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?"

Sylvia, part II (M/F story)

Two weeks ago, I was visited by Sylvia, the mother of my ex-girlfriend. I was surprised to learn that she had known that I often spanked her daughter during our relationship, and downright shocked when she admitted that she wanted me to do the same to her – Sylvia asked to be taken over my knee and spanked. After overcoming my bewilderment, I saw no reason to refuse her request, so I gave her the long, hard spanking she craved. Afterwards, as she stood facing the corner with her bare, red bottom on display, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time I disciplined her.

And tonight, my prediction would come true.

Sylvia had told me that she’d sat quite gingerly for a few days after visiting me, and had sported some lovely marks. However, the bruises had faded, and she was now eager for another dose of discipline. We agreed that she should visit my flat on Saturday evening.

When she arrived, she was dressed in a relatively modest shirt and a nice skirt, and there was something in her eyes that suggested she'd been looking forward to this for several days. I asked her if she wanted a cup of tea or a glass of something, but she declined, saying that she was eager to get started right away. I led her into the kitchen, where I’d placed a pen and some sheets of paper on the table. She cast me a questioning glance.

“You are going to sit down and write, Sylvia,” I explained. “You will write ‘I have been a bad girl and deserve a good, hard spanking’… let’s say two hundred times.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave me an impertinent look. “I’ve never written lines before!”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it before you’re done. Two hundred times, and you’ll get extra punishment for each error. Do I make myself clear?"

She glared at me as if she wanted to challenge me, but she must have seen from the expression on my face that this would not end well for her. With a sigh, she sat down on the kitchen chair and began writing.

I sat down behind her, where I could keep an eye on her without being observed. She worked on her task for a few minutes before she shook her hand, turning and looking over her shoulder at me. “Ouch. I’m out of practice. It’s been years since I did much writing by hand – decades, possibly.”

“Keep your eyes forward,” I instructed her. “Don’t look at me.”

She pouted, but obeyed. “You know, I came here hoping for a sore bottom, not a sore hand.”

I grinned at the petulant tone in her voice. “Don’t worry – you’ll get that as well.”

Sylvia, ex-girlfriend's mother (M/F story)

When my doorbell rang one Saturday evening as I was sitting in front of the TV, I was not expecting to find my ex-girlfriend's mother standing on my doorstep.

"Hello, Roland," she said, giving me a friendly smile. "May I come in? I hope I'm not disturbing you – I should probably have phoned ahead."

"Hello, Mrs. Cohen," I replied, taking a step to the side to let her pass. "Please, come in. I was just watching an old movie and trying to remember if I'd seen it before."

"I've told you a million times to call me Sylvia," she scolded playfully as she hung up her coat.

I first met Sylvia Cohen about two years ago, which was three months into my relationship with her daughter Violet. Violet and I had gone to the same high school, and had started dating shortly after we ended up in the same college class. I only learned later that she'd deliberately chosen the same college as me so that she could get closer to me, which was flattering. She herself had no interest in drama – or at least not in studying it; on the other hand, I soon found out that she was an absolute master at creating it.

I admit I was feeling a little nervous when I met my girlfriend's mother for the first time, but Sylvia had greeted me warmly and seemed pleasantly surprised with the young man dating her only daughter. In fact, she seemed to grow fonder of me with every month that passed.

I had always enjoyed those occasional chats with Sylvia, but it was a bit of a surprise to find her in my home two weeks after my relationship with her daughter had ended. What could we have to talk about now? "So, what brings you here?" I said as I brought her a cup of coffee. Milk, two sugars – just the way she liked it.

"I just had to talk to you and see how you were getting on." She shook her head. "That girl has no sense whatsoever! She just made the biggest mistake of her life by letting you slip through her fingers, and she doesn't even realize it. But don't worry – she will."

I raised an eyebrow at that, choosing not to comment. It was flattering, of course, but I wondered how I'd feel if MY mother had gone to my ex to tell them how much of a moron I was. In my experience, mothers tended to be more supportive, even when they disagreed.

"Not only were you good to her, but you were good FOR her," she said, huffing. "After she started dating you, she was far easier to have in the house, and she got better at picking up after herself. You should have seen her grades, too!"

I smiled. Having someone show up in my living room to praise me to the skies wasn't how I'd expected my Saturday evening to go, but I had no complaints. I was feeling quite good about myself. "Nice of you to say so, Mrs. Cohen. I think it's a matter of setting a good example, and being there for her when she needs it."

She snorted. "You're free to think that, of course, but I think it's all those spankings you gave her."

The cup in my hand stopped halfway to my lips as I stared at her. I was glad I hadn't been drinking when she said it, as I would probably have spat the coffee all across my table – and possibly my guest. I wasn't aware that Violet had shared that part of our relationship with her mother. I certainly hadn't mentioned it to mine.

"Oh, Violet never said anything," Sylvia said, seeming to guess my thoughts. "She didn't have to. I could tell by the way she squirmed around on her chair after one or your little private discussions, and how she'd wear a nice skirt instead of those faded, holey, TIGHT jeans. They're a lot less painful for a sore bottom!" She chuckled. "A couple of times, when she was on the phone with you, I could see her absently rub her rear end when she knew you were upset with her. Thinking about past punishments – or possibly dreading upcoming ones."

"You approve, then?" I said as I sipped my coffee. I saw no reason to try to deny her observations.

"Wholeheartedly. In fact, I think that Violet losing your discipline might be the worst part of this breakup. Some women benefit from struggling to sit on a sore seat from time to time."

"Have you ever spanked her?"

She shook her head. " I've never been comfortable with the idea of taking my daughter across my knee. It just doesn't feel right. That was always her father's job. When he was alive, he handled all the spankings in the house." She sighed wistfully. "Violet's – and mine."

I stared at her. Was she saying what I thought she was saying?

"Yes," she said, once again responding to my unspoken thoughts. "My dear departed husband would bend me over his lap and spank my backside whenever he thought I deserved it – which was often." She smiled at the memory. "I must admit, when I realized that you were spanking Violet, I felt more than a little envious. A proper young gentleman, able and willing to deliver the discipline the young lady so sorely needed." She sighed. "You remind me of him, in some ways."

"I'm sure Violet would have gifted you every single one of her spankings if she could. I never got the feeling that she enjoyed them much – in fact, she pleaded quite insistently for them to stop, every single time."

She laughed. "Good to hear. That must be why they were so effective." Her smile vanished, and she gazed at me. "Now, believe me, despite my …. needs, I would NEVER ask my daughter's boyfriend to put me across his knee. That would be completely inappropriate, obviously." She grinned. "But you two are not dating any more, are you?"

The smoking landlady (M/F story)

Conrad had now rented the basement flat in the house of the middle-aged accountant Rebecca Trask for a little over a month. He considered himself very fortunate for finding the place; the house was old, but well-maintained, and only a short walk from the university where the nineteen-year-old studied.

Earlier that afternoon, a new chest of drawers had been delivered to the house, and Rebecca had asked the young athlete to help her carry it inside. They were now sitting in her living room chatting about life over a cup of coffee. In the weeks he'd been here, Conrad had found it easy to talk to his new landlady.

During the conversation, Rebecca pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her purse. She lit a cigarette and took a drag, then raised an eyebrow as she looked at Conrad. "I take it you disapprove of my little habit?"

"What makes you think that?" he replied evenly. "I've said nothing."

"You don't have to. It's written all over your face," she said, smiling.

The teenager shrugged. "Obviously, you can do whatever you want to your own body in your own home. But surely you know it's not good for you – or those around you," he said, managing to resist the urge to cough meaningfully.

She nodded. "I know. I've been trying to quit, but it's very hard. Have you ever smoked?"

"No, but an ex-girlfriend of mine used to."

"Used to? How did she stop?" Rebecca inquired.

"Every time she smoked, I spanked her," he said calmly, showing not the slightest trace of hesitation or embarrassment.

"Really?" she said, looking wide-eyed at him as she tried to process this.

He nodded. "Every time she lit a cigarette, I lit up her butt," he said. "It didn't happen overnight, but with enough encouragement…"

She laughed. "I see! Well, I can imagine that being quite an effective treatment for a young lady! She can protect her lungs and her backside at the same time."

They soon changed the subject. If Conrad noticed that his landlady seemed distracted for the rest of the conversation, as if she was pondering something, he didn't say anything about it.


It was a week later that Rebecca knocked on the door to Conrad's flat. It was a warm spring day, and the teenager was wearing a new t-shirt and an old pair of shorts. His landlady was dressed in a long summer dress. "Mrs Trask! What can I do for you?" he said with a welcoming smile.

"I've told you to call me Rebecca," she chided gently. "Can I come in?"

He stepped aside to let her in, and she quickly scanned the flat as she entered. As she had expected, it was a lot cleaner than most teenagers' living quarters; Conrad had shown himself to be a responsible young man.

They sat down on the couch. Conrad could tell that there was something on her mind, but as she seemed to have trouble putting it into words, he stayed silent to allow her to collect her thoughts. Finally, she seemed to collect herself. "When you started… disciplining your girlfriend, how old were the two of you?"

He cast his mind back. "Well, it was a little over a year ago, so we were both eighteen."

She nodded. "Do you… do you think it would have been effective if she was older?"

He shrugged. "Well, I don't see why not. A spanked bottom will teach a naughty young lady of any age. In fact, she considered herself far too old for a spanking already – which she told me, at length, every time I pulled her over my lap and bared her bottom. I never let that stop me." He looked into her eyes. "Why did you ask? Did you have someone in mind?" There was something in his eyes that suggested to her that he'd guessed what she was thinking of.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. "Well, I- I've been trying to quit smoking, as you know. And I was wondering if maybe what I truly need is…" She blushed, avoiding his gaze. " It would probably help me if… if maybe –"

"If I took you over my knee and spanked your bottom every time you smoked?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what you are proposing, Rebecca?"

The school cleaner (f/f, ff/F story)

It was a lovely Friday afternoon, the end of the third week of my new job as a cleaning lady at the local girls' school. It was the end of the school day, so I wasn't surprised to walk past an ajar door where lights were still on – it could be a teacher working late, or a class that stayed on longer than usual, or even some pupils in detention. I did not expect, however, to hear a voice say, rather strictly, "Can you give me a single reason why you should not get a good, hard spanking, young lady?" Even more surprising, it sounded like the voice belonged to a teenager. Unable to quell my curiosity, I tiptoed over to the door and peeked inside.

I spotted two uniformed schoolgirls: A tall one with long, blonde hair, wearing the head girl badge, had her hands on her hips and was glaring down at the miscreant sitting in front of her – a petite redhead, wringing her hands nervously while staring at the floor, unable to think of anything to say. The head girl continued to lecture her, and I soon picked up that the redhead's name was Michelle, that she had been caught smoking, and that they were in the same class; the latter fact was mildly surprising, as the head girl looked older, not only because of her height, but also because Michelle was wearing pigtails, which made her look younger than her eighteen years. The fact that only one of them was about to go over the knee for a sound spanking was perhaps another sign of maturity. The head girl had kindly decided to punish the girl at the end of the day, so she wouldn't have to risk being overheard by her classmates – and wouldn't have to sit down in class on a sore bottom.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing! I knew that the school rules permitted the use of corporal punishment, regardless of the age of the pupil, and that head girls were also authorized to dole out spankings when needed. But I had assumed it was some old, no-longer-practiced rule that had just never been repealed – I didn't imagine that it was still happening. And to think that these girls could not only spank younger pupils, but their classmates, was more than I could fathom.

At this point, the best thing to do would probably be to close the door and continue my work. I was far too curious, however. I had never been spanked growing up, and had never seen anyone receive a spanking. There was something fascinating about the whole affair, and if I walked away now, I didn't think I would be able to forgive myself. In the battle between fascination and propriety, fascination easily won out, so I remained at the door and continued to watch and listen.

"I am disappointed in you, Michelle. You're usually so well-behaved! Those girls are a bad influence on you, and you shouldn't hang out with them."

Michelle looked close to tears already. "Please, Haley, do you have to spank me? Isn't there anything else we can do?"

The head girl shrugged. "I can send you to the headmistress for a caning, if you'd prefer that."

The girl turned pale. "No! Please! I'll take the spanking."

Haley nodded. "I suspected as much. Very well, then. Fetch the chair."

Michelle rose on shaking legs, walking over to a straight-backed, armless wooden chair resting against the wall. She picked it up and carried it to the middle of the floor, where the head girl would have plenty of space to swing her arm, while the miscreant could kick her legs with no risk of damaging the furniture. The chair was placed facing me, so I would have an excellent view of the proceedings, which I thought was very considerate of them.

Haley sat down and crooked her finger, then pointed to the floor. When Michelle moved to stand in front of her, Haley raised the girl's skirt. "Hold this," she said, handing Michelle the hem of her own skirt. The girl obeyed, and Haley placed her fingers in the waistband of Michelle's white cotton knickers. With cold efficiency, as if she'd done this a hundred times before, she pulled the girl's panties down to her knees, leaving her standing there on display. Michelle blushed, but she didn't protest – she probably realized it wouldn't help her.

Haley patted her lap, and the girl bent over her knee, her pale cheeks quivering slightly as she waited for the first smack to land. Haley, however, seemingly intended to drag things out. She started to gently rub the girl's bottom, watching the goosebumps forming on the pale skin. "You have been a very naughty girl, Michelle. I hope you are ready to face the consequences."

"Yes, Miss Haley," Michelle replied meekly.

The head girl continued to stroke her softly, before suddenly lifting her hand and delivering a firm smack that rang out in the quiet room. I jumped at the sound, and from the yelp that escaped Michelle's lips, it was just as painful as it sounded. Haley continued to spank her, rapidly delivering two dozen equally-firm spanks.

The half-orc and the halfling (M/F story)

Grim glanced around the common room at the inn, subtly scanning for threats. Reassured that this was a respectable establishment and that there were no obvious dangers here, the half-orc gave a satisfied nod, and stepped aside to let his employer enter.

The tiny woman smiled up at him as she entered, shaking her head at his precautions. Even the other halflings would describe Lily Springkettle as short and cute, but her charismatic personality and head for money had made her a very successful merchant. Grim just wished she had as much common sense as she had business sense.

Lily talked to the innkeeper and got a good deal on a suite of rooms at the back of the inn – two bedrooms and a small living room, quite stylish. Lily had the money to live comfortably even on her travels, and Grim was quite pleased that she was willing to spend it. There were certain upsides to being her bodyguard.

Once they'd settled in, Grim looked at his employer. "There are some supplies we need before we move on, and I'd like us to buy them today – that way, we don't have to wait for the shops to open tomorrow before we leave."

Lily leaned back in the rather comfortable chair. The pout on her face made her look even more like a child than she usually did, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate him pointing it out. "Do I have to come? You know what we need. Can't you just buy it? I'll give you the money, of course."

He thought about it. A nice room in a decent inn would not be the worst place to leave a naïve merchant for an hour or two. As long as she stayed here, she would be entirely safe.

As long as she stayed here.

Grim stepped over to her, folding his arms in front of his chest and staring down at her. "Promise me that you'll stay in our rooms and not go wandering the streets on your own."

She rolled her eyes. "That was ONE time."

"You lost your purse," he reminded her. "And that wasn't the worst thing that could have happened." He bent down, placing a gentle hand under her jaw to force her to look him in the eyes. "Promise."

She sighed, rolling her eyes again. "Fine. I'll stay here and do some reading. That's what I was planning to do, anyway." She glared at him. "Who do you think is in charge here, anyway?"

"Good to hear," he said, ignoring her last question. "See you later."

As he walked out into the streets, he knew he shouldn't talk to his employer that way, but there was something about her appearance and her innocent obliviousness to danger that awoke his protective instinct that made him want to shield her from the dangers of the world. She knew things about trade that would never grasp, about supply and demand and artificial scarcity and things like that, but she would gladly follow someone into a dark alley for a free piece of candy. There was something paternal here; he wanted to keep the fragile little thing safe at all costs. He frowned – at least, he THOUGHT it was paternal.

IT support (m/F story)

"Hi, Ethan. It's Cassie. My computer's acting up again. Could you have a look?"

The eighteen-year-old nodded, before realizing that she couldn't see him over the phone. "Sure. I'll just save my game, and I'll be right over."

Cassie lived next door to Ethan's parents. The 35-year-old woman was famously clueless with technology, and growing up, Ethan had often been asked to come over and help her. Even now, when he'd moved into his own apartment, she still called him when she needed help. He didn't mind, and she also paid quite well. Ethan liked being helpful, and he would probably have aided her for free, but he wasn't going to tell her that.

About half an hour later, Ethan rang the doorbell, and Cassie let him in a thankful smile. It was a warm summer day, so she was wearing a nice sundress, while the teenager was clad in shorts and a worn t-shirt. She fetched him a glass of soda while he sat down at the desk to examine her computer.

"Yeah, it's a virus," he told her as she returned. "Quite nasty. I can't remove it with the regular anti-virus, but I'm booting it in safe mode, which should help. If it doesn't, I might have to do a factory reset, or I could try restoring from an old backup – one from before the virus, of course."

She nodded eagerly, doing her best to try to seem like she knew what he was going on about, and hoping he could have it solved soon.

Ethan tapped away at the keyboard, doing something that seemed like magic to tech-illiterate Cassie, who was watching over his shoulder. Finally, he leaned back in his chair with a grin on his face. "I think that solved it." He booted the computer again, his face radiating satisfaction. "Looks like it."

"Thank you," she said with a relieved sigh. "You've really earned your pay today."

He frowned. "Do you know how the virus got in? I know you have anti-virus – I installed it last time we had an issue like this."

"Ah." She seemed ill at ease. "I think I disabled it. I was trying to download some files…"

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? What files were you downloading that your antivirus protested against?"

And to her horror, he opened the browser. Before she could summon the presence of mind to stop him, her history covered the screen. Most of it involved spanking. "Oh," he said quietly.

Cassie buried her face in her hands, wanting to sink through the floor. Having the boy next door see what sort of porn she was into was fairly high on the list of the worst things that had ever happened to her. Not that she expected to corrupt him, of course – he was eighteen, and had probably seen worse things already.

After a few seconds, she peeked through her fingers at him, hoping that the boy had been gentleman enough to close the browser and find something else to focus on. He hadn't. Instead, he'd opened a few of the websites he found, so her computer now showed pictures of bare-bottomed women being soundly spanked by stern men. Cassie was blushing scarlet – almost as red as the backside of the woman Ethan was currently looking at.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then, Ethan glanced over at her, and a wry grin appeared on his face. "You know, it's very naughty of you to visit websites like this. And disabling the anti-virus? Not a good idea." He tutted.

Cassie stared at him, breathless. Was he proposing what she thought he was proposing? And if he was, how should she respond?

The new butler (M/FF story)

Lady Lenora smiled at me at I sat down in her office. The slim, red-headed noblewoman was only in her mid-twenties, but she had a powerful, graceful dignity – the result of the centuries of noble blood that flowed in her veins, strengthened by her having to assume the title at such a young age. "So, Steven," she said, "You've applied to the position of butler?"

I nodded. "That's right, your Ladyship."

Sitting down behind her desk, she glanced at the papers I'd handed her as I arrived. "Your credentials are excellent. This employment history is very impressive., and I've heard good things about you." I thanked her for the compliment, and she asked some questions about my previous employers. I answered those that propriety allowed me to answer, and she seemed pleased with our discussion. I had a feeling I was likely to get the job – which was fortunate. Lady Lenora was known for paying well.

After a few minutes, she changed the subject. "Some of the maids in this manor can be quite mischievous at times, and I want to make sure that you are going to be able to handle them." I assured her that it would not be a problem, but she seemed unconvinced. "Let me ask you a direct question, then. Are you prepared to use corporal punishment?"

I raised an eyebrow at this unusual suggestion. "I suppose, but would it not be more appropriate for the housekeeper to handle such matters?"

She shook her head. "My housekeeper is very good at her job, but I can assure you that there are some young women in this house that need the firm, unyielding hand of a man. Which my housekeeper is not."

It seemed an odd proposal, but then again, her family had always been eccentric. Her grandfather, for example, had ordered the local priest to excommunicate an oak tree he particularly disliked. Many of her family members would probably have ended up in institutions if it hadn't been for their money and title. By comparison, Lady Lenora's request was quite harmless.

"Will I have some leeway in how harsh the punishments are, and what they are meted out for?"

She nodded. "I have no wish to make those decisions myself. I'll leave it in your hands, as long as you get results."

"Then yes, I am prepared to do that," I said.

"Excellent," she said with a warm smile. She then rose to her feet. "Now, could you please follow me?"

Paperwork (M/F story)

Carol Rollins was a petite blonde with an attractive face, and was skilled at getting people to underestimate her. Her meteoric rise to CEO of the company had come as a shock to many, and she surprised them even more when she showed them how well she handled it. In the office, she always listened to advice, and delegated responsibility to those that showed promise, but it was never left in doubt that she was in charge.

In the bedroom, however, her tastes were rather different. She liked to let her stress and responsibilities fade away, and find some strong, dominant man to whom she could really reveal her submissive side. While she greatly enjoyed these little sessions, which left her sore-bottomed, sobbing, and satisfied, she always made sure to keep the two parts of her life completely separate, and had never been tempted to mix business with pleasure.

That is, until she noticed Jacob.

Jacob Shepherd was one of her employees – a tall, handsome man with a charming smile and an athletic build, so it was not hard to notice him. However, it was his personality that made an impression on her. Jacob had a bit of a dominant streak, and he was the first to take charge if he noticed something that needed to be done. He often counselled interns and new employees, giving them guidance and advice, and when they erred, he was strict, but fair.

At one point, Jacob had taken one of the interns aside to scold her in private for some silly mistake she'd made. Carol had wandered past, and deciding to hide and listen, she'd heard the whole speech with a grin on her face, imagining herself as the subject of his displeasure. She pictured him frowning at her with those clear, blue eyes, his deep voice lecturing her about her misdeeds.

In her mind, he would undress her verbally – and then physically. With her skirt raised and her panties lowered, Carol would be taken over his knee, where he would show his displeasure with a firm spanking on her bare bottom. She would squirm and plead for mercy, but he would not relent, ignoring her pleas and protests as he blistered her bottom. Finally, once he was satisfied that she was truly sorry, he would end the spanking and let her stand up. However, he wouldn't let her rub her burning bottom – he'd slap her hands away and tell her to stand with her nose in the corner and think about what she'd done. Meekly, she'd obey, standing on display with her hands on her head. Then, he'd take her in his strong, safe arms, comfort her, caress her, and then place her down on her own desk and ravish her until sunrise.

Waking up from her daydream, Carol discovered she was dripping wet. Hurrying to the bathroom to find some much-needed privacy, her experienced fingers began to give her relief.

Country boy 2: The Woodshed (m/F story)

A sequel to Country boy.

It was now about a month since a boy in his late teens had taken my 32-year-old bottom over his knee, bared it, and spanked it soundly. I had been driving on a backwater road, with no food or water with me, and no map. When my phone's battery died, I lost the GPS that I'd relied on, and had no way to call for help. To make matters worse, I then got a flat tire. Crying my frustration to the heavens, I had proclaimed that I deserved a good, hard spanking – and Ken, who had been walking nearby, overheard. He fixed my tire, pointed me in the right direction, and spanked my backside, and I was grateful for all three actions.

And now, I was heading to his house, hoping that he'd spank me again.

Regular spankings had not been a part of my life since my boyfriend broke up with me half a year ago, and I missed it. I had long ago discovered that I was a woman who needed to sit gingerly from time to time, and I should never go too long without a burning backside. Being unspanked for long stretches of time just led to me acting foolishly. Therefore, I decided to look up Ken's address and visit the only person who had given my butt what it needed since my boyfriend left. Though he was inexperienced, he was also a quick learner, and an absolute natural at delivering spankings. I could have phoned ahead and told Ken I was coming, but I decided it would be much more fun if I didn't.

It was about six in the afternoon when I spotted the lonely house. As I drove closer, I spotted a tall, strong woman in her forties who was sitting on the porch. I realized it was Ken's mother, as she had the same blue eyes – and the fact that they lived in the same house was another obvious hint. As I introduced myself, I spotted Ken exiting the house behind her. His eyes widened when he saw me.

"Hello, I'm Christine," I told the woman as I shook her hand. "A month or so ago, I had a flat tire near here, and Ken was kind enough to give me a hand when and where I needed it the most." Standing next to his mother, he raised an eyebrow at my little joke, but made no comment. "I was driving through the area now, and realized that I hadn't thanked him properly, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to do it now."

Ken's mother, whose name turned out to be Margaret, smiled at me with a typical mother's pride at hearing her beloved son praised. We chatted for a while, and Margaret asked me to join them for some coffee. As she went inside to prepare a pot, I was left alone with Ken. I grinned at him, but he glared back.

"You should have told me you were coming," he scolded.

"I know," I said in an impish tone of voice, sticking my tongue out at him. "What are you going to do about it?"

Teasing the stable-hand (M/F story)

The 20-year-old stable-hand Philip was bent over his work when he noticed approaching footsteps, as well as the smell of a very lovely perfume, which was massively out of place here in the Earl's old barn. "Hello, Philip! What are you doing?" a sweet, feminine voice called out. He looked up and saw the Earl's oldest daughter approaching.

"Hello, Lady Anna," the young man said, giving her a respectful bow. "I am just repairing this saddle."

She rolled her eyes as she approached him, pouting slightly. "How many times have I told you to drop that 'Lady' nonsense and just call me Anna?"

"Forty-three, I believe, Lady Anna," he said, still maintaining the same respectful tone of voice.

"Well, stop it, then!" she said, slapping his shoulder teasingly and fluttering her eyelashes at him. "I want us to be friends, and good friends don't talk to each other like that."  She stepped closer, her face inches away from him. "Don't you want to be my... friend, Philip? I'm VERY nice to my friends."

The fragrance of her perfume, combined with those deep blue eyes which now gazed into his own, made him slightly light-headed. He watched her rosy lips part slightly, and at the back of his mind, Philip wondered how it would feel to kiss them. They would probably taste like the sweetest strawberries. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then turned to the saddle. "I should probably finish my work, Lady Anna."

Lady Anna was a tall, red-headed woman of nineteen with porcelain skin, currently clad in a simple, scarlet summer dress. Ordinarily, Philip would have gladly sacrificed an arm to have the attention of a young woman as kind, charming, and beautiful as her, but she was also the daughter of a rich, powerful nobleman, and he suspected that the man would disapprove if he found a stableboy in his employ flirting with his beloved daughter. That might quickly lead to unemployment – or worse.

And that assumed his understanding of the situation was correct. Was she just being friendly, and he was misreading her? He was pretty certain he wasn't, but being wrong could be costly. Or maybe she had a well-hidden cruel streak – maybe she was just trying to trick him into acting indecently, then get him in trouble for it? He was a muscular, good-looking lad, but he didn't think there was anything so special about him that it warranted the attention of an actual Lady.

Unfortunately, no matter how formal and respectful he acted toward her, it didn't seem to discourage her. In fact, it only egged her on further, to see if she could crack his armour. As he focused on his work, she stepped up behind him, leaning against him and putting her head on his shoulder. He shivered gently as he felt her rest her body against him. "It looks awfully complicated, Philip. You must be very skilled if you're able to fix it."

"It's not as hard as you believe, Lady Anna," he said gruffly, trying to discourage her from talking to him any further, while remaining respectful toward the high-born lady. "The seat needs to be re-stitched, and one of the stirrups is damaged."

He continued to look at the saddle, trying as hard as he could to focus on the work ahead of him, instead of the beautiful woman who was now standing next to him. He was trying to figure out whether the stirrup could be repaired, or whether it was necessary to replace it, when she stepped in front of him and leaned forward to stare at the saddle. "Wow! How interesting."

Still trying to focus on his work, the absent-minded stableboy reacted instinctively, swatting the seat of her scarlet dress. "Out of my way," he scolded, the way he would if one of the girls from the village had come to disturb him while he was working – which they occasionally did. She jumped out of his way, and he continued working.

It took a few seconds before Philip fully comprehended what he'd just done. Once the realization finally struck, a cold shiver ran down his back, and he slowly turned his gaze toward her. She was standing a few feet away, staring at him, her eyes almost as wide as his own, while both hands protectively clasped her bottom. After a few seconds, her shocked expression was replaced by a grin. "Well! Finally, a reaction out of you – and WHAT a reaction! Wow!" She rubbed her backside theatrically.

"Lady Anna, I am SO sorry that -" he began, a horrified look on his face, but she cut him off.

"If I had known you'd respond like that, I'd have done that a LONG time ago." She giggled. "Do it again."

Pushed too far (M/F story)

Geoffrey had been employed in Count Landon's stables for some years now, working for Matthew the stablemaster. Geoffrey was a beardless youth who had entered his twenties a few days ago, and was only a stableboy, with no fancy title. However, when he first arrived at the mansion, he had been surprised by the way that the Count never spoke down to even the lowest of his servants, treating them with an undeserved and unexpected amount of respect. He would often ask how Geoffrey's day was going, or enquire about the health of his parents. When the Count wanted to go for a ride, he always notified Geoffrey an hour or two in advance, so that the young man would have ample time to get the horses ready. And if Matthew was away – for example, if Count Landon wanted to buy some new horses and needed to send an expert to carry out the purchase – he treated Geoffrey as if he was the interim stablemaster. Two of the Count's younger sisters acted the same way.

The third sister, however, was quite another matter.

Lady Laura was the youngest of the family; a petite, beautiful, red-headed woman of 23 who was usually impeccably dressed in the loveliest of gowns, and could look lovely if she smiled – though she rarely did. She was arrogant, and had a cruel streak that she rarely revealed in front of her siblings. It never bothered Geoffrey that she never asked about him or his family, but she would show up at the stable telling him that she wanted to ride NOW, and then be surprised and offended that he did not have a horse ready for her at all times. She would scold him as cruelly as she could, then stomp off to bother someone else. Geoffrey wanted to tell someone, but Matthew would only shrug disinterestedly if he brought it up, and he didn't think that the Count would be happy to hear the stableboy complain about his darling little sister.

It was a sunny Friday morning, and Geoffrey had been feeling good about his day, until he looked up to see Lady Laura approach him. She was wearing her riding dress, carrying her riding crop, and giving him a look of contempt, as if he was something she'd just stepped in. "Geoffrey, I'm going riding now."

"Of course, Lady Laura," he said, giving her his most respectful bow. "I'll start preparing Goldie."

She frowned. "Why is my horse not ready for me?"

"Because, Lady Laura," he said, his voice respectful, "I was not aware that you wanted to ride this morning."

"Look outside – it's a beautiful day. Why wouldn't I go riding?"

Geoffrey wanted to point out that it had been a beautiful day yesterday, and the day before that, and she hadn't wanted to go riding then, but he suspected she wouldn't appreciate hearing it. "I'll have her ready as soon as I can, Lady Laura."

"Very well, I'll be back in five minutes," she said, as she turned to leave.

"Milady," he said, summoning his patience to remain polite, "there is quite a lot I need to do to get your horse ready. It will probably take about half an hour."

She spun around, staring at him. "Half an hour? I thought you said you would get started right away?"

"I will, Lady Laura," he assured her. "But I need to clean her hooves, brush her down, fasten the saddle and the -"

"Take a nap in the corner, you mean," she said dismissively. "Well, I'm not as easily fooled as my brother. It shouldn't take five minutes to slap a saddle on her, never mind thirty. I expect you to have her ready when I return. You don't need to worry about her hooves and things like that, surely."

"Lady Laura, I really don't think you understand -" he said, a slight hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.

"How dare you!" She was glaring at him now. "You waste my time and insult my intelligence?" She lifted the crop and started to swing it at his head. As the blows rained down, he took a few steps back to put as much distance between himself and the angry noblewoman as possible.

It took a second before he realized that he was backing toward the stall of Jackson, one of the angrier horses – a horse that was facing away from him, and had probably been stressed by all the shouting going on.

He threw himself on the ground just in time, hearing the hooves whistle past. If he'd been half a second later, those hoofs would have struck his head, inflicting a very serious injury  – probably a fatal one. As he lay on the floor, dusty and with a sore jaw from striking the ground, his heart beating from his near-death experience, he heard giggling, and looked up to see Lady Laura laughing merrily at his misfortune.

And this was when he'd finally had enough.

In a flash, he was on his feet and at her side. It's possible that when she saw the look on his face, and felt him grab her wrist, that she realized she'd pushed the servant too far this time, but if she did, she made no effort to apologize or placate his wrath. She protested indignantly as he dragged her over to a stool, then gasped as he sat down and pulled her forcefully over his knee.

On stableboys and princesses (non-story)

I've always been a fan of role reversal - stories where someone who SHOULD be in authority, gets spanked by someone who should be obeying them. Students spanking teachers, secretaries spanking bosses, etc. I'm also a member of a google group on the subject, though they mostly post children spanking their parents - which is not my favourite pairing, though I have written one or two stories like that (check the tag "Role reversal" for my role reversal stories).

Somewhat recently, I wanted to write a story where a stableboy spanks a princess, and I started wondering what the justification could be. I came up with three scenarios: it could be for mutual enjoyment, for punishment, or she could insist to an unwilling stableboy. Not wanting to choose between them, I decided to write all three - though the stories changed slightly as I wrote them. While the women in these stories are noblemen's daughters, none of them are actual princesses. Their spankers are stableboys, though.

 

The secret in the hayloft, about mutual enjoyment, was uploaded last week. I'll upload the second about punishment today ("Pushed too far"). I'm hoping to upload the third one next week, but I developed a cold yesterday, so I don't know how much energy I'll have for writing.

The secret in the hayloft (M/F story)

It was interesting to me just how many of the young women at the mansion found Caleb to be the most attractive man around. There was nothing glamorous or interesting about his work as a stableboy, and it meant that when he was around, the musk of sweat was often mixed with the stench of horse , which was not the most fragrant of smells. However, he was quite good-looking – made even more so by the roguish smile he had long ago perfected. And many of the maids and kitchen staff were very interested in a man with a strong physique, built up by years of manual labour, who was good with his hands. And if the rumours that were whispered in the corners of the mansion were true, Caleb was VERY good with his hands.

And as the youngest daughter of the Count, it would just be my duty to investigate those rumours, wouldn't it?

On one particularly fine Friday evening, when the moon was full and there was a delightful breeze in the air, I had concealed myself in the stables. I found myself here because I had observed Caleb wandering with a young woman – presumably, his next conquest – and had decided to head to the one place I knew they would eventually end up. Assuming the rumours were true, of course. I had been there for about half an hour when I heard his voice, accompanied by feminine giggles. He entered the stable, leading a lanky, redhaired girl I recognized as Maggie, the gardener's assistant. There was a blush on her cheek, and her attempt at a demure air did little to conceal her eagerness. His smile was friendly, confident, and lascivious, as if he considered himself close to getting his wish.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she said, giggling again. "I shouldn't be here."

"I can take you back to the house, if you wish," he offered gallantly, but she shook her head, smiling.

"I can't believe this," she repeated. "Is it true what they say about you?"

He shrugged, as if it was all the same to him. "That depends on what they say."

"You know," she insisted, but he made no sign of understanding her. "That you like to take young women across your lap and ...that you ..." She blushed, stumbling over her words, unable to complete her sentence, but there was a nervous grin on her face.

He smiled, offering her his hand. "Care to find out?"

With no hesitation, she took his hand, and he led her up to the hayloft. From here, they would be safe from unwanted eyes – they could watch the entrance, but no one would be able to climb the ladder to spy on them without them noticing.

Unless, of course, the spy were to climb it BEFORE they arrived, and then conceal herself. Say, about half an hour before.

Country boy (m/F story)

In the passenger seat next to me, my mobile phone made some final sad, tired noises before shutting itself off, completely out of power. I swore under my breath; I was relying on the GPS, so I wasn't entirely sure where to go now. I started berating myself for not charging my phone before leaving, and for not buying a proper map. A young, defenceless woman, lost in the wilds, with no way to contact anyone – at least, 32 qualified as 'young' in my eyes, and these backwater roads could very well be considered the wilderness.

Of course, if I'd paid attention to where I was driving instead of scolding myself, I might have spotted the glass bottle in the road before it was too late.

I managed to get the car under control, but I quickly realized that the left front tire had suffered some damage. Stopping the car on the side of the road, I got out and confirmed my suspicions. There was a jack and a new tire in the back of the car, but I had no idea what I should actually do with them.

Ordinarily, I would have looked up some how-to guide on my phone, but the battery was flat. I had my laptop, but there was no wi-fi here. I thought about using my phone as a hotspot, which would allow my laptop to connect to the internet, and actually congratulated myself on my cleverness before realizing the obvious flaw in the plan.

I bent over, staring at the ruined remains of the tire, while going through the facts. I was out in the wilderness with a flat tire which I had only the vaguest idea how to replace. I had no food or water with me, and no way to contact anyone that could help me. Even if I somehow managed to get the car rolling again, I had no idea where to go.

I don't know how long I remained there, hoping that staring at the tire would magically fix it, but in the end, I decided I had no option but to just give it my best shot, hope that I could stumble my way through replacing the tire, and then pray I could find civilization – or at least someone who could direct me to it. The worst part of it was that it was all my fault. "Christine," I said loudly to myself, "this time you really DO deserve a good spanking."

"Now, that I'd like to see," a cheerful voice exclaimed behind me.

Wide-eyed, I spun around, spotting a lanky young man in dirty jeans and an old, worn shirt, grinning at me. I guessed him to be eighteen or nineteen. With a blush, I realized what a sight I had presented to him, bent over at the waist, thrusting my jean-clad backside in his direction. From the way he smiled, it seemed he'd enjoyed the sight, despite the fact that I was more than a decade older than him.

"I'm Ken," he said, shaking my hand. "I was walking to town when I spotted you and your car. You looked like you needed a hand."

Anna and Rosie 4: Kissing up (f/F story)

When the doorbell rang, a few things surprised me about the sight that greeted me when I opened the door. The first was that Anna, my neighbour's daughter, was there. There was nothing inherently unusual about this, as she now showed up once a week to give me a good spanking, for our mutual enjoyment. But she always came on Fridays, and this was a Tuesday. The second was that her usual cruel, cocky grin was replaced with a sad pout, and it was clear she had been crying. She was also wearing a skirt instead of her tight jeans.

"Mum spanked me today," she said as she walked into the living room. She didn't wait to be invited in; she rarely asked for my permission about anything. "She found out I skipped school yesterday. I'm not happy about it, so I decided to come over here and take it out on YOUR butt."

I nodded. This wasn't the first time she'd spanked me for something unrelated that she was unhappy about in her life; it relieved her stress, and I liked it when she was strict with me, so I didn't see a problem with the arrangement. The only downside was that I'd likely struggle to sit down at work tomorrow, but that was a problem for later.

Anna and Rosie 3: The list (f/F story)

It was a lovely, warm Friday afternoon. Several of my co-workers were finding their nicest dresses, preparing to go out on the town. I was sitting in my living room in a t-shirt and sweatpants, waiting for a teenager to come over and spank my bare bottom like I was a misbehaving child.

I shook my head. Why did it feel like I was the lucky one?

The doorbell rung, and I opened it to find Ana giving me the strictest glare she could muster. She was wearing a worn t-shirt and holey jeans, and carrying a small shopping bag. She immediately entered the living room, and I followed her.

A few weeks before, I had spied through the window as the eighteen-year-old was spanked by her mother. When I was caught, her mother had mistaken me for a teenager instead of the 30-year-old businesswoman next door, and had spanked my bare bottom while Anna watched and laughed. Anna had eventually found out who I was, and had decided to spank my bottom instead of telling her mother. Now, going over her lap had become something of a regular occurrence – to our mutual enjoyment.

"Have you prepared the list?" she asked me with her most dismissive glance.

I hurriedly retrieved the sheet of paper and brought it before her. The week before, Anna had decided that she wasn't going to just pull me over her knee and spank me – she was going to punish me properly for my real misdeeds. For that purpose, she'd given me homework; over the week, I would write down everything I did wrong, big or small. I would give her the list, and she would decide on an appropriate punishment. Somehow, I got the feeling that whatever I wrote down, the end result would be a bare-bottomed spanking over her knee. And I was fine with that.

Anna and Rosie 2: Found out (f/F story)

Three days had passed since I spied on the woman next door spanking her daughter, before being dragged inside and spanked by the angry mother who had mistaken me for a bratty teenager instead of the 30-year-old businesswoman I actually was. At the time, I was convinced that I wouldn't sit for a week, but when I woke up the next morning, my bottom felt fine, and there were only the slightest traces of my adventure.

It was now a lovely Friday afternoon, and had just come home from the office, still dressed in my pencil skirt and professional top. The doorbell rang, and I opened it to found eighteen-year-old Anna, the petite, blond-haired girl whose spanking I had witnessed - and who had laughed wickedly as she watched my own bottom being blistered. She was wearing jeans and a top, and a look of boredom, as if she had more interesting places to be right now.

"Hi there. Mum sent me over with some mail that was accidentally delivered in our mailbox." She handed me the letters, then smiled. "You know, I guess in some way, I should thank you for spying on me. If you hadn't been there, she would have given me a whole lot more – maybe she would even have used her hairbrush." She grinned wickedly. "Besides, it was really funny to watch you squirm over her lap. And those cute yelps you made!"

"I'm glad you found my pain amusing," I said sarcastically, glaring at her as a blush spread across my cheeks.

She looked at me, then suddenly furrowed her brow, staring at me as if seeing me for the first time. "Hey, why are you dressed like that? Are you going to a costume party or something?"

 

I froze, realizing what was about to happen.

 

"And that makeup - it makes you look like a much older…" Her eyes widened. "Holy hell. There's no mother and daughter here, is there? YOU'RE Rosie Adams, the woman who just bought this house."