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push her into position, and she felt relieved when he continued to hold her in place.
    She learnt he did not like her to move, that she should not cry out too loudly, and that she should show gratitude and meekness. She learnt to accept that what he did, he did for her and not him.
    After several weeks, things progressed. The spankings varied and became enticing to her. The second time he issued his punishment, she felt his cool hands lower her knickers to her knees, and then on the third occasion, he asked her to lay across his lap. Staring at the features of his expensive rugs became a spanking pastime as she tried hard to absorb the smacks. Some of them seriously hurt, but others made her feel wet and desirous. Each time he told her to take off her knickers, she felt his eyes on her. She loved his dark eyes.
     
    * * *
     
    His fingertips nudged her back and brought her back to the present, and as she stood there in his library, she was reminded he had the right to inspect her whenever he wished. It was in the rules. She was hesitating too long, and it did not do to keep him waiting. She knew the procedure well. Reaching up underneath her skirt, she pulled down her knickers and then turned to face the table. With both hands resting on the smooth surface, she bent over.
    “Lift up your skirt,” he commanded, and she almost exploded on the spot with the tone of his voice. Immediately, she tried to keep her legs squashed together. There was no way she could hide it from him. He did not need to touch her, he would see she was completely aroused and ready for what may come her way. Except she should not be and was not expected to be.
    “Casey, this is most displeasing,” he said softly. “What have you been doing?”
    “Nothing, sir,” she said indignantly. She thought he meant touching herself.
    “Then why do you appear so wet?” he asked.
    “Sir?” she said, and her hands trembled on the table.
    “Have you allowed your dirty little mind to tempt you again?” he said leaning over her and whispering in her ear. “What happened to our little discussion about focusing on your tasks?”
    “I did, sir,” she said pleading. “It was these books…”
    “Books?” He picked one up and thumbed through the pages of sweet making. “They seem innocuous to me,” he remarked.
    “I’ve very sorry, sir,” she said. “I did not keep my silly thoughts in check.”
    He shook his head in disappointment. “The punishment for failing to keep slutty thoughts out of your head is ten strokes of the paddle, yes?”
    “Yes, sir,” she said meekly.
    “Remain in position.”
    She waited, not moving as he went to fetch his preferred implement. A long wooden paddle with a leather bound handle. The surface was smooth, and the grain of the wood intricate and bold in places. He picked up the catalogue cards and appeared to be shuffling them about into a new order. He gave her his next instructions.
    “As I paddle you twice for each book, I’m going to read out the title of a book,” he told her.
    “In which language, sir?” she asked.
    “English, naturally. I want you to listen carefully.”
    Mr Tolchard read out the first title she had translated.
    “Bottoms up!”
    She lifted her bottom a little higher for him.
    Thud!
    “One, sir. Thank you.”
    Thud! The paddle landed twice on her naked bottom.
    “Two, sir. Thank you.”
    “Spread them wide!”
    She moved her feet a little further apart for him.
    The next title and another two strikes.
    “Bite down hard!”
    Casey gritted her teeth firmly together.
    “Six, sir. Thank you!” she barely could say the words without her legs battling to stay still. Her bottom now was ablaze.
    “Sucking sweetly,” he said in a softer tone, and she inhaled deeply through her teeth as if she was sucking on a straw. She repeated the sound as the next two strikes landed firmly on her cheeks.
    “Seven, sir. Thank you,” she gasped. “Eight, sir, thank you.”
     
    * * *
     
    Rob Tolchard