Time For An Update, Really Really Time

It’s that time again. Okay, okay, maybe it’s a little past that time, but things have been going completely off schedule and against plans of late. Don’t worry it’s not an excuse. Alright, so maybe it is, but that’s entirely beside the point.

The point is, do any of you know where the summer went? I recall May, even the beginning of June and after that it’s all one giant blur. That’s short for saying a lot of stuff happened and I’m not going to whine about it on hear for everyone to ridicule and pick apart. I know, none of you would ever do something like that.

Obviously, I’ve fallen far behind in my projects and things have gotten so bad, I can’t even manage to get weekly updates here. Life’s a mess and I’m not a maid, French or otherwise, although that might be fun some time.... Where was I? Completely lost my train of thought. Oh, right!

I’m back in school. Not high school, for heaven’s sake, I left that life a long time ago. Well maybe not a long long time ago, but long enough. I mean all last year I was heading toward what I thought was the end of my college days and then somebody had to go and have a bright idea about graduate school. It sounded so nice, serene even, and then I went to my classes and discovered there was homework and group projects and reading and well school work. Can you believe it? I mean really, why call it grad school when it’s just plain and simple school?

Let’s just say I’ve got my hands full.

Anyway, the point, as I was getting to before I so rudely interrupted myself— Does that mean I should get a spanking?

So, the point is, I’m not going to be updating quite as often as I was. That is not to say, Imagine the Stories, will be sitting dormant and unused. I am working on a few things to get it back onto a track of weekly postings, story postings, but with my rather hectic schedule it will take a little, maybe a lot, of time.

In the meantime, I will post stories whenever I can manage to get one together that actually reads like something someone might be interested in reading. Yes, that’s right, in addition to being completely swamped with responsibilities unattached to my blog I’ve encountered a period in my writing where ideas are everywhere and good ones are nowhere to be found. Well, almost nowhere, there are a few hiding behind my ears, inside my nose, maybe between my teeth and almost certainly in the crevice just beneath my butt cheeks. Okay, maybe not, but you have to admit it sounds interesting if not entirely plausible.

The moral of this meandering, totally off blog post is this: I’ll post stories when they are good and ready and not a minute sooner.

Got it? Good.

Seriously speaking, I’m working hard to get my writing back on track and I will share many more stories with all of you wonderful readers, but it will take some time. So, please hang in there, check back often, and I promise I’ll have something worth your while posted just as soon as I can. I’d give you a date if I could. I can say it won’t be this week, it might be next week or it might take another week beyond that, just depending on how my schedule works out.

Until next time, hopefully long after I resume posting regular stories, I wish you all well. Thanks for reading, supporting and enjoying all my stories. More to come, I promise.

Hugs,
Ash

Late Moira Bending

Moira gripped the folds of her sheets, bracing herself for the next touch of her hairbrush. It would not be gentle like his first laying of it against her bared buttocks. Ryan would swipe it briskly through the air, flicking his wrist just before the moment of contact and she would feel the impact from her toes to her eyes. Her customary pleas for mercy and forgiveness remained trapped inside her head. She listened to the rhythm of their breathing and waited.

The box springs creaked enhancing the relative silence in her bedroom. His warm breath tickled her disheveled hair. She felt his eyes drifting over the naked contours of her body. The gentle pressure of his hand held her in place over his lap. She strained to look at him, catching only the dark fabric of his shirt in the periphery of her vision. In her imagination there was a smile on his face. She could feel a sternness emanating from his gaze. Moira took a deep breath and held it. The moment of anticipation lingered and her thoughts floated back to the beginning.

Her afternoon tennis lesson had ran long with an unexpected coaching session in the locker room. She had rushed home, bursting through the front door out of breath. Perspiration beaded on her forehead and her tennis clothes were clinging to her damp skin. The guests were already seated. Her mother was preparing to serve dinner. They all turned to stare at Moira panting in the doorway.

“You’re late,” her mother said.

Moira bristled under the attention. “And you’re serving dinner. Shall we state any other obvious observations?”

“Someone needs an attitude adjustment,” Ryan said.

Moira smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Yes, but I’m afraid mother is a little too old for it to take.”

His eyes opened wide and a rosy blush graced his round cheeks. “I think you might want to apologize,” he said with authority.

She pretended to think for a moment, gazing up at the ceiling. “No, no I don’t think I want to do that at all.”

“What has gotten into you?” he asked.

“She’s just worried because she remembers what happened last time she was late for dinner,” her mother said to him before turning her attention to Moira. “Isn’t that right?”

Moira glared at her mother. She shuddered under the intense curiosity of the stares coming her way from around the table. The evening had been planned as a polite, quiet affair, a meeting of families. She had looked forward to it the entire week. Never in her worst nightmares had she imagined being late. That her mother might call her out on it, in front of Ryan and his parents, was beyond any comprehension. Moira wanted to turn around and run out the door, but it was too late for that.

Her mother stepped out from the table and closer to Moira. “Wasn’t it just two or three weeks ago?”

Moira’s lips pursed and she said, “A month.”

“Either way, I’m certain you remember.” Her mother smiled. It was almost sympathetic in nature, but there was a glint of pleasure in her eyes.

“Yes, mother,” Moira replied. She recalled with perfect clarity. It had been her tennis lesson or more precisely, her tennis coach to blame then as well. Her mother had not cared about excuses, not even that her bottom was still red and tingling from her coach’s ideological motivation. Moira had been sent to the closet, not to hide, but to fetch the family paddle. Her mother put it to quick use and afterward, Moira had stood nose to the corner, glowing bottom bare, and hands on her head while the family ate dinner. The embarrassment had only ended when she had finished clearing, cleaning and drying the dinner dishes. Then she had been sent to her room, to bed, without dinner.

Her mother planted her hands on her hips. “I suppose you wanted to give everyone a show tonight. Far be it for me to disappoint you.”

Moira’s face turned red. “Mother!” She stamped her foot and looked around the room, desperate to find a friendly face. “You can’t, not tonight. It’s not fair.”

“You were late. You know the rules,” her mother said and Moira protested, “But—

—There is only one butt that matters here and its the one you are about to bare and have spanked,” her mother said.

Moira’s gaze fell to her feet. She stood speechless, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room looking her over. Sweat beaded on her forehead giving her reddened features a glossy glow in the chandelier’s light. She may as well have been standing center stage under a spotlight.

Her mother said, “I think you’ve wasted enough of our time, young lady. Get your bottom bare and bring me the paddle. And be quick about it. You don’t want dinner to get cold if you know what’s good for you.”

“It’s not like I’ll be eating it either way,” Moira said in a barely audible voice.

She felt her mother’s cold glare and glanced at Ryan hoping for sympathy and support, but finding only a pair of raised eyebrows questioning her sanity. Moira rolled her eyes to the ceiling and reached under her skirt to lower her panties to her knees. She shuffled to the closet while tucking her skirt up in the back. With her bare backside exposed she knew she should have been utterly ashamed. Instead, she felt silly. Moira smiled as she opened the closet and jiggled her bottom as provocatively as she could without bursting out laughing.

The paddle rocked from side to side on its hook inside the the closet door until she lifted it free. It was oak, heavy and large enough to cover her bottom from left to right in a single swat. She held it by the worn handle, closed the closet door and shuffled to stand before her mother. The amusement faded from her lips and eyes when her mother took the paddle. No matter the situation, being spanked with the paddle hurt.

Her mother stepped behind her waving the paddle in the air. “Grab your knees,” her mother ordered and Moira complied with only the slightest of hesitation. The paddle swooshed through the air, impacting Moira’s bottom with an ear-popping crack. Moira blinked and inhaled sharply.

“Someday you’ll learn the value of timeliness,” her mother said and swung the paddle. The crack of contact made everyone in the room blink. Moira rocked forward onto her toes and bent her knees temporarily. Her bottom had been pink and tender to begin with and the two swats had brought out a red glow and deep burning.

Moira blinked back tears and feigned nonchalance. “Is that all?” She asked.

The paddle cracked against her bottom, bounced into the air and cracked again. Moira yelped. Her mother said, “I think a few more still. I wouldn’t want your bottom to get cold in the corner.”

A single teardrop slid from Moira’s eye. Her mother would have been satisfied if she had seen it, but from her vantage point it was impossible. She swung the paddle, catching the lower half of Moira’s buttocks, raising her bottom on impact. Another tear slipped down Moira’s cheek. The paddle impacted another six times leaving Moira sniffling and wiping tears from her red face. Her bottom glowed brightly, trembling in discomfort.

“Are you going to be late for dinner again?” her mother asked, holding the paddle at her side.

Moira remained bent over and debated what answer she could give that would not result in more swats. “Probably,” she said biting her lip, “but I’ll do my best to avoid it.”

“See that you do,” her mother said, shaking her head. “Off to the corner with you and don’t even think about rubbing.”

In the dining room corner, Moira stood with her back to the table. Her bottom throbbed and burned making certain she could not forget the red bottomed view everyone else had of her. She kept her nose buried into the wall, her fingers interlaced atop her head and tried to pretend she was not embarrassed.

When they finished with dinner, Moira left the corner to clear the table and clean the dishes in the kitchen. Afterward, she rejoined the others in the living room, her panties still around her knees and skirt tucked up in the back. Ordinarily she would have been sent to her room at that point, but with Ryan and his parents visiting, Moira was required to remain present. She stood quietly off to the side of the couch intending to keep her head down and her mouth shut. Unfortunately, she was still the center of attention.

Moira’s mother turned to her and said, “Although I’m sure your glowing performance has made quite the impression, might you have something to say for yourself?”

Moira’s response was silent, short, succinct and entirely vulgar.

Ryan stepped in before her mother could respond. “I think Moira and I need to have a little talk, in private.”

Moira looked at him, wide-eyed.

Her mother said, “I don’t think talking is going to handle it.”

Ryan smiled at her mother. “Trust me,” he said with a wink, “I know exactly how to handle her.”

Moira crossed her arms in front of her and said, “You wish.”

He pointed to the stairs behind Moira and said, “If you’re smart, you are going to march right up to your bedroom and wait for me.”

She tapped her foot and clicked her tongue at him. “And if I’m not?”

“You’ll keep standing there and mouthing off until I decide to stick a bar of soap in your mouth,” Ryan said.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Moira said, gazing into his eyes.

“Upstairs,” he said pointing in the direction of them. “Unless you want to find out what I’ll dare to do.”

She could easily ignore his threats, but the authoritativeness in  his voice gave her pause. Moira hesitated, searching his face for the truth of his intentions. His bubbly cheeks had gone firm and his expressive eyes had grown cold. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the stairs. She felt it was the last warning he would give. Moira turned and scurried up the stairs as fast as the binding of her lowered panties would allow. Her bedroom door slammed closed behind her and a moment later, she heard his footsteps climbing the stairs.

Moira sat, trembling on her bed. Ryan entered her room, closed the door behind him and motioned for her to stand. She chewed on her lip, but did as he expected. He sat on the bed in the spot she had just vacated and grabbed hold of her arm with a gentle yet firm grasp. She was flipped over his lap, before she even understood what was happening. He tapped her hairbrush against her naked buttocks, surprising her because she had never seen him grab it. She braced for the inevitable.

“I love you,” he whispered into her ear and then straightened himself, tapping the brush against her bottom, “but I will never tolerate the kind of behavior you’ve been displaying tonight. If I have to put you to bed every night with this hairbrush, I’ll do it and eventually you will learn to behave like a good wife.”

“I’m not your wife yet,” Moira said.

“You will be soon enough,” Ryan said.

Moira smiled away from his view and silently dared him to follow through with his threat. She pushed her bottom up as high as she could and waited for the first smack of the brush. He did not keep her waiting long and when he finished branding her bottom an even brighter and darker red, he tucked her beneath her covers. He kissed away the tears on her cheeks and left her to dream of the life he was offering.

The Mission

Sally admired the wall. The chalky white surface was pitted with age, stained, damaged in its long past by flooding and yet still it stood. She longed to lean against it, feel its silent strength pressing back against her. Bare and cold, the wall reflected more than light and shadows. It had stories to tell, lessons in timeless endurance. Sally listened.

A dull aching pulsed from her knees. She remained unmoved and unmoving, kneeling on the pew. It was remarkably well preserved, hard and unforgiving. Her hands clenched on the back. The wood was smooth, waxy from years of pious polishing. Its faded stain gave testament to another life of untold endurance. Sally leaned forward on her palms redistributing her weight. The aching in her knees eased.

Her butt glowed with warmth. The skin prickled in the open air, begging for comfort and attention. Sally longed to hold the tender flesh in her palms, to rub away the discomfort. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, dampening her cheeks and splashing on the pew’s back between her hands. She focused on breathing, drowning her sorrow in the rhythm. The white wall offered reflection.

Sally had been warned. Miss Donovan was not known for her patience or second chances. The consequences were clear. A small leather paddle, oval in shape, rested in plain sight on her work table. Its purpose was indisputable.

She remembered being spanked. They were always fearful events to be avoided. Her father’s implement of choice was his belt, ripped from around his waist and doubled over for thudding spanks. She had learned to avoid those embarrassing bare bottom moments in private with her father. They had become distant memories, almost forgotten, but the sight of Miss Donovan’s paddle had reawakened them.

Sally had stared weak-kneed at the paddle on her day of arrival. Miss Donovan had looked her over, hands planted firmly on her hips. She spoke in harsh tones, grim and disapproving without any cause. “You’re an intern,” Miss Donovan said, “and that means I can’t dock your pay because you don’t get any. But, don’t think for a second that means I won’t hold you to your responsibilities.”

“I’m here to help and learn ma’am. I assure you I’ll do my very best for you,” Sally said. She forced herself to meet the daunting gaze of Miss Donovan. They were nearly equal in height and yet Sally felt as if she were looking high above herself.

Miss Donovan said, “Let’s hope your best efforts are sufficient to meet my standards because if they’re not, you’ll find my consequences for failure are swift and uncompromising.” Her gaze flickered to the paddle, leading Sally’s eyes back to it.

Sally gulped. “I understand.”

Miss Donovan wasted no more time on warnings or threats. She sent Sally to work in the pit, dismissing her with an indifferent wave of her hand. The pit had once been the site of a modest chapel. Natives had constructed it with the local resources of clay and straw at the behest of their Spaniard conquerors. It had fallen sometime in the latter years of the 19Th century during an earthquake. The earth had long since covered over the remains until a farmer had unburied a few remnants more than a century later. Miss Donovan had plans to restore the site to its former glory in the name of historical curiosity.

The work was slow and methodical. Sally brushed aside dirt and dust with a small, round brush, capturing it in a glass jar. It would be analyzed at length by those with the experience and knowledge to detect the valuable specs from the ordinary dirt. For Sally, it was a mind numbing task that let her thoughts wander. And they kept running back to the leather paddle. Miss Donovan’s vague threat toyed with her imagination. Sally’s ears and cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. She glanced guiltily around her wondering if anyone suspected the thoughts coursing through her mind.

In bed, she dreamed about the strangely alluring prospect of being punished by Miss Donovan and her paddle. The possibility teased her stomach with butterflies and knots she had almost forgotten. A spanking was punishment, shameful, humiliating, tormenting. It was to be avoided at all costs. And yet she wondered what it would be like from Miss Donovan.

A week slipped past. Sally’s work was adequate. Miss Donovan remained stern, uncompromising in her expectations, but Sally met them. The threat remained, the paddle was kept on the table in the open, and Sally stared at it every time she entered the room. It consumed her thoughts during the monotony of her work, filled her dreams with its taunting suggestion. Sally concluded the only way to free herself from it would be to submit herself to it. She took another week to mount the courage necessary.

The night before, she tossed and turned, twisting the sheets like the knots twisting in her stomach. Come morning, she stayed in bed until all chance of backing out was gone. She was late. Sally arrived at the pit, welcomed by embarrassed smiles and shaking heads. Miss Donovan caught her attention with a scowl. Without a word she pointed inside and turned her back, expecting Sally to obey the unspoken command.

Inside the room, Sally looked to the table for the paddle, but it was gone. Miss Donovan held it in her hand. Sally had expected a lecture. Miss Donovan saw no point. She would spank Sally, embarrass her, shame her, and Sally would either choose to stay and do better or leave for good. Miss Donovan would not coddle an adult no matter how foolish or immature their actions. There was the job, the expectations and there was discipline for failure. It was simple and pure.

Miss Donovan lifted the paddle, pointing out the pew at the back of the room. “Get undressed and kneel on the pew, facing the wall,” she said.

Sally gawked at Miss Donovan. “Undressed?”

Miss Donovan gazed coldly at Sally. “Undressed, naked, nude, in your birthday suit. Get to it or get out. You’ve wasted enough of my time already.”

Sally blushed all the way to the roots of her long dark hair. She considered fleeing the scene, never coming back. Ultimately, it was her curiosity that kept her in the room. She went about the business of stripping off her clothes almost without any conscious thought. Her fingers found the buttons and zippers, unfastening them each in turn and exposing herself little by little until she stood fully nude beside the pile of her discarded clothing.

The air tickled her hot flesh as she walked to the pew. She knelt on the wood, stared at the white wall just beyond it and shuddered at the sound of the murmurs from the other interns working outside. Miss Donovan slapped the leather paddle against her buttocks. It echoed loudly in the room and Sally flushed red from head to toe. She knew every soul around could hear the spanking. Miss Donovan whacked the paddle into her bottom, alternating from cheek to cheek. There was no mistaking the effect. Sally’s bottom warmed with every spank, stung more with every passing second. She squirmed to no avail.

For precisely ninety seconds, Miss Donovan spanked Sally at a rapid pace. Sally’s buttocks bounced in every direction, but never far enough to avoid the next spank of the paddle. She cried, unable to endure the discipline in silence. When the time ran out, Miss Donovan stepped back and laid the paddle to rest on the table. Sally quivered in the silence, tensely awaiting another volley of spanks that would not come.

“You will remain as you are for the next hour,” Miss Donovan said, “after which you will resume your duties in the pit. Am I understood?”

Sally nodded and sniffled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Miss Donovan left the room. Sally leaned against the pew. She stared at the wall. Warmth emanated from her bottom. Her thoughts were jumbled. She was naked and spanked, excited and embarrassed. Sally faced the wall and pondered how she would face anyone else.

A Bent Perspective

The loud clap of the oak paddle stamping Nora Trevane’s tenderly protruding flesh resonated off the walls and penetrated her body with a deep trembling. Hands pressed against the floor, she closed her eyes only to open them wider. She searched for an escape, all the while knowing it was both too late and too soon. Her face contorted, lips parted and air gushed from her open mouth. She howled in tune with the ripples of the paddle’s force singing through her body.

There was pain. It was lightning, flashing white and bright, coursing its way from her posterior to her glossy eyes. The sparks tingled her every nerve building up to a sharp pinnacle before fading to a dull throb. Thunder rolled in ragged waves of stinging disappointment. It emanated from the paddle’s scolding contact with her bubbled bottom. Her vision clouded with the gathering of tear droplets in advance of  the waterworks that would inevitably fall like rain from her glistening eyes. She weathered it all, embracing the inevitable nature of the storm.

Nora’s thoughts floated on the moment. She pictured herself, prim and proper. Someday she would be that woman. Sense would be common and wrong would never masquerade as right. Pride would come directly from her actions, not the way she faced their consequences. Her bottom would be attractively dressed instead of embarrassingly bare and exposed. She would hold her head high rather than bowing it low in disgrace. Compliments would be the source of the warm glow gracing her cheeks. She dreamed of that fanciful day while weltering in the red glow of her shame.

The paddle withdrew, leaving her buttocks devoid of its solid reassurance. In its wake, a gentle breeze teased her heat with coolness. She felt the nakedness of her thighs, her butt, her labia. Nora shuddered. The acuteness of her humiliating position renewed itself with fresh blood rushing to the surface of her pale skin. She cringed at the tingling.

Cold sweat and hot blood kept Nora quivering. She dreaded the rush of wind preceding the paddle’s touch. Its cool draft would be just enough to temper the blaze burning in her bottom. The moment of impact would bring with it a spark reigniting the flame. In the waiting her senses heightened her awareness of every sensation, unwittingly driving the fanned flames of her spanking higher. Her muscles tensed, anticipating the paddle’s return.

Regret fluttered with the butterflies tickling her stomach. It had been an error in judgment. There was no evil in her heart, no demonic plans formulated in her brain. It was nothing more or less than a foolish mistake. Anyone can make a mistake, she told herself. A foolish mistake was another matter and she knew it. Her lack of foresight combined with her selfish nature to lead her into disaster. They were the traits she struggled to control, to overcome. Having failed, she delivered herself to the consequences.

The paddle sang through the air, punctuated by the impacting crack of wood and flesh. Her bottom bounced inward. The ripples jolted through her body, filtering down into her hands and dissipating into the floor. The paddle lifted away once more, leaving Nora waiting for its return. She gazed into nothingness and saw her mischievous self mocking her.

In the terse silence she prayed for the spanking to continue. It seemed unfair from her bent perspective, but the swats delivered more than a searing discomfort. There was strength to be found. Next time she would be stronger, more resistant to the foolishness of her careless heart. Every swat made her more resolved. A brusque waft tickled her naked skin. She was trapped in the repetitious cycle. There would be an end, but not until she was strong enough to resist temptation and sorrowful enough to be forgiven. It was a spanking, after all.

Blushing Moments

A shallow, trembling breath could no more fill her lungs than calm her rapid heartbeat. Her head swam in exhilaration, in humiliation. Hot blood flushed her cheeks in the color of shame and nervous perspiration gave it a glossy sheen. She stood with her back to the wall. Her head was lowered, eyes scouring the floor for an escape. There was a reason, not that her fragile thoughts could focus on it, but it was enough to know it existed.

She longed to take a single step backward, to feel the cool, solid support of the wall pressing against her back. The gap left her feeling exposed and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled for attention. Her bare legs tingled in response to the room’s air conditioned breeze while her naked buttocks quivered in tense anticipation. She hid her sex with hands clasped together in front. It was futile and fleeting and she knew it from the start.

The muffled movements and voices from outside the room echoed in her ears. She could hear them talking, knew they were talking about her. The words were too soft to make out, but her thoughts filled in the sentiment. Bad girl. Naughty girl. Needs to be taught a lesson. Needs a spanking. There could be no doubt it was coming. Her skirt, her panties, were still there, in the other room with them. It was only a matter of when, with what, and how much.

Her solitude ended. The door creaked open. She shuddered at the sound of footsteps. He was coming, but he was not alone. Her blood flushed hotter. They would see her soon, again. Her nipples hardened, acutely aware of her partially opened blouse, the exposure of her bra encased breasts. They had seen it before, would see it again, see everything. She hated their wandering eyes more than anything, more than what she had done or the spanking soon to come.

The footsteps stopped. His eyes drank from her shame as did the eyes of his guest. He spoke with authority. “Turn around. Touch your toes and count.”

She obeyed without question. The thought to resist, to object never entered her mind. Her eyes stayed low as she moved, avoiding him and his guests except for the slightest of glances to confirm the implement of her fate. The crook handled cane dangled in his hands. Her fingers dangled near her toes. She closed her eyes and held a breath. He tapped the cane along the center of her bottom.

The cane swished through the air and cracked against the protruding flesh of her bent buttocks. Her breath exploded from her lungs. Tears stung in the corners of her eyes. Her knees bent and straightened as she wiggled her bottom against the searing mark of the cane. “One,” she said in a soft voice barely heard above the rattle of the air conditioning vent.

He laid the cane against her buttocks. She trembled at its touch. He raised it high and swung it fast. “Two,” she said, fighting her reflexes to hold herself in place. He bounced the cane off her bottom and brought it down with striking force. She cried unable to resist the singing pain in her bottom. “Three,” she said through tears.

His guest laughed and said, “She’s feeling it now.”

“As she should,” he said and swung the cane. The impact rocked her onto her toes. More tears sprung from her red eyes, but the pain was secondary to the humiliation of being watched. “Four,” she said, her voice hoarse and barely more than a whisper.

She imagined herself nursing her flaming bottom. Her hands struggled against her imagination and the reality of her situation. In the end, she stayed in place, fingers stretching toward her toes. He patted her bottom with the cane and swung it hard, rewarding her effort with another throbbing line. “Five,” she said, sniffling.

Salty tears dripped off her nose onto the carpet between her feet. The cane rippled into bulging buttocks once more and she cried out. Her bottom shook from side to side in an embarrassing, desperate display. It was a futile attempt to ease the burning throb of the cane’s aftermath. He coughed, reminding her to count. She said, “Six.”

He lowered the cane and stepped back from her bent form. “Stand up,” he ordered. Her limbs shook as she rose in compliance. He said, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson, here.” She nodded.

His guest interjected himself. “Certainly that’s not all.”

Her gaze lifted momentarily to appraise the intentions in his face. She lowered her eyes before she was certain. He said, “Until the marks fade, you’re grounded.” She nodded and he continued, “Naturally, you’ll remain dressed as you are for the duration or you can wear less of course.”

She nodded. His guest nodded. He gestured toward the door. “There is a corner waiting for you in the living room. I’m sure my other guests are curious to know what happens when a young lady misbehaves in my house. Your bare backside should adequately explain, don’t you think?”

Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. Hot blood, refreshed her blushing features with the glowing red of embarrassment and shame. She hesitated until he cleared his throat of impatience. The first step was the hardest, the rest came in a daze. The others gasped at first. Then there were the quiet murmurs as she took her place facing the corner. She stared at the joining of the walls and wondered how the shadowy little spot had become the bright center of the room.