Nate thumbed through the book again, looking for a particular picture.
'Found it'. He smiled to himself. The picture was of an old-fashioned gentleman, late nineteenth century or early twentieth – Nate was by no means an expert. This man, who looked like he was in his mid-thirties, had a young woman over his lap, and was giving her a hard spanking. The girl was kicking her legs, crying her eyes out. Who was she? A daughter, a wife, a girlfriend, a servant, a younger sister left in his care – Nate wasn't sure. Could be any of them, could be none. In those days, a spanko like himself would have plenty of opportunities if he wanted to put a girl over his knee.
Nate sighed, leaning back in his chair. Why did he have to live in THIS century?
"Master Nathaniel?"
The voice was remote, as if he heard it through a wall, but it was getting clearer.
"Master Nathaniel?" the voice repeated, sounding closer.
"Huh?"
"Master Nathaniel, are you feeling well?"
Nate was looking into an unfamiliar face. A man, perhaps mid-twenties, with a strangely subservient look about him. He couldn't quite define what was subservient about it, especially since everything was shaking. What was happening? An earthquake? Was he having some sort of seizure?
He suddenly realized that the younger man was shaking him awake. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he told him, trying to collect his thoughts.
He looked around the room. He looked to be in some sort of mansion, decorated with the loveliest nineteenth-century furniture imaginable. Or early twentieth-century. Or possibly eighteenth. He had no idea.
'Well, I don't usually fall asleep in one century and wake up in another, so this appears to be a dream,' he concluded. He looked up at the man who had shook him awake, who was looking at him with genuine concern in his eyes. 'Well, that's good to see. Not much concern about me when I'm awake.' The man was dressed in some sort of servant' uniform. He had called Nate 'Master Nathaniel,' so it was entirely possible that Nate was the master of this mansion.
Unless he was the master's son. They were sometimes called "Master", weren't they? That was a troubling possibility. He let his fingers run over his face. A trimmed beard, and a very stylized moustache. At the very least, an adult, and most likely the father in the house.
"Why did you wake me up?" he asked the servant.
"You asked to be woken shortly before supper, sir. You wanted to give your daughter and her friend their whippings before they ate."
Nate smiled. It was one of the good dreams.
The servant showed him to their room before making himself scarce. Inside, two women were standing in the middle of the floor, at attention, with their heads lowered. One of the girls were holding her hands at her sides, the other was holding a birch. A wicked-looking instrument, to be sure.
On his way, he had come across a mirror, and sent a quick glance into it. He still looked somewhat like himself – the moustache was the greatest difference. But the point was, he still had his chestnut-brown hair. The girl on the left had hair in the same shade, so chances were she was his daughter.
"Now, girl, before I give you the whipping you so richly deserve," he said, as strictly as he could, "I want you to tell me why you deserve it."
"Um, Emily -" she began, still looking at the floor.
"Speak up, child. And face me. That's it. Now, try again."
"Emily and I snuck into the cellar and stole one of your wines, Father."
Good. He knew what they had done, what one of them was called, and which one was his daughter. He was making good progress, he felt. He turned to the other girl, Emily. She had black hair, and was shorter than her friend.
"Girl. What did you do?"
"I have nothing to add," she said sullenly.
"I don't want you to add something, I want you to repeat it," he told her. "That way, I know you know why you're being punished. And any more insolence from you, and I will double your punishment."
The girl paled; his threat had made an impression. "I followed Polly into the cellar, and we made off with a bottle of wine, sir."
Nate wanted to pat himself on the back. Just a few sentences, and he'd learned quite a lot. The girls were named Polly and Emily; Polly was his daughter and Emily her friend. They'd stolen a bottle of wine, and he'd promised them a whipping for it. Good.
He picked up the birch that Emily was holding, and pointed at the bed. "Now, raise your skirts and bend over." They obeyed immediately, and he smiled. Obedient girls, when they had to be. Sticking out at him were two baggy pairs of underwear that he assumed were bloomers. They had knots in the back to hold them together, and he started undoing Polly's. Soon, two white tails were peeking out, ready for his punishing birch. Nate smiled. This was the stuff dreams were made of.
He gave Polly a quick stroke, then Emily, moving back and forth between them, one stroke each. The girls stayed silent at first, but it was clear that the birch was getting to them, and as red line after red line was added to their lily-white bottoms, they started to cry.
A thrill went through Nate's body as the birch descended again and again. This was incredible. Watching the two bottoms as they turned red under his punishing gaze was one of the most amazing events of his life, even if it wasn't real.
After a while, the girls were crying heavily into the bed, and their bottoms were red and throbbing. Nate decided it was enough. He didn't want to go too hard on them; it was the first time he punished them, after all.
He reached forward, rubbing the sore buttocks of his daughter. A couple of places, he'd cut into the skin, and she was bleeding slightly. He moved on to her friend. The same story here. Apart from that, not too bad, and there was certainly no lasting damage.
"Supper is almost ready. I expect you both to be ready when it is served." He left the girls to comfort each other.
As he sat down, he looked around the table. Apart from the young man that had woken him up, there were very few male servants around. Mostly maids, and a couple of female cooks. And at the table, sharing his meals, was a set of female faces. One he presumed to be his wife, a sister next to her, and the two girls he had already punished. He was surrounded by women, and he liked it.
It was a shame he had to wake up soon.
"Master Nathaniel?"
Nate looked up from the pillow. The previous night, he'd retired to his bedroom, only to discover to his great disappointment that he wasn't sharing it with his wife. He would have to see what he could do about that. He'd expected to wake up back in his apartment, but somehow, he was still in the mansion. What was going on?
"Master Nathaniel?"
It was the same servant he'd seen when he arrived. Behind him were two girls, both dressed as maids, both unable to meet his gaze.
"Two of the maids got into a fight this morning. I was wondering whether you would deal with them yourself, or if you wanted the butler to it."
He smiled to himself. He was still here, and there were still naughty women in need of correction.
"I want them to stand at attention while I eat breakfast. A bit of anticipation would do them a world of good."
"Very good, sir."
Was it all a dream he hadn't woken up from yet? Had he somehow travelled back in time, perhaps into the life of some distant ancestor? Was this some sort of fictional reality, a Spanko's Dream, so to speak? Had he accidentally sold his soul to some infernal being in return for this place? Had he gone insane, believing himself to be in a mansion, while in reality, he was in an asylum, pounding his head against the wall?
Nate didn't care. He was standing in the library, with a glass of truly excellent wine in his hand, looking at his wife (or his ancestor's wife, or whatever), standing with her bare bottom on display in the study, holding the cane he would soon be using on her for her insolent remarks. He was here, he was happy, and he didn't care how he got here.
He emptied the glass and called Jane over. Life was good.
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