The alchemist and the apprentice (F/F story)

"Great news, Tabitha!" Heidelore exclaimed when her assistant finally arrived at the workshop. As usual, the petite alchemist was wearing a leather apron, a robe that might have been clean once, and a manic grin, and her hair looked like she was waiting for a bird to nest in it. "I have a commission. Have you heard of Crescentia Falkenrath?"

 

The willowy apprentice thought for a second. "The senator's wife?"

 

"That's right," Heidelore confirmed. "It seems Senator Falkenrath doesn't like her wife's spending sprees, and is using a belt on the woman's bare bottom to make her displeasure known. Crescentia, not willing to change her habits, has hired me to make a salve or lotion that will make it possible for her to sit comfortably."

 

"And how much is she paying you for this?"

 

"Seventy denarii," the alchemist replied.

 

Tabitha whistled. "Wow. I wonder how the Senator will react when she learns about that expense. Sounds like it could be painful for Crescentia."

 

"Hm?" Heidelore frowned. "I don't see… Anyway, I've made a few test batches that I think will work, but we obviously need to test them first, so it's good that you've arrived."

 

Tabitha felt a chill running down her spine, and her backside tingled unpleasantly. She had a feeling that she wouldn't like where this was going.

 

Heidelore picked up a leather belt lying on her workbench. "I bought this on my way to the workshop. You raise your robe and bend over the table, I strap your bottom, and we test them out on you."

 

Tabitha tried to swallow, her mouth suddenly bone dry. She had guessed correctly – she didn't like the direction this conversation had taken at all. One hand reached back to cusp her bottom, shivering as she thought about how that belt would feel against her sensitive skin.

 

In the years she'd been apprenticed to the famous alchemist, Tabitha had learned a lot, and there were certainly benefits, but she was also expected to act as guinea pig for Heidelore's various experiments. She'd been stung by insects, had itching leaves rubbed on her skin, and drunk various foul mixtures with unpleasant effects. And it would have been one thing if the cures always worked – but if they did, there wouldn't be any reason to test them, would there? Many of them did nothing, and some even made the problem worse.

 

And now, she was expected to bare her bottom for a strapping from her boss. She HAD to find a way out of this. And from the way her mistress looked at her, she had to find it fast.

 

"You know," the apprentice said slowly, trying to buy herself time to think, "I believe I see a flaw in this…"

Spying on the maid (F/M story)

"Hello, Mister Blakeley," Reinhild greeted her employer as she entered his home. "I'll just go get changed, and I'll start cleaning."

Cornelius Blakeley gave her his usual bland smile. "Hello, Reinhild. I look forward to seeing you in your uniform."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do," she muttered to herself as she walked down the hall.

Reinhild had been working as a maid for Mister Blakeley for almost a year, and the job had its upsides and downsides. On the one hand, she only had to be there a few hours three days a week, the work was not too hard, and he paid extremely well. On the other, Mister Blakeley demanded that she wear an old-fashioned maid costume while she cleaned – he claimed he liked tradition, but she was fairly certain that he was just a pervert, particularly since he liked to sit there and watch her clean.

He also wanted her to wear high-heeled shoes. She'd even brought some comfortable slippers from home, telling him that her feet would feel much better at the end of the day, but he wouldn't budge. The house was also surprisingly untidy, though she didn't know if he was deliberately making a mess so that he could watch her clean it, or if he was just a slob by nature.

Her uniform was waiting for her in the back room where she kept her cleaning supplies. She changed and went straight to work.

In the living room, Mister Blakeley was sitting in his comfiest chair, a novel in his hand. Despite her employer seemingly being engrossed in his book, she could feel his eyes on her as she cleaned, particularly when she bent over to pick up something on the floor. "Think of the money," she muttered to herself. The thought made her work a lot more bearable.

At the end of the day, she returned to the back room to change into her own clothes, sighing to herself. She would go home, soak in the tub, rub her aching feet, and spend tomorrow shopping. Standing there in her bra and panties, she hung the uniform up, and reached for her own clothes, when she suddenly frowned, glancing at the door – surely she'd closed that when she entered, hadn't she?

She walked over to shut it, and gasped. Her employer was standing on the other side of the door, peeking at her through the crack.

When Reinhild was younger, she'd once noticed the boy next door spying on her through a gap in the curtains as she was changing. Obviously outraged, she'd slammed open the window, dragged him inside by the ear, thrown him over her lap, and spanked his bare bottom until it was bright red and he was howling for mercy. He never tried that stunt again – at least not to her.

It's likely that this event was on her mind as she once again found her privacy violated – and maybe it was her memories taking control. Before either of them had time to think, she reached forward and grabbed Mister Blakeley's ear, making him squeal.

"Spying on me changing!?" she snapped at him. "What kind of pervert are you?" There was a stool in the room that she would sit on while changing shoes, and she dragged him over to it. Finally letting go of his ear, she sat down and immediately unbuckled his belt. His expensive silk trousers were unbuttoned, unzipped, and lowered to his knees. Feebly, he tried to stop her, but she slapped his hands away. In a flash, he found himself bent over her knee, staring at the carpet with his bottom in the air.

My former babysitter (M/F story)

I was taking a walk in the park near my home, enjoying the scenery, when a particularly attractive sight caught my eye. At the side of the path, a woman had bent over to fix the shoelaces which had come undone, and her tight jeans offered a delightful view as they stretched over her shapely rear end. I stopped, drinking in the sight, smiling when her backside swayed enticingly as she tied her shoes. My eyes continued to travel over her body, when I suddenly noticed that she was looking straight at me. I felt that twinge of embarrassment that any young man feels when he's been caught gawping at an attractive woman.

She smirked at me as she rose, when her eyes suddenly widened. "Josh! It's you!"

Now that I heard her voice, and was looking at her face, I suddenly recognized her as well. "Hello, Marilyn," I mumbled, blushing bright red. It was one thing to be caught staring at the bottom of a woman I didn't know. It was quite another thing when the woman in question turned out to be my former babysitter.

"It's so good to see you," she exclaimed, giving me a warm hug. I was surprised; if she was upset at my leering, she was doing an admirable job of hiding it. "How have you been?"

Half an hour later, we were sitting at a café. I'd bought a black coffee, and she had ordered a glass of soda with a straw. We'd been chatting about the things we'd been up to in the years since we'd seen each other last.

"I've finished my second semester in college, and spent most of the summer working in a warehouse," I told her. "The pay's not great, but it's good exercise, at least."

She grinned. "I can tell." She leaned forward, running her hand across my chest to feel the muscles.

I paused; was she flirting with me? It certainly seemed that way to me. Or was I reading too much into things? I didn't want to misread her signals and ruin the mood. "Thanks," I mumbled.

She tapped her fingers on the table. "You know, you were a cute kid back then – and usually so well-behaved." She smirked. "Though there were a couple of times I had no choice but to take you over my knee."

I grimaced at the memory. As a young teenager, I had felt I was too old for a babysitter, and far too old for spankings. Unfortunately, my mother disagreed on both counts. "I remember. You always made it clear how disappointed you were when you were forced to do it. You hated spankings."

"Nuh-uh," she said, wagging her finger at me. "Not true. Not true at all. I hated to spank. Not the same thing." I frowned, not sure what she meant. She took a sip of her soda. "And you? How do you feel about spankings?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I think you know perfectly well how I felt about being over your knee," I told her. "Obviously, I hated being spanked."

A teasing smile played on her lips. "And how about being the one giving the spanking? How do you feel about that?"

I frowned, wondering why in the world we were talking about spankings. "I don't know," I told her. "I've never spanked anyone."

She looked into my eyes, clearly anxious to hear my response. "Would you like to?"

Tiffany's request (M/f story)

The doorbell rang late one Saturday afternoon as I was sitting on the sofa solving a crossword. I opened the door to find a gangly teenager in a green top and blue jeans, and with her short, red hair in pigtails. She gave me a friendly smile, though she was also clearly somewhat nervous. "Hello, Mister Fenwick."

"Hello." There was a pause as I tried to remember whether I'd met her before, when I suddenly recognized her. "You're Tiffany, aren't you? Christina's friend?" Christina was the daughter of my neighbour Brenda.

She nodded. "May I come in?"

"Of course," I said, stepping aside to let her enter, though I was wondering why this girl would be visiting a middle-aged man on a Saturday evening, when she should probably be out partying. She removed her shoes and followed me into the living room. "May I get you anything?" I asked. "A cup of tea? Some soda? I might have a pack of biscuits in a drawer somewhere…"

"Just a glass of water, please," she said quietly.

I fetched her a glass and a jug of water, and I also took the opportunity to refill my teacup. I sat back down on the sofa, directing her towards my best comfy chair. "Now, Tiffany. What can I do for you today?"

She bit her lip, trying to figure out what to say next. I smiled cheerfully, trying to make her feel comfortable, but remained quiet to give her time to think. After a few seconds, she looked at me. "I know that you spank Christina," she told me.

I raised an eyebrow at this unusual topic of discussion. "What makes you say that?" I replied noncommittally. I couldn't imagine Christina telling her about her punishments, and I saw no reason to share any details with her friend either.

"I was at her house once to borrow some shoes," Tiffany said quietly, a far-away look in her eyes. "When I arrived, she wasn't home, but she returned a few minutes later – rubbing the seat of her jeans with a tear-stained face. Her mother grinned and told me everything."

I nodded. That sounded like Brenda, all right. She was delighted when I put her daughter in her place, and was not shy about taking the opportunity to embarrass her further.

"I also know that she's not the only girl around here that you spank," Tiffany went on. "Marybeth was willing to describe the trips over your lap, and Abigail even raised her skirt and showed me the marks." She blushed. "She let me touch them."

There were a few single mothers in the neighbourhood who had a daughter they were unable or unwilling to handle. They would send them over to me with a letter describing their infraction, and I would punish the girl as I saw fit. I then wrote a note about how they were punished, signing it to let the mother know that justice had been served. It was not a service I particularly enjoyed, but I was always willing to help someone who needed it.

I could tell that Tiffany still had something to say, so I stayed silent.

She filled her glass, taking a slow sip as she prepared herself. "And that's why I'm here," she said, putting the glass down. "To be spanked."

Being sent next door (M/fF story)

"Oh, hello, Christina," Sheldon said cheerfully as he answered the door to find the daughter of his next-door neighbour Brenda standing on his doorstep.

"Hello, Mister Fenwick," the teenager responded, in a despondent tone. She had her hands behind her back, and a look on her face that suggested that she wanted to be a million miles away.

"Now, what can I do for you today?" he said, still in the same sunny tone. Sighing, Christina took out the letter she'd been holding behind her back, offering it to him. He frowned. "I see," he said, his voice now markedly less friendly. "A letter from your mother again? I guess we'd better head inside."

Christina's legs trembled slightly as she followed her big, strong neighbour into his house. She knew what was about to happen to her, and she was not looking forward to it.

A few months ago, Brenda and Sheldon had been chatting at the garden fence. "I don't know what to do about Christina," Brenda had complained. "She's getting sassier and sassier. I had hoped that she'd mature once she turned 18, but she seems more childish than ever. She even called me the B word at breakfast today!"

"Well, if either of my daughters had something like that to me or Skye at that age, they wouldn't sit for a week," Sheldon replied with a frown. Skye was Sheldon's wife, who had sadly passed away a few years before.

Brenda sighed. "Discipline was always my husband's job. He knew how to get her to behave. In the years since he left…" She shook her head. "I don't think I'd feel comfortable spanking her. Could I do as good a job as he did? Besides, as big as she's getting, I'm not sure I'd win that struggle," she said with a rueful grin.

A thoughtful look passed across Sheldon's face. "You know, if you ever need any help, you could always send her over to me. I've raised two daughters who found themselves over my lap whenever they needed it, and I know how to deal with a stroppy young madam."

Brenda considered the proposal. "You know, I think that's a really good idea."

They'd broken the news to Christina later that evening. Her arguments that she was too old, and that it was too cruel, and that it would be humiliating to be spanked by a man who was not related to her, fell on deaf ears, and her claims that she was too well-behaved were treated with the derision they deserved. She finally threw a tantrum, earning her first trip over her neighbour's lap. As Christina squirmed and sobbed over Sheldon's knee, her bare bottom burning bright red as she promised to behave, Brenda grinned. Yes, this arrangement would suit her just fine.

After that, whenever the teenager would get too big for her britches, Brenda jotted down a short description of the transgression, placed it in an envelope, sealed it, and handed it over to her cringing daughter, who was forced to take it next door to face her punishment.

"What did you do this time?" Sheldon asked as he tapped the envelope against the table.

"Why don't you just read mum's note?" Christina replied sourly. "I'm sure she's explained it."

Sheldon raised an eyebrow. "Because I need to make sure that you understand what you did wrong. I suggest a little less of the attitude, missy. My guess is that you're in enough trouble as it is – though I can always add a few extras at the end if you continue to sass me."