Our story began here.
Paula was about as far from feeling cool and confident as it was possible to be. In fact far from a walk in Hyde Park, she felt as if she was wading through wire grass on the Mongolian Steppe. Aside from that, the day was like any other and as much as she imagined that everyone she passed on the street knew. Apart from the occasional admiring glance that she didn’t quite believe, everything was quite normal.
It had taken her ages to decide what to wear and in the end she had purchased some very expensive black silk matching underwear and suspenders. She decided that her best pencil business suit would serve over the top, but part of her wondered is he wouldn’t just have her naked.
Paula blushed. If she were honest she hoped he would ‘take’ full advantage, it would be an adventure, but then he was only going along with this because… she sighed. She had no idea really.
The office was down a narrow cut – off a side street and through an anonymous door. It was a mid-Victorian build that had not altered in style since Edward VII had drawn breath and it had that comforting if fusty smell that only old but well-maintained houses had.
Paula knew that it was not a building from which anyone actually worked and that only Paul Sparrow’s inner circle knew where his real lairs were located, but at least the cheerful formality suited the occasion. She could not believe that she was really here at all.
She was admitted a few moments after the doorbell had sounded and almost at once a smiling Paul Sparrow had appeared at the top of the ornate carved staircase immediately inside.
“Sorry I’m late,” she called up, “It’s quite hard to find.”
Then she realised that she was making excuses and blushed.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” Sparrow said pleasantly, “You don’t work for me… yet,” he added, “You are my guest. Please come up.”
Paula returned the smile and put her best and most confident face forward.
“My temporary study is this way, but I prefer if we go around for now,” Paul said brightly as he led the way. “You may find out why later.”
He seemed to indicate a pair of double Victorian panelled doors, as if they held some treasure. Paula nodded in acceptance, quite sure that she had no inkling of the man’s many secrets and she would waste no time to guess.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he said coming to the point. “After all you had been…”
People often made generous promises at parties when drunk, he mused, but something about Paula interested him. In any event, the question seemed to bolster her and he saw no sign in her eyes that she would accept his offer to pullout with relief.
“I am sure,” Paula said breezily, “Are you? I mean I am not exactly one of those pretty little things you play with, am I?.”
He frowned.
“Sorry, I just meant… well I’m not…”
“Please don’t put yourself down, but for a novice… well 100 strokes is rather…” Paul began, his eyes crinkled up in concern and his hand gesturing uncertainty on her behalf.
“What makes you think I am a novice?” Paula said quickly.
In her mind she had been worked on by pirates and princes. What was one billionaire?
Paul looked uncertain but then he smiled again and led her into an old-fashioned study.
“If you change your mind just say…” Paul considered a suitable phrase.
But Paula rolled up her eyes and said, “Please, no ridiculous safe words, if I change my mind midstream you’ll soon know about it and I imagine…” she had been about to say that she imagined that if they came to any permanent arrangements then she expected to have no say at all, but that was extremely forward and presumptuous of her. Not to say a pipe dream. So she said, “I imagine a man of your experience will be able to tell.”
He smiled pleasantly and agreed with a nod. “Remember, you only have to beat our poor Miss Stein’s count,” he told her.
He knew she was lying about being experienced, but if she took half as many as agreed in good heart, he would find something for her as a reward.
“How do you want me?” Paula said, she wanted to get it started before she was mauled to death by the insects clawing at her insides.
“You had better remove your outer clothing and your… well anything that might get in the way,” he said.
He felt oddly nervous, as if with a real woman he wouldn’t measure up. To cover himself he studied the cane options and wondered which would allow her to go the distance without too severely marking her.
Paula returned a tight nervous smile and turned away to undress.
“When you’re ready bend over the desk and make yourself comfortable,” he told her.
Paula wished now she hadn’t worn such brief underwear. All the magazines told her she was overweight and all the slim little things Mr Sparrow was used to her were… well how could she…? She swallowed and blushed. Only her pride kept her from fleeing. Without pause she stripped to stockings and bra and quickly bent over the desk to present her full matron behind to him.
Sparrow watched her bend and sucked in an excited breath. There was something satisfying about the submission of a mature woman; not that she wasn’t still young to him. He was after all nearly old enough to be her father.
He studied her full round bottom and smiled. It was not as trim as Kimberly’s had been, but then the girl was a tad too thin for his taste. And although Paula had some dimples and stretch marks on her thighs, her bottom was heroic and offered plenty to work on.
“I am going to give you the caning in sets of 12,” he said finally. “Try to stay the course for a set and I will then proceed only with your consent.”
“I understand,” Paula said in a thick voice so that she had to swallow.
“That is eight sets of 12 with four at the end,” he told her just to make sure she got it.
He had given out a 100 strokes before, more than once, but that was with very hardened cases. He had been astonished when Kimberly had taken all 42 strokes on top of some very sound spankings. It would be interesting to compare. Meanwhile Paula was nodding.
I bet she wants to get it over with, he mused. Then he made a start.
Paula flinched when he tapped at her bottom, but he couldn’t resist rubbing down her offered curves anyway. Then he drew back his arm and let her have a medium stroke across both cheeks.
*
The caress of the stick seemed to go on for eons and Paula felt her bud tighten. She was also acutely aware of her own sharp smell of arousal and blushing prayed that he wasn’t. She had dreamed of this moment so many times and now… she was afraid and excited and didn’t want it to happen… and at the same time revelled in her reluctance.
The stroke hurt before she either heard or really felt it, like it all happened backwards. She was still marvelling at the thwick-crack in the air when she realised her mistake. It hadn’t hurt at all, not really, for that initial toy pain was just a hint, a foretaste of her fate. About a second and a lifetime after the first true impact came the bite and she made saucers with her eyes.
“Omigod,” she gasped.
Paul loved the whitish pink line he had made and watched it deepen in colour as she squirmed. As he watched, the pale tramline rose in a long bump and became darker still.
“That was just a tester stroke,” he muttered as he caned her again, this time a little harder.
“Sheeeeesh,” she spat and bucked and fluttered on the desktop.
“That is more the way of things,” he said.
Paula was still clenched up and wondering if she could hang on for the twelfth stroke so that she could end it.
“You know, I think we will have you count them,” he said, then he tapped her bottom gently with the cane, “So how many is that so far?”
“Two,” she said in a sullen voice.
“If you don’t want to do this then we won’t,” he snapped at her, “But if you are going to do it, you will do it with good grace or I will lay them on so hard you will beg to end it.”
Paula flushed and felt genuinely ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “That was two so far…um… Sir?”
“Thank you,” he said, “You’re doing well.”
She nodded and he struck in hard again.
“Oh ffff-fah-fahk,” she shouted and then gulping down air she said, “Three Sir.”
“Three Sir,” he repeated cheerfully, “Now we are cooking on gas.”
Paula grasped the top of the desk as she took in slow steady breaths of air through her nose and gritted her teeth. She rode the lines of sawing fire in her bottom as if she were riding a fiery tiger.
*
It took a lifetime to reach the end of the first set, but to Paula’s surprise she wasn’t crying. The strokes on her bottom felt tight and embraced her curves like they belonged and she couldn’t help rolling her bottom at Paul in the most undignified way.
Even more of a surprise was when she heard herself answering, “I am ready.”
She was still pondering this in wonder when the next stroke landed and she actually yelled. For a moment she almost leapt up and rounded on him for the insult and then she remembered what the game was.
“Fffffffffffffffffffffff-errrteeen…. Ss-sir,” she groaned.
How could that stroke be worse than the others she wondered? But not for long as the next stroke followed on and carved a piece of her soul like warm ham.
“Four-teen,” she grunted sharply, “S-sir.”
Paula shamelessly bucked her bottom up and down enticingly as if to shake free of the clinging sting. Sparrow indulged this for a while, enjoying the deep purple ridges that overflowed red into the full expanse of her behind.
There was plenty of room for half a hundred, he mused, but then he would be working over blisters and then they would both know who she was.
*
When Paula found herself saying a number it sounded wrong. It was too high a count and she quailed inwardly. He would punish her for getting it wrong and rightly so. Then he caned her again and even as the throbbing bite held her in its thrall she automatically wailed: “Fer-fertee-ssssix ssssssssssssir.”
“Third set over, you are doing so well,” Paul said enthusiastically.
Paula nodded but used the rest of her strength for heavy breathing. For some reason she resented the pause in proceedings, perhaps she just wanted to get it over with, she rationalised.
“Look, are you sure you want to continue?” Paul said eyeing the purple corrugations on her now seemingly vast behind. It couldn’t have swollen that much, but the new colouring and texture gave it added emphasis and she looked magnificent.
Paula’s face was wet and she paused to wipe her nose. But she wasn’t truly crying, not yet.
“I’m okay,” she said.
He nodded and picked up a slightly lighter cane. His lightest short of a riding switch.
“We will see how you feel at the halfway mark,” he said solicitously.
“Halfway?” she mumbled.
“Yes, you’re nearly there,” he grinned.
*
The lighter cane had hurt more, but oddly she welcomed it. It meant she was still in the game. But an age passed before the set was over and by the end she was clinging on to the edge of her comfort zone. Was she crazy?
Paul stooped to examine her raw bottom and frowned. She was holding up well but her behind was so sore it was a wonder that no skin was broken.
“Right young lady, I want you in that corner,” he barked at her.
“Wh-what?” Paula was confused.
“I am going to make you stand over there in that corner for a while,” he reaffirmed.
Paula gaped at him and then at the corner. She was blushing now and for a moment she considered telling him it was not part of the deal. But she knew now that it wasn’t true. Almost everything had been a part of the deal from the moment of her submission.
Standing up was a trial and the blood flooding into her tortured bottom seared as badly as another round of 12. Her breathing was ragged again and she had to grit her teeth. Suddenly the corner looked like safety.
“How long for?” she sighed and then instinctively added a “Sir.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The answer was ‘until he told her otherwise.’
As she put her face to the corner as meekly as any Victorian maid her bottom throbbed with fire and she had to ride waves of pain in awe. Forty-eight, not even quite halfway, not truly and that extra few made a difference as she couldn’t have believed before.
The tears came suddenly and violently. Great gouts of hooting wails accompanying the virtual cascade down her cheeks.
“It’s okay,” he soothed, patting her on the shoulder.
This comfort only served to make her cry all the more.
Paula sobbed for a good 15 minutes or more before getting hold of herself. She felt like a shiny new bucket after the scrub-water had been poured down the drain: empty, clean and rubbed raw behind as if that was where the brush had been applied. But she supposed that in a sense it had.
Now she had to contend with the humility of the corner without her tears to distract her. Idly she wondered what would happen if someone else saw her there. The idea hit her in a surge and she felt as if she were falling. The buzz was like too much coffee or a ride in an open top sports car and she felt dizzy. Nor did the feeling fade and the tension grew.
It was another half an hour before Sparrow called her back. Then her heart went into her mouth and she gulped. Please no more, she prayed silently.
“You’re about done aren’t you?” he said gently, “A brilliant achievement for a first time and it is your first time isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“I am going to spank you for that lie as soon as your bottom can take it,” he chuckled. “Come on get dressed.”
Despite the unrelenting burn in her bottom her heart lurched at the spanking threat and Paula felt somewhat squirmy. Nevertheless, she shook her head. It wasn’t finished. Not the task, not the punishment and certainly not her transformation.
“You have a place in my inner circle, a job if you like, just name your terms,” he said. “If you like, you can go vanilla. I have a lot of…”
“We have a deal,” she said firmly, “An arrangement. Don’t disappoint me.”
Her eyes regarded him with something like stern resentment as if she were weighing up his worth and afraid of finding him lacking.
Their eyes met and Sparrow nodded. Then making one more appeal he said, “You have already topped young Kimberly, there really is no need.”
But Paula smiled and taking careful steps moved forward and bent back over the desk to offer Sparrow her blistered behind.
The rest of the caning seemed to go quickly and was not half as bad as she had feared. Somehow that disappointed her and she wondered at that. But she knew that it was not the pain or the fire that had changed, but her. Each count was a promise; each ‘Sir’ a submission and she embraced it all.
Not that it stopped the tears. Her second round of sobbing was like a purge; as if all the oceans of the world had flowed through her and left her scoured. This time, however, he held her and she folded into his arms totally his; for that moment anyway.
“Now come with me,” he said at last, the stern edge having returned to his voice.
She welcomed it. His tone promised a spanking if she disobeyed and she would deserve it. But the fire with every step told her this was not one of her stories and all that befell her would be on his terms.
“Leave those,” he said when she made a half-hearted attempt to retrieve her knickers and skirt. She thrilled at the order.
Sparrow led her into the hall and they returned to the room he had left closed earlier. She was curious now, as if beyond the Victorian panels her new life was waiting.
He threw back the doors to reveal a dark wooden panelled wall. Facing which was a half-naked Kimberly, hands on head, with her bare bottom exposed. Paula admired the way the girl did not flinch and was impressed at the extensive network of welts that webbed her purple-red bottom. She couldn’t help a glance back over her shoulder at her own bottom for a comparison.
“Both of you have one more spanking coming,” Paul told them. “You can wait here for it together.”
“Yes Sir,” Paula said decisively.
Kimberly’s agreement was somewhat tardy and meek. Paula snorted with pride.
Sparrow watched as the woman went to stand next to the girl and was pleased that she placed her hands on her head without being told. They would both stand there for a while until he was ready for them, he decided.
*
Sparrow allowed Paula to turn around and watch Kimberly’s spanking. He was pleased to see that she was composed now and was thoroughly enjoying the girl’s discomfort.
He had opted for taking Kimberly over his knee for a simple and thorough hand-spanking, but on her raw blistered bottom his palm felt like a fiery taws and she relived every stroke of the cane she had taken earlier that day.
As a result she mewled like a scolded kitten and kicked up her legs in total surrender.
“I’m sorry Mr Sparrow Sir, I’m so sorry,” she wept.
But Sparrow spanked her for a good 10 minutes before dismissing her.
Knowing it was now her turn, Paula’s tummy tingled, but she was glad that the girl had been allowed to scurry away in a flood of tears and was not to watch her turn.
“This for lying about being experienced,” Sparrow told Paula as he took her across his knee.
“Yes Sir,” Paula whispered as she embraced her new home.
The spanking, her first, began as a thrill. But given as it was on top of 100 cane strokes it soon lit a fire and in very short order Paula gave out with ever more shrill and livelier yelps.
“You will remember this as no other,” Sparrow whispered to her.
“Yes Sir,” Paula wailed, but she clawed against him all the same unable to help herself under the spanks.
“Steady now, there is no hurry,” he told her gently, “We are going to take our time.”
Then with just his hand he finished her and made her his.
The end.
