by Ashe Barker, Lily Harlem, Katy Swann, Wendi Zwaduk, Lucy Felthouse, Dolly Watt
“Just milk, thanks,” said Emma, observing the earl’s elegant, neatly manicured hands as he poured tea into floral, gilt-rimmed teacups. “I take it there are several of these books.”
“A lifetime’s worth,” replied Leo. “He never tired of meting out punishment. The later ones are illustrated by photographs and are intensely erotic.”
“Those poor women,” breathed Emma, not quite meaning it.
“Oh, I get the impression many were complicit in the activity and would often goad Hawkins into reporting purposeful misbehavior. The earl had a charming relationship with a parlor maid by the name of Mercy Bamford who was more than happy to receive a spanking. But yes, times were different then.”
Leo passed Emma her teacup and saucer, and she set it down several inches away from the book. Leo, holding his teacup, came to stand by her. He said nothing for a while, making Emma uncomfortable. He sipped then set down his tea. He turned several pages until he reached another illustration.
“Ah, here’s Mercy,” said Leo, lifting tissue paper to reveal a drawing of a bare-buttocked woman in black stockings and pale corset, standing and casting a cheeky grin over her shoulder. Her flushed bottom was striped with dark, angry welts.
Emma leaned forward to read the text, quickly realizing once again that she’d almost mirrored the position adopted by the spanked kitchen maid. Beside her, the earl leaned forward too, forearms on the table, so close that Emma could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Would you like me to read to you?” he asked softly.
“Oh,” replied Emma, flustered. “I’m not sure that’s necessary.”
“I should probably confess,” said Leo, “that I share many of the earl’s predilections. I do wonder if it runs in the blood.”
Emma gulped, her heart thumping so hard she fancied the earl had to be able to hear it.
“Is it of interest to you?” Leo went on. “You were deeply absorbed in the text when I entered the room.”
This man was so bold! Did having a title and a country pile give a person the confidence to discuss kinky sex as if it were a topic as ordinary as the weather? Emma, trying to maintain her professionalism, stared unseeing at the antique journal but her arousal was undeniable. “It’s a fascinating insight into the upstairs-downstairs elements of a nineteenth-century—”
“And the expression on your face,” interrupted Leo, “suggested your interest was not that merely of an archivist. You looked, if you don’t mind me saying so, distinctly turned on.”
Emma blushed furiously, not knowing how to reply. In the silence, the fire crackled and spat, and Emma felt her face must be as hot as the flames.
“Were you?” urged Leo, his tone stern and demanding.
Emma swallowed. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Have you ever been spanked?”
Emma could hardly speak. Her throat was constricting, her breath quickening. Who was this man and how was he managing to draw these desires from her? Had they been there all along and he was merely teasing them out? Or was he creating them from nothing? Already she felt as if the Emma who stood in the earl’s library was different from the Emma who’d pressed the bell of Ashlaine Hall’s enormous oak door earlier that morning.
“No,” she eventually managed.
“Would you like me to spank you?”
Emma could feel the earl watching her, assessing her reaction, but she couldn’t turn to meet his gaze. Instead, she continued to stare blankly at the open book, words dancing before her eyes, hoping she didn’t appear too troubled. She could hardly believe this was happening to her. Her mind was in turmoil, torn between a hungry urge to surrender to the earl’s suggestion, and a far wiser urge to run as fast as she could, back to safe, sensible reality.
“I’m convinced you’ll enjoy it,” prompted Leo. “And I will, of course, stop as soon as you ask me to. We can use a safeword. Ordinarily, I’d encourage the submissive to choose her word, but since you’re new to this game, allow me. How about…’obstreperous’?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, about…this. Not about the word.”
“What are your reservations, Emma?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be very professional of me for starters.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” replied Leo. “And that’s a huge part of the appeal for me.” He reached to hook a strand of hair behind her ear, but Emma remained frozen, still incapable of looking at him.
“You are,” he continued, “a very naughty archivist. Aren’t you, Miss Willoughby? Left alone in my library and the first thing you do is start reading my vintage pornography, getting so absorbed in the stories that you don’t even notice when I enter the room. Aren’t even aware that I’m standing there, watching you getting very obviously turned on. And you look as if you’d be immune to that, dressed in your nice, neat suit, your hair pinned up.” The earl dropped his voice, lips edging closer to her ear. “It’s very, very naughty of you, Miss Willoughby.”
The knowing threat in his tone sent a flood of lust to Emma’s sex.
“In my library,” he murmured. “Tut, tut, tut. Without even asking my permission. I think I need to take you in hand, don’t you? Apply some discipline to show you right from wrong.”
Placing a hand on her back, he then drew a slow track along the length of her spine and down the curve of one buttock. A knot of excitement tightened in Emma’s stomach. Luxuriously, Leo swirled his fingertips over the fleshiest part of her backside, making goosebumps prickle under Emma’s clothing.
“Here,” he breathed. “You need to feel me here. Hard and firm. Turning your pretty little arse to fire. It’s for your own good, Emma. You need to learn how to behave in my library. In my presence. You need to acquire a little more respect for me. Don’t you agree?”
Emma nodded and tried to swallow the pressure in her throat. “What do I need to do?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Leo’s breath snagged as he inhaled, a barely audible sound. “Nothing,” he said, standing. “Stay as you are. Your position is almost perfect. Relax. Let me do everything. I’ll start by removing the tea things.”
Emma held still, tipped forward with her arms on the table, while the earl busied himself clearing the table. She felt as if she were in a dream, transported to a world that was half modern, half Victorian. And in that dream, waiting to receive a spanking was perfectly acceptable. It would only become weird and surreal when she opened her eyes. But even though Emma knew this moment was out of the ordinary, the pounding in her blood was wild enough to compel her to stay in place, eagerly anticipating the experience she craved. Waiting for Leo to set the scene, bent over the table as she was, sent shivers of dark, delicious humiliation coursing through her veins. Her muscles were tense, an ache creeping into her neck, but she was molten and hot between her thighs. Relaxing as instructed was impossible.
“Step back a fraction so you can grip the edge of the desk,” said Leo once the table was cleared of everything except the fifth earl’s journal. Emma shuffled backward, her head still low, and grasped the edge.
“Now,” continued Leo, “I could do this with you fully clothed. However, I find spanking on a bare behind is always more effective.”
Tremors rippled through Emma’s body as Leo raised the hem of her narrow skirt, easing it up her thighs. She gripped the desk edge as he trailed his thumb along the thin silkiness of her barely-there hold-ups until he reached their broad lace tops.
“Ah, stockings,” he murmured appreciatively, his caress drifting higher to sail across Emma’s bare skin, leaving her tingling where his touch landed. He continued pushing the skirt over her bottom to expose her diaphanous black knickers, high-waisted and low on frills because, when Emma had dressed that morning, she’d been concerned about preserving the lines of her suit rather than how she might appear to a member of the aristocracy when bent over for a spanking.
“When you leave here today,” said Leo, his voice low and threatening, “this bottom will be glowing wit
h heat under those pretty panties.” As he spoke he lay the flat of his hand to one buttock and rubbed broad circles over her cheek, his caress pushing into her flesh. “You’ll be red-raw, and every time you sit down, you’ll think of me.” He moved his hand to her other buttock to repeat the firm, rotating massage. “You’ll think of how I corrected you for your wanton, sluttish behavior.”
Emma whimpered, desperately aroused by his words, feeling meek and humiliated as if she really had done something wrong. She was suddenly so immersed in this world of kinky lust that she had to wonder if he’d cast a spell on her, or put an aphrodisiac in her tea. She felt reckless and abandoned, fearful of where this might lead because she’d been deserted by her usual level-headedness and rationality. All that mattered were the sensations clamoring for attention within her.
Leo reached forward to turn a chunk of pages of the antique journal, and peeled back a sheet of tissue paper.
“Just as my great-great-grandfather”—Leo went on—”corrected his uppity, sluttish servants.”
Emma gawped at the image before her, an ink drawing of a woman in black stockings, her skirts raised, being penetrated by a half-dressed gentleman, shirt flaps covering his rear. His hands clutched her hips and neither of their faces could be seen. Standing impassively in the background, straight-shouldered and high-chinned, his hands clasped in front of his crotch, was a smartly-dressed man, presumably the butler. Emma was about to protest that the image didn’t look much like correction when the earl cut into her anxious thoughts.
“Mercy Bamford once again,” he said. “Insatiable creature from all accounts. Well, from the earl’s handwritten account, to be accurate.” Leo began lowering Emma’s knickers down her legs. “I imagine you’re much the same, Miss Willoughby, aren’t you?”
Leo let Emma’s knickers drop to her ankles. Although the room was warm, a chill of exposure rushed over her bared bottom and breezed across the wetness seeping from her pussy. She felt an acute sense of discomfiture at her position, at the way she was allowing the earl to display her for his pleasure in this grand oak library just as dozens of low-status women had been displayed in centuries past. And that unease sent a rush of dark excitement shivering through her, drenching her sex. She felt the earl’s eyes roaming over her exhibited backside and her meek, obedient stance.
Part of her wanted to retaliate and reject his self-assured, easy dominance. She was a professional career women, here on business, and he was undermining her authority by reducing her to a passive plaything. And yet a greater part of her relished the idea of giving him all the power in this scene. To hand over the reins to him and let him make all the decisions. She’d arrived at the manor house expecting a day of being efficient and in control, of bringing an old library to order and acting like the consummate professional. But this man had pulled the rug from beneath her feet, for reasons she couldn’t understand. All she knew was that the urge to relinquish control was born of a longing so swift and strong, she felt as if she were in the grip of a fever.
“You have a delectable, creamy white arse, Miss Willoughby,” began Leo. “As pale as new milk. However, I’m afraid I must ruin it.” He rested a steady hand against the lower curve of one cheek, making Emma’s heart thump harder. “I must inflame it to a ferocious pink that will have you screaming for forgiveness.” He lifted his hand from her buttocks. “Because you must learn a sense of decorum if you’re to visit a noble house again. Mustn’t you?”
With that, Leo brought his hand crashing onto Emma’s right buttock, striking her with a solid, upward blow that stung and set her flesh quivering. Emma cried out, the weight of his slap seeming to compress and lift her cheek all at once, leaving a patch of heat simmering on her rear.
“Because you need to know who’s important,” continued Leo, bringing a second hard, noisy smack crashing into her other buttock.
Emma yelped, half grateful that the pain in her body was almost symmetrical but terrified of how much that was likely to escalate, the heat in both buttocks climbing rapidly. Already Emma could tell that the earl had a practiced hand and knew how to deliver a hit with maximum impact.
“Say ‘thank you, Sir’ for my kind tuition,” instructed Leo.
The words stuck in Emma’s throat. It was one thing to be humiliated. It was quite another to appear to be grateful for it. She remained stubbornly silent, refusing to give the earl everything he wanted on a plate.
“No?” said Leo. “Then perhaps this will encourage you.”
He slammed another hard wallop onto her right buttock, layering heat on top of heat. The force shoved Emma forward, and her grip tightened on the desk’s edge, knuckles turning pale.
Through gritted teeth, Leo said, “Say ‘thank you, Sir’.”
Emma didn’t have a chance to reply before a third blow cracked onto her other cheek.
“Say ‘thank you, Sir’,” repeated Leo calmly, his voice laced with threat. “Show me. Some fucking. Respect.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Emma’s voice was a breathy whisper.
“Good girl,” said Leo soothingly. “This is just a warm-up but I’m glad you’re grateful.” He swirled tender patterns over the area where the physical memory of his stroke seethed and pinched, his touch soothing the rising soreness. “My guess is, you’re not merely grateful, you’re gagging for it, aren’t you, Miss Willoughby? For more of this. One! Two!” Leo swiped Emma’s cheeks with a hard, smarting thwack.
The noise of contact reverberated in the library, a deep, crisp detonation, and Emma’s lingering wails wound themselves around the short, sharp slaps. Emma had a surreal notion that all the leather-bound books were somehow watching on in disapproval, reading her through their spines, rather than being stuck on shelves, waiting to be read.
“Three!” barked Leo. “Four!”
He rained a series of firm, heavy blows onto her rear. Emma wailed, stamping a foot on the moss-soft carpet as she rode the pain of Leo’s huge, hard hand. She clung to the desk edge, fighting the impulse to wrench herself from her position and scarper. The earl had a well-aimed, merciless stroke, and in comparison, Emma felt as if her buttocks were made of tender, fluffy cotton. Already, she imagined her skin was toughening up under Leo’s reproach, the heat of pain adding permanent layers of resilience to her body. Other women, such as Mercy Bamford and her ilk, could probably take a beating like this without batting an eyelid. But Emma was new to this game, her body untested, and it was all she could do to stop herself from screaming the manor house down.
“Do you want me to continue?” asked Leo. “Do you feel you deserve more punishment? More reminders that one ought to behave decently in libraries?”
Already Emma feared her cowardice and low pain threshold might prove a disappointment to Leo. He could probably have any woman he wanted and he’d discard her without a second thought if she weren’t up to the task of receiving a spanking. At that moment, more than anything, Emma wanted to be equal to the challenge, even as her sore, raw bottom blazed with a ferocity suggesting that her physical limit was imminent. And yet, even as she thought she might not be able to take much more, a longing to take exactly that consumed her. She loved this as much as she hated it, wanted to be free of the pain as much as she wanted more of it. And most of all, she wanted to show Leo she was strong and brave. Show him she was his to punish. His wanton slut.
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered. “Yes, I want it. Yes, I deserve it.”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Leo. “I think you’re ready to take a belting.”
Metal clinked behind Emma and she didn’t need to peep to know that the earl was unbuckling. Leather whistled through the hoops of his jeans, and Emma glanced over her shoulder to see Leo folding the belt in half, holding the leather in a fearsome-looking loop. Would this hurt more or less than his hand?
“Face forward,” instructed Leo.
Emma stared ahead at the flames dancing in the hearth
“Let’s get the deed done,” said Leo. “It’s
for your own good, you know.”
A stripe of heat lashed across Emma’s cheeks, quickly followed by another one catching her on her upper thighs. Emma yelped as the pain soared and she jerked from her position. Gently, the earl rested a hand on her shoulder, lowering her back into place.
“Be still,” he cautioned. “There’s a good girl.”
Seconds later, the sizzling heat was turning to a sweet pleasure radiating deep into Emma’s flesh, and she was ready for more. And she got it.
Over and over, Leo brought the leather strap cracking across Emma’s curves. She gasped and whimpered as the pain rose and fell, entwining with the pleasures it generated. Occasionally, Leo rested a hand in the small of Emma’s back to steady her, but for the most part, she was locked in place, even as her knees grew wobbly and she longed to sink to the ground.
The experience was reminiscent of eating sweet and salty popcorn or chocolate-coated pretzels, two seemingly incompatible tastes harmonizing perfectly and becoming inseparable. One moment was sweet, the other salty, but no, it was sweet too! Impossibly sweet and savory all at once. Impossibly agonizing and amazing all at once.
Leo paused, his breath rushing. “Lesson learned?” he asked.
Emma said nothing, not wanting this to stop. Leo cast the belt aside and it landed on the thick carpet with a dull clunk. He touched a cool hand to Emma’s thrashed rear and scoured light circles over the raw flesh.
“You’re a delightful shade of scarlet, Miss Willoughby,” he said. He slid his hand down her curves and his fingers alighted on her swollen, throbbing pussy. He parted her lips and dipped into her entrance. “And a delightful shade of wet.”
Emma moaned, desperate for more of his delicious intrusion, but all the earl did was tease the edge of her opening, stirring her hot, creamy juices as they poured from her sex lips.
