Wednesday, 25 February 2015

Welcome To The Hotel Gomorrah (part2)

Heather stood in the living room of her cottage though cottage was actually a misnomer. The building was the old gatehouse, going back to the time when the hotel was a manor house. When the manor was then converted to a hospital, the gatehouse and the drive from the gatehouse both became redundant. The small track was nowhere near capable of handling the extra traffic, so a larger driveway was made linking the hospital to the main road to its north.
The gatehouse then became an ad-hoc storage area for gardening equipment and decorating paraphernalia, it was basically a glorified workman's shed.

Once Heather saw the rundown building she fell in love with it. She viewed it as an Easter Egg, a surprise acquisition, as it came with the purchase of the hospital even though it was not listed in the original documentation.
She could not believe the estate agent who told her. “Yes Miss Moore, the gatehouse is covered in the price of the main premises, as are the extensive gardens.”

The gatehouse had not been a deal-maker, but it had certainly sweetened the pot. She decided then and there that the gatehouse was to be her home and to be partitioned off from the hotel. When the day came to sell the hotel, she would reopen the original drive, and retain the gatehouse as her residence.
For now though, the only access to her oddly shaped home was via the grounds of the hotel, which gave her the seclusion that she so enjoyed.

So, now, standing in her semi-circular living room, she looked out of the hotel facing window, waiting for Michaela's arrival.
Her plan was to give Michaela a choice, she would take Heather's discipline, and the previous night's shenanigans would be forgotten, the slate would be wiped clean.
Or, Michaela's other option was to be dismissed, as of today, for gross misconduct.

Should Michaela choose to take the latter option, it would throw Heather's timetable for today into disarray. That, however, seemed to be the least likely outcome, Heather was pretty confident that Michaela would take the discipline. With that in mind, she looked down on her small dining table and smiled to herself.
Lying there on the table was a vicious looking, but, in fact, innocuous riding crop. Next to that lay the innocuous looking, but very hard wooden paddle.

“More choices for miss Nichols to make,” She said aloud to herself, then added, “and here she is now!”

Heather could see her forlorn looking victim walking towards her house. Today she was not dressed in a business suit, today she was wearing jeans, and a sweatshirt. A bit of a disappointment for Heather, as she had hoped to lift Michaela's skirt in the manner that Ralph had last night.

Heather now studied Michaela in a way she never had before. She was slim, not very tall, only coming up to Heather's shoulders though, at five foot ten inches tall, Heather did tend to loom over most females. Michaela's chestnut brown hair was today pulled back in a ponytail, accenting her sharp facial features.

Heather did not wait for the knock on her door; she opened the door just before Michaela reached it and ushered her into her living room. Before Michaela had a chance to take in the oddness of the room's architecture, Heather started talking to, or rather admonishing, her twenty-five-year-old manager.

“Well, Miss Nicols, we seem to be in a bit of a pickle here aren't we? I'm not at all sure as how to fairly address this situation. We could just ignore it altogether, or perhaps even make a commercial play upon it. Our receptionists could wear badges, saying 'Welcome To The Hotel Gomorrah', we could get online reviews recommending our 'hot running barmaids'. Do you think any of these ideas or viable miss Nicols?”

Michaela stood in the centre of the room; her eyes cast down at the floor.

“I asked you are any of these ideas viable miss Nicols.”

“No Heather, they are not.” She finally replied, her voice little more than a whisper.

“So in my position what would you do?...Oh, and, by the way, don't call me Heather, call me Miss!”

“I don't know...probably fire me Miss.”

“Well, I can't lie; that was my original intention.” Heather lied. “Then I decided I was being a little foolish in getting rid of someone who until now had proven to be a valuable employee. So, I decided to give you an option, or rather a couple of choices.”

For the first time since Michaela entered the house, her eyes now met with Heather's. Heather could see the hope in Michaela's pale blue eyes.

“Yes, if you take my discipline now, that will be the end of the matter!”

“Your discipline Heather...I mean Miss...I don't understand what you mean?” Michaela said in apparent confusion.

“Last night you seemed to very keen for Mr Morson to spank you?” Heather said, her voice giving no hint of any emotion.

“Well...we were only larking about...” Michaela mumbled her eyes again focussed upon the floor.

“I know, my plan is to show you what a real spanking feels like, not a larking about one. Then you will have another option, after your spanking you will have either a paddling or a whipping.”

“What! You can't possibly be serious?”

“Oh, I'm serious miss Nicols, the choices are yours. Go now, and find another job. Stay and get spanked, followed by a paddling or a whipping.”

“I don't even know what a paddling is....” Michaela said her voice now starting to break.

Heather picked up the paddle from the dining table and handed it to Michaela, then Heather picked up the crop, flexing it in an almost cliched manner.

“Well, those are your choices...”

“But, I don't want to be spanked...paddled or whipped,” Michaela whined.

“Yes, well I don't want to have to spank you. Just as I don't want to fire you, but you have painted me into a corner. As I said, the choice is yours.”

“Will it hurt Miss?”

“Of course, it will hurt silly girl, but then the slate will be clear,” Heather said, now not even trying to hide her amusement at her employee's predicament.

“OK...I'll take the spanking...and this,” Michaela said holding up the paddle.

“Wise decision,” Heather said, placing the crop back onto the table. She then started to pull one of the dining chairs into the centre of the room, she then sat down upon it, “shall we begin then?”

“What...what happens now Miss?” Michaela asked in abject confusion.

“Put the paddle on the table, and then stand here,” Heather said pointing at the floor to her right-hand side.

In silence, the now defeated Michaela complied with her boss's instructions.

“Mr Morson seemed to take delight in spanking you over your knickers, I, on the other hand, believe that a spanking is only a spanking when it is delivered to a bare bottom!” Heather said as her hands went to the waistband of Michaela's jeans.

“Please Miss...” Michaela whined half-heartedly.

Heather could feel Michaela's whole body stiffen up as she unbuttoned her jeans. Slowly, as slowly as she could, Heather pulled the jeans clear of Michaela's hips, revealing a pair of plain full cut black knickers.

“Now, as I said earlier, these have to come down as well.”

As if Michaela needed any reminder, that her punishments were going to be on her bare bottom. As the knickers slowly started their descent to join the previously lowered jeans, Heather gasped in surprise.

“Oh my, miss Nicols, are you an old fashioned girl or just plain lazy? I have never seen a fanny this hairy, except in films from the nineteen seventies!”

“I just like to be natural...” Michaela replied, choking back a sob.

“Ah well, each to their own I suppose, I believe that some men prefer the hirsute look. Over you pop now, and we can begin.” Heather said, her overly cheerful tone masking the gravity of the situation for Michaela.

Once Michaela was in position across her lap, Heather quickly checked her watch; it was nine-fifteen. Her timetable for the morning was running to schedule.
Though Heather would never consider herself to be bi-sexual, she did appreciate the female form, and moreover she gained a certain sexual frisson from being in a position of dominance. She slowly ran her hand across Michaela's waiting bottom, feeling the firm, but also giving flesh of her well-rounded orbs. Michaela had a small behind though both cheeks were well rounded and in no way could her rear be called boyish. No, she was one hundred percent feminine, only smaller compared to Heather's frame.

“Yes, I think I am going to enjoy this next half hour.” Heather thought to herself as she brought down the first stinging slaps onto that yielding flesh.

Michaela surprised herself at how well she was taking the spanking. Sure it felt uncomfortable, but nowhere near as bad as she had expected. In fact, in a weird way, it was a kind of a pleasant sensation, as the heat slowly built up. The lead up to the spanking had been much worse the actaulité of the punishment. The way Heather had browbeaten her, and then the way she had been stripped, were both far worse than what she was feeling now. Of course, now she realised that the humiliation was all part of the punishment. It was as if Heather was dishing out a meal, one course at a time.

“Now miss Nicols, I know you may not believe this, but I'm actually doing you a favour by spanking you,” Heather said still keeping her voice ever so bright. “By warming you up like this, the paddle will not feel anywhere near as bad as it would upon cold flesh. Should we ever find ourselves in a similar situation again, I will not be so kind, and it will be on cold flesh.”

As she spoke those words, Heather slowed down the spanking; her hand was now coming down much harder as if to emphasise certain words. Each slap was causing Michaela to grunt out in pain, the enjoyable warmth was now being replaced by something altogether less comfortable.

“I think that will do for now,” Heather said, helping Michaela back to her feet.“ after all this is only the beginning.”

Once upon her feet, Michaela started to rub furiously at her stinging nates, this rubbing causing her hips to involuntary push forward towards Heather's face.

“Really miss Nicols, I don't need to have a closer inspection of your ample bush!”

Those words causing Michaela's face to flush nearly as red as her bottom.

“I'm sorry Miss I didn't mean to...” Michaela said her voice trailing off as she could not think of how to end the sentence.

“Shush, never mind all that,” Heather interjected. “I want you to now take off your jeans and knickers.”

“Er...they are off Miss?”

“No, they are down, not off. I want them off entirely.”

“Why Miss?”

This question had an adverse effect upon Heather's until now jovial mood. Before Michaela could register what was happening, Heather had grabbed her left arm, pulled her closer towards herself, and was now slapping the fronts of Michaela's thighs.

“When..I...say...I...want...something...done...I ...want...it...done...OK," Heather said through gritted teeth emphasising each word with a harsh slap.

“Yes Miss, I'm sorry Miss,” Michaela replied, quickly squatting down to untie the laces of her training shoes.

Heather stood over her, smiling at just how well things were going, then an idea crossed her mind as she watched Michaela struggle with her laces. She checked her watch, yes, she still had plenty of time.

“You know miss Nicols,” Heather started lying, “when I was at university, I played for the netball team. Our coach was a strange old bird; she was an ex-forces physical instructor. She had a quite a lot of out-dated ideas when it came to her training methods. Outdated, but still quite effective, if she felt that any of us were not listening, or following her instructions. She would just ask the girl in question to take off one of her plimsolls, and then give her a couple of whacks on her arse with it, just to reinforce her message of obedience.
This was long after corporal punishments in schools had been banned, and, of course, corporal punishment was never a university thing anyway. You know, I don't even think she looked upon it as being a punishment, I believe she just saw it as a good way to remind people of who was in charge.”

Michaela looked up and already knew what was coming next.

“Pass me one of your shoes please miss Nicols.”

Knowing there was no point in arguing, Michaela complied with her boss's command.

“If you would like to stand up, then bend over, grabbing the backs of your knees with your hands.”

Now, totally naked from the waist down, Michaela followed her instruction.

“No, not quite like that,” Heather said, “legs shoulders width apart....yes that's better...head lower please, and push your bottom up...yes that's perfect. Have you any idea of the view I have now? I'm sure you have...the charms that Mr Morson seemed so keen to handle are now quite openly on view. It's a shame that he isn't here eh?”

Michaela looked down to the floor, watching as her first tear splashed upon the carpet.

“These modern trainers are so light, you will probably hardly even feel the two whacks, plimsolls were surprisingly stingy.” As she said that, Heather brought the shoe down quickly, one whack on each cheek. Both impacts, causing, a pleasing to Heather's ears, grunt from Michaela.

“As I suspected,” Heather said, throwing the shoe to one side, “very ineffective. No, don't get up yet miss Nicols! I have to satisfy my curiosity about something.”

Michaela then felt Heather's hand upon her bottom again, only this time the hand was lower between her parted bottom cheeks. Next, to Michaela's shock and disgust, she felt one of Heather's fingers probing the lips of her sex, causing her to jump upright, and shout.

“You fucking pervert...I'm not a lezzer!”

“Shush!” Heather said calmly, but in a manner that would brook no argument “You silly girl, I was just checking if the spanking had got you wet, and look it has!”

Michaela sighed in despair as she saw Heather's glistening middle finger. The despair turned to disgust, as Heather smiled sweetly and sucked her finger clean.

“Don't worry miss Nicols, it's not unusual for a lady to get a little wet when being spanked, I think it has something to do with blood flow. Also, don't worry, I have no designs to seduce you, my tastes lay very much in other directions.”

Heather then picked up the small wooden paddle from the table.

“In the USA, these are often known as The Board Of Education, I think that is such a good name don't you?”

Michaela stood in silence, wide-eyed like a rabbit caught in car headlamps staring at the paddle in Heather's hand.

“Now it may surprise you just how hard this little toy can hit, in fact of the two, the crop would have been a better choice,” Heather said, now back to her previous sing-song tone of cheeriness. “So, with that in mind, you are going to get off with a mere six of the best, in the hope of educating you against flirting with my customers. However, they will be six of the best, three on each of your cute little rosy cheeks. Then after a little corner time for you to reflect upon this morning, you can be on your way, and the slate will be wiped clean OK?”

Michaela had come this far, to back out now at the final hurdle would be sheer stupidity.

“Yes Miss.” Came Michaela's reluctant reply.

“Now there's a good girl, you know it makes sense. Back over as before please, you know the drill. I have to warn you though, these will hurt, hurt quite a lot. However, keep in position, if you jump up, the pop won't count, that's what the call them in the States. Pops!” Heather said in a light, conversational tone.

The first pop hit Michaela's right cheek, the initial impact hurt, but not to the extent that Heather said it would. “This isn't going to be too bad”, Michaela thought to herself, then though she felt that pain turn to heat, and then the heat emanated outwards from the initial contact area.

“It's a shame you can't see this miss Nicols, the little holes in the board are supposed to make it aerodynamic, which I really doubt very much. It does though make such a lovely pattern, even upon your already, very rosy tail!”

The next pop was on her left cheek; again the sensation was the same, pain followed by the unbearable heat. Unbearable heat that she knew she would have to bear.

And, bear it she did.

By the time she received the sixth and final pop, Michaela was openly sobbing; all attempts at composure had fled, as she concentrated on holding her position.

“Very good miss Nicols, you took that really well,” Heather said, congratulating her employee. “Now if you would like to go to the back of the room. Nose to the wall and hands upon the top of your head, you can reflect upon the events of the last two days for half an hour. Oh, and, by the way, no rubbing that pretty little arse!”

Still tearful, but now totally submitted, Michaela obeyed without question. She stood for what to her seemed to her like a burning age. But, was in fact only fifteen minutes; when she then heard, to her terror, a knock at the front door of the cottage.
She twisted around at her hips, though still not moving from her allocated spot, her hands still on top of her head, her eyes full of fear as she stared at Heather.

Heather looked at her watch and said “That will be Mr Morson.”


Saturday, 21 February 2015

Welcome To The Hotel Gomorrah (part 1)

Heather Moore was very much a perfectionist; she also liked to leave very little to chance, both in her private and business life. So, when she decided on a career change, it was well thought through. Thought through with almost military precision.
She had decided at the age of thirty-nine, that she wanted to leave the corporate rat race, to pursue a fresh challenge. It had taken her a full year to decide finally that she would like to be an hotelier. However, she did not look upon being an hotelier as a longterm situation, merely as a step to early retirement.
Her plan was to purchase a run-down establishment, refurbish it to a high standard, build up a good reputation, and then wait for one of the large chains to buy her out.

Of course having such a plan is one thing, putting it into action is a quite another thing entirely. But, Heather was a serious person, not just a daydreamer, and moreover she was patient. In no way was she going to rush into buying the first place that she could find, she was way too astute for that.

Eventually, after nine months of searching and researching she found her premises. It was a now disused Victorian cottage hospital, which had been converted from an old Georgian manor house on the edge of Bronte country. The council were eager to get this perceived white elephant off their hands; so planning permission for a hotel breezed through, red tape just seemed to melt before Heather's eyes.
The conversion only took another two months, to get the manor back to its former glory, as the building itself had been soundly built. Also, the fact that Heather made a point of being “on site”, had the desired effect of spurring on her workers. Heather was no stranger to cracking the whip, both metaphorically and literally.  

She had decided to go for luxury, rather than the amount of rooms, aiming herself very much at the American and Asian tourist market. No expense had been spared in the renovations, and the decour of the accommodation, as she was going all out for the higher end market. As a mark of her sole ownership, and with a slight nod to her ego and the Bronte's, she named the hotel The Moor Heather.

Recruiting the right staff though was problematic. Her choosiness, and her habit of trying to micro-manage all aspects of the hotel, made for a higher than she would have liked initial staff turnover in the first few months of the hotel being open.

This aspect of Heather's nature had always been a moot point even in her social life. She saw herself very much as an organiser, even to the point of trying to control her friends lives, to suit her aims. At times, it seemed that she viewed other people as mere stepping stones to be used by her in the navigation of the river of life. The allotted time for a friendship to last, was governed by her perceived view of the usefulness that each individual could be to her.
In her work in the financial world, this attitude and her charming veneer had paid her dividends. But in her private life it proved to be more than a little detrimental, leaving her now more or less socially marooned on the edge of the Yorkshire Pennines.

By six, months, however, Heather was indeed happy with both the team that she had managed to assemble, and her life, in general. Also, with heavy internet advertising and group discounts, the hotel was for the most part fully booked. Her restaurant and bar had garnered an excellent reputation with the locals, which led to a bonus extra revenue.
In fact, all in all, the whole venture was exceeding her wildest expectations.

The success though was a double sided sword. Having a well-trusted staff now in place, meant that Heather looked upon herself as a bit of a fifth wheel in the general running of her hotel. She was, in fact, bored, so she started out on looking for problems that were not there. The adage of “if it is not broke, don't fix it”, did not apply to her current mindset.
Most nights, she could be found in the public bar area of the hotel nursing a large glass of red wine, and searching for anything to nit-pick over.

This particular evening though, she found much more than she ever dared have hoped to find, even in her wildest dreams.

One of her group bookings, were from Atlanta Georgia; five people in total, two couples and one single male. The single man had caught Heather's attention; he had more than a passing resemblance to Billy Bob Thornton's Lorne Malvo from the tv series Fargo. Of course his accent was not that of the mid-west, it was pure Southern straight from Primary Colors. It was that combination of looks; accent, and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that drew Heather towards him. Her plan was straightforward enough; go down to the bar, strike up a casual conversation, and then enchant him.

This rather simple plan, at least by Heather's standards, became askew as soon as she walked into the bar area.
Sure enough, Ralph Morson, her intended target was there, he was standing at the bar, the ideal place for her to make a quick introduction.
The fly in the ointment though, was Michaela Nicols, her bar and restaurant manager. As she approached the bar, she overheard a little of the conversation that Michaela and Ralph were engaged in.

“So, you are considering a vacation in the States? I hope you are not going to be a typical Brit, and just go to Orlando.” Heather heard Ralph saying to Michaela. “You know the States is an enormous country, not just the Floridian coast. You could do a whole lot worse than visiting Atlanta; I'm sure you would really enjoy our warm Southern Hospitality...”

“Well, it's all very up in the air,” Michaela replied, and then added to Heather's growing annoyance. “ I must say though, I love the way that you roll your 'r's, you make the idea of visiting very enticing.”

“Thank you, ma'am, but I must say you have a fine roll to your arse yourself, and I don't mean your accent!”

Michaela blushed visibly at this overt flirting, her eyes though were clearly encouraging further salacious chat. That coquettish look that she was giving Ralph was the last straw for Heather; “this is going to be nipped in the bud”, she thought to herself as the junior barmaid handed her drink across the bar to her.

“Has it been very busy tonight Julie?” Heather asked the barmaid.

“Er...well you know, not too busy miss...the weather, and it being a Wednesday, it's mainly just the hotel guests tonight.” Julie replied, clearly not happy at being engaged in a conversation with her boss, knowing full well that Heather could turn any words around to suit her specific purposes.

“Mmmh...I was just thinking, Michaela has been very busy lately, and if you and Paul could manage the bar on your own tonight, I would let her have an early finish, to recharge her batteries.”

Now Julie was in an unfortunate position. If she said that would be no problem, it could be read that they were overstaffed. If she said they could not cope, it could be read that Paul and herself were not competent of working unsupervised, all depending on Heather's mood.

“I'm sure we will be able to cope tonight, after all, it is unusually quiet,” Julie said, then in a patronising flash of brilliance added. “and if we did get stuck at all you're here, who better to have on hand!”

Heather, smiled and nodded, recognising in Julie an echo of her own personality, “this girl could be one to watch”, she thought to herself. Already, in her mind's eye she was thinking of the Moor Heather Hotel with a possible new bar manager.


Picking up her drink, Heather moved along the bar towards Michaela and Ralph, catching Michaela's attention.

“Hi Heather, I was just telling Mr Morson that I'm thinking of a trip to the USA later in the year.”

“Yes, well with all the work you have done here, you are well deserving of a nice holiday. In fact, I was just talking to Julie about you getting off home early tonight.” Heather stated and was then quite amused by the quizzical look on Michaela's face. “So if you want to tie up your work in the office, have yourself an early night, and as you are off work tomorrow, I'll see you bright eyed on Friday morning.”

Michaela knew by the tone of Heather's voice that this was not a suggestion, but a direct order.

“OK, thanks, Heather. Mr Morson, I bid you goodnight and hope to chat before you go home on Sunday.”

“You can bet on it, I hope to see a lot more of you before I go back Stateside.” The innuendo of that statement was lost on neither Michaela or Heather.

Heather had hoped that with Michaela's departure, she would simply become the new focus of his attention. However, that was not to be, as he just simply picked his Scotch up from the bar and headed back to where his fellow countryman were sitting.
Heather now sat at the bar alone, alone and fuming.

She took out her phone, fiddled about with it, in a pretence of being engrossed in whatever was on its screen. All the while though she was checking out Ralph's table in the mirror behind the bar. Her sixth sense was telling her that something was afoot, something that she fully intended to use for own entertainment.
Sure enough, after less than two minutes, Ralph rose from the table, saying something to his friends, and then left the bar area.
Heather waited, after all, he could have just been going to the restroom, so she waited, she waited five minutes. She waited exactly five minutes, as she watched the clock display on her phone. She then drained her glass of red wine by way of Spanish Courage and marched out to the reception foyer.

There was no-one behind the desk, as that was normal for this time of night when there were no guests either due in or due to check out.
The office behind the desk though, was not as it should be, as the door was closed. Heather nodded, confident that her sixth sense had been proved to be correct.
She stood by the door; her ear cocked to the wood. Then she heard it, the sound she so loved to hear, the sound she so loved to create.

“Should I barge in, or sneak in?” She whispered to herself aloud.

She chose the path of stealth, carefully she opened the door and quietly slipped into the office. What met her eyes came as no real shock, but Ralph's reaction did.
He was resting, with his bottom leant upon Michaela's desk; Michaela stood in front of him, her back towards Heather. Michaela's pinstriped skirt was hiked up high, well clear of both, her suspenders and her pale blue knickers, his hand slapping down on her cotton covered behind. The spanks were not particularly hard, but Heather could tell by the sound of their report that they would indeed sting.
Instead of jumping up as Heather entered the room, Ralph gazed at her evenly, the eye contact telling Heather that she had stumbled upon a kindred spirit, a wink from him confirming her thoughts.

“You really are a naughty girl aren't you?” Ralph whispered into Michaela's ear, “Sneaking in here to play while your colleagues do all your work. What would your boss think of this I wonder?”

Ralph smiled at Heather; he was now clearly playing to the gallery.

“And, what do naughty little girls deserve?”

No answer was forthcoming from Michaela, so Ralph gave her five hard slaps, two on each bottom cheek and one to the upper thigh of her left leg.

“When I ask a question of a young lady, it is only common courtesy and good manners for the girl to reply!”

“I deserve a spanking sir....” Michaela gasped.

“Yes you do indeed, young lady, you do indeed.”

It seemed to Heather that Ralph had choreographed this whole situation, even down to the way they were both dressed. Michaela as always was wearing a business suit. Tonight, however, Ralph too was also dressed in a suit, instead of his usual casual look.

Heather thought it looked like a boss giving his secretary a spanking for shoddy work. No, it didn't, Heather mentally corrected herself, the clothing was of too high a quality for such a scenario. This was more like some executive power play, a CEO and his lover maybe. Or maybe even a CEO and her lover, whatever the scene was supposed to be it had Heather's mind racing and her juices flowing.

“You know, I have a feeling that come this weekend you will have more than your share of spankings, it's just a feeling I have!” Ralph said, then motioned with his head for Heather to close the door.

Heather slammed the still partially open door, causing Michaela to  quickly turn around.

“I'm sorry MR Morson, you seemed to have taken a wrong door. I really should get the signage to the restrooms made clearer.” Heather said, her face calmness personified. “You need to be back out into the reception area, and then instead of going to the bar, it's the third door on the left-hand side.”

“Thank you ma'am, the Scotch seems to have gone to my head and ruined my sense of direction,” Ralph said as he left the room.

“Michaela, I want to see you at my cottage tomorrow morning at nine-o-clock sharp, and then we can discuss, both tonight's antics and your future working for me!” Heather then also left the office, Michaela did not see the broad self-satisfied smile on Heather's face as she exited.

Michaela was now alone in the office, her eyes tearing up, the tears not caused from the stinging in her bottom. But from the fear of losing her job, and the embarrassment of having being caught in such a compromising position.    

Monday, 9 February 2015

Happy Valentines Day

(An old re-post to help celebrate this Saturday)

Lori was in the bathroom brushing her teeth, looking forward to the romantic Monday that Tom had arranged for them. She could hear Tom downstairs as he switched on the radio in the kitchen, she gave herself a little smile in the mirror, before rinsing her teeth. Then she heard his voice shouting up to her.

"Lori! Are you trying to wind me up?"

She pulled her dressing gown tighter around herself and opened the bathroom door, standing looking down the stairs she sees that Tom is holding up two envelopes.

"Did you send this extra one to wind me up?" Tom asks her, with a doubting look on his face.

"I don't know what you mean," Lori replied as she made her way down the stairs.

"Well, I sent this card," Tom said, breaking the mystery of Valentine's Day slightly, "but I didn't send this one. So who did?"

"Nah, I'm not falling for this; you sent them both so that you could start the day of with an early morning bum tanning. I know you too well, Tom!" Lori replied laughing at her lover.

Tom's face darkened at Lori's laughter, and it dawned on him that the card was genuine and not just her winding him up. As he looked at her he noticed that she could not hold eye contact with him, this was turning out to be not funny at all.

"So do you know who it is from then?" Tom demanded.

Lori looked down at her bare feet, as she fidgeted from foot to foot, biting at her lower lip she shook her head, then finally said, "No not really."

"What do you mean not really? Either you know or you don't know."

Lori sniffed and looked on the verge of tears. "Well, I'm not sure; it could be from one of the guys at work I suppose, maybe."

"Oh yeah! Which one?" Tom shouted.

"Well, I don't know do I?" Lori said still shifting from foot to foot. "I could be any of them, you know fooling around, a bit of banter."

"A bit of banter?"

"Well everyone does it at work don't they?" Lori said looking very guilty.

"I don't, you are telling me you spend all day at work flirting with anything in trousers, is that what you are saying?"

"Well kind of, but you make it sound all dirty and it isn't." Lori said pleadingly.

Tom took hold of Lori's hand and marched her over to the sofa, sitting down Tom said. "Get that dressing gown off and get over my knee, and this isn't going to be a fun spanking!"

"Please, Tom this was supposed to be a special day!" Lori whined.

"Don't worry it's going to be special all right, now get a move on!"
Lori stared at Tom, her lovely heart-shaped face in her best sulky look, her blue-green eyes looking pleadingly, almost begging for tacit forgiveness. Her silent look of regret didn't work as Tom repeated his instruction. Slowly Lori loosened the cloth belt on her fleecy gown, still looking at Tom to see if there was any break in his resolve. There wasn't. As she slipped out of her gown and let it fall to the floor, she stood there in her Sloggi mint green (Tom's favourite.) two piece set. Tom pointed at the little shorts and said.

"By the way don't think they are staying on because they aren't."

"Tom please, they are so thin....." Lori pleaded her fingers hovering above the waistband of her boy shorts.

"Well, if they are so thin, it won't make any difference, so get them off."

Lori made a little theatrical stamp of her feet and snorted at Tom, but then obediently, slowly slipped them down her legs. Her shaven crotch was now coming into view as she reluctantly lowered her pants. Then Lori eased herself over Tom's lap, she had a little secret smile to herself, as she felt his excited state through the thinness of his PJ's, prodding at her tummy.
Her smile didn't last long, Tom's hand came down hard on her naked buttocks, the impact almost taking her breath away. Lori knew now that this was not going to be a fun spanking. Tom was annoyed, to say the least, they had both taken time off work for a special romantic Valentine's, and yet here he was spanking his girlfriend for being an outright self-confessed flirt.

"No more tight blouses at work for you girl. No more flashing your headlights to all a sundry. Eh?"

Apart from little squeaks and screams, Lori Stayed silent to Tom's question. His spanking had taken her by surprise, by shock actually. She had never expected to him react with such gusto. His hand rained down on her proffered buttocks, fast and hard. Before she had time to react to one hand fall, another would come down on her quickly reddening bottom. Instead of the typical spanking warmth, she was feeling an intense heat building up in her.

"God I hope he doesn't see my credit card statement." She thought to herself.

"I asked a question girl!" Tom said through gritted teeth, as he laid on an especially hard flurry.

"I won't... I'll wear loose jumpers... I'll... please Tom stop!" Lori pleaded as her view of the carpet beneath became a misty blur.

She couldn't help herself; her legs started to flail around, taking on a life of their own. All this did was open up to Tom new areas for chastisement, she now found her inner thighs and the tops of her legs coming into Tom's spanking range. All she could do was grit her teeth again, and to pray for him to stop.

Stop he did.

Tom helped his tearful girlfriend back to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes, she looked at him and gave him weak sorrowful smile.

"Well, that will do for a start," Tom said. "now go in the kitchen, and fetch me the green plastic pallet knife."

"Wha... what for, what do you need that for?" Stuttered Lori.

"Six across your arse, that's what for, your spanking was just a warm up!"

"I can't go in there; I've only got my bra on! People can see into the kitchen, what would they think?"

"They'll think, there's a girl that's had a hard spanking, and she's lucky that she hasn't had her dirty little flirty mouth soaped as well."

Mouth soaped? That idea had never even crossed her mind, so she quickly dashed off to the kitchen before Tom thought more on it. Lori grabbed the pallet knife, all the time thinking "he must never see the credit card statement".

When she came back into the living room, Tom was standing by the end of the sofa; his erection painfully obvious under his PJ bottoms. She handed him the instrument of her immediate correction, her lower lip trembling in anticipation.

"Right over the arm of the sofa, bottom right up. Six of the best coming up."

The first one shocked her. It didn't so much hurt on impact; it slowly burned into her behind. Such an innocuous kitchen implement how could it cause such pain?

By the fourth stroke, she could taste the salt of her tears in her mouth. When the sixth stroke fell, she thought to herself, "he must never ever see the credit card statement!"

In the blur of tears and pain, she heard the plastic pseudo paddle hit the floor; she felt his hands on her naked hips. She felt herself being lifted slightly; she felt the head of his cock probing at the lips of her sex. She heard a little voice in her head say.

"Where can I leave that statement where he can find it? The one with the 'Bluemountain.com invoice on it?"

Sometimes you know, a fun spanking just can't cut it!

Happy Valentine's Day, from Lori and Tomas!