band darken where she had overlaid it, Annette stepped to her left. Her eyes now fell on Jessica's unmarked, presented bottom. Annette unconsciously licked her lips as she contemplated making the two cheeks dance.


The first stroke snaked down, flattening the flesh of Jessica's delightful bottom. The tawse tips bit deep into the crease between her right bottom cheek and the top of her thigh. Jessica gasped as the searing pain registered. Annette's aim had been perfect, so she had no need to adjust her footing. The tawsing continued briskly.


As Jessica squealed, and her bottom weaved and writhed, Annette brought the tawse down accurately and hard, each stroke intensifying the colour of the developing band of red.

When the six strokes had been administered, Annette switched her attention seamlessly back to Frieda's waiting bottom. Frieda shrieked and wriggled, as two strokes bit in diagonally, this time from right to left.

Taking one step sideways, it was now Jessica's turn for her next six. She squealed, and her bottom writhed provocatively, as it absorbed the fire of the brisk, hard tawse strokes.

Now it was time for the strokes both of them knew would be the most painful. Frieda waited, trembling, as Annette took her position.

"Knees well pressed in, bottom up," ordered Annette, as she looked down at the gaping, trembling cheeks.

Frieda did her best to keep Annette happy. She thrust her bottom as high as she could manage.


Annette certainly didn't spare the venom. The tawse bit in savagely. Frieda shrieked, and her legs shot back as she clenched her bottom cheeks together, writhing as she did.

"Present your bottom at once," ordered Annette, firmly.

Frieda was shaking violently, as she hesitantly offered her bottom back in the correct position.


Annette seized her chance the instant she was offered it. The tawse bit back into the same place, producing a shrill scream, and sending poor Frieda into writhing contortions.

Annette ignored Frieda. Her punishment was over. She was already standing over Jessica.

"Knees in, bottom well up," she instructed.

Jessica strained to comply.

"Higher," demanded Annette.

As Jessica tried offer her bottom in the most exposed manner, Frieda was already back in the required position. She presumably didn't want to offer Annette reason to add extra strokes.


The tawsing along the length of Jessica's bottom cleft began with no loss of vigour. As Jessica wriggled and squealed, Annette brought the tawse down six times with undisguised enthusiasm and complete accuracy. Edward found himself wincing as he tried to imagine how agonising the punishment had been.

"Two lovely hot cross bums," said Annette, as she stood back to admire her work. "Do you have anything to say?"

"Thank you, Miss," replied Frieda, immediately.

Edward was excited to note that both ladies remained with their brightly decorated bottoms still presented, and that Jessica had failed to reply.

"Jessica," said Annette, after several seconds had elapsed, "I expect a reply."

There was a long pause before Jessica replied.

"I didn't think the final six were quite as hard as I deserved, Miss," she said, hesitantly.

Annette smiled, as she stroked the tawse with her left hand.

"Well we can't have that, can we?"

She approached Jessica, then traced Jessica's vividly decorated bottom cleft with the fingers of her left hand, before standing back to lay the tawse gently along the line she had traced.

"I'd like your bottom pushed up higher, Jessica, and keep it there."

"Yes, Miss," she replied, as she pressed her knees harder into the settee arm, and pushed her bottom up.

The tawse was raised. Annette grimaced and gasped as she put all her effort into the downward path of the heavy leather tails.


To Edward, the report sounded like that of a bullwhip. The tawse bit in deep, exactly on target. Jessica screamed, and her body began to shake violently, almost as if she were having an orgasm. To his amazed excitement, Jessica actually raised her bottom higher for the next stroke.


She screamed again, and her bottom recoiled away from the tawse as it bounced out, but as she continued to shake, and groan, she hesitantly thrust her bottom up again to meet the next stroke of the tawse.

She absorbed another three breathtakingly hard strokes, each time pushing her bottom up to meet the tawse, screaming in agony each time the tawse added more colour.

Annette paused before administering the final stroke. She seemed to be waiting for something. Jessica was still shaking, but she hesitantly pushed her bottom up again, then, to Edward's disbelief, she slowly parted her thighs to offer herself in the most exposed manner possible.

Annette waited until Jessica was perfectly presented, before raising the tawse. She brought it down with all her strength, grunting from the effort. In the split second before impact, Jessica seemed to lose her nerve, clenching her thighs together. But she was too late.


The tawse made contact with a resounding report, exactly on target. The tawse tails bit deep into Jessica's gaping bottom cleft, accelerating the tawse tips into the most sensitive part of her anatomy. Jessica shrieked in agony as she brought her thighs together a fraction of a second after impact. Her legs shot back and she clenched her bottom cheeks. The end of the tawse was trapped between her thighs as she writhed in agony. Annette let go of it. Jessica's tawsing had concluded with a special, final stroke. It was obvious to Edward that this was not the first time Jessica had invited such agony.

"Now, Jessica," said Annette, breathlessly, I want you to show your gratitude. "Frieda, you know how to assist."

They both knew what to do. Edward watched in astonishment as the most erotic scene unfolded. Both ladies slipped down onto their knees. Frieda was handed the tawse by Jessica, as she clutched her burning bottom with her free hand. Jessica approached Annette on her knees, then began to unzip her skirt. As Annette stepped out of her skirt, Jessica was already clawing at Annette's knickers. Meanwhile, Annette removed her blouse and then her bra. Frieda, was collecting the discarded clothes, folding then neatly, then putting them on a chair. As Annette stood, now completely naked, Jessica, still on her knees, had her eyes on Annette's neatly trimmed pubic hair. As Annette slowly parted her thighs, Jessica leaned forward and, as her tongue found Annette's wetness, her hands clasped Annette's shapely buttocks.

Annette groaned in pleasure as Jessica's tongue explored. Jessica's fingers pressed deeper into the soft flesh of Annette's bottom.

After a few minutes, Annette pushed Jessica away, then sat on the settee, leaned back, then
 parted her thighs. Jessica's tongue went to work at once.

"Deeper!" demanded Annette.

Jessica continued to noisily probe and suck, as Annette began to writhe in ecstasy.

Edward was more aroused than he could remember as he looked on. He also noted that, as Jessica knelt on the floor, working urgently with her tongue, Frieda, with the tawse in her hand, was now standing over Jessica's pushed out bottom.

"Deeper," demanded Annette, again, breathlessly,"Encourage her, Frieda."

Edward had never even imagined, let alone, witnessed anything so erotic in his life. As Jessica sucked and probed with insatiable greed, and Annette groaned, and demanded she thrust deeper, Frieda began to thrash Jessica's writhing bottom with the tawse. As Annette approached orgasm, Frieda tawsed Jessica harder and faster. Annette orgasmed noisily, then pushed Jessica away. Jessica immediately lay back on the floor, and Frieda lowered herself onto Jessica's face, facing the opposite way, then lay down on top of Jessica so they could explore each other with their tongues. They both enjoyed a spectacular climax a few moments later. The recording ended.


Over the course on the next few days, Edward continued to view the contents of the memory stick. He found his own punishments at the hands of Annette, and watched them several times, always becoming very aroused. He downloaded the most erotic clips to his laptop. He found his obsession with Annette was growing to a point where it was almost painful. He also discovered the recording of Cassie and himself in the kitchen, but it was the recording of Annette decorating Frieda's and Jessica's bottoms with hot crosses, that he returned to view the most. He couldn't imagine how painful it had been, especially for Jessica, and the sexual activity that followed was the most exciting he had ever seen. But every time he watched it, he found himself racked with guilt for spying on such a private and erotic event.

Just over a week after Edward had discovered the memory stick, both Annette and Jessica, he had learned, would be out of the office attending an accountancy seminar. When he arrived for work that morning he discovered a small, gift wrapped, box on his desk.

"Who's this from?" he asked Selina, the only other person in the main office.

"I've no idea," she replied. "It was already on your desk when I arrived. Perhaps you have a secret admirer."

Puzzled, Edward removed the floral wrapping paper. There was no card, or label to indicate who it was from. The colour drained from Edward's face when he opened the box to reveal a single hot cross bun. He glanced, nervously, across at Frieda's closed office door, then up at the smoke detector. The light was on in Frieda's office. He wondered if she was watching him on the CCTV system.

"That's an odd present," said Selina, as he took the bun from the box. "It isn't even Easter. Why would anyone go to so much trouble to gift wrap a hot cross bun?"

"I've no idea."

But, of course, he did know. He knew he had been given notice that his prying of the previous week had been observed. He guessed there would be consequences, and he was right.

Edward was kept in nervous suspense most of the day. Obviously, Frieda knew he had copied the memory stick, but he had no way of knowing if she had informed Annette or Jessica. If Annette knew, he shuddered to think of the consequences. Perhaps he would have to wait until tomorrow, when she was back in the office. Would she conclude that he deserved a hot cross? The idea horrified him!

The phone call came late that afternoon. Frieda invited him to drop into her office for a 'chat' after work hours. He stayed behind after the rest of the staff had left, then nervously knocked on Frieda's door.

"Have a seat," she said, indicating the chair opposite her desk.

Edward sat down, warily, as she regarded him with a look of irritation.

"I wasn't absolutely sure, " she said, after several uncomfortable seconds of silence, "until I watched you unwrap your present this morning."

"Sure of what?" he asked.

"Sure of whether you had found, copied and watched the memory stick I mislaid last week," she replied. "The look on your face, when you found the hot cross bun removed any doubt."

He didn't reply. There was nothing he could say.

"I've got excellent video of you snooping around Annette's office, sitting at her desk, then trying to open the drawers. The video coverage in her office is very comprehensive."

"Has she seen it," he asked, nervously.

"Not yet," she replied. "It's my responsibility to edit CCTV images, then forward anything of interest to her. She'll be furious when I show her."

Edward looked down at the desk. This was worse than he had imagined it would be.

"Unfortunately, my office isn't so well covered," she continued. "I have a recording of you bending down, appearing to pick up something, but it's not possible to see what it was. Also, I have more video of you doing something at your desk a minute later, but it's not possible to see exactly what you are doing, but I now know you were making a copy of my memory stick."

She wasn't asking him. She was telling him. There was nothing for him to say.

"Do you want to know where you went wrong?" she asked, with a feint smile on her face.

"You should have just kept the memory stick. I had no idea it was on the floor under my desk. I didn't even know it was missing. It's a backup that I'm supposed to keep locked up at home. I can be a bit disorganised," she added, as she cast an eye around her untidy office.

"It was only when I played the recording of you snooping in my office, that I looked under my desk to find the memory stick. Then it was quite easy to make sense of what you were up to. Your face, when you saw the hot cross bun, confirmed it."

"I'm sorry, Frieda," he replied, trying to look into her angry eyes. "Curiosity got the better of me."

"Curiosity killed the cat," she replied,"and curiosity has landed you in serious trouble."

"I'm sorry, Frieda."

"How do you think I feel, knowing you've spied on such private and intimate moments of my life? How do you think Jessica will feel?"

"I don't suppose she'll like it," he replied, in a whisper.

"You can be absolutely sure she won't like it. She'll be outraged, and I dread to think what Annette will do."

"Are you going to tell them?" he asked, nervously, after a few long seconds looking down at the top of her desk.

"I might do. I haven't decided."

"I'd much rather you didn't," he suggested, weakly.

"I bet you do. Now I'm going to ask you some questions and I want truthful answers. I want you to look me in the eye when you answer, and if I feel even the slightest suspicion that you are lying, I can guarantee that both Annette and Jessica will learn of your devious snooping first thing in the morning. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, of course," he replied, looking nervously up into her eyes. She seemed even angrier, now.

"You copied my memory stick direct onto another memory stick. Am I right?"


"Have you made any more copies?"


"Have you copied it onto another computer?"

"No. I promise."

"So if I accompany you home, then demand to inspect any computers you have, I wouldn't find any  recordings from my memory stick?"

"I don't think so," he replied.

"Well you don't sound very convincing, so I'll tell you what's going to happen now. We are going to travel back to the place you call home, together, now. You are going to give me the offending memory stick, then I'm going to have a good look around. I shall be looking for anything that you might have used to make another copy. You will volunteer all passwords, and I don't want you out of my sight until I'm satisfied. Is that quite clear?"

"That's a bit of an invasion of my privacy," he complained.

"I have no problem invading your privacy. If it's a problem for you, I can always ask Annette's advice on what should be done."

"Sorry, sorry. I wasn't thinking," he backtracked.

"Well, I suggest you start, because you might have a few more things to think about before the evening is over," she said, rising to her feet, then putting a laptop in the rucksack she usually carried with her. "Come with me. I'll drive. You can direct me to where you live."


Although Edward was frightened, he was thinking clearly enough to realise that Frieda might be just as keen to keep Annette in the dark regarding the copied memory stick because her clumsiness was partly to blame, so as long as he went along with Frieda's demands, there was a good chance that Annette would never find out about it.

"Actually, I did make a copy," he confessed, as Frieda drove.

"Obviously," she replied, "It was written all over your face when you said you didn't think so.  You're a hopeless liar. How many copies?"

"Just one. It's on my laptop, and I didn't copy all of it, just a few video clips."

"And I bet I can guess which ones."

Edward's silence confirmed she was correct.

All too soon, they had arrived at Edward's flat.

"Right. Hand over the memory stick," she said, as soon as they had stepped into his lounge.

Edward took the offending item from the drawer of his desk, at the rear of the lounge, then handed it to Frieda. She sat down on his settee, switched on her laptop, then inserted the memory stick.

"OK. This seems to be the one," she said, after tapping a few keys.

She removed the stick, put it in her pocket, then walked to sit at his desk, where Edward kept his own laptop.

"So you copied a few video clips onto this?" she said, opening it, then switching it on.

"Password?" she demanded.

"I'll type it in for you," he offered.

"No you won't. You'll tell me what it is."

"Er, well, it's cool.eddy, lower case, no spaces," he replied, embarrassed.

She looked up at him, frowning, to add to his embarrassment, then typed in the password.

"Right, I'm in. I don't like your password, so I think I'll change it."

She typed so fast, he couldn't see what she was doing.

"There, that's done," she said, "Now let's see what you've been up to."

Edward was cringing. Since he had been disciplined by Annette, he'd developed an interest in searching the internet for related sites, and some had been quite pornographic.

"My word, you have been busy," she said, adding to his embarrassment, as she checked out some of his more dubious internet history.

"Here they are," she said, as she located the files she was looking for.

"There, that's done," she announced, after working the keyboard with lightning speed. "Permanently deleted. Do you have any other devices here?"

"Only my phone, but I haven't copied any of the files to it."

"I think I'd better have a look at it," she said, "Just to make sure."

"What's the password?" she asked, as he handed it to her.

"It's the same."

She spent a few minutes navigating the screen. He couldn't see what she was doing.

"Yes. This seems to be OK," she said, handing him back the phone. "I've changed the password for you. Tea would be nice. Why don't you make it, while I have a look around to make sure you don't have any other devices or copies you haven't told me about?"

To his discomfort, she immediately began to rummage through the drawers of his desk. He stood watching her, unhappily, before leaving for the kitchen to make tea.

While he prepared drinks in his kitchen, he could hear Frieda move from the lounge to his bedroom. He inwardly cringed at the prospect of the magazines she might find under his bed.

"Your bedroom's even more untidy than mine," she said, as she sat down opposite him in the lounge, then taking a sip of tea.

"You've got the memory stick back," he said, "I promise you there's no other copies, so can I assume we're done, and can you tell me what my password is?"

"No, we're not done, and no you can't have your password. It's not as simple as that. I want some revenge first. You see, Edward, I feel quite uncomfortable knowing that you've been sitting here watching me indulging in very private activities. I may have the videos back, but you can't unsee what you've seen."

"Well, I'm very sorry, but I can't see what more I can do."

"I can," she said, cheerfully. She reached into the rucksack, then Edward felt panic welling up inside him, as she withdrew a thick, two tailed, leather tawse.

"You're not thinking of using that on me," he said, as she toyed with the implement.

"I most certainly am," she replied, confidently, "I'm going to give you a taste of what you've been watching happen to me. I will either be leaving here this evening having given you a hot cross bum, or I will be talking to Annette about you in the morning. Believe me, Edward, a hot cross bum from Annette will be in a different league to what I have planned for you. The choice is yours."

"This is ridiculous," he protested, weakly. "It's blackmail. I don't see why I should be subjected to this."

"You can call it blackmail if you like," she replied, seemingly amused.

"Well I won't accept it. I don't see why I should, and besides, I think Annette will be angry with you for being so clumsy with that memory stick, so you'll be in just as much trouble as me. I don't think you'll tell her."

"Perhaps I enjoy being punished by Annette," said Frieda, as she rose to her feet. "I hope you do too, because I'm going to see her first thing in the morning."

She picked up the tawse, put it back in her rucksack, then put away her laptop, then made for the door.

"I would imagine that by this time tomorrow you will know what it's like to have a hot cross bum from Annette," she said, smiling, as she reached for the door.

"What about my password?" he asked, feeling panic rising up inside him again.

"I might tell you tomorrow," she replied as she stepped through the front door. "It might benefit you to stay off the computer for a while. It will give you a chance to contemplate your fate."

The door closed. Edward had called her bluff, and it hadn't worked.

He certainly did contemplate his fate. He hardly slept that night. All he could think of was that awful tawse biting into his bare bottom in the most excruciating manner.


"Don't tell her!," he said, as soon as Frieda arrived at the office. Edward had arrived an hour early, just to make sure he arrived before her.

"Perhaps I already have," she replied, smiling mischievously.

"Oh, no, you haven't have you!" he replied in despair.

"No. I haven't," she replied, laughing. "Not yet, but I'm going to as soon as she steps through that door."

"I'll take your punishment," he said, urgently.

"Ah, here's Annette now," she said.

Edward turned to see Annette opening the front door to the office. Panic was written all over his face.

"Good morning Annette," said Frieda cheerfully.

"Good morning," she replied. "Is there a problem? You look very concerned, Edward?"

"It's nothing I can't sort out," replied Frieda, before Edward could answer. "He's had an issue with his password. I'm on top of it."

Annette, remained where she was, looking quizzically between Frieda and Edward.

"It's unlike you to be in so early, Edward," she said.

"I just wanted to get my password problem sorted out with Frieda before the office opened for business," he explained, trying to suppress his nerves.

Annette remained where she was for a few moments, looking from one to the other, then went to her office and closed the door.

Edward felt his pulse slowly drop back towards normal.

"I'll think about your suggestion," said Frieda, making no attempt to speak quietly, "and I'll see if I can help you with that password query later."

With that, she left for her office.

She left Edward in suspense until just before lunch, when she phoned him:

"I have a few moments spare, Edward. If you'd like to drop into my office, I'll see if I can sort out your password problem."

He stepped into her office a few moments later.

"Close the door," she said.

"I've disabled the camera in my office," she continued, when the door was shut. "Take a seat."

"I take it you meant what you said about taking my punishment?" she said, as soon as he was seated.

"Well, yes," he replied, feeling his face flush, "But there is one aspect that really worries me."

"I'm not surprised," she replied, smiling.

"It's just that, well...er, when I watched the hot cross tawsings, I obviously noticed that the final strokes were aimed in a way that I am really frightened might cause me serious injury. Because I'm male, and different."

Her face broke out into a smile, as she watched him struggle for words.

"No need to worry too much about that," she said. "I have a protective, padded, thong for you to wear. It will keep your bits nice and safe, while leaving everywhere else completely exposed. I've used it before. I have some experience."


"So we have an agreement, then? I won't tell Annette what you've been up to, or about the memory stick, and you will take your punishment."

"Well, yes."

"Good. We'll do it tonight. I think it will be better at my house. Be there at seven, there's a drive, with parking, in front of the house."

She wrote down an address on a piece of paper, then slid it across the desk.

"OK, we're done," she said.

"What about my password?"

"You'll get that after you have been adequately punished," she replied, smiling.

"There's one other thing," he said, hesitantly.

"What's that?"

"Well, the marks that might be left on me. Will they last very long?"

"If I punish you as severely as you deserve, then yes, I should thing they will last a week, or so."

"It's just that, well, Annette. I get the feeling she is looking for an excuse to punish me again herself. If she finds a reason, before the marks have gone, well, there will be some explaining to do."

"Then you had better be a very good boy for a few weeks," she said.

"But what if?" he asked. "She'd be sure to want to know how I got them, and you might be in trouble."

"I'm regularly in trouble," she said, cheerfully, "but I don't think I'll be in quite as much trouble as you will. So, if there's nothing else, I need to get on with my work."

Edward had played his last card to avoid punishment, and it hadn't worked. He left her office knowing that in about eight hours he would be subjected to an agonising thrashing from her.


Frieda lived in a detached bungalow, in a leafy suburb. His foot was trembling on the throttle, making if difficult to drive slowly and smoothly, as he manoeuvred his car into her gravel drive. Her car was parked in front of the house, confirming that he had the right address, and that she was at home. It was ten past seven. He'd been caught up in traffic. He parked the car, then climbed out. He was so frightened that his legs felt that they might give way under him, as he walked across the gravel to her front door. He hesitated, before knocking. It flashed through his mind that he was mad. Even at this late moment he could quite easily walk away. Frieda would tell Annette, but he didn't have to accept her punishment. She might dismiss him, but she could be bluffing about that, now. He was making some good placements, so he was earning the company a nice profit. He was still hesitating, when the door opened. It was too late.

"You're late," she said.

"Sorry," he said, as he stepped across the threshold.

Frieda was dressed in a pair of faded, tight blue jeans, a tight, white, T-shirt, and she was barefooted. He was ushered through a rather untidy hall, then through an equally untidy kitchen, through the back door, into the garden. Set to the side of the rear patio was a substantial log cabin, painted pale blue.

"My playroom," she said, as she opened the door to allow him to enter.

Edward wasn't sure what to expect, but the colour drained from his face as his eyes fell on an ominous wooden structure standing in the centre of the large, single room of the cabin. It looked like an oversized, sturdy, black, painted, wooden, saw horse, with black leather padding over the top. Numerous, heavy duty eye-bolts were bolted into each of the four legs, at various heights. Standing against the wall to the right, was a man-sized, wooden cross, with various leather cuffs fitted to the splayed arms and legs. Along the wall, hanging from wall hooks, were a selection of whips, canes, leather straps and tawses. There was also a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a table with four chairs, and in the corner, a large, metal framed, bed, with handcuffs attached to all four corners. Also notable, was that the cabin had no windows. On the far wall was mounted a large TV screen.

"It's double insulated," she said, as she closed, then locked, the door behind her, "So I can use it all year round, but more importantly, it's almost completely soundproof. So we won't disturb the neighbours."

She walked across to the chest of drawers, then opened the top drawer and removed a triangle of material, with thin cords attached to each corner. It was a padded thong. She turned to face him, smiling.

"Time to get started," she said. "Take off your clothes, fold them, and put them on the bed."

Edward was so frightened that he remained rooted to the spot.

"I don't think I can go through with this," he whimpered.

"Let me make the decision easier for you. You are going to be decorated with an eighteen stroke, hot cross. But if you keep me waiting, I will be absolutely delighted to double that. Alternatively, I can phone Annette right now, then invite her over for a video show. That will be the one that shows you snooping. She's only five minutes drive from here, and she told me she hadn't any plans this evening. I'm quite sure she will be very happy to drop in, especially when I tell her that I have you here, and why."

Edward remained standing for a few more seconds as his mind whirled in despair, then he began to undress.

"I thought you'd see sense," she said, cheerfully.

As Frieda looked on, toying with the thong, Edward, red faced, slowly removed all his clothes. In less than a minute, he stood before her, naked, with his hands clutched in front of his private parts.

"Put this on," she said, as she handed him the thong.

He had no choice to reveal himself, as he fumbled with the skimpy garment. At first, to her amusement, he tried to fit it wrongly orientated, until he realised that the short cord with a loop on the end was the fitted to the lowest corner. It was the cord from this corner that needed to pass back up between his bottom cheeks. The longest cord, attached to the left, top corner, passed around his waist, through the loop at the top of the rear cord, and as then tied to the remaining, shorter cord. When he had eventually fitted it, she slowly circled him, then untied the knot he had made, hoisted the loop higher, so the cord bit uncomfortably tight between his bottom cheeks, then remade the knot.

"We don't want the cord getting in the way of the tawse, do we," she said.

She went back to her chest of drawers, then removed four heavy duty, leather cuffs, each fitted with a padlock. As he stood before her, trembling with fear, she fitted the cuffs tightly to first to each wrist, then his ankles.

"Now all you need to do is bend over the whipping horse, then you can leave the rest to me," she said, as she grasped his arm firmly, and led him to the horse. His heart was pounding, and once again, he feared his legs might fail him.

He'd imagined she'd want him lying along the length of the padded top of the horse, but he was even more alarmed when she guided him to bend forward over the top from the side. He put up a token resistance, but she pushed him over it with determination. She wasted no time in securing his wrists and ankles to the lowest eye bolts of each, splayed leg of the horse. He was now secured in the most humiliatingly exposed position, with his gaping bottom pushed up high. But she hadn't finished with her preparation. She went back to the chest of drawers, the returned with two, heavy, leather straps, which she then used to secure his knees to both legs of the horse, which had the effect of exposing him even more!

"Can't have you wriggling around too much," she said, "It might spoil my aim."

Edward thought his bladder might fail him as she then stepped over to the array of implements, then selected a sinister, thick, dark, two tailed, leather tawse.

"Yes, I think this will produce the desired result," she said, as she approached him, smiling.

Edward was sobbing in dread, as she took her position behind him, then laid the tawse diagonally across his upturned, gaping bottom, with the tawse tips resting at the lowest part of his right bottom cheek. He braced himself for the imminent agony. Then he heard a gentle warbling sound.

"Blast. I should have turned that off," she said, as he felt the tawse lifted from his bottom.

She removed a phone from the rear pocket of her jeans.

"Oh, it's Annette," she said, "Better see what she wants."

"Hello, Annette," she said, as she put the phone to her ear.

"Oh, it was nothing," she said, as she walked to the table, and put down the tawse, "He'd somehow managed to mess up his password. It's been sorted out."

"No, there was nothing else going on."

"Well, it's not really convenient, right now."


"Well, yes."


"Annette's parked outside," she said, sounding very concerned. "She saw your car in the drive. You should have parked it out of sight. Now she wants to know what's going on."

"You're not going to let her in, are you?" he sobbed, in despair.

"I have to," she said.

Edward began to struggle, pointlessly, with his restraints, as panic overwhelmed him. Frieda put down the phone, then left the cabin, closing the door behind her.

It seemed an eternity to Edward, before the door opened again. He craned his head, sobbing, to see Annette standing in the doorway, glaring down at him.

"Now this is interesting," she said, as she stepped into the room, followed by Frieda, looking quite frightened.

"Perhaps there's a bit more to this than a password problem?" she continued, as she now slowly circled Edward.

"Well, yes," admitted Frieda.

"It seems my timing is perfect," continued Annette, as she stopped behind Edward to look down at his upturned bottom. "You haven't yet started. What are, or were, your plans for Edward?"

"I was planning a hot cross," replied Frieda.

"I'd very much like to know how this came about. Perhaps you'd like to start from the beginning, Frieda?"


"Yes, of course," replied Frieda, sitting down at the table, in resignation.

"You'll remember, just over a week ago, Edward agreed to stay behind to interview an applicant, and we had to trust him with the office keys and the alarm code?"

"I do," Annette replied, as she remained standing, but was now idly tracing the contours of Edward's bottom with her fingers.

"I decided to leave the CCTV system recording, just in case, and when I reviewed the recording the following day, I discovered that Edward had spent some time snooping around, and you might not be very pleased by what he found."

"You still keep backups of your recordings here?" Annette asked, looking up into Frieda's nervous face.

"Yes. I have a copy here."

"Then I'd like to see it."

"Yes, of course," she said, rising to her feet, then leaving the cabin.

While Frieda was away, Annette said nothing, but she continued to erotically trace her fingers over Edward's presented bottom. He remained absolutely terrified.

Frieda returned about two minutes later, with a laptop, then set it up on the table. Nothing was said as the TV screen on the wall came to life. It was out of Edward's sight, but he knew what was coming.

As the video played, Annette continued to toy with Edward's bottom. Then her hand stopped.

"So, Edward," she said, "I see you have a very inquisitive nature. It's just as well I lock my desk drawers."

"Sorry, Miss," he sobbed.

She didn't reply. Annette and Frieda continued to watch in silence, and Annette now continued to stroke Edward's bottom. Edward sensed she was anticipating thrashing him.

"What's that he's picked up from under your desk?" she asked, about five minutes later.

"A memory stick," replied Frieda, nervously.

"What memory stick?"

"It's the backup of all the June and July recordings."

"What was that doing on the floor? It should be here, under lock and key." It was the first time that Annette had spoken in some irritation.

"I'm sorry. I must have dropped it."

"I've reminded you more than once that your office is shambolic," she scolded Frieda.

They continued to watch in silence, as Annette continued to gently stroke Edward's bottom. Even in his state of dread, Edward noted that Annette was stroking him almost as she would a pet dog. But he knew that this was the lull before the storm.

"What's he doing now?" asked Annette, a few minutes later.

"He's making a copy of the memory stick."

"Are you telling me that he's made a copy of everything that happened in June and July?"

"I'm afraid so, Annette."

"Including the punishment videos?"

"Sorry, yes."

"I see." Annette now looked shocked.

"And what has happened to the copy he made? Can you be sure he hasn't made more copies?"

"I confronted him, then showed him the recording of him snooping, then I accompanied him back to his flat, where I recovered the duplicate memory stick, then I searched his flat for any other devices, or copies. He'd copied some of the video clips to his laptop, and I deleted them."

"And why wasn't I informed of this?"

"Well, I knew you'd be annoyed, and I thought that if I managed to recover the copies, then there would be no need to concern you."

"Well, you're right, I am annoyed, and now I know, I am very concerned. He might have made other copies. Does Jessica know about this?"

"No, Annette, and I don't think Edward made any other copies."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because he said he hadn't."

"Well he would say that, wouldn't he?"

There were several long seconds of silence, while Annette digested what she'd learned.

"Well you got one thing right," said Annette, breaking the silence. "Edward, here, is too nosey for his own good, and he's also a peeping tom. He deserves to be soundly punished."

She slapped his bottom, as if to drive home her point, then continued to stroke it.

"Obviously, I turned up just as you were about to punish Edward. What had you proposed to do?"

"I had planned an eighteen stroke hot cross."

"The punishment should fit the crime," said Annette. "That's far too lenient."

Edward began to sob in dread, as Annette left him, then picked up the tawse Frieda had left on the table.

"With this?" she asked, holding up the tawse.

"Well, yes."

"This is too lightweight," she said, putting it down.

She walked over to the array of wall implements, then selected an extra heavy Lochgelly tawse.

"This is more appropriate. I will administer the punishment myself, and it has been increased to thirty-six strokes," she said, as she approached Edward.

"Is this being recorded?" she asked, as she took her position.



"Please, no," sobbed Edward.


Edward entered another world, as the first stroke bit in savagely, diagonally, across his bottom. The sting was breathtaking. He hissed in a lungful of air through gritted teeth, as he tried to come to terms with the agony.


Agony overlaid agony, as the second stroke bit savagely into the same burning band of flesh.


Hysterical shrieking filled the cabin, as Annette set about teaching Edward a lesson he would never forget. The pain defied belief, as the tawse was brought down methodically and hard. Edward's world turned red. After just a few strokes he couldn't take any more, but the punishment had only just started. In his panic, he struggled with all his strength to wriggle free of his restraints, but Frieda's equipment was sturdy enough to hold down an angry elephant, so keeping Edward's bottom firmly in place was like a walk in the park. No matter how shrill his squealing became, or how much he struggled with his restraints, the tawse steadily added fire to fire, and the diagonal band of red across his writhing bottom gradually deepened in colour as the leather tails did their work.

After twelve strokes, Annette wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, then took a new position to begin the next twelve strokes at the diagonal opposite. Edward's hysterical shrieking and pleading continued, as a fresh band of red began to develop. Frieda looked on in excitement and dread of her own fate, as she watched the most severe tawsing she had ever witnessed unfold in front of her.

When the next set of twelve strokes had been completed, Annette paused again to wipe her brow. Edward began to plead pitifully as she shifted her position, then laid the tawse along the line of his gaping bottom cleft. She ignored him totally. With her eyes locked on her target, she raised the twin tails over her shoulder, the brought the tawse down with every sinew of strength. It bit deep into the most sensitive area of his bottom with the report of a pistol shot.


Edward's entire body jolted. He threw his head back, then released a guttural, almost inhuman scream. His feet and hands began to rotate bizarrely, as he failed, completely, to cope with the new level of excruciating pain. Frieda looked shocked.


He simply couldn't imagine worse pain, but that's what he was now soaking up. Had he not been restrained, he imagined he could have climbed walls with his finger nails to escape the fire of the tawse tails. But there was no escape, and no mercy. Annette delivered every stroke with ferocity and accuracy.

The entire tawsing lasted no more than about five minutes, but to Edward it had seemed an eternity of absolutely unbearable agony. He was hyperventilating, sobbing and dripping with sweat, as Annette, also breathless and perspiring, stood over him, with the tawse hanging limply from her hand. She spent a good minute looking down at the broad, red and purple tinged cross mature across his trembling bottom.

Frieda was speechless. She had watched Annette administer countless thrashings, but never had she witnessed her do so with such passion and venom. Eventually, Annette put the tawse down on the table, then sat down. To add to Edward's despair, there were no signs that they intended to release him.

"Tea would be nice," said Annette.

"I'll make some," said Frieda, at once, keen to keep Annette happy.

She rose to her feet, then made to leave.

"Don't rush," said Annette. "I'd like to have a quiet chat with Edward. Fifteen minutes should be enough."

"Yes, of course, Annette," she replied, obediently, before closing the door and leaving Edward alone with Annette.


A few moments after Frieda had left, Annette rose again to her feet, then approached Edward again. She stood behind him, and once again, her felt the gentle touch of her hand, caressing his bottom. Once again, he was taken by the complete contrast of a few moments earlier. He began to feel like her pet again, and it wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

"You remember that email you sent me, Edward?" she asked, "The one where you made crude and unacceptable suggestions regarding sexual activity between you and I?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Can you explain to me exactly why you sent it. Was is simply to provoke me?"

"My mind was confused, Miss," he replied. "I bit of me did want to provoke you. I do find it exciting to be at your mercy, but I think you might have just cured me of that."

She laughed, but continued to caress.

"You did suggest that you found me sexually attractive," she prompted.

"I wasn't confused about that," he replied. "I still do, very."

She said nothing for a few moments, as now both hands explored his burning, throbbing bottom.

"I did think, Edward, that you might send me another inappropriate email. I have to confess that I am a little disappointed that you haven't."

"I've thought about little else since," he said. "But each time I was about to, the dread of punishment held me back."

"Sometimes there can be no gain, without pain, Edward. Perhaps you should think consider being a little bolder. Who knows where it might lead."

In spite of the agony he had just suffered, he found his obsession for her growing even more intense as she dropped her obvious hints.

"I think I might be sending you another email quite soon," he said, quietly, "As soon as I've recovered from this."

"I hope so, Edward. I might even reward you. After I've punished you, of course."

"I'll do it. I promise."

She said nothing for a few moments, then glanced down at her watch.

"I'd like to think you are sincere," she said. "but you have proven yourself to be a bit devious. Perhaps you are just saying what you think I want to hear, because you want me to release you."

"I am sincere. I promise."

"Suppose I suggested," she said, as her hand slipped between his upper thighs, "suppose I suggested that you ask me to administer a final six strokes with the cane, to prove your sincerity to me, that's six hard strokes."

"I will," he replied, unable to resist.

"Then ask me."

"Please, Miss. Will you give me six strokes of the cane, hard strokes."

"It will be my pleasure, Edward."

Her hands continued to explore for another few moments, then she stepped over to the array of implements, to select a long, swishy cane.

"I've changed my mind," he said, with urgency in his voice, as she rested the cane across the centre of his bottom.

"Oh," she said, frowning.

"I think you should make it a dozen," he said, breathlessly.

She smiled as she raised the cane.


Accompanied by much gasping, and wriggling, but no shrieking, Annette administered six blisteringly hard strokes from his left, followed by another six from his right.

When Frieda entered the cabin about five minutes later, she was carrying a tray with three cups, a teapot, and a small jug of milk. Annette was sitting at the table, and it seemed her conversation was over. It was only after she had set the tray down, that she noticed a new red band, obviously made with a cane, across the centre of Edward's bottom.

"Edward's punishment is over," said Annette, "Perhaps you would release him. I'm sure he'd enjoy a cup of tea."

"Yes, Annette."

"Your punishment, Frieda, will be in a day, or so. I think Jessica should be present."

"Yes, of course, Annette," she said, as she began to unlock Edward from the whipping bench.

* * *

Ten days later, Annette smiled as she read the email, sent to her private email address:

Dear Annette,

Any chance of a fuck?

Yours sincerely,

Edward x

She glanced through her office window to see Edward engrossed in his work, before replying with an equally short email:

Report to me at my home at 7.00 this evening.

Annette x

She watched Edward for a few minutes, then he glanced in her direction, They shared a fleeting smile, before Edward continued his work.

 Annette opened her desk drawer, then took out the framed photograph of her with her ex-partner Jason. She took the photograph out of the frame, took one last look at it, then tore it on two, separating her from her ex-partner. She tossed the pieces into her bin.






Ross was always very nervous when he reported to Miss Devenish. A caning was inevitable. After all, that's why he went. But he had no reason to be any more nervous as he pressed the doorbell this time, apart that the strange craving inside him seemed stronger than usual. Little was he to know that Miss Devenish was also in an unusual mood. She was always in the mood to wield the cane and place a few colourful stripes across a bare bottom, but today she was in the mood to administer a very severe thrashing.

Ross had reported to Miss Devenish on six previous occasions. She was an elegant and attractive lady in her mid-forties. Well-spoken and educated, she described herself as a professional disciplinarian, and she was exactly the right person to reacquaint her clients with the strict headmistress they so dreaded, but craved. She and Ross had developed what she considered a very enjoyable scenario. Ross reported to her for adult tuition in English Language. The lessons were of an hour in duration and Miss Devenish's mastery of her language made for tuition periods that were genuine in every respect. She would always stress that she expected perfection from Ross and always warned him at the start of the lesson that anything less would result in a caning. Ross always did his best, and he was also well educated, so reasons to cane him were few, but of course, Miss Devenish always found fault somewhere, so Ross's bottom always received a few sound strokes of the cane.

Today, however, something was different. As Ross waited nervously for the door to open his mind was in a bit of a turmoil. He had the insane desire to provoke Miss Devenish a little, perhaps by producing work that was uncharacteristically sloppy. He had never yet been caned on the bare bottom, the worst he had received was six of the best across the taut fabric of his trousers, and while that stung like the devil, today he felt he needed to feel a stroke on the bare. He secretly craved the humiliation of having to bare his bottom to Miss Devenish, then bend over and take the cane. The trouble was, he felt unable to ask. Miss Devenish and he had developed a thoroughly decent relationship. Everything was prim and proper. Bare bottoms seemed most inappropriate.

"Good afternoon, Ross," said Miss Devenish, as she opened the door to see Ross nervously biting his lip. "I trust you've been endeavouring to improve your handwriting, as I suggested when you were last here?"

"Yes Miss Devenish," he replied.

He failed to notice the slight disappointment in her face before she turned to lead him to her study.

Ross took his seat at his student's desk in the now familiar dark oak panelled room, while Miss Devenish took her seat at her own desk, facing him, and began to review his past written work. His eyes drifted from the notepaper in front of him to the umbrella stand in the corner, containing a variety of canes. One of which, he knew, he would be feeling across the seat of his trousers before the hour was over. He shuddered at the thought, but it was why he was here. It's what he craved.

"Looking at your last written essay, Ross," she said, looking up from the paper on her desk to regard him with her cool, blue eyes, "I can see that we need to work hard on your handwriting. It is simply not neat enough."

"Yes, Miss Devenish," he replied.

"Very well. I intend to spend this period concentrating on just that. I want you to write in your very neatest handwriting 'Untidy handwriting can usually be improved with the persuasion of the cane.' You may begin. In your neatest handwriting, please. Bring it to me when you have finished, and don't forget that I will have no hesitation in using the cane if your work is less than satisfactory."

"Yes, Miss Devenish."

Ross picked his pen then began to write. Miss Devenish always made him nervous, so it was difficult to write with a steady hand, but today, with the thoughts of provoking her filling his head, he was even more nervous. The finished result was not particularly neat, but it was probably the best he could do. He rose to his feet, then took the few steps to her desk, then placed the sheet of paper in front of her.

"Not good enough, Ross," she said, after studying his work for several seconds. "In fact it's even worse than the rather sloppy work you produced last time you were here. I think I will have to bring the cane into use earlier than usual."

Ross felt a wave of fear run through him. She normally caned him at the end of his lesson, just before he left. She would usually lecture him, explaining that his progress had been unsatisfactory and that she had no option left to her but to cane him. This time he had been here for less than five minutes, and the cane was already about to be put to use.

"Go and stand at the front of your desk," she said, firmly, as she rose to her feet.

With his legs feeling a little unsteady under him, Ross took the few steps towards his desk, then turned to see Miss Devenish selecting a cane from the umbrella stand. His pulse began to race as she selected a cane of medium length and diameter. It looked like the one she had used on him last time and it stung like the devil. The colour drained from his face as he saw her replace the cane, then select a longer, heavier cane. She'd never used anything as severe looking as this before!

"Yes," she said, flexing the cane into an arc, "I think I'll use this cane today."

For the first time, Ross saw a sadistic glint in her eye. A slight smile formed on her face when she registered his fear.

"Bend over the desk, grip the seat," she said quietly. "Stay in position until I give you permission to rise."

Dreading what was to come, Ross slowly bent over the old wooden desk, feeling his trousers tighten against his bottom.

"You will receive one stroke on this occasion, Ross, but I warn you, it will be a little harder than you have experienced in the past. You may find it surprisingly painful, but I have decided that this is what you need."

Ross felt Miss Devenish slowly raise the rear vents of his jacket and fold them up over his back, then he felt her gentle hand smoothing the taut fabric covering his upturned bottom. She had never done this before.

"I'm just making sure your clothes are not offering too much protection, Ross. I want to be sure you really feel this."

Now he was really scared. This was not what he was expecting.

He tensed as she took her position to his left. His whole body twitched involuntarily as he felt the cane placed across the centre of his bottom.

"Remember, Ross," she warned, "Stay in that position exactly until I give you permission to rise. Failure to comply will result in the punishment being repeated."

Ross's face screwed up almost as if in pain as he anticipated the cane stroke. The cane was gently tapping across the seat of his taut trousers. Miss Devenish looked down at his offered bottom with a look of determination and concentration.


The cane stroke was like nothing he had ever felt before. As the heavy rattan bit deep into his bottom cheeks, and a puff of dust was expelled from the fabric of his trousers, he felt a searing line of agony eat into his flesh. He gasped and gripped the seat as hard as he could to stop himself rising up. The pain seemed to eat in deeper and intensify as the full effect of the cane made itself felt, before gradually fading to an intense burning.

"You may rise," she said quietly, after about ten seconds.

As he looked briefly into her eyes, through his own shocked and watery eyes, he again saw that sadistic glint. He was terrified, but VERY excited. He knew he needed this. He knew it was going to get worse and he needed it to. Miss Devenish knew it to. Unspoken signals had, in that brief eye contact, passed between them, something special was under way and both parties craved it.

"Let's see if we can do better with exercise two, Ross," she said, as she took her seat, placing the cane on her desk. It was not lost on Ross that she had not returned it to the umbrella stand.

"In your very neatest handwriting, Ross, I want you to write 'For some people, only very hard canings will produce the required result.' I expect a vast improvement on your previous very untidy effort. Be in no doubt, I can and will apply this cane more severely that you imagine."

Her hard eyes left him in no doubt that she meant it. His hand was shaking as he began to write, He could feel her eyes watching his hand and sense her glee at his inability to write neatly. When he looked down at his completed written sentence he was both frightened and excited by what he saw. The handwriting was dreadful. He simply couldn't hand it to her. He tore the sheet off the pad and was about to start again.

"You've had more than enough time, Ross," she said, coolly, "Bring me your exercise."

Cringing inside, he rose to her feet, then took the few steps to her desk. Her face was studying his as he placed the exercise in front of her. She was loving this, he could tell. Slowly, she looked down at the offending hand written text. He felt his legs go weak at the knees as he saw her hand slowly reach for the cane.

"It appears I need to add some venom to your caning, Ross," she said, "Resume your position over the desk, please."

Feeling almost sick with dread, but excited beyond his understanding, he again bent over the desk, then clutched at the seat on the other side. His bottom was still throbbing from the previous stroke. Again, he felt her lift his jacket vents then felt hand gently running over the contours of his upturned bottom cheeks.

"Are you wearing anything other than a thin pair of underpants under your trousers, Ross?" she asked, as her hand continued to explore.

"No Miss," he whispered.

"Two strokes," she said, taking her position. "If you move out of position, there will be consequences. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss," he whimpered in dread.

The gentle tapping of the cane on his bottom began as she adjusted her footing. He could hear her breathing becoming heavier as she concentrated on the cane strokes she was about to administer. He knew it would be worse. Much worse.


A white hot line of fire erupted across his bottom as the cane bit deep into his flesh. Ross cried out in shock at the intensity of the pain. His grip on the seat increased and his knuckles showed white as he fought with the urge to leap up.


The pain was so intense that he didn't think he could stay down, but the fear of more kept him in place. He whimpered as the searing pain seemed to sink deeper into him as the effects of the cane matured.

"You may rise," she said, quietly.

His eyes were moist with tears as he unsteadily rose, grasping his burning, throbbing bottom. As he looked into her clear, bright eyes, he sensed again her sadistic glee. The hint of a wicked smile formed on her lips.

"Take you seat, Ross," she said, as she placed the cane on her desk and sat down.

He lowered his burning bottom onto the hard wooden seat gingerly.

"There will need to be a marked improvement in your hand writing, Ross, if you are to avoid some additional very colourful marks across your bottom. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Miss," he replied, finding it hard to look her in the eyes, so looking down at the paper on his desk.

"Very well, to continue. In very neat hand writing please write 'When all else fails, a bare bottom caning may be deemed appropriate'."

His face reddened. He looked up to see her smiling with amusement at his discomfort. She was intending to cane his bare bottom. For the first time in his life he was to suffer the humiliation of bending over with his bare bottom exposed for the cane. How agonising would it be? He had already found the cane agonising beyond belief through two layers of clothing. What would it be like on the bare? His mind was in a turmoil. He was both terrified and excited. The power this lady had over him was intoxicating.

"I suggest you make a start, Ross," she said, "Punishment will be more severe if I am kept waiting."

His hand was trembling more than ever as he picked up then pen.

"I'm sorry, Miss," he said, weakly. "I've forgotten the exact wording."

"Then I shall have to think of a way to help you improve your memory," she replied, smiling. "When all else fails, a bare bottom caning may be deemed appropriate."

Ross did try to write neatly, but it was hopeless. Her eyes were on him, watching every stroke of the pen. She already had her right hand resting on the cane - the cane she intended to use on his bare bottom. As he finished writing the word he looked down at the mess that was the best he could manage. Three of the untidily written words stood out: 'bare bottom caning'. The time had come for him to experience what he had dreaded and yearned.

He thought his legs might fail him as he slowly rose to his feet, then walked to Miss Devenish's desk. His hand was shaking uncontrollable as he placed his written work on her desk. She spent some time looking into his terrified eyes before looking down at his offering. She said nothing for several seconds.

"Have you ever had your bare bottom caned, Ross?" she asked, with a slight smile on her lips.

"No, Miss," he whimpered.

"Then this will be an enlightening experience for you. Take off your jacket please."

Ross was sweating and shaking uncontrollably. He clumsily removed his jacket. Miss Devenish had risen from her seat. She took his jacket, then laid it on her desk before picking up the cane.

"Take your position in front of the desk, Ross," she said, firmly, as she flexed the cane.

He was under her spell. He had no choice but to comply. He looked down at the top of the desk, dreading the next instruction.

"Lower your trousers." she commanded.

Fumbling, he reached down, then loosened his belt. With his face red with shame, he lowered his trousers. They slipped down to his ankles.

"I think we'll have your shirt off, Ross," she said, as if an afterthought.

He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, then handed it to her. She put it on the desk with his jacket. He was standing in front of her now in just his underpants. To make matters even worse, he had an erection.

"Bend over the desk, Ross," she ordered, quietly, "The reach down to grip the seat. Under no circumstances lose your grip of the seat until I give you permission."

Ross lowered himself over the desk. Although dreading what was to come, he had a faint glimmer of hope that she had reconsidered his plight and might now allow him to retain his underpants to save a little of his modesty and offer a little protection from the cane. That hope was lost as he felt her fingers under the elastic waist of his underpants. With his face reddening further in shame, he felt his last remaining garment being tugged down. All he was now aware of was the cool air on his still throbbing bottom. She must now be looking at his exposed bottom, presented in the most humiliating manner, waiting for her cane.

He squeaked with dread as she took her position, then placed the cane across his bare bottom.

"It is quite obvious, Ross, that I have been far too lenient with you. I shall now rectify that. Four strokes."

Ross whimpered, then tensed. He didn't think he could take it.


He hissed in a lungful of air as the first cane stroke across his bare bottom bit in venomously. White hot agony sank deep into his flesh. It was worse than he could have imagined. He had never known such agony.


He cried out in pain as the cane bit in even harder, just below the previous stroke. He managed to hold on to the seat, but his resolve was being tested by the unbelievable agony that seemed to be blossoming under the skin of his bottom.


This was the hardest stroke so far and it bit into the crease at the very top of his thighs, where they met his bottom cheeks. It was too much. He leapt up, grasping his burning bare bottom. His face was screwed up in agony. Tears welled up in his eyes.

"Resume your position at once," she ordered, coldly. There was no compassion in her voice. "Resume your position at once, or I will double the number of strokes."

Sobbing with pain and fear, Ross slowly lowered himself onto the desk, once again presenting his burning, throbbing bare bottom for the cane.

She was in no hurry. She stood admiring her handiwork, flexing her cane, while he waited in dread.

"The next stroke will be the hardest you have received so far, Ross," she said, quietly, after a long period of silence. "I expect you to remain in position until I give you permission to rise. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Miss," he sobbed.

He braced himself, tightening his grip on the seat, as he felt the cane gently tapping his upturned burning bottom.


It was devastatingly hard. Once again a searing white hot line of fire sank sickeningly deep into the tender flesh of his bottom. He lost control of his hands as he shrieked in pain. They shot back to grasp the burning flesh and he half rose, before he managed to wrestle control of his body. He forced his hands back down, lowering his torso back onto the desk, as he tried to cope with the agony that was still blossoming in the wake of the cane stroke. He prayed she would not penalise him.

"You may rise," she said, after what seemed an eternity.

Gratefully, he lifted his weight off the desk. His hands went to his burning bottom and he was shocked to feel the raised weals left by the cane. He reached down to retrieve his underpants, where they had joined his trousers around his ankles.

"Leave them," she said. "I want you naked, just in case you need further punishment. Take off your shoes and socks, then take your seat."

She took her seat at her desk, where she then sat, waiting for him to comply. Ross slowly untied his shoe laces, then removed his shoes and socks, before stepping out of his trousers and pants.

"There's a clothes hanger in the cupboard in the hall," she said, as he stood before her. He was very aware that he was erect. "Fetch it. Neatly fold your clothes, place them on the hanger."

The implication was clear. His ordeal was far from over. Excruciatingly aware of his nakedness and growing erection, he went to the hall cupboard, then returned, folded his clothes and put them on the hanger. He stood, naked apart from his wrist watch, facing her with a huge erection.

"Give me them to me, then take your seat," she said, as soon as he had finished.

He handed her the hanger, then gingerly lowered his very sore bare bottom onto the hard wooden seat.

"For your final exercise today, Ross, you will write a neat and concise account of what you have learned today and what steps you will take to improve your failings. I will allow you ten minutes," she said, looking at her watch, then rising to her feet. "When I return I expect to find your completed, neatly written exercise on my desk."

With that she left with his clothes. He looked at his watch, then at the blank paper. His bottom was still burning and throbbing. His erection stubbornly refused to die. His mind was in a turmoil of conflicting sensations and urges

With just one minute to go before she was due to return, the paper he was looking down at still blank. In a moment of madness, driven by a mad yearning somewhere inside him, he began to scribble down his offering. As he finished his brief essay, he heard her footsteps in the hall. He just managed to place the essay on her desk, then return to his seat, before she entered the room. He whimpered in dread as she took her seat, then looked down at his completed work. Her face showed no expression as she read his very untidy offering and short:

I haven't learned anything because you've been too lenient with me, far too lenient.

"It will be an absolute pleasure to rectify this situation, Ross," she said, rising from her seat with a sadistic smile on her face.

"I'm sorry, Miss Devenish," he said, cowering in his seat, shaking with dread. "I don't know what came over me. It was a mad thing to write. I didn't mean it."

Ignoring him, Miss Devenish walked to her umbrella stand, where she selected the longest of the canes. It was over a metre long and made of a darker, thicker rattan than the others.

"I shall be using this, Ross," she said, flexing the evil looking cane as he looked on in horror. "It has far more weight the lenient cane I have just used on you, so it will bite in far deeper."

She walked to the door, cane in hand.

"Follow me please," she said.

Quaking with fear, Ross had to comply. He rose unsteadily to his feet, then followed her in dread. He knew he was about to endure agony beyond his worst nightmare, but it was what he craved.

She led him to another room off the hall. As she opened the door he saw it was empty apart from just one piece of furniture, and ominous heavy dark wooden structure, with leather upper surfaces and fitted with numerous leather straps with buckles. It was a whipping bench, and it stood in the centre of the large, bare room, on bare floor boards.

"This is a larger room, Ross. More room to swing a cane. You will find no leniency here."

Ross felt his legs might give way as she grasped him firmly by the arm to lead him to the whipping bench. He allowed her to guide him over it. Even as she began to buckle up the restraining straps around his thighs, he knew he could still escape, but her intoxicating power over him prevented any attempt. Within seconds, she had buckled leather straps around his wrists and over his back. Now it was too late. He was totally helpless and entirely at her mercy. The upper surface of the bench was concave and sloped down towards his head, raising his gaping bare bottom high. The leather straps around his thighs kept them well apart. The strap across the small of his back kept his back hollowed, exposing his uplifted bare bottom in the most humiliating manner. Whoever had designed this sinister structure had done so with just one objective - to render its 'guest' in the most exposed and helpless position for a serious thrashing of his or her bottom.

"You will never believe what I thought when I rose from my bed this morning, Ross," she said, as she took her position to his left, then placed the heavy cane across the centre of his bottom. "I thought 'I'm really in the mood to administer a very severe judicial caning'. I had no idea that you might behave so badly as to deserve one."

Ross, absolutely terrified, opened his mouth to plead, then changed his mind. He needed the caning. She wanted to cane him severely and he craved to please her.

"You will receive twenty-four strokes," she said, as she adjusted her footing, with her eyes locked on his gaping, wealed and perfectly presented bare bottom. "Do you have anything to say before your caning begins?"

In a voice he didn't recognise as his own, he replied, "Very hard, please, Miss."

"Good boy," she purred, tapping the cane across his bare cheeks.

A few seconds later her face turned into a grimace as she raised the cane.

The hysterical shrieking of agony began less than a second after the first, devastating stroke. A symphony of screams that rose in pitch and volume filled the room as the twenty-four strokes of the dragon cane lay a lattice of purple weals across his bottom and took Ross to a world of agony that made his earlier caning seem mild.

They were both panting when the caning had been completed. Miss Devenish, face flushed with excitement and fatigue, wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She still held the cane. Ross, glistening with sweat, his shrieking now faded to a gentle groan, was still in another place.

Miss Devenish reached down to gently stroke Ross's cheek with her left hand.

"Another six, to please your Mistress, Ross?" she whispered in his ear.

"Only if you promise to make them harder," he panted in the voice he didn't recognise.

"I promise, Ross," she whispered dreamily, still stroking his face.

She continued to gently stroke his face for a few more moments, before rising to her feet.

"Better make it another dozen," she said quietly, as she took her position.









"Back at about 7.30 this evening, darling," said Tim, as he kissed her on the cheek.

"Have a good day," replied Karen, giving him a hug.

She remained in the hall, wondering what to do with a rare day to herself. She went into the kitchen, put the kettle on and made herself tea.

Karen had recently left her full time job as PA to an international oil executive. The long hours and stress had been getting to her, so she decided to leave and just do temporary work while she decided where her career was going. This was working quite well, and she had work most days, but for the next few days she had none. She wasn't too bothered, she thought she deserved a few days to herself. Besides, Tim's job as a buildings surveyor was going well, so they were financially quite secure.

Recently, thought Karen, as she sipped her tea, hey had both been so busy with their respective high pressure jobs that they seemed to spend little quality time together. By the time they had both arrived home in the evening, put together a quick dinner and had a glass of wine, they were too exhausted for anything but sleep. Their life was certainly lacking spice. With a free day ahead of her, Karen decided it would be nice to prepare a surprise special dinner for Tim, so she took her favourite recipe book down from the bookshelf and began to turn the pages. Scallops were a favourite of Tim's, so she came up with a lovely menu centred around these. She made a shopping list, put a couple of bottles of white wine in the fridge and by 10.00am she was in town shopping for the ingredients.

She spend the afternoon tidying and cleaning the house and by 3.00pm the whole house, apart from Tim's study, was tidier and cleaner than it had looked for months. She rarely ventured into his study. At his request she never cleaned in there. This was where he spent many hours locked away preparing reports and he said, although it was a mess, he knew where everything was, so it was best if she left it alone. However, she did take a quick look in there to see if he'd left any dirty plates or glasses, as was his habit. Sure enough, he'd left a wine glass on his desk. As she picked it up, the coaster it was sitting on lifted with it, stuck to the bottom of the glass with something he had spilled. What an untidy man, she thought, affectionately, as the coaster lost its feeble grip on the glass and fell into his waste paper bin.

It was while she was rummaging in his bin for the coaster that she stumbled across a screwed up piece of paper that caught her eye. Most of the scrap paper in the bin was screwed up, but lazily screwed up. This was very carefully screwed up to form a tight ball. Feeling a little guilty for being so nosey, she carefully opened up the paper and flattened it out. It was just one quarter of a torn piece of A4 paper with some typing on it, but not enough to make any sense:

"You've been a n...

Phone me a...

Although the message was incomplete, it aroused enough interest in Karen for her to empty the bin onto the floor and within a few minutes she had found three more tightly screwed up balls of paper. As she opened them up, and flattened them out, and pieced them together to complete the message, her mild interest changed to intense suspicion:

"You've been a naughty boy.

Phone me at once. You need to be soundly punished.

Miss Frobisher"

Text at the top of the page showed that this was the printout of an email sent two weeks ago from Miss Frobisher to BadboyTim.

Karen had to sit down at Tim's desk to compose herself. Her emotions were in turmoil: Anger, hurt, confusion. She had always been sure they didn't have any secrets from each other, and now this!

In a daze, she placed all the paper back in the bin, less the incriminating note. In spite of her upset, she tried to think rationally. Should she confront him with her discovery? No, she decided, not yet.

She decided she needed to know more before she did anything. Although it seemed more than likely that her husband visited dominant mistresses to be punished, the note in itself was not proof that he'd actually made a visit. She shouldn't jump to conclusions that might end up destroying her marriage. If she confronted him he might simply lie to her, then she might never discover the truth. No, she needed to keep calm and discover the truth herself, and the truth was probably sitting in front of her right now, inside his PC.

She gave the mouse a tap. The screen switched on. Good, he'd left it in standby mode. Five minutes later she had gleaned all she could from it. He had erased his history and she needed a password to get into his email account. She put it back in standby mode then left his study and set up her own laptop on the kitchen table. She had a plan and she still had almost three hours before she needed to start dinner.

Within two hours, Karen had downloaded and installed spy software on Tim's computer. If it worked she would be able to monitor what he was doing on his computer from her own laptop. She would normally have felt terrible about snooping, but in this case she felt fully justified. The hardest part for her would be to act as if nothing was wrong when he returned home, while inside she would be burning up with hurt and rage.

* * *

"How have you enjoyed your day off?" asked Tim, as he arrived home and poured himself a glass of wine.

"I've had a lovely day, darling," she replied, trying hard to sound her normal, cheerful, self. "I've bought some beautiful scallops, so you're in for a treat. Dinner is almost prepared. It will take about fifteen minutes to finish."

"Oh good, you remembered my favourite. I've just got time to get a couple of emails off to clients."

"OK, that's fine," she replied, "I'll start in a few minutes, so no need to rush."

Tim took his glass of wine into his study and closed the door. As soon as he had gone, Karen went to the kitchen, sat down at the table and opened her laptop. Five minutes later she closed her laptop. She had his email password, it was all she needed.

Twenty minutes later they both sat down to dinner, now each with their own secrets. That was soon to change, but only Karen knew that.

"I bumped into Irene while I was out shopping," said Karen.

"How did she enjoy her holiday? She went to Canada, didn't she?"

"She had a fabulous time," replied Karen. She was quite surprised how easy she found it to behave innocently while harbouring her new secret.

* * *

"Hello, is that Miss Frobisher? My name's Karen. I'd like talk to you in confidence about my husband. I've just discovered that he is one of your clients."

It had taken a lot of courage to make the phone call, and Miss Frobisher had been quite guarded initially, but as the conversation progressed, and she realised that Karen bore her no hostility and didn't pose a threat, she relaxed and eventually agreed to allow Karen to visit her at her "schoolroom".


"Hello. Miss Frobisher," he said, nervously into his mobile phone. "It's Tim. You instructed me to phone you."

"Ah, yes, Tim," replied the refined ladies voice, "Am I to understand that you have a further confession to make?"

"Yes, Miss Frobisher, I'm afraid so," he replied, cringing.

"But when you last reported to me for punishment you assured me that you confessed all your misdemeanour's, and you were caned accordingly," she said, menacingly.

"Yes, Miss. I'm sorry Miss," he answered, now flustered, "I'm afraid I held back something."

"And why was that, Tim?"

"I... I was afraid you'd be cross, Miss," he replied, his voice beginning to tremble.

"I am cross, Tim, very cross. I will hear your confession now, please," she said firmly.

"Well... it's another thing I did at school, many years ago. I've never told anybody because I was ashamed... I know I should have confessed earlier, but I was frightened. I thought you'd cane me even more severely."

"It's quite possible that I will, Tim. Now out with it," she demanded.

"I spied on the girl's hockey team in the changing room," he blurted out, "I was outside. I watched through a gap in the curtain. I saw them naked."

There were several, long seconds of silence. Tim's face was screwed up almost as if he were in pain as he waited for Miss Frobisher to reply.

"You despicable young man," she said quietly, clearly shocked. "It is now quite obvious that I have been too lenient with you, Tim. Far too lenient."

"Yes, Miss," he whispered, "Sorry, Miss."

"You will report to me this evening at 7.00pm for the caning of your life, Tim. You may well be sorry, but not as sorry as you will be when you feel my cane across your bare bottom."

"Yes, Miss," he replied, "Please don't forget that I can't have bad marks."

"You should have thought about that earlier," she replied, irritably, "You will receive the caning you so richly deserve, nothing less, a caning that has been overdue for many years. You will have to cope with the circumstances. Be here at 7.00pm. Don't be late. If you are, I will add strokes."


Tim had been caned by Miss Frobisher many times over the past few years, but something about her manner on this occasion was different. More frightening. She knew he was married and that he couldn't risk having cane marks that would last more than a few days, but the canings had gotten progressively harder and she had given him the impression that he might be quite badly marked on this occasion. He was very frightened, but also very excited. Deep inside, he knew it was a severe caning that he secretly craved.

He phoned his wife, Karen, at home to tell her that he had to work late and would be home about 9.00pm.

"That's OK, darling," she said, cheerful as always, "I'll have everything ready for you then. I had a funny feeling that you might be late tonight."

That was a strange thing to say, he thought to himself.

"Have you had a nice day?" he asked, trying to make himself sound relaxed - which he wasn't.

"I've had a lovely day," she said, enthusiastically, "I'll tell you all about it when you get home. Oh, and I think I have a temp job to start next week, so my weeks of idleness are nearly at an end."

"Well, that's good to hear. I'll see you at about 9.00," he replied, before hanging up.

Three hours later, feeling sick with fear, but very excited, he started his car and began his journey to Miss Frobisher's, professional disciplinarian, for his appointment with her cane.

At 7.00pm precisely, he lifted his hand and his shaking finger hesitated, before pressing the front door bell of large Victorian house where Miss Frobisher practised her disciplinary service. For the first time ever he had felt tempted to cancel the appointment. He was far more frightened than usual. But it was too late now. He'd pressed the door bell and he could see movement through the door's stained glass window. He heart was thumping as she opened the door. As always, she was immaculately dressed in a conservative, dark suit. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She said nothing until he had entered her house and she had closed the door.

"Go straight to my study and wait for me there," she said, quietly, unsmiling.

His heart was pounding louder. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. With legs feeling like jelly, he walked through the hall to the rear study, opened the door and went in and stood by her large, Victorian desk. The desk had a long and very severe looking cane laying ominously on it. It was far more fearsome looking than any cane she had used on him before. He placed a white envelope, containing her fee, on the desk by the cane.

Miss Frobisher entered a few minutes later and took a seat behind the desk.

"Sit down," she ordered.

He obeyed at once, taking the seat opposite her. He looked nervously into her eyes as she regarded him with interest. He looked down to see her pick up the envelope.

"I won't be requiring this, today," she said menacingly, handing him back the envelope. "Your caning today will be totally on my terms, so there will be no fee."

This came as a complete surprise. Tim's fear turned to terror as his hand took the envelope from her.

"As I said on the phone, Tim," she said, coolly, "It is now quite clear that I have been far too lenient with you. I intend to put that right today. Your caning today will be severe."

She watched his face, enjoying his fear, taking her time.

"Usually, Tim," she continued, her eyes burning into his, "I have you bent over this desk for your canings, but today I am taking you to the punishment room. You will be caned, while restrained over my whipping bench. I fear you would be unable to take today's caning without restraints."

This was becoming truly terrifying. Tim felt almost sick with fear.

"But what about cane marks?" he whimpered, "I can't have cane marks."

"You can be quite sure you will have cane marks, Tim," she chuckled, "You will simply need to deal with the consequences. You are the architect of your own destiny. You deserve a severe caning and I am going to make absolutely sure that you receive it."

Tim was panicking. He didn't know what to do, or say. Miss Frobisher rose to her feet and picked up the cane.

"Come with me, Tim, please."

She left the study, walked into the hall, then up the stairs, with Tim following meekly behind, shaking with fear. Once on the landing, she opened the door to a large rear room and led Tim in. The room had bare floorboards and the wallpaper was old and brown. A few chairs, a table and an old wardrobe stood against one wall, but the room was dominated by a black painted wooden structure with black padded upper surfaces and fitted with an array of leather restraining straps. Tim swallowed as he looked at the object he would shortly be strapped over to be caned.

"Strip," she ordered, as he stared at the whipping bench, "And put your clothes neatly on the table."

This was nothing like any of his previous visits. Although they had played the parts of Headmistress and naughty boy, there had always been a relaxed, light hearted atmosphere, sometime even a little humour had been permitted while she had dealt with him. This was very different. He felt as if he were being treated as a convict who was about to receive a judicial caning. Also, he'd never had to strip before. She'd simply ordered him to lower his trousers and underpants, then bend over the desk. Stripping was altogether more humiliating.

"If you're not stripped within thirty seconds I will add another dozen strokes," she said, icily, as he stood, paralysed with fear. It spurred him into action, and he began to strip off his clothes. She glanced at her watch. She meant it.

Twenty-five seconds later, he stood before her, naked and cowed. She slowly circled him, still holding the dreadful looking cane. His humiliation was total as she scrutinised his naked body.

After a few minutes, she put down the cane and guided him to the whipping bench. He was so scared that he felt he might wet himself. Her grip on his arm became firmer as he put up a token resistance. She guided him over the bench and he found himself kneeling on two padded surfaces, placed well apart, with his torso lying over a higher padded top that sloped down towards his head. The effect was to project his bare bottom to be the highest point of his body, humiliatingly exposed. Within seconds he felt a heavy leather strap tighten across the small of his back, pinning him to the structure, then she progressively secured all his limbs tightly in place with more strategically placed straps. He was totally helpless and his bare bottom was perfectly presented for the cane. But she had one more surprise for him.

"I've decided to deprive you of some of your senses, Tim," she said, as she opened the wardroom and reached inside. "You will be hooded, rendered blind and partially deaf. I want you to be able to concentrate one hundred per cent on the pain of your caning, and I don't want you anticipating the strokes. You will not know when each stroke is about to bite into your bottom, it will come as a shock. Also, you will be gagged."

Before Tim could object, a rubber ball was forced deep into his mouth. A leather harness held it in place firmly as more leather straps were tightened over and behind his head. He could now only gurgle. Speech was impossible.

"You will receive twenty-four strokes of the cane," she said, quietly, "Administered with maximum severity. They will be far harder than anything you have received before and they will be administered with a much heavier cane - this one." She picked up the cane and swished it through the air for his benefit. Tim was horrified, but it was too late. He was completely at her mercy. She could do whatever she liked and he was helpless to stop her.

"I shall now fit this hood," she continued, holding up the black leather item for him to see. "When the hood is in place I will leave you to reflect for some time. You will not see me return, and you will possible not hear me return. It is likely then the first clue you will have when I have returned is when this cane bites savagely into your poor, bare, upturned bottom."

Tim's eyes where wide with terror and he was sobbing uncontrollably past the ball gag. This was a nightmare!

"When you have received the first twelve strokes, Tim," she continued, "You will be left for a further period to reflect, perhaps half an hour. It will seem like an eternity for you, as your poor, burning, throbbing and very sore bottom tries to anticipate the next twelve strokes. They will be as hard as I can make them. You have no idea how painful it will be."

The last thing he saw was her smiling as she stepped towards him with the hood. The last thing he heard was her saying:

"Now it's time to enter a world of darkness and agony, Tim," she purred as she pulled the hood over his head. Light was extinguished totally by the tight fitting hood. Thick padding over his ears rendered him almost totally deaf. All he could hear was his own breathing and the loud beat of his own heart. It was terrifying. He had absolutely no idea where Miss Frobisher was, now. He didn't know if she was standing over him with the cane. He knew that at any moment his bottom could be set ablaze. The waiting was truly awful. It seemed to go on for ages.

Then it happened! The shock of the burning, searing line of agony that erupted across the centre of his bottom was beyond belief! The initial pain was like nothing he had felt before, totally unbearable, but as the pain matured, it seemed to blossom under his skin, and the agony increased. A muffled shriek forced its way past the gag.

The second stroke was even harder! The venom she had put into it was beyond his comprehension. He simply couldn't cope with the level of agony - but he had no choice. He was struggling frantically with his restraints, and shrieking hysterically, but it did no good. The strokes steadily rained down, laying fresh lines of white hot fire across his helpless bottom.

Twelve strokes seemed to take an eternity. His bottom was blazing in pain, throbbing.

The silence returned. He sobbed hysterically for the whole time he was left alone. It seemed like ages, but it was just under half an hour later that the agony reignited. Now it was even worse. The cane was biting into weals already sore and throbbing. There was no mercy. His previous canings had been just mere tickle compared to this. And the marks! He guessed he must be cut to shreds and would be marked for weeks, if not months. It would be impossible to conceal them from Karen. By the time the last of twenty-four strokes bit savagely into his bottom, he was physically and mentally exhausted.

She waited for his sobbing to fade before removing, first his hood, then the gag.

"My wife," he sobbed, as the gag was removed from his mouth. "She's bound to notice the marks."

"I wonder if it will be surprise for her," Miss Frobisher replied, as she began to loosen the straps holding his sweating body to the whipping bench. She seemed completely unconcerned.

"That was agonising beyond belief," he said, still sobbing, as he ran the fingers of his freed hand over the massively swollen weals that decorated his bottom.

"It's no less than you deserve," she said, simply.

He couldn't believe this was the same person he had been reporting to for the past few years. In shock and disbelief, he dressed, bid her good evening, and left.

He sat, painfully, in his car for fifteen minutes, before he felt composed enough to drive home to his wife. He didn't know what life held in store for him now. The weals on his bottom were so prominent that she would notice them as soon as they climbed into bed. What would she say? How could he explain it?

* * *

"Hello, darling," he said as cheerfully as he could manage, as he entered the front door, "Have you had a nice day?"

Karen came to greet him in the hall, smiling, but looking at him in a strange way. The sparkle in her eye made him very nervous.

"Yes," she said, "I've had a wonderful day. "I went into town and had coffee with a new friend I've made."

"That's nice," he said, still uneasy at the way she was looking at him.

"Yes," she continued, watching his face carefully, "Her name's Miss Frobisher. She had some very interesting things to tell me."

She continued to smile as she watched the colour drain from his face.

"I've met up with her few times in the past few weeks, and she's given me some excellent advice on how to deal with husbands who deceive their wives. She recommended that I purchase a few items. Why don't we go up to the spare bedroom? I'd like to show you."

Tim continued to look at her in disbelief. His mouth hung open. Gradually, Karen's smile faded and he saw how angry she was.

"Upstairs. Now!" she ordered.

Meekly, he made his way upstairs. He opened the door to the spare bedroom and was staggered to see another whipping bench standing in the middle of the room. It was exactly the same as the one he had been strapped to just an hour ago. Looking wildly around the room he saw a selection of dreadful looking canes and a gag laying on the bed.

"Strip," she ordered.

He looked around at her, stunned. She meant it. Her hard, cold eyes left him in no doubt.

"I've just been..." he whimpered, "I've just been thrashed. My bottom is a mass of weals. Miss Frobisher seemed to go mad with the cane."

"I know she did, darling," she replied, "I was watching her. But she only administered twelve strokes. The first twelve were administered by me."

She watched with some amusement as his mind analysed what had been going on.

"But you haven't received anywhere near what you deserve for deceiving me for all this time. You will receive another twenty-four strokes tonight, and they will be hard - and that's just for a start."

"But," sobbed Tim, "I'm black and blue."

"Nowhere near as black and blue as you will be by the time I've finished with you. Now strip. Do as I say. If you are not over the whipping bench, naked, in thirty seconds I will add another twelve strokes."

It was the second time he'd heard the same threat, and he believed her.

Sobbing with fear, he took off his clothes and draped himself over the bench. Horrified that his sore, throbbing bottom was offered up again for the cane. She wasted no time in strapping him down, then ramming the ball gag into his mouth.

He knew, from the look in her face, as she picked up the cane, that he would receive no mercy. He was right. All the anger of his deceit welled up inside Karen as she looked down at his wealed bare bottom.

His muffled shrieking began as soon as the caning began. The strokes were savagely hard. There was no mercy. There were no pauses, the agony was continuous and it escalated as strokes bit into weals still burning from previous strokes.

As soon as the twenty-forth stroke had bitten into his raging bottom, Karen put down the cane. She was flushed and excited.

"As soon as I think you've recovered from this caning," she said, breathlessly, "You will be caned again. You will be caned again and again, until I feel you have received all you deserve, so you can look forward to having a very sore bottom for at least the next year, Tim."

When his sobbing had quietened down, she removed his gag, but she kept him restrained while she tended to his wounds with cotton wool and antiseptic.

"It's funny," he said after a few minutes, "All this time I've been married to a sadist, and I didn't realise."

"Yes," she agreed as she continued attend to his burning weals, "It is funny. I didn't realise you were married to a sadist either. Until this evening."



Click here to browse my longer stories



As soon as she mentioned the name of the house, Thomas was transported back fifteen years to his school days, and he felt a shudder of fear run down his spine. As a schoolboy, Thomas and his friend, Dan, used to pass "Wood End House" on their way to and from school. It was a large, detached and quite sinister looking, red brick Victorian house set in its own grounds behind a high brick wall. Entrance was via a huge, ornate, wrought iron gate. He and Dan always imagined that it was haunted.

On their way home one evening, they had been joined by Wendy, a girl that Thomas had a schoolboy crush on. Both Dan and Thomas were both in a particularly boisterous mood, both trying to impress Wendy. Dan had dared Thomas to take a few apples from the tree just inside the wrought iron gate of "Wood End House".

"My brother said the house is haunted," warned Wendy.

"There's no such thing as ghosts," replied Thomas, trying to sound confident and knowledgeable. "How many apples do you want?"

"Six," replied Wendy. Her eyes widened with nervous admiration as Thomas pushed open the heavy, squeaking, wrought iron gate and began to climb the apple tree just a short way up the drive.

"You can have a dozen if you like," Thomas called out cheerfully from half way up the tree, relishing the opportunity to demonstrate his bravery, as his two friends watched him from the other side of the gate.

"I'll give you a dozen!" said a woman's voice from the direction of the house, "A dozen strokes of my cane across your bottom young man."

In complete panic, Thomas dropped from the tree, apples scattering around him, and ran as fast as his legs would carry him through the gate and into the street. His friends were already scampering away up the road. He didn't look back, so he didn't see the lady, but he had heard her footsteps walking briskly towards him on the gravel drive. He pictured her with a cane in her hand.

Thomas changed his route to school after that incident, always fearing that a woman wielding a cane would be waiting behind the gate for him when he passed by. The image of her haunted him. Even now, fifteen years later, the image he had manufactured in his own head, made him nervous each time he had to pass near to "Wood End House".

Now, he was running his own small gardening business. The call he had just taken was from a lady called Ms Craven. She had a refined voice and explained that she had a large garden that needed regular maintenance, and that her regular gardener had recently retired for health reasons. She lived in the same town and Thomas agreed a time to call in to quote for the work. It was then that she gave him the address and the name of the house. Thomas realised his hand was shaking as he put down the receiver.

Later that afternoon, Thomas pushed open the same heavy wrought iron gate he had last ran out of all those years ago. It still squeaked. He became aware he was sweating as he walked passed the apple tree. It seemed smaller now. A minute later he pulled himself together and knocked on the oak front door of "Wood End House". Of course she won't recognise me after all this time, he thought to himself. It might not even be the same person, she might have moved.

The door was opened by a glamorous and attractive lady, smartly dressed in a conservative suit. Her dark hair was held back into a tight bun and beginning to grey. He guessed she was in her late forties. She looked at him for a few uncomfortable moments, before he found his voice.

"I'm Thomas," he said, clearing his throat, trying to disguise his nervousness, "I've come to quote for the gardening."

"Oh yes, of course," she said, studying his face carefully, her clear, hard, blue eyes boring into him.

There were a few uncomfortable seconds of silence and Thomas felt himself flushing.

"Perhaps you would care to take a look around the garden, Thomas," she said eventually, "As you will see, it's suffered a few weeks of neglect. I'd like a quote for tidying up, weeding, trimming hedges. If you'll excuse me I'm in the middle of something, so just knock when you've had a look."

She closed the door.

Thomas was nervous and excited by the mere presence of this refined lady. The thought that it might have been the same lady who had promised to cane him fifteen years ago was impossible to put out of his mind as he looked around the large garden. He realised he had an erection. Ten minutes later he knocked on the door again.

"I've had a look around, Miss Craven. It's a lot of work, I think it will take about a week to put it back in order,"

"I accept the quote, Thomas," she said as soon as he had given her a price, "When can you start?"

"I usually ask for a fifty per cent deposit," he said shyly.

"Well I don't usually pay a fifty percent deposit," she replied firmly, "I pay when the work is completed to my satisfaction. When can you start?"

Thomas found himself becoming erect and his face flushing again. He felt sure she had glanced down and noticed the bulge in his trousers. She looked back into his face with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"Next Monday," he said meekly.

"Good. I'll expect you at 8am sharp." She raised her eyebrows slightly, indicating that she expected a reply in the affirmative.

"Yes, Miss Craven," he replied obediently.

* * *

Thomas was unable to put Miss Craven out of his mind for the rest of the week. He was almost desperate to know if she was the same lady who had threatened him with the cane. The thought excited him and scared him.

He began work on Miss Craven's garden at the agreed time the following Monday. She occasionally brought him out a cup of tea and inspected his progress, but other than that he saw little of her during the following week and she didn't seem interested in engaging him in conversation.

Towards the end of his last day, he was tidying away his tools, happy that the job was complete, and he found himself standing by the apple tree he had tried to steal apples from when he was a boy. He tried to imagine what it would have been like if he'd been caught. He found himself becoming erect again, and unconsciously put his hand to his erection.

"A penny for your thoughts, Thomas?"

Her voice made him jump and he quickly pulled his hand away from the front of his trousers, looking to his left to see Miss Craven standing to his side with a cup of tea.

"I was just admiring your apple tree," he replied awkwardly, not being able to think of what to say. She looked at him with a slightly amused look on her face and he felt his face flush again and his erection harden.

"Yes," she said at last, "Of course you were."

Thomas blushed further as he took the tea from Miss Craven.

"They're coxes - the apples." she said after a few moments, obviously in no hurry to return to her house. "The tree's past its prime now, but I enjoyed excellent crops until a few years ago."

"Oh," replied Thomas weakly, face now bright red.

"Yes," she continued, intent on reminiscing, "In fact the apples were so abundant that they attracted the attention of a few young scoundrels from the local school. Tried to steal some. I nearly caught one of them. I watched him climb up the tree from the kitchen window over there," she said.

Thomas looked over towards the window, trying, but failing, to appear casually interested, face still glowing red.

"He's very lucky I didn't catch him," she continued, smiling at the memory. "He may have found it difficult to sit down for a few days if I had."

Thomas could think of nothing to say, and after a few moments Miss Craven seemed to forget the past.

"Come up to the house when you've finished clearing up, Thomas. We can settle our accounts."

Ten minutes later, with his work complete, Thomas knocked on the door with his empty tea cup in his hand. He was sweating profusely, excited and nervous.

"Come in, Thomas," she said firmly, leading him to a large oak study, then sitting down behind a desk to face him.

"We need to settle your account," she said, looking directly into his face. He found himself looking down at the floor, unable to hold her gaze.

"But first," she continued, "I'd like you to help me with a bit of maths. It's not my best subject."

"Of course, if I can," he replied, "but it's not my best subject either."

"I'll make it very simple, then," she said. "Let's suppose I owed you, what shall we say...twelve apples, for example. Let's suppose it took me fifteen years to pay you back. You'd be owed interest, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he whispered, cringing inside.

"Well, as I said , maths isn't my best subject, but I've worked out that if the interest was, say, five per cent a year, then I'd owe you twenty-six apples. Does that sound right to you, Thomas?"

"I suppose so, " he whimpered.

"Good," she said, standing up and walking to a cupboard. "Let's swap apples for strokes of the cane, strokes of the cane across your bottom, Thomas."

She reached into the cupboard then stood to face him. She had a wicked glint in her eye and Thomas felt his legs go weak as he looked at the long cane she was flexing in her hands.

"I recognised you as soon as I saw you," she explained "So let's settle this long overdue account now, then we can settle the other more recent one for your gardening."

"You can't do that, Miss," he whimpered as his legs felt like jelly.

"Oh, but I can, Thomas, and I will. Step over to the desk, please. Face the desk, now, or I will add strokes."

Hesitantly, but obediently, Thomas complied. He felt the power of her domination over him and had no option but to obey.

"Take down your trousers and underpants, Thomas," she commanded firmly.

"Oh...surely not," he pleaded, "That's not right! You can't expect.."

"Always on the bare, Thomas. Always on the bare," she said patiently, "There's no other way. Now take them down at once or I will double the number of strokes."

Whimpering with fear and humiliation, Thomas slowly undid his trousers and allowed them to drop to the floor, then, with his face now glowing an even brighter red, he eased down his underpants.

"Now bend right over the desk," she said quietly, placing the long cane across his back to encourage him.

Hesitantly, Thomas leaned forward, excruciatingly aware of the sight his bare bottom would present to this elegant lady. With his all his weight on the desk, he had never felt more exposed in his life. The cool air on his bottom only adding to his feeling of exposure and humiliation.

"I do so like an unblemished, white bottom to cane," she purred as she looked down at his offered buttocks. "Tell me, Thomas, have you been caned before?"

"No Miss," he whispered.

"Excellent. This will be fun then. The cane hurts so very much more then you might imagine, Thomas. I do so love to observe the reaction of a first caning. Perhaps we'd better make sure you stay in place."

From somewhere, she produced a coil of rope, and before Thomas had grasped what was happening, she had secured his wrists to a heavy brass drawer handle on the far side of the heavy oak desk.

"Now, twenty-six strokes I think we agreed."

Thomas couldn't believe what was happening to him. He felt the cane tapping gently across the centre of his bared bottom cheeks, He had no idea what to expect, but he was dismayed that even these gentle taps stung unpleasantly. He screwed his face up in dread in anticipation of something considerably more painful


Nothing, but nothing could have prepared him for the excruciating agony as Miss Craven brought the cane down with amazing force to bite deeply into his virgin white flesh. His whole body tensed in shock and disbelief at the ferocity of the stroke and the intensity of the line of fire that erupted deep in the flesh of his bottom. As he hissed in a lungful of air, he clung to the thought that she must have made a mistake, she hadn't meant to cane him so savagely.


Stroke two confirmed it had been no mistake - it was even harder. Thomas shrieked in agony and began to struggle.


Agony overlaid agony. It was more than he could stand. The pain was at a level that was beyond his ability to comprehend. He was writhing and screaming now. His legs were weaving around in a frenzy, but his wrists were held firm as the cane continued to find its mark, again and again, biting ever deeper into the writhing buttocks. Miss Craven's face was a picture of determination and concentration as she wielded the cane with merciless venom.

At twelve strokes, Miss Craven paused for a break and took a seat behind Thomas to enjoy watching the weals mature across his squirming buttocks.

"I beg you, Miss, no more, please, I beg you, I can't take any more."

She smiled at his pathetic pleading.

"But we're not even half way through, Thomas," she said, cheerfully.

"I'll come back another time to take the rest. I promise, but I can't take any more now, please Miss."

She stood, then walked up to stand behind him, then gently traced a finger across the lattice of angry weals that covered his bottom.

"You do look rather sore," she said after a few moments, as her hand continued to caress his blazing bottom. "If I did agree to postpone the remainder I would need to be quite sure that you would return."

"You can keep my my money until I do," he replied at once, desperate to say anything to avoid any more strokes of the cane biting into his burning, throbbing bottom.

"Very well, I think I can agree to that," she said after some thought. She took her hand away from his bottom and picked up the cane again. "But I think I'll add four strokes for the inconvenience. Better get them out of the way now."


Before Thomas realised what was happening, the agony erupted with increased intensity across his bottom and the room filled with screams. Miss Craven sat down with a sparkle in her eye, flushed with excitement and a smile on her face, as she waited for the screaming and writhing to subside.

She eventually released him and he rose unsteadily to his feet. He was erect.

"I expect you back within two weeks," she said, "And if you take your caning well I may do something about this." She gave his erection a gentle tap with the end of her cane.

* * *

With a shaking hand, he picked up the phone and punched in the number. Sweat stood out on his forehead as he listened to the phone at the other end ring. He whimpered as his call was answered.

"Hello, Miss Craven. It's Thomas. I'd like to come back to receive the remainder."

"But it's been only three days, Thomas. You must still be very sore."

"I am, but I still want to come."

"You do realise that it will be very, very, painful," she said sincerely, leaving him in no doubt that she meant it, "I intend to cane you very hard, Thomas, very hard."

There was a long, long pause, before Thomas answered in a whisper, "That's what I need, Miss."

There was another long pause before she answered quietly, "Then I shall make sure it is, Thomas. Come here at once. I want you here in ten minutes and I will add an extra stroke for each minute you are late."

"Is that a promise?" he found himself saying.

"That's a promise," she whispered. The line went dead.

Thomas took off his watch and put it down on the table in front of him. He spent fifteen minutes watching the the minute hand as it slowly traced an arc around the watch face, then he strapped it back on his wrist and rose from his chair. He decided to walk to "Wood End House". It would take longer than driving, but he was he knew she wouldn't mind him being late.

As he set off on foot at a leisurely pace, Miss Craven looked at the wall clock in her study . She ran her tongue over her lip, then picked up the cane she had just placed on the old oak desk. It was the cane she had used on him three days before. She put it back in the cupboard then removed another cane. This one was longer, darker, and because it was made of a denser wood, much heavier. She swished it through the air a few times, then placed it on the oak desk, next to the rope - two coils this time, as she didn't want his legs thrashing around so much.

Ten minutes later, she looked at the clock again and smiled.

"Oh, Thomas... Thomas.... You really have no idea what you are in for," she said quietly to herself, as she settled back in her chair to watch the minute hand of the clock steadily add to the number of strokes she would soon apply to his bare bottom.


'Always On The Bare' is a very short story of only 3000 words, my eBooks are much longer. You can read a synopsis of each story here and also find them all on Amazon.