I was sitting at my desk, trying to begin work on my next novel, when the doorbell rang. I opened to find a grinning, peppy redhead in her early twenties. I smiled back. "Hello, Lizzie. Is it noon already?"
"Hello, Richard! Yes, I'm afraid so, so you'll have to suffer my presence for the next hour or two." She shrugged. "At least you'll have a cleaner house at the end of it."
When I'd first hired Lizzie as a weekly cleaner, she'd been very meek and quiet, and had insisted on calling me 'sir'. I'd nipped that in the bud and told her to refer to me by my first name. I had no problem being called 'sir' – in fact, in some circumstances, I insisted upon it – but I did not want to hear it from someone I had hired. It made the interaction too formal and stiff, and I couldn't live like that. Over the months, the young woman had begun to relax around me, and it was wonderful to see her overcome her shyness and watch her real personality emerge.
I returned to my desk and continued to stare at the empty screen, wondering how to begin, while Lizzie retrieved her cleaning supplies and hummed quietly to herself as she started to work. Turning my head, I caught her glancing at the locked cupboard under stairs.
When I'd hired her, she'd said the cupboard was perfect for her supplies, and asked if she could use it. I'd told her that she was welcome to use any other cupboard she wanted, but that one was mine, and I did not want her opening it. She'd asked what was in it, and I told her it was private. She'd taken the hint, and while she never asked me again, I had a vague sense that she was still curious.
Half an hour after her arrival, I still hadn't written a single word, and when Lizzie fetched the vacuum cleaner, I decided to take a break. Some writers prefer silence, while others put on music or have a movie in the background, but I've yet to meet one that does their best work while listening to a running vacuum cleaner. "I'm heading to the store," I told her. "I forgot to buy milk yesterday." I also hoped the walk would get the creative juices flowing. "Back in half an hour."
She nodded, and as I left, I heard her turn the vacuum cleaner on.
I'd walked about five minutes when I suddenly realized I'd forgotten my wallet. Quickly patting my jacket to make sure I hadn't left it in another pocket, I turned around and headed back. When I opened the door, I was about to call out to Lizzie, but wondered why I couldn't hear the vacuum cleaner. She liked to do all the vacuuming in one go, and that would take her far more than the ten minutes I'd been gone.
I found her outside the now-open cupboard – she must have found the key in my desk drawer. She was holding my favourite leather paddle, staring in wonder at some of the magazines I kept there. The pictures of bare-bottomed women bent over stern men's laps, or standing in the corner with their red behinds on display, were certainly eye-catching.
I cleared my throat, and Lizzie jumped a foot in the air. When she turned to look at me, she was white as a sheet, and she was quivering slightly. It was clear that the sight of my spanking implements had made quite an impression on her.
I looked at the paddle in her hand. Following my gaze, she suddenly realized she was still holding it, and dropped it in shock. The thud of the paddle striking the wooden floor rang out in the quiet room. She looked down at the dropped paddle as if it was a snake about to bite her. With a trembling hand, she lifted the paddle and handed it to me. I checked it was undamaged, and hung it back on its hook, and heard Lizzie give a sigh of relief. Or possibly something else…
I turned to look at her. The paleness had faded from her cheeks, to be replaced by a fiery blush. She opened her mouth to say something – possibly to explain herself – but when she couldn't produce a sound, she suddenly turned on her heel and fled, barely pausing to put her shoes on before leaving my house.
Absently, I wondered if any of my neighbours had seen her, and what they would think if they saw a young woman running from my house like that. I also wondered if I would be back next week, or if this was the last time I saw her.
I decided to clear away the cleaning supplies she'd left scattered around. Finding my wallet in my other jacket, I left for the store.
Over the next week, I heard nothing from Lizzie. I considered phoning her and talking to her about what she'd found, but I wasn't sure what to say. Should I apologize for my secret room? There was nothing illegal there, and I hadn't asked her to open it – in fact, I'd told her not to, and kept it locked for a reason. Should I scold her for her nosiness? Certainly deserved, but I wasn't sure it was really my place. Explain my kink? There are few people that want to hear about the bedroom habits of someone they work for.
As Saturday rolled around again, I heard the doorbell ringing shortly before noon. Lizzie was again standing on my doormat, but a shy smile had replaced her usual cheerful grin, and there was a blush in her cheeks. "Can I come in?"
I nodded, and I stepped aside to let her enter. I'd decided not to broach the subject unless she brought it up herself, but as soon as she was through the door, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and turned her timid blue eyes upon me. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have peeked through your things – especially since you told me not to." I said nothing, allowing her to continue. "It was very naughty of me," she said, blushing even more, and meekly looking down at her shoes.
Seizing the moment, I placed my hand under her chin, lifting it so her eyes met mine. "Sounds like a certain young lady needs to be punished." She licked her lips, nodding uncertainly.
I raised an eyebrow. This was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. Lizzie was an attractive young woman, with a very shapely bottom that she often emphasized with tight jeans, and she'd look absolutely adorable squirming over my knee. I grinned at the thought.
I fetched the key, guided her over to the cupboard, and opened it. Her frightened eyes feasted on the sight. I allowed her to process what she saw for a few seconds, then I spoke. "Pick an implement," I told her.
She winced, and she looked at the implements again. She ran her hand gently over the leather and wooden objects hanging on the floor, imagining how they would feel on her soft flesh. After a minute or two, she selected the small leather paddle that she'd dropped on the floor the week before. My favourite implement. I grinned sadistically as she handed it to me. I tapped it firmly against my palm, and she flinched at the sound.
"Richard –"
"Call me Sir." Like I said, there are circumstances when I insist upon it.
"Sir," she said timidly. "Is this going to hurt?"
"Do you want it to?" I responded gently.
She squirmed, scrunching up her face. "It's… I haven't… This isn't… I can't -"
Smiling at her babbling, I placed a finger on her lips to silence her. "Then we'll start gently and see where we go from there."
I grabbed the straight-backed wooden chair leaning against the wall, placing it in the middle of the floor, and sat down. I placed the paddle down on the floor for later – I would start off with my hand. Hooking my finger into the belt-loop of her jeans, I pulled her closer to me. I began to unbutton her jeans, keeping my eyes on her face to see if she would protest. She blushed and fidgeted, but remained silent, hanging her head.
"Have you ever been spanked before, Lizzie?" I asked gently as I began to lower her jeans. They were quite tight, so it wasn't easy, but I managed. After all, this wasn't the first time I undressed a misbehaving young lady. She shook her head, and I scowled. "Use your words, Lizzie."
"No, Sir," she said in a quaking voice.
"Don't worry," I told her softly. "I'll walk you through it." I pulled her trousers all the way to the floor, telling her to step out of them. She wore white cotton panties with little cartoon animals on them, presenting an adorable sight.
"Bend over," I told her as I guided her over my lap. Once her weight rested on me, I pushed her forward so that her cute little bottom was raised over my knee, upturned and ready to meet my descending hand, and she was facing the carpet.
I patted the seat of her cotton panties, grinning as I watched the goosebumps forming on her delicate skin. "Are you ready?" I whispered gently.
"Yes, Sir," she responded, and I lifted my hand and began to spank her.
The first smacks I placed on her trembling backside were soft and slow. The poor girl had never been spanked before, and I didn't want to scare her off. Gradual progression was the way to go. My hand moved from cheek to cheek, delivering gentle pats to her soft buttocks. After a few minutes, I paused, rubbing her cheeks. "How does that feel?"
"It's nice," she said, blushing furiously. "I thought it would hurt more."
"Would you like it to?"
She hung her head, but muttered "Yes, please," under her breath. I grinned and started to spank her harder.
Her silky skin had begun to turn pink under my firm palm, and she was now gasping and shifting on my lap. It was clear my hand had begun to have an effect. Gradually, I spanked harder and faster, pausing occasionally to make sure she was OK. There was a soft smile on her lips, and though she blushed and squirmed, it was clear she was enjoying herself.
After a while, I paused, my hand resting on her rear end. "You know, I think these panties are offering you too much protection," I told her, placing my fingers in the waistband. "Maybe I should do something about that…" She gasped, squirming slightly, but didn't protest. "What do you think?" I pressed her.
She squirmed even more, burying her face in her hands. "Maybe you should, sir," she whispered.
I pulled the panties down to her knees and was unsurprised to find her dripping wet. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I asked gently.
"So are you!" she responded, grinding against the bulge in my trousers.
In response, I delivered a dozen hard smacks to her sit spots that had her howling. "Such cheek!" I said sternly. "Mind your place, young lady." And I continued to spank her.
Her bottom had begun to turn red, and she was wriggling around so much I had to hold her down. Deciding it was time for the main event, I picked up the paddle from the floor. The girl gasped when the soft leather rubbed against her spanked skin. "Are you ready to feel the paddle, young lady?" I asked her.
"Yes, sir," she said, her voice a mixture of dread and expectancy.
The little paddle could be swung quite fast, and impacted quite a sting, but without leaving bruises. Like I'd done with my hand, I started off gently, gradually increasing the speed and strength of the smacks I rained down upon her unprotected posterior. She was bucking and bouncing on my lap, squirming to the tune of the paddle, but I still hadn't heard a word of complaint escape her lips.
When her bottom was bright red, I decided it was enough for a first-timer. I helped her up, and she was soon kneeling in my lap as I comforted her, one my hands running through her hair while the other stroked her burning buttocks.
She smiled, placing a gentle kiss on my mouth. My hand strayed between her legs, touching her wetness. "Hm, I think there is a young lady here in need of release." She grinned expectantly, but I suddenly frowned. "What am I thinking? You haven't completed your chores yet! Work first, treat later."
"What?" She stared at me, a horrified expression on her face as she realized I meant it. "No! Treat NOW! Treat right now!"
Scowling at her, I flipped her over, delivering a dozen particularly hard smacks that had her howling and squealing. "No backtalk, young lady. Do as you are told."
I lifted her up and placed her on her feet. She glared at me, displeased with my decision. She reached for her jeans, but I smacked her hands away. "No. Good girls get to wear jeans. Bad girls go without them – in fact…" I reached over, removing the panties that she still wore around her knees. It was a wonder she hadn't kicked them off already, but somehow, they'd stayed on. "You're going to clean the house while naked from the waist down. If you do a good job…" I nodded meaningfully towards the bedroom.
She pouted and pleaded, but once she realized that she couldn't sway me, she reluctantly got to work. The little minx, however, had some tricks up her sleeve. As she cleaned, she would deliberately bend over to wave her delicious red bottom in my direction, or she'd spread her legs as she kneeled to show her wetness.
As I thought about the things we would do in the bedroom once she was done, I smiled. It was quite enjoyable to watch her work, so I was determined this wouldn't be the last time Lizzie cleaned with her blistered bottom on display, before being carried into the bedroom for her well-deserved reward. In fact, maybe we should do this every week from now on…
"Hello, Richard! Yes, I'm afraid so, so you'll have to suffer my presence for the next hour or two." She shrugged. "At least you'll have a cleaner house at the end of it."
When I'd first hired Lizzie as a weekly cleaner, she'd been very meek and quiet, and had insisted on calling me 'sir'. I'd nipped that in the bud and told her to refer to me by my first name. I had no problem being called 'sir' – in fact, in some circumstances, I insisted upon it – but I did not want to hear it from someone I had hired. It made the interaction too formal and stiff, and I couldn't live like that. Over the months, the young woman had begun to relax around me, and it was wonderful to see her overcome her shyness and watch her real personality emerge.
I returned to my desk and continued to stare at the empty screen, wondering how to begin, while Lizzie retrieved her cleaning supplies and hummed quietly to herself as she started to work. Turning my head, I caught her glancing at the locked cupboard under stairs.
When I'd hired her, she'd said the cupboard was perfect for her supplies, and asked if she could use it. I'd told her that she was welcome to use any other cupboard she wanted, but that one was mine, and I did not want her opening it. She'd asked what was in it, and I told her it was private. She'd taken the hint, and while she never asked me again, I had a vague sense that she was still curious.
Half an hour after her arrival, I still hadn't written a single word, and when Lizzie fetched the vacuum cleaner, I decided to take a break. Some writers prefer silence, while others put on music or have a movie in the background, but I've yet to meet one that does their best work while listening to a running vacuum cleaner. "I'm heading to the store," I told her. "I forgot to buy milk yesterday." I also hoped the walk would get the creative juices flowing. "Back in half an hour."
She nodded, and as I left, I heard her turn the vacuum cleaner on.
I'd walked about five minutes when I suddenly realized I'd forgotten my wallet. Quickly patting my jacket to make sure I hadn't left it in another pocket, I turned around and headed back. When I opened the door, I was about to call out to Lizzie, but wondered why I couldn't hear the vacuum cleaner. She liked to do all the vacuuming in one go, and that would take her far more than the ten minutes I'd been gone.
I found her outside the now-open cupboard – she must have found the key in my desk drawer. She was holding my favourite leather paddle, staring in wonder at some of the magazines I kept there. The pictures of bare-bottomed women bent over stern men's laps, or standing in the corner with their red behinds on display, were certainly eye-catching.
I cleared my throat, and Lizzie jumped a foot in the air. When she turned to look at me, she was white as a sheet, and she was quivering slightly. It was clear that the sight of my spanking implements had made quite an impression on her.
I looked at the paddle in her hand. Following my gaze, she suddenly realized she was still holding it, and dropped it in shock. The thud of the paddle striking the wooden floor rang out in the quiet room. She looked down at the dropped paddle as if it was a snake about to bite her. With a trembling hand, she lifted the paddle and handed it to me. I checked it was undamaged, and hung it back on its hook, and heard Lizzie give a sigh of relief. Or possibly something else…
I turned to look at her. The paleness had faded from her cheeks, to be replaced by a fiery blush. She opened her mouth to say something – possibly to explain herself – but when she couldn't produce a sound, she suddenly turned on her heel and fled, barely pausing to put her shoes on before leaving my house.
Absently, I wondered if any of my neighbours had seen her, and what they would think if they saw a young woman running from my house like that. I also wondered if I would be back next week, or if this was the last time I saw her.
I decided to clear away the cleaning supplies she'd left scattered around. Finding my wallet in my other jacket, I left for the store.
Over the next week, I heard nothing from Lizzie. I considered phoning her and talking to her about what she'd found, but I wasn't sure what to say. Should I apologize for my secret room? There was nothing illegal there, and I hadn't asked her to open it – in fact, I'd told her not to, and kept it locked for a reason. Should I scold her for her nosiness? Certainly deserved, but I wasn't sure it was really my place. Explain my kink? There are few people that want to hear about the bedroom habits of someone they work for.
As Saturday rolled around again, I heard the doorbell ringing shortly before noon. Lizzie was again standing on my doormat, but a shy smile had replaced her usual cheerful grin, and there was a blush in her cheeks. "Can I come in?"
I nodded, and I stepped aside to let her enter. I'd decided not to broach the subject unless she brought it up herself, but as soon as she was through the door, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and turned her timid blue eyes upon me. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have peeked through your things – especially since you told me not to." I said nothing, allowing her to continue. "It was very naughty of me," she said, blushing even more, and meekly looking down at her shoes.
Seizing the moment, I placed my hand under her chin, lifting it so her eyes met mine. "Sounds like a certain young lady needs to be punished." She licked her lips, nodding uncertainly.
I raised an eyebrow. This was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. Lizzie was an attractive young woman, with a very shapely bottom that she often emphasized with tight jeans, and she'd look absolutely adorable squirming over my knee. I grinned at the thought.
I fetched the key, guided her over to the cupboard, and opened it. Her frightened eyes feasted on the sight. I allowed her to process what she saw for a few seconds, then I spoke. "Pick an implement," I told her.
She winced, and she looked at the implements again. She ran her hand gently over the leather and wooden objects hanging on the floor, imagining how they would feel on her soft flesh. After a minute or two, she selected the small leather paddle that she'd dropped on the floor the week before. My favourite implement. I grinned sadistically as she handed it to me. I tapped it firmly against my palm, and she flinched at the sound.
"Richard –"
"Call me Sir." Like I said, there are circumstances when I insist upon it.
"Sir," she said timidly. "Is this going to hurt?"
"Do you want it to?" I responded gently.
She squirmed, scrunching up her face. "It's… I haven't… This isn't… I can't -"
Smiling at her babbling, I placed a finger on her lips to silence her. "Then we'll start gently and see where we go from there."
I grabbed the straight-backed wooden chair leaning against the wall, placing it in the middle of the floor, and sat down. I placed the paddle down on the floor for later – I would start off with my hand. Hooking my finger into the belt-loop of her jeans, I pulled her closer to me. I began to unbutton her jeans, keeping my eyes on her face to see if she would protest. She blushed and fidgeted, but remained silent, hanging her head.
"Have you ever been spanked before, Lizzie?" I asked gently as I began to lower her jeans. They were quite tight, so it wasn't easy, but I managed. After all, this wasn't the first time I undressed a misbehaving young lady. She shook her head, and I scowled. "Use your words, Lizzie."
"No, Sir," she said in a quaking voice.
"Don't worry," I told her softly. "I'll walk you through it." I pulled her trousers all the way to the floor, telling her to step out of them. She wore white cotton panties with little cartoon animals on them, presenting an adorable sight.
"Bend over," I told her as I guided her over my lap. Once her weight rested on me, I pushed her forward so that her cute little bottom was raised over my knee, upturned and ready to meet my descending hand, and she was facing the carpet.
I patted the seat of her cotton panties, grinning as I watched the goosebumps forming on her delicate skin. "Are you ready?" I whispered gently.
"Yes, Sir," she responded, and I lifted my hand and began to spank her.
The first smacks I placed on her trembling backside were soft and slow. The poor girl had never been spanked before, and I didn't want to scare her off. Gradual progression was the way to go. My hand moved from cheek to cheek, delivering gentle pats to her soft buttocks. After a few minutes, I paused, rubbing her cheeks. "How does that feel?"
"It's nice," she said, blushing furiously. "I thought it would hurt more."
"Would you like it to?"
She hung her head, but muttered "Yes, please," under her breath. I grinned and started to spank her harder.
Her silky skin had begun to turn pink under my firm palm, and she was now gasping and shifting on my lap. It was clear my hand had begun to have an effect. Gradually, I spanked harder and faster, pausing occasionally to make sure she was OK. There was a soft smile on her lips, and though she blushed and squirmed, it was clear she was enjoying herself.
After a while, I paused, my hand resting on her rear end. "You know, I think these panties are offering you too much protection," I told her, placing my fingers in the waistband. "Maybe I should do something about that…" She gasped, squirming slightly, but didn't protest. "What do you think?" I pressed her.
She squirmed even more, burying her face in her hands. "Maybe you should, sir," she whispered.
I pulled the panties down to her knees and was unsurprised to find her dripping wet. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I asked gently.
"So are you!" she responded, grinding against the bulge in my trousers.
In response, I delivered a dozen hard smacks to her sit spots that had her howling. "Such cheek!" I said sternly. "Mind your place, young lady." And I continued to spank her.
Her bottom had begun to turn red, and she was wriggling around so much I had to hold her down. Deciding it was time for the main event, I picked up the paddle from the floor. The girl gasped when the soft leather rubbed against her spanked skin. "Are you ready to feel the paddle, young lady?" I asked her.
"Yes, sir," she said, her voice a mixture of dread and expectancy.
The little paddle could be swung quite fast, and impacted quite a sting, but without leaving bruises. Like I'd done with my hand, I started off gently, gradually increasing the speed and strength of the smacks I rained down upon her unprotected posterior. She was bucking and bouncing on my lap, squirming to the tune of the paddle, but I still hadn't heard a word of complaint escape her lips.
When her bottom was bright red, I decided it was enough for a first-timer. I helped her up, and she was soon kneeling in my lap as I comforted her, one my hands running through her hair while the other stroked her burning buttocks.
She smiled, placing a gentle kiss on my mouth. My hand strayed between her legs, touching her wetness. "Hm, I think there is a young lady here in need of release." She grinned expectantly, but I suddenly frowned. "What am I thinking? You haven't completed your chores yet! Work first, treat later."
"What?" She stared at me, a horrified expression on her face as she realized I meant it. "No! Treat NOW! Treat right now!"
Scowling at her, I flipped her over, delivering a dozen particularly hard smacks that had her howling and squealing. "No backtalk, young lady. Do as you are told."
I lifted her up and placed her on her feet. She glared at me, displeased with my decision. She reached for her jeans, but I smacked her hands away. "No. Good girls get to wear jeans. Bad girls go without them – in fact…" I reached over, removing the panties that she still wore around her knees. It was a wonder she hadn't kicked them off already, but somehow, they'd stayed on. "You're going to clean the house while naked from the waist down. If you do a good job…" I nodded meaningfully towards the bedroom.
She pouted and pleaded, but once she realized that she couldn't sway me, she reluctantly got to work. The little minx, however, had some tricks up her sleeve. As she cleaned, she would deliberately bend over to wave her delicious red bottom in my direction, or she'd spread her legs as she kneeled to show her wetness.
As I thought about the things we would do in the bedroom once she was done, I smiled. It was quite enjoyable to watch her work, so I was determined this wouldn't be the last time Lizzie cleaned with her blistered bottom on display, before being carried into the bedroom for her well-deserved reward. In fact, maybe we should do this every week from now on…
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