Millie and the Mill Owner: A Short Story

Here's a short story for you to enjoy while I get round to finishing some of my proper-length books.
It is available as a free PDF here so that you can download it onto your kindle, kobo, phone, tea-kettle or similar. Enjoy!

Millie and the Mill Owner by Etta Stark

It was just before half past five in the morning; Millie pulled her shawl tightly around he shoulders as she stood outside the gates of Northam Mill ready to begin her day’s work.

The other girls who worked at the mill chatted to one another as they waited. As usual, they did not include Millie in their chatter. Millie pretended not to mind. She knew that she did not fit in. She wasn’t one of them. She had the wrong accent. These girls had all grown up together whereas Millie had been raised in a different world, a privileged life with wealthy parents, a good education and all she could wish for. But everything had changed after her father’s death.

Poverty and shame meant that she had to find work quickly doing whatever job she could find. She had been relieved to be taken on by Northam Mills as a weaver. The days were long and the work was difficult and exhausting. Millie could bear the work itself but the attitudes of the other girls was difficult to cope with.

The gates opened and as Millie moved forward with the crowd, someone barged into her from the side causing her to stumble.

“Oh I am sorry, Lady Muck” her assailant said. “Did your diamond shoes trip you up?”

Of course, Millie wasn’t wearing diamond shoes nor anything like it. She wore heavy boots like the rest of the workers. But it didn’t matter; the girls thought her a posh snob and were determined to hate her.

Millie reached her machine and set about cleaning it ready for the day’s work. She noticed that the other girls’ chatter was more animated than usual this morning.

“Did anyone else hear that Lord Northam is coming to inspect the troops today?” a girl called Bet remarked.

“I heard that too. You know he’ll find fault with someone here. He always does.” This response came from Jane whose machine was next to Millie’s.

Bet gave a ribald laugh. “From what I’ve heard maybe I wouldn’t mind his Lordship finding fault with me.”

The girls all laughed much to Millie’s bafflement.  One girl, Molly, didn’t join in the merriment. “You wouldn’t laugh if it had happened to you, I can tell you” she said.

“Aw, Molly,” said Jane. “You still sore about it?” More laughter.

“I was bloody sore for days afterwards, I can tell you!” huffed Molly before returning to clean her machine.

“Why is Lord Northam visiting the mill floor?” asked Millie, her curiosity getting the better of her.

The laughter stopped immediately. Jane turned to Millie with a look of contempt. “Oh I dunno, y’Ladyship. Maybe he heard we had an actual fucking Duchess working on the looms.”

“I’m not a Duchess,” Millie retorted.

“Well, you’re too high and mighty for the likes of us, aren’t you?” Jane then lunged forward and grabbed Millie’s bucket and threw its contents at her machine. Cold, dirty water went everywhere.

Millie was completely dumbstruck for a moment. Only for a moment though. When her voice returned she was furious. “Why the hell did you do that, you stupid bitch?” Millie yelled.

At that very moment the foreman, Mr Weavind came round the corner into their view. He was accompanied by the mill owner, Lord Northam.

Lord Northam was not what Millie had expected at all. For some reason she had imagined the mill owner to be an old man. Yet Lord Northam was clearly no more than five and thirty. He was well-attired with dark hair and a rather forbidding expression. His gaze was immediately fixed on Millie and then turned to her machine which was dripping wet.  “What, may I ask, has happened to your loom?” he asked.

Millie, still furious, replied through gritted teeth “It was sabotaged by one of the other workers, Sir.”

Jane gasped. She clearly hadn’t expected Millie to grass her up. But Millie was too angry to abide by any sense of workers’ solidarity. She was going to lose her job, most likely. She was bloody well going to take Jane with her.

“I see. And did this person have any reason to carry out such an action?”

“No, sir” replied Millie.

“No reason except you’re a lazy stuck-up snob who thinks she’s better than everybody else” spat Jane.

Mr Weavind looked absolutely furious at the unprofessional behaviour his workers were displaying in front of the mill owner. “This is completely unacceptable,” he barked.

Lord Northam held up his hand. “I will deal with this,” he said, calmly. “Both of you will go to my office. Now. Weavind, escort the girls there immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Weavind gruffly.

Jane shot Millie a look of pure venom. There was no doubt that she held Millie entirely responsible for the trouble that she was in. However, Millie’s mood was already so low that Jane’s anger could not sink it any lower.

This was it, she thought. She was going to lose her position. Jobs were not easy to come by in this town. She might not have had any great love for working in the mill but any job was better than none at all.

When they reached the door to the mill office, Weavind told them to stand and wait in silence. He stood with them and made no effort to speak further.

Millie was already trembling in fear; she kept her eyes focused on the floor so that she did not risk having to look at Jane or the foreman.

Ten minutes later, Lord Northam appeared. “You may leave us now, Weavind. I will handle matters from here.”

Millie’s eyes were still firmly fixed on her shoes; she heard Weavind mumble his acquiescence and depart.

“Very well, girls” said Lord Northam. His authoritative tone made Millie look up to meet his eye. “I shall see you, Jane, in my office first. Follow me. Millie, you wait here.”

Millie managed a mumbled “yes, sir” as Lord Northam opened his office door and walked through it, followed by Jane.

She had no intention of eavesdropping but her position just outside the door meant that she had little else to occupy her attention. She heard muffled voices – mostly those of Lord Northam – and then a few minutes later a sound which made her jump with surprise.

It was a loud “thwack!”. Millie had never received any corporal punishment other than the odd pat on an errant backside by her father when she was a child. However, she was no fool. She knew that the sound she had just heard was the beginning of a beating. Some sort of implement was connecting with flesh. Bare flesh.

Moments later, the sound came again. Then again. And again. Over and over the same sound of something colliding with what Millie could only assume was Jane’s exposed bottom. After half a dozen strokes, the sounds of the beating were accompanied by new ones – the shrieks and wails of its unfortunate target. The beating continued. Jane’s evident distress at her punishment clearly wasn’t going to put a stop to it any time soon.

At long last the door opened and a very tearful Jane exited the room. Her eyes were wet and bloodshot and her hands were instinctively clasping her now-covered backside.

“Return to your work immediately, Jane, and do what I have told you” said Lord Northam. “And I trust we will see an improvement in your behaviour going forward.”

Jane nodded and hurried off back to the mill floor. Millie watched her go thinking that however much Jane had hated her before, this was only going to increase following the hard spanking that she had had to endure. And yet she felt a sense of excitement deep in the pit of her belly that she couldn’t readily comprehend.

“In my office now, Millie” said Lord Northam. On entering the room, Millie’s eye was immediately drawn to a thick leather strap lying on the desk. No doubt this was the implement which had been so loudly used on Jane. She could not stop looking at it.

Was she about to receive the same punishment, she thought. She wished that this was the case with a fervour that surprised her. She told herself that this was because being beaten, however harshly, was a hundred times better than finding herself without a job.

Lord Northam sat behind his desk and looked Millie up and down as she stood before it.

“Camilla Leamington, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Any relation to George Leamington?”

“He was my father, sir.”

“I thought as much. George Leamington was once a prosperous and respected man in this town. And yet his daughter is now reduced to working on the machines in my mill? Why is that?”

Millie had no idea why his Lordship was asking such questions of her but she replied honestly.

“There were debts that needed to be paid off, Sir, after his death.”

“Gambling debts?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see” said Lord Northam standing up and coming to the front of the desk. He picked up the leather strap. “Right let’s get on with it. Bend over the desk. Feet on the floor. Hands holding onto the far edge.”

Her heart hammering in her chest, Millie did as she was bid. When she was bent over in position, she felt Lord Northam lift her skirts and fling them over her back. He parted her drawers so that her bottom was fully exposed. She had scarcely time to consider this undignified position before she felt the first smack of leather against her skin.

The pain was incredible. She had never felt anything like it. Tears welled up in her eyes but Millie was determined not to move from her position. She wanted to take her punishment as well as she could. After all, her job depended upon it.

Moments later, the second strike cracked across her flesh. Lord Northam barely paused as he brought the strap down repeatedly on her bottom. As Millie tearfully endured the pain, she became aware of another, rather more baffling, reaction.

She was aware of a warmth suffusing her body. Not just on her bottom which was fast becoming fiery red from the harsh application of the strap. No, the warmth she was embarrassed to discover was somewhere else, somewhere more intimate.

She could feel her breath becoming faster as Lord Northam continued the spanking. She was almost panting. As the blows rained down hard and fast on her tender bottom, she did not move an inch. When his Lordship stopped, he gave a low whistle.

“You took that remarkably well. Have you been beaten like that before?”

“N-no, sir” stammered Millie. She could barely get the words out.

Lord Northam put his hand on Millie’s still-upturned bottom and began rubbing her cheeks. Millie let out an involuntary moan in response. Lord Northam chuckled. “I suppose you are just a natural then. I do believe that you enjoyed that almost as much as I did. You didn’t struggle or cry out at all. A rather unusual response, I must say.”

Millie felt she should rightfully feel embarrassed by his Lordship’s touch and by the words he was speaking to her. But she could not manage to feel shame. Instead she felt longing. She welcomed the feel of Lord Northam’s hand on her sore punished bottom and felt herself raising slightly to meet his touch.

“Oh you wicked girl,” said Lord Northam in a voice that sounded almost affectionate. “You are enjoying this far more than you should.”

Millie gasped as Lord Northam moved his hand so that it was no longer rubbing her buttocks but was instead fondling the soft folds between her thighs. Her most private area. The area that no man should touch until her wedding night.

She was powerless to stop it. This was not because she was cowed or intimidated by her Master. She may have been before the beating but she was not even thinking of such things now. The sensation of his fingers inside her felt so marvellous that she wished he would continue to touch her in this way forever.

“So very, very wet,” said Lord Northam approvingly. He withdrew his fingers and gave Millie a sharp slap on her bottom.

His voice became commanding. “Right, you naughty girl, stand up and adjust your clothing. I believe you and I need to have a talk.”

Millie righted herself from her procumbent position with some difficulty; her body simply did not want to move. Her skirts fell back into place and she smoothed them down while turning to face Lord Northam. Her senses were beginning to return to her and she became aware once again of her surroundings. What on earth had just happened?

“Well Millie, you have certainly made my decision a good deal easier.”

“Sir?”

“You do not belong in your current job. You should not be working on the factory floor.”

Sense and reason returned to Millie in an instant. She was going to lose her job after all. No wonder, she thought, after the behaviour she had displayed. Surely Lord Northam did not want a woman as wanton as her on his payroll.

However, Lord Northam continued. “Tell me, Millie, can you read and write?”

“Yes sir,” replied Millie, slightly baffled by the question.

“Did you go to school?”

“To Rodean, sir.”

Lord Northam smiled. It was a brief smile but it was dazzling. “Perfect. I have a proposition for you. My Clerk has just quit his position and I urgently require someone to fill the role. I see no reason why a woman could not do the job as well as a man. I would like to employ you as my Clerk on a month’s trial basis. The hours would be eight to six with a half day on Saturdays.”

Millie could scarcely believe it. The hours were so much better than the long shifts she currently spent on the looms. When Lord Northam named a wage far in excess of her present one, her spirits soared at the thought of her new job. A job which would take her away from the hatred and taunting of Jane and the other girls on the factory floor.

She managed to find her tongue. “Thank you, your Lordship. That would be most agreeable. I will endeavour to do whatever you require of me.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Lord Northam. “Of course, if you fail to please me, I shall beat you thoroughly. You have already met my junior strap but, believe me, I have a fine collection of straps, canes, whips and tawses that I will not hesitate to use on your bare backside. Is that acceptable to you?”

Millie felt her blood rush to her face. And to her nether regions. “Oh yes, Sir,” she said emphatically. She tried not to smile. She failed.

Lord Northam considered her thoughtfully. “In fact, it occurs to me that I shouldn’t wait for you to displease me in order to punish you. What if you never put a foot wrong? Then I should never have any reason to spank your bottom. I don’t believe that would please either one of us.”

He picked up the strap from the table and slapped it against the palm of his left hand in an almost absent-minded manner.

“I have decided that you are a girl who should be disciplined regularly regardless of your behaviour. We shall consider them Guidance Spankings.”

“Yes, sir. I think that would probably be wise,” said Millie mischievously. She was relieved that she would not have to be bad on purpose to be bent over and spanked by Lord Northam.

“Good. You will start your new role tomorrow morning. Arrive here half an hour early at half past seven. Before you start your clerical duties, I plan to plan to put you over my lap and administer a sound hand spanking to your bare bottom. Then you will bend over the desk and receive a most thorough caning.”

“I will be here at half past seven promptly,” said Millie, excitement rising in her belly.

“I shall look forward to it. As, I am sure, will you.” Lord Northam flashed Millie another of his brilliant smiles. “Don’t bother returning to work today. Take the rest of the day off. I will see you tomorrow morning and not a minute later than agreed.”

“What about my machine?” asked Millie thinking of the thrown bucket and its dripping contents.

“Jane will be instructed to thoroughly clean and dry your old loom,” replied Lord Northam.

Millie bid good day to her Lord and Master with profuse thanks. She exited the huge external gates of Northam Mills as though floating on a cloud. What an extraordinary day this had turned out to be. She had a new job which was eminently more suited to her talents than her old one. And, she thought, there was the other thing… The spanking. She had no idea what had happened there but she knew she felt utterly calm and happy about it. And that she was excited at the thought of experiencing it again.

She smiled a beatific smile and walked home. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, her bottom felt hot and sore and bruised and Millie felt truly happy. She was eager for the new adventures that life had in store for her.

Saturday Spankings - "Hand me the cane"

Saturday Spankings. Ensuring weekend spankings since ... ooh ... ages ago.

Happy spankurday fellow spank fans! Today's snippet comes from a short story that I wrote last year as part of the End of Summer Spanks Blog Hop.

It's a school-based story. As was requested by the Blog Hop organisers. I appreciate it might be a bit cheeky recycling it here but I just created a Free Short Stories page (Look! the link is right up there! Directly below the word "thinking" on my screen) so please, just humour me.

Philippa has just started a new job as a History teacher at the exclusive St Neots school. Obviously, being the twenty-first century, corporal punishment is no longer administered to the school's pupils. Philippa, however, is more than usually interested in the canes that were used on recalcitrant backsides in times gone by. Luckily, her boss seems so share her fascination.

Old School Discipline

“Do you know why I came down to the library earlier?”

“No,” said Philippa.

“After expressly telling you to shut the doors properly earlier, you managed to leave not just one but both of them ajar after you left your room. I found it impossible to work with the doors banging and came down to tell you of it.”

Embarrassment flooded her face. What an idiot she was. She had completely forgotten what he had told her about the doors. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled.

“Well, what with that and touching historic artefacts without permission, I believe you have a punishment coming. Do you agree?”

Philippa stared at the tall, gorgeous, domineering man in front of her and, terrified as she was, felt like all her Christmases had come at once.

“Yes,” she said hoarsely.

“Hand me the cane, Philippa.” 

You can read the full story here.

And remember to check out the rest of this week's awesome Saturday Spankers:

The Hot-Off!

There's so much stuff going on here on the internet that, quite frankly, it's difficult sometimes to stay on top of it all. Just checking out all the adorably hilarious cat photos can feel like a full time job sometimes.

And there's a whole bunch of other kinds of cat photos on the internet as well, it seems.

So I'll forgive you if you've somehow missed The Hot Off, the "single-elimination erotica tournament" that is happening on the internet right now.

Organised by Emily Tilton and Selena Kitt, the competition has been pitting kinky smut writers against other kinky smut writers as we do battle with our stories. Each story has to be a maximum of five hundred words and has to include a key word set by the organisers. In the first round it was 'door', in the second round it was 'hotel'. Writing to a five hundred word limit is not easy by the way. Especially if you like to twat on as much as I do.

I have somehow managed to win both my rounds so far and am now - very excitingly - going to be competing in the semi-finals. I don't think I've ever got through to the semi-finals of anything before in my life to be honest. I can't remember what happens if you actually win the thing. I am assuming there is a massive cash prize and the guarantee of every kinky sexual desire catered for by the celebrity of your choice. Something like that, anyway.

The other writers in the semi-final are Tara Crescent, Will La Forge and Justine Hollander. So given that kind of competition, I don't think I can be counting on rolling around naked on piles of banknotes with Bill Bailey any time soon.

If you want to read my entries so far, I have included them below for you. Because I'm lovely. But go and check out the proper Hot Off website afterwards for an imaginative collection of economically written erotica by some wonderfully filthy writers.

Round 1 Story - "Door"

Mid-morning light streamed into the unfamiliar bedroom. I’d met the guy, Sean, sleeping beside me less than twelve hours before, setting a record for the shortest time between first introduction and furiously ripping one another’s clothes off before partaking in mind blowing sex. Our first conversation had been basically “You know Gary too? Cool. What’s your name? Do you live nearby? Can we go back there? Like right now?” 

He’d fucked me hard and fast and beautifully. I was sore all over and hoarse from coming. Afterwards we talked. Then fucked. Then talked. Then fucked. Apparently, sleep had featured at some point.

Sean opened one eye “Morning gorgeous,” he said pulling me into a hug. It was a very satisfactory cuddle ending with me breathlessly coming as Sean’s dexterous fingers played my cunt like a well tuned instrument. 

Afterwards, I lay in bed and looked around his bedroom. It was much more stylish, light and understatedly artistic than I would have expected. The one thing that stood out was the door on the far wall. Unlike the rest of the modern decor, it was dark, old and slightly menacing. It looked like it had been transplanted there from a medieval castle. 

“What’s on the other side of the door?” I asked.

“That’s my sex dungeon,” Sean said nonchalantly.

“What?” I asked, biting back a giggle. I had no idea if he was being serious or not.

He began kissing my naked breasts. “See the thing about me that you need to know,” he said in between kisses, “is that I really am a massively kinky bastard. Not that I didn’t love last night – I did, every minute of it – but just know I would love to bend you over a bench, tie you up and spank you until you scream. “

I swallowed. I felt like he had been inside my head looking at my secret sexual fantasies. All those BDSM books I read, full of situations that I fantasised over. How did he know?

“That sounds... hot,” I managed.

He rolled me over so that I was lying on my front and ran his fingers lightly over my backside. “I would love to take a cane to this wonderful arse of yours,” he said. “A dozen bright right stripes across here would suit it beautifully.”

“Are you going to show me your dungeon?” I asked.

Sean laughed. “Sorry, sexy. I was teasing you about that. I don’t really have a sex dungeon. That door just leads to a closet. I have no idea why the former owners decided to install a closet door like that.”

My heart sunk. Was it all a tease?

“I do have canes though.” he whispered in my ear. “If you still fancy it without the dungeon?”

“Fuck yes,” I said.

“Excellent.” He sat up on the bed. “Come on you. Over my lap. I think a hand spanking will start us off nicely. This is going to be a very interesting morning.”

Round 2 Story - "Hotel"

There is nowhere lonelier than the bland characterless room of a budget hotel at 11pm. I loved my job but sometimes the constant travelling got me down. Having to be in Truro one day, Cambridge the next. It had its perks of course but sometimes I just felt very alone.

I switched off the television and was surprised by a knock on the door. Who the hell was that? It’s not as though you get room service at the Premier Inn.

“Hey princess, you gonna let me in?” called a familiar voice and my face immediately broke into a grin.

“Nick!” I said opening the door. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Missed you,” he explained shucking off his coat and kissing me hard. “Wanted to see you.”

“Wait, you’ve driven five hours just to see me?”

“Yup.” He pulled me towards him and started unbuttoning my blouse. “That OK?”

“Of course. Don’t you have work in the morning though?”

“Afraid so. I’m going to have leave in... ” He glanced at the clock. “about three hours time.”

“You’re driving through the night just to spend three hours with me?”

“Hell yeah.” Nick had completely removed my blouse and unsnapped my bra. He ran his hand over my breasts. “We’d better make sure those three hours are totally worth it.”

I moaned as he gave my nipple a sharp tweak.

“Now let’s get the rest of those clothes off you so I can give you the spanking that you almost certainly deserve,” he said. With Nick’s help, I was very quickly naked. “Up on to the bed, on all fours,” he commanded. 

The thorough spanking he gave me left me sore and breathless and unbelievably turned on. Still on all fours on the bed, I turned my head to see Nick quickly undressing. His cock was rigid and clearly ready for the damn good fucking he was about to give me.

The sex was as fantastic as I knew it would be. Over the next few hours he took me repeatedly and enthusiastically. In between the sex and blow jobs and spankings, we cuddled up together and chatted. It was good to see him. 

All too soon our time was up. He gave my arse a final resounding slap. “Well, princess, that was delightful. But I’m gonna need to head back to Truro now. Got a five hour drive ahead of me.”

I lay happily on the bed, watching Nick dress, not envying him his long drive home on no sleep. 

It was hard to believe we’d only met for the first time yesterday. Truro hotels can be as lonely as Cambridge ones but it’s a hell of a lot more fun when you meet a very sexy businessman in the hotel bar and end up having mind-blowing spanky sex in your room. I hadn’t been expecting a follow-up quite so soon.

“You know what?” I said as Nick kissed me goodbye. “That was a very satisfactory second date.”

My semi-final entry will be posted on the site soon! The required word for that one was "fork" which was somewhat more challenging that the previous two. Fork! It doesn't immediately inspire thoughts of a sexy, erotic nature, does it? Or maybe it does for you. I have no idea what you're into.

Using a knife and fork to eat an apple, though? That's a bit weird.

"The Final Straw" A Short Story

In a few week's time , I shall be attending Smut Manchester which is described on their website as "an Erotica Authors & Readers Smutty Social Get-Together" It's terribly exciting. Every word in that description describes me to a tee. I'm smutty! I'm social! I'm an erotic writer AND an erotic reader. Clearly, it's time for me to go forth and meet my people.

My people are kinky people, obvs

Part of the getting-together socialness of the event, is a 'Flash Challenge' which is a writing competition (and not a competitive flashing event as you might have supposed).

Entrants are required to write a 1000 word story using the photograph below of the Manchester Wheel as inspiration. The top three entries will be read out by the authors at the event which is fairly terrifying prospect.

My entry which is titled "The Final Straw" is below. 

Let me know what you think in the comments. And give me a shout if you're planning to come to Smut Manchester on the 15th. It is of course where the very best smutty, social, erotic, got-together people will be.

The Final Straw

She squinted  slightly and pulled a disappointed face. “It’s not very big is it?”

“What?”

“The wheel. It’s much smaller than the London Eye. Seems a bit daft to come up here and then go on a sub-standard wheel.”

Joel let out a long exasperated breath. “You don’t want to go on it then?”

Katy shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”

“Whatever. I’m not going on it with you if you’re going to spend the whole time comparing it unfavourably with your London one.”

“Our London one. You live in London too.”

“Yeah but Manchester’s where I grew up. That was the point of us doing this trip together. But all you’ve done is put the place down. Manchester bars aren’t as good as London bars. The Manchester Museum isn’t as good as the British Museum.  I’ve had enough of it. I’m going back to the hotel.”

Joel strode off, not too bothered if Katy followed him or not.  She caught up with him and walked with him back to the hotel. When they got back to their room, Joel  grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge and stared moodily out the window at Piccadilly Gardens and the wheel.

“What do you want to do?” asked Katy.

Joel shrugged. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to bend Katy over his knee and spank her ungrateful little arse. She’d done nothing but snip and complain since they’d arrived in Manchester.

He had never spanked Katy. Never spanked anyone, in fact, but it was something that he thought about a lot. In great Technicolor detail.

He looked over at his girlfriend. She was beautiful, absolutely stunning. Shame about the bad-tempered look she was wearing. Yet she’d submissively followed him back here without a word. She now seemed to be awaiting his instructions. His cock stirred at the thought of it. Why, he wondered, didn’t he just spank her? Maybe that was what she’d been angling for with her bratty behaviour. It was certainly what she deserved.

He set down his beer and sat on the edge of the bed. “Come here,” he commanded.

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to give you a damn good spanking.”

“You’re going to spank me because I wouldn’t go on the wheel?” Katy asked incredulously.

“No, I am going to spank you because you've behaved like a spoilt brat since we got here. The wheel was just the final straw. Now, get over my knee. This will do us both good.”

A tiny, significant second ticked by. Everything hinged on her reaction. She could tell him go to hell. Or storm out. She could, quite feasibly laugh in his face,

But she didn’t do those things. Wonderfully, amazingly, she walked over to where Joel was sitting, her eyes focused on the floor, and laid herself awkwardly over his lap.

He pushed her skirt up to her waist and yanked her knickers to her knees.

“Are you going to use your belt on me, Joel?” Katy asked quietly.

Joel’s cock stiffened at her words. She was so up for this. “We’ll see,” he said, his voice rough with desire.

He spanked her hard and fast covering every inch of her from her waist to the top of her thighs. Her shapely arse changed colour from cream to the hottest hot pink.

Katy let out gasps and squeaks of protest every time Joel’s hand made contact with her flesh. Even though she was wriggling deliciously over his lap, Joel sensed that she wasn't moving as much as she wanted to. She was trying her hardest to be compliant. To submit.

He stopped spanking and admired the warm fiery glow of Katy’s bottom. He wasn’t through with her yet.  Loath as he was to move her from her delightful position, he knew he wasn’t going to get enough of a swing with his belt with her across his knees.

“Up you get,” he said brusquely and Katy jumped to her feet. “Over the bed, face down. You’re going to get whipped with my belt.”

Katy hesitated. “Didn’t I behave well enough during the spanking?”

“You behaved beautifully.” Joel reassured her. “That’s why you’re only going to get three swats with the belt. If you hadn't, it would have been much more. Although I'm going to add more strokes if you don’t lie down on the bed right this instant.”

Katy complied immediately.

He brought the belt down across her buttocks three times in swift succession. Then threw his belt to the floor and admired the three bright red lines running horizontally across Katy’s bottom. He didn’t think he'd ever seen anything more beautiful.

He climbed onto the bed and slipped his fingers between her legs feeling the inviting wetness of her delicious pussy.

“You enjoyed that didn’t you?” he whispered.

Katy didn’t look up. She nodded her head which was still buried in the duvet.

“Oh sweetheart, we are going to have so much fun with it,” he said softly, unbuttoning his jeans and releasing his stiff engorged cock. He entered her swiftly from behind, pounding into her to the sounds of her pleasure. She was already so close to orgasm he realised, He wondered if he could make her come just from spanking her alone? He'd like to try.

They lay together afterwards -  a sweaty, sticky, happy mess. “You were right,” she said. “That did do me good. Thank you.”

“You’re entirely welcome. We’re going to be doing it a lot more.” He smacked her reddened backside for emphasis.

“Shall we go on the Manchester Eye, now?” asked Katy, her eyes shining.

“I didn’t think you wanted to?”

“I’m growing fonder of the idea.”  There was a wicked glint in her eye. “You know, if I say anything unkind about it, you can always take me to task afterwards.”

Joel grinned. He rather hoped she would find something unkind to say about it. “Come on then sweetheart. We have some sightseeing to do.”

Summer Spanks - Old School Discipline

End of Summer Spannks

Note: This competition is now closed.

Summer's over. It's official, It must be because this is the End of Summer Spanks and if seasons aren't officially observed through spanky bloghops, they jolly well should be.

I am insanely excited to be involved in this bloghop. Partly because it gives me the chance to share my 'Back to School' spanking story with my lovely readers. But mostly because I get to reveal the most awesome prize that's ever been offered anywhere by anyone to anyone.

Guaranteed.

Prepare yourselves. Perhaps find a comfortable seat and some smelling salts. Because, today, you have the opportunity to become the owner of your very own Etta Stark Mug!

Oh yes. This little beauty could be yours to use however you see fit. You can use it for your favourite morning beverage such as tea, coffee or vodka martini. Or to store pencils. Or toothbrushes. Or maybe give it to the gentleman in your life for use as a penis beaker.

Just add penis

Whatever you choose to do with it, I can assure you that your life will be immeasurably improved by having an Etta Stark mug in it. "How can I win this wondrous object?" I hear you ask in that melodic - yet slightly demanding - voice of yours. Well, I'll tell you.

To win the prize, simply enter your email address where it says 'Sign Up for Occasional Awesome Emails' at the top right of this page and click 'submit'.

Then I can drop you  the occasional email when something really exciting happens such as releasing a new book or I discover the true meaning of life or... no, that's probably it. I won;t email you about anything else. I don't want to take advantage of your good natures.

I'll be in touch after the Summer Spanks weekend and let you know if you are the lucky winner.

And if you aren't lucky enough to win The Most Awesome Mug In The Whole World TM (and even if you are, come to think of it), there are a whole host of Wonderful and Amazing Summer Spanks prizes being given away by Spanking Romance including Amazon gift certificates, an e-reader and a handmade paddle. To be in with a chance of winning one of these great prizes, please leave a comment on this post. 

Remember to check out the linky list at the bottom of this post and visit all the other lovely bloggers who are participating in the bloghop.

Below is my Summer Spanks story. You can also download it is as PDF if you want to pop it on your kindle and read it later at your leisure.

Old School Discipline

Philippa Montgomery stood at the impressive oak door at the entrance to the Old Building at St Neots Academy and banged the brass knocker. She was trying to suppress any first day nerves but it wasn’t easy. This was it. The dream job. The one she had wanted since she’d qualified as a teacher.

Above the entrance was the school motto: “Poenam amplio moribus.” Punishment improves character. It made Philippa smile. St Neots had a long, proud history of administering corporal punishment and the motto must have been incredibly apt when the school was founded five hundred years ago but now that corporal punishment in school had been outlawed for several decades it seemed a little outdated. She couldn’t imagine that St Neots would change it though. Tradition is important.

The door was opened by Peter Waldegrave, Head of History and Philippa’s new boss. She hadn’t seen him since her job interview and was she hoped that she might find him slightly less intimidating than she did then.

It was hard not to be intimidated by the man. She found herself going dry at the mouth as she looked up at him. He was at least 6’4” with black hair, ice-blue eyes and a slightly forbidding expression his chiselled face that made Philippa want to either run away or reach up and stroke his cheekbones. Fortunately, she did neither.

“Philippa, good to see you. The Porter let me know you were on your way over. Did you have a good journey?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr Waldegrave.”

A shadow of a smile passed over his face. “Please. Call me Peter. I’ll take your bag for you.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question and Philippa automatically allowed Peter to take her suitcase from her.

He strode across the impressive entrance hall and headed to the huge open staircase. She trotted after him. “Thank you so much for agreeing to let me move in so far ahead of the start of term,” she said. “I only got back from Dubai two days ago. It’s so much easier being able to come straight here than having to find somewhere to live for the next five weeks before the start of term.”

“It’s no problem at all. I am here all summer anyway. I’m writing the History of St Neots Academy as you know so it makes sense to be in situ while I write it.”

“It sounds a fascinating project. I’ll try not to disturb your work.”

He looked back over his shoulder; his eyes flickered over her briefly. “I am sure you won’t” he said. “There’s some staff in residence over in the New Building all summer but over here, it will be just us two for the next three weeks.”

Referring to the main school building as ‘The New Building’ was a tradition which had been in place for the last two hundred years. It was constructed in the early nineteenth century and could only be considered new in comparison to the rest of the school buildings.

At the first floor landing, Peter pushed open a door which led to a corridor. “Make sure you pull the door shut behind you,” he said. “Otherwise it will bang.” Philippa pulled the door and followed Peter down the corridor. He opened another door which led to dormitories and Philippa had only followed a few steps before he stopped and turned to face her. “The door, Philippa.” he said simply.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” said Philippa rushing back to close the door properly.

“This will be your room,” he said when they reached a small self contained set of rooms near to one of the girls dormitories.  “I presume you are well acquainted with the layout of the school and its grounds.”

“Well, yes.  I used to go here, you know.”

“I do know. You were here for the very first year female students were accepted into the sixth form. You are an important part of the school’s history.”

“It was a privilege to come here. The reception we got wasn’t entirely positive at the time, of course. There were plenty of people who thought that St Neots should remain boys only. And now the school is completely co-educational. I liked to think we female sixth-formers paved the way for that.”

“Indeed. You and your fellow students were groundbreakers. I was taught here too, as a boy. Clearly there’s something about St Neots that draws its former pupils back. Feel free to wander around wherever you like and get your bearings.  I must warn you the kitchens are unstaffed and pretty empty at this time of year. However, I have what passes for a kitchenette in my rooms. You would be welcome to join me for dinner this evening.”

“Oh... um... yes, that would be delightful. Thank you.” She felt herself become flustered again by her gorgeous intimidating boss. He wasn’t asking you out on a date, you know, she scolded herself.

“I will see you at seven then. St Dunstan’s wing. I need to get back to work.”

With that he removed himself from her room and Philippa was left to her own devices. It was truly marvellous to be back at the old place. She loved St Neots with its imposing buildings and centuries of tradition. Getting a job here as a history teacher was a dream come true.

Wanting to reacquaint herself with the old place, she headed to the Old Building library. It wasn’t the biggest library at the school but it was certainly the most interesting for a historian. It was in the oldest part of the building, its shelves of antiquarian books reached up to the ceiling and on its far wall were portraits of many of the school’s illustrious Head Masters. Each one looking stern and intimidating in his mortar board and gown,

Glass cases inside the library contained  numerous artefacts relating the school’s history. Philippa had spent plenty of time here as a student and was immediately drawn to her favourite case.

The tall glass case contained a leather bound ledger, opened to a date in 1780 and headed ‘Punishment Book’. There was also a birch and several canes. Philippa recognised the objects like old friends. She dreaded to think how many hours she had probably spent staring at this display as a student. Corporal punishment had been abolished before Philippa had attended the school but the subject had fascinated her for as long as she could remember.

 She noticed to her surprise that the lock which normally held it closed was open. She tentatively pushed it and the glass panel swung open. She took a deep breath and almost reverently picked up one of the rattan canes. She felt a shiver go through her as she held the historic artefact.

The sound of a throat being cleared behind her startled her from her reverie. She jumped and quickly replaced the cane in the cabinet before turning to face Peter shamefacedly.

“It is not permissible to remove objects from the display cases,” Peter said sternly.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I suspect that your professional inquisitiveness got the better of you,” said Peter, the corner of his mouth turning up into what was almost a smile.

He strode forward and stood beside her at the display case. “So what do you know of that object?” he asked.

Feeling like she was being quizzed on her specialist subject, Philippa replied, “That particular cane belonged to Sebastian Clutton who was Head Master here in the early nineteenth century. A man with a remarkable enthusiasm for bestowing corporal punishment, even by the high standards set in this place. The punishment book there was also his.”

Peter nodded. “Very good. As you know, he meticulously recorded the details of each and every one of the hundreds of beatings he meted out to his pupils. I have had the privilege of studying his diaries for my book, you know. He kept meticulous notes there as well. And it turns out that he didn’t just punish students. He was an enthusiastic deliverer of physical punishments to all the female staff as well. Disciplining schoolboys was a duty. Disciplining maidservants was clearly something of a hobby.”

Philippa’s eyes widened. “He wrote about it?” she asked.

“At great length. There was one maid in particular, Molly Beaton, whose punishments get the most florid descriptions.  He spanked her on her very first day for bringing his shaving water up late and continued to spank her on a regular basis for the rest of his time as Head Master. Given that she was in her sixties and Clutton in his eighties by the time he took retirement, I don’t think she objected too strongly to his methods of discipline.”

Peter’s  ice-blue eyes were watching her intently. Did he have any idea, she wondered, how very turned on he was making her? The first time he’d said the word ‘spank’ she’d almost had to stifle a moan.

“Come with me, Philippa,” he said, briskly. “I want to show you something.”

He took her to through to the history classrooms. Philippa looked around her hardly daring to believe that she would soon be teaching in these very classrooms.

“There’s a store cupboard here that you might find elucidating. Given your apparent area of interest.”

He unlocked the door to a large cupboard and turned on the light. There was an abundance of items inside from school trophies to framed maps and old-fashioned school desks with ink holders. 

“What with my interest in the school’s history, I have a tendency to hoard. I thought those might of interest to you.” He nodded towards the wall and Philippa followed his gaze.

“Oh,” she said quietly.

Hanging on the wall, each from its own individual peg were four school canes.

“Not as old as the ones in the library, admittedly. But you are allowed to pick these ones up.”

Philippa couldn’t resist she reached up and unhooked the nearest cane from its peg. Examining the smooth rattan cane, she wondered about its history. How many recalcitrant backsides had been caned by this object?

“How old are these ones?” she asked.

“Hard to tell. It’s not like there were distinctive fashions in canes over the years. Relatively recent I’d say. 1960s or 1970s most likely. Caning was still regularly carried out then.”

“Was there caning when you were a pupil here?”

Peter smiled. It was probably the first full smile she’d seen on him. He should do it more often she thought. He was good-looking beforehand. When he smiled, he was breathtaking.

“Ah well, I am an important part of St Neots history too in that regard. I have the dubious honour of being the last boy ever caned at this school.”

Philippa laughed. “Is that something to be proud of or ashamed of, I wonder?”

“A little of both I think.”

“What did you do?”

“I smuggled a young lady from the nearby girls’ school into my study in the middle of the night.”

“What for?”

He let out a short bark of laughter. “I was seventeen years old. If you can’t imagine what the young lady and I intended to get up to then you may need to work on your deductive reasoning.”

“Oh.” Philippa blushed and then blushed still further as she tried to formulate her next question. “And the girl, did she get caned too?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “No. It wouldn’t have been likely anyway. But after we were caught, we decided to represent her as the poor innocent misguided soul who was led astray by my wicked ways. It seemed the best way of avoiding us both getting in trouble over it.”

“What a gentleman you were.”

Another laugh. “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.”

“Did it hurt? The caning, I mean?”

“Of course. That was the point. But it was preferable to expulsion.”

“Do you think corporal punishment should be reinstated?” she asked.

Peter shook his head. “God no, I think we’re better off without it, don’t you? Although,” he continued thoughtfully. “I think there is one exception I would like to make to that.”

He was looking at her in such a way that it turned her insides to mush.

“What’s that?” she said quietly.

“I think I could support Sebastian Clutton’s policy of administering corporal punishment to the female staff. What do you think? Do you think the occasional sound spanking would help you do your job better?”

“I... I...” Philippa spluttered. His words had lit a fire directly within in her. She was so turned on by his last question that she could barely formulate a sentence. “I’m not a maidservant!” she spluttered out and then cursed herself. Might he take that as a ‘no’?

“No, obviously, you’re not a maidservant. You’re a history teacher. There weren’t any female teachers in Clutton’s day; if there had been, perhaps he would have taken great delight in punishing them too. As your line manager at St Neots, it falls into my remit to deal with you over any disciplinary matters. Do you know why I came down to the library earlier?”

“No,” said Philippa.

“After expressly telling you to shut the doors properly earlier, you managed to leave not just one but both of them ajar after you left your room. I found it impossible to work with the doors banging and came down to tell you of it.”

Embarrassment flooded her face. What an idiot she was. She had completely forgotten what he had told her about the doors. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled.

“Well what with that and touching historic artefacts without permission, I believe you have a punishment coming. Do you agree?”

Philippa stared at the tall, gorgeous, domineering man in front of her and, terrified as she was, felt like all her Christmases had come at once.

“Yes,” she said hoarsely.

“Hand me the cane, Philippa.” he said.

She did as instructed. He held the cane in his right hand and swished it through the air. He then took hold of Philippa’s arm and led her gently to one of the desks in the classroom.

“Are you ready for your caning?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Bend over the desk.”

 Philippa complied. She was wearing a formal black skirt with a white shirt and high heels. This was her first day in her new job after all. She had wanted to look smart.

Peter took her skirt and lifted it up above her hips and then pushed her knickers to the side slipping his finger inside of her.

Philippa was surprised by his action but didn’t object. It felt good to have him touch her there, even though she was so wet it was almost embarrassing. She was practically dripping onto her shoes.

Peter chucked. “Good girl. I see you’re very ready indeed.” He withdrew his finger and walked over to a neighbouring desk from where he pulled out a chair. Seating himself he patted his lap. “Over my lap, Philippa. I think a warm-up spanking would be in order first.”

“A warm-up spanking?” she asked cheekily. “Is that historically accurate?”

“No. Think of it as a concession to the caring, compassionate twenty-first century. I’m all heart like that. Now get over my lap.”

She placed herself carefully across his thighs and then shrieked as he pulled her forwards, tipping her so that her hands were on the floor and her bottom was raised high in the air. He pushed her skirt out of the way and yanked her knickers down to her knees.

Then he spanked her bottom. Hard. She tried not to wriggle as the firm had swats rained down on her bottom, but it was difficult. She resisted the urge to shield her bottom with her hands. This had been her number one sexual fantasy for the last goodness knows how many years. She couldn’t believe it was finally happening. She also couldn’t believe how much it hurt.

After Peter had successfully turned her bottom into a furnace he stood her up in front of him. “Right that’s the warm up done. Time for your caning.”

Philippa panicked slightly at that. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. But she didn’t want him to stop. Peter led her to the desk and bent her over it. Her skirt was still round her waist and her backside was once again exposed to his view.

“Just four strokes, I think, as you are new to this,” he said.

Philippa wondered briefly how new he was and then the first cut of the cane vanquished any thoughts from her mind.

She yelled out at the sudden rush of pain in her backside.  She heard the second stroke of the cane whistling through the air as it came down. Once more her backside exploded in pain. The third stoke hit her lower down on her backside, its sting making tears spring to Philippa’s eyes despite her best efforts to stop them.

“Last one,” said Peter. “You’re doing well.”

“The last stroke of the cane came down on the very lowest part of her buttocks where her cheeks met her thighs. Philippa screamed out at the pain and gripped the desk tightly. Even once he had stopped, the pain in her backside was overwhelming. She was sore beyond all her expectations and, god, she was more turned on than she had ever been in her life. Peter pulled up her panties with a jerk and the touch of the cotton against her pussy was almost more that Philippa could bear. She felt like she was seconds away from reaching orgasm.

“You took your punishment admirably,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you ... sir.” she said, still bent over the desk.

Peter laughed. “ I like you calling me ‘sir’” he said. “Up you get now.”

She did. Her face was scarlet, her hair was all over the place and her cheeks were streaked with tears. And yet Philippa had never felt more sexy or more wanton than she did right now.

If Peter felt the same way, however,  he wasn’t giving anything away.

“Right,” he said briskly. “I need to get back to work. Are you still coming to my rooms for dinner at seven?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.” He began to walk off.

“Aren’t you going to put that back in the store cupboard?” asked Philippa looking at the cane that Peter was still holding.

He laughed. “Oh no. This is coming up to my rooms with me. I have a feeling that I am going to find plenty more opportunities to use it.”