What can I say? I always did live in a world of my own and my whole life has been one obsession after another. Little did I suspect that one day one obsession would crash into the other and change my life forever.
What am I talking about? Okay I am stalling, that is because I hardly believe it myself. You see it seems I am living in a book. No not physically, I mean my life has become some kind of story where I am only partially writing the plot. Well I say partially… I just don’t know anymore.
Okay let me start at the beginning. Once upon a time, if you will. Humour see, but don’t expect a funny story, it is a black comedy at best. Still stalling, someone is going to get a spanking. Right, onwards…
My name is Amy Dane and I used to live in the world much as you know it. Well I still do but it is completely different. I used to be a civil servant in a dull office in London processing tax rebates. At 33 I hadn’t quite given up hope of mister right, but considering my spare time was devoted to my cat, romantic novels and my latest obsession, spanking in all its forms: marriage was probably never going to happen.
One day I was reading about all things magical, one of my obsessions at the time when I started this elaborate daydream. I decided that I wasn’t really working in a tax office, but at the ministry of domestic and civil correction. This, I decided, was dedicated to hunting down people like the girl wearing offensive leggings on the tube that morning (I think I was jealous of her legs at the time) or the stupid woman who kept asking for me personally every time she had a trivial query about her rebate forms.
Dear Miss Partridge, it has been brought to our attention that you have been wasting ministry time and that you have made no less than 76 pointless calls to our office. You are therefore required to report to your nearest correction centre within 28 days to receive summary chastisement. Failure to report will result in further corrections not to exceed double your original punishment.
I pictured a stuck-up little bitch in total consternation as some big ex-army type made her drop her knickers before bending over for two dozen strokes of the cane.
Correction centres of course have big shop front windows onto to the street so that passers-by can see miscreants correctly punished. I even added routine corner time to the mix and public pillories for repeat offenders. Every city district and every village would have one.
I imagined too the girl on the tube in her cycling leggings. She would be punished for taking her bike on a train, with 16 counts of running a red light taken into account. Maybe 28 days at a correctional centre in the country would mend her ways.
“Miss Dane,” a voice interrupted my train of thought.
I looked up and saw my boss Sir Max Bastion glaring at me. A tall man with broad shoulders and a permanent glare set beneath heavy grizzled grey eyebrows. He reminded me of my headmaster.
The only trouble was, he wasn’t my boss and up until that moment I had never set eyes on the man. I knew this as certainly as I knew his name and that he had become my boss.
“Yes Sir,” I found myself saying.
“You’re daydreaming again,” he snapped at me.
“No I…”
“My office straight after lunch,” he told me as he strode away.
“Yes Sir,” I said weakly to his retreating back.
I knew I was going to get punished, I had been warned previously about my lollygagging. The only trouble was: I hadn’t.
I went to the window and looked out at the city. It was London, but it wasn’t. Everything was bigger and all the scuzzy bits were absent. There were also more trees pushing between the rooftops and where there used to be a car-crammed street below my office was now a broad leafy pedestrian boulevard as I had always wished for.
I knew this city as well as the real one, although for me now, this was the real one. I even knew that on the street between the office and the tube station was a correction centre. My buttocks tightened and butterflies took flight in my belly; squadrons of them. I was going to get a spanking from my ‘new’ boss. He was going to spank me on my bare bottom and no one, including me, was going to think this at all strange.
The thing about all of this is that it wasn’t just my world that changed, but I did. I have no sense that I must return to my real life. The world as it once was is as much a fantasy to me now as this one was when it existed only in my daydreams. I cannot explain this and I don’t even want to. Part of me knows what once was, but if that were not the case then how could appreciate the change.
Am I happy here? I truly don’t know. But I know that before I was lost and now, for better or worse I have been found.
* * *
I walked with a heavy heart to Sir Max’s office, making my way past grand Edwardian oak panels that had been polished up with modern features. At intervals I saw a hapless secretary facing the wall with her bare bottom exposed. Usually the bottom was a hard red with dark donuts of swirled bruises or white chaffed stress marks of a real punishment.
Most of these girls were quietly crying, resigned and accepting of their fate as they should be. But I knew not one jot of comfort was drawn from the fact that they were not alone and all were mortified with shame at being seen so humbled.
I knew because I too would soon be in their shoes as I often had been before. Except that I knew I had not and a sigh juddered in my chest. Could I really handle this?
Then suddenly I was before Sir Max’s door and my tummy did a flip-flop. My knock that day was as a mouse and I prayed he wouldn’t hear me.
“Come in,” said a bored voice from inside, and I fair leapt out of my skin.
I kept both feet planted in the safety of the corridor as I leaned in through the crack I made in the door.
“You wanted to see me Sir,” I offered timidly, still praying that this was all some big mistake.
Sir Max was on the phone and he barely looked at me as he crooked a finger and summoned me with it. Even that small gesture on his part was grudging, as if I was scare worth his time.
“A system of fines and a caning…” he said down the phone, “Isn’t that… oh I see, yes a deterrent to the rich… no, I don’t have a problem, but won’t the rule changes need Parliamentary approval… ah, well I am sure if you don’t know minister then… yes I see… well I’ll look into that. Yes thank you, good… oh, she’s fine. Didn’t show her face for a month,” Sir Max chuckled, “Didn’t I hear that your own wife…?” He laughed, “Does ‘em good Sir, yes… very well Sir, as you say. Good bye.”
Amy drew her lips into her mouth and released them while her eyes roamed the room. It took her a moment to realise that Sir Max was watching her… Oh I just remembered something. You know I said I was living in a story…? Well, sometimes I forget that I am and… oh gosh, this is going to sound weird… well when that happens my life starts happening in the third person.
“Well, are you daydreaming again?” the boss snarled.
“No I…”
“Get yourself ready, you know the bloody way we do things by now,” he roared.
I paused for a moment and then hastily began fumbling with my skirt. It wasn’t hard to unzip and in a moment I was bare-legged and blushing as I tugged at my knickers. Luckily Sir Max was making another call and no longer watching so I was able to denude myself and face the wall without showing off my front. Not that it saved me from embarrassment. Standing bare-bummed in your boss’s office is about as shy-making at it comes.
* * *
Amy had been standing facing the wall for about 20 minutes before Sir Max had finished his calls. Just long enough to zone out. So when he spoke she jumped.
“Sir?” she startled.
“I said, come here,” he sighed.
Amy ducked her head and turned around. She tried to remember what it was like, but somehow it was as if she had never been spanked before.
“Here,” Sir Max growled, pointing at the floor next to his chair.
Amy scampered across the room with her hands cupped to her front and her head still bowed. The auburn-haired woman had once been a little frumpy, but although she as a little over-rounded for her height she possessed full hips and a bottom that was pleasantly plump to the point of been pleasingly heavy.
She had always been self-conscious of her bottom and she couldn’t remember when a man had last seen her thus. But as she bent over his lap she blushed at the thought that her auburn tuft might peek between her thighs.
“I have a new paddle,” he said casually as he opened a draw. “Amanda Tomb found it quite a challenge yesterday.”
Amy gasped. Amanda Tomb was the supervisor in the next department. How embarrassing for her. Amy wondered if she had been made to do corner time too. She almost giggled.
Then the paddle struck and Amy went bug-eyed at the searing burn across her bottom. She was still processing this when she was spanked again, so that she groaned.
“Good isn’t it?” Max chuckled as he spanked Amy again.
The spanking was hard and fast, blasting her bottom into a kind of belly down jerky dance as the impacts cracked across her flesh. In a minute she had been spanked two dozen times and tears spilled from her eyes. In two she had begun to sob and her behind was truly on fire.
“Buck your ideas up girl,” Max scolded her.
Amy thought his chiding signalled the end, but she was spanked for good 10 minutes more before Sir Max set down the paddle. By then of course she was in bits and hugging into her bosses knees like she might a lover.
“Alright, you’ll live,” he soothed. “No go and stand outside the door for the rest of the lunch period.”
Amy was heedless now of her pubic triangle as she all but thrust it at Sir Max as she clamped her hands to her bottom and hopped from one foot to the other. The accompanying cascade of tears set her mascara running and spanked woman sniffed at the moisture at her nose.
“No rubbing now, get your hands on your head and get out,” Max said sternly. “After you have opened the door foolish woman, and take your clothes,” he added.
Amy dipped to a bend as she gathered her skirt and knickers and then danced through the door to find the most discreet section of wall available to her in the corridor outside. She considered rubbing her bum for a moment, but then she remembered the cameras and gritted her teeth. Damn the man, she cursed inwardly. But part of her knew she deserved it.
****
I remember all this now and I don’t know what is worse, living it from the inside or suffering the dual detachment. Not for the first time I wonder how it all came about as I wend my way home with an awkward gait. A few passers-by give me knowing glances, but no doubt many of them harbour bruises under their skirts and trousers, victims of my new world, so no one meets my eye.
The street is familiar, but not, that is until I get to the correction centre. This place lived in my dreams long before the world became real. In the big-paned window is a row of near naked women. Most with their backs to the street and I can see that they have all been soundly spanked.
Only one women faces out and she looks devastated with shame as she awaits her turn. She keeps her eyes inclined to a point in the middle distance and rejects all attempts to meet her gaze. Beyond the row of women is another bend across a trestle while a man canes her bare and upturned bottom as she bucks and wails at each impact.
Although it is a common enough sight a small crowd have gathered and I join them. One day this will be me on display and I will probably deserve it, but today I can stand and watch as I savour the scene. I think perhaps my story has only just begun.
