Intensity: Moderate (for intensity ratings, see Fiction)
Erin is Irish by birth; a nurse by training, a dancer in her spare time, and possessed of an attitude that can curl your hair. Her only flaw—apart from that attitude—is that sometimes, just sometimes, she’d rather sit on her otherwise-delightful butt than get up and work. When she puts her mind to it, she knows when I’ll need before I even ask–a urinalysis, a vision test, an x-ray–and my day is almost effortless. Occasionally, though, she just can’t be bothered.
Today, the day of the office Christmas dance, was one of those days. I was delayed at the hospital over lunch, and when I got to the office Anna, my secretary, said, “Dr. Tsai, better get your roller skates on.” I went to the back and found empty exam rooms and Erin on the phone, engrossed in what was obviously a personal phone call. She hadn’t gotten one patient ready for me to see, and refill requests and patient callbacks were stacked up. So we started well behind, and this bad start stuck with us for the rest of the afternoon, as it often does. I finished with patients at 6:15 feeling harried and annoyed. Not the best mood for the dance (officially known as the “Holiday Party”).
We usually hold the dance at the Houstonian, one of the city’s nicer resort/hotels. We get a good price, because Erin’s husband, Hugh, is one of the senior managers. The evening starts with conversation and an open bar. Then there’s a buffet dinner, and the medical director gives a little speech to thank everyone for their hard work (over the years, these speeches have grown shorter as he’s grown wiser), and then the dance floor opens up and the DJ starts the music. Attire is usually what you might call light formal, with the women dressing up more than the men. The medical director wears a tuxedo, though, and one of the department managers wears a Texas tux (that’s the upper half of a tuxedo worn with blue jeans and fancy cowboy boots; a ten-gallon hat is optional, but looks quite dashing on some men).
He was annoyed; she was flushed
Erin and Hugh arrived quite late; dinner had already started. As they entered I noticed he was holding her firmly by the elbow. He looked distinctly annoyed, and she looked flushed, and delicious. Perhaps I should mention that Hugh and Erin had met at a dance competition. They’re members of the USABDA (that’s the US Amateur Ballroom Dancers Association) and they dance regularly. They had done rather well at the South Central Regional Championship in October at Rice University. I had never seen them dance, although I have seen other dance competitions. They’re fun to watch, mostly because of the wonderful dancing, although the costumes remind me of nothing so much as a species of bird in which the males are drab and the females colorful; in the competitions, the ladies always wear a fancy (and obviously expensive) outfit, the men a dark suit or tuxedo with a large tag pinned to the back with their identification number. I was pleased to see that tonight Erin was wearing one of her competition outfits, an elaborate creation in midnight blue silk with black trim, a scooped neck, and sequins everywhere; obviously they were planning to give us a little show. (No, Hugh did not have a number pinned to his back.)
Dinner was good . . . roast beef, chicken in some very rich white sauce, potatoes fried in buckets of butter, one or two perfunctory vegetables, and then a dessert tray with strawberries dipped in chocolate, heavenly cheesecake, and other goodies. The medical director gave his speech, setting a new record for brevity. Then the music started. There were a couple of fast dances, and then a slow dance, and then a tango. When the tango started, Erin and Hugh took the floor and the others melted away.
They danced the tango the way it was meant to be. They moved apart, moved together again, fluid and effortless. This was not just a tango, this was the dance of man and woman, the oldest dance in the world. As they danced it, man and woman are not simply companions; the passion in each gesture said as plain as day, “two bodies, one soul.” They portrayed the heart of the human experience, the unity of which sexuality is only one part. But it’s an important part, one you can’t ignore, as their bodies united, separated, and united again to the music’s beat. The room was still save for the music and the sound of their rhythmic footsteps on the hardwood floor. I was sitting close enough to hear Erin’s breathy grunt when Hugh firmly reversed her direction, close enough to see her ass’s subtle shifts in that slinky dress.
All too soon it was over. There was general applause, then the DJ put on “Y-M-C-A” and the other partygoers returned to the dance floor. I joined Erin and Hugh at the bar. Erin had a glass of wine and Hugh had water (“I’m driving,” he said). The overhead light added highlights to Erin’s auburn hair.
“Very nice,” I said to them both.
“Thanks,” said Hugh. “You have to know how to make her move.”
“Oh,” I said as Erin looked further away.
“Does she always give you her best at the office?” asked Hugh.
“Well,” I said, caught off guard, “most of the time.”
“I knew it,” said Hugh. “she’s a slacker if you let her. Listen, there’s only one way with Erin. Daytime or nighttime, you have to motivate her.”
You have to motivate her
“Really?” I said noncommittally.
“She needs discipline,” said Hugh flatly. He paused and took a long drink of water. I waited, and after a moment he continued.
“You should do the same as I do, you’d be doing her a favor.”
It took an effort to look at him, but I did. “Tell me more,” I said, still unsure just where he was leading.
Hugh thought for a moment, then said, “No, let me SHOW you. Come on, let’s go downstairs to my office.”
“Honey . . .” said Erin, her eyes opening deliciously wide, but Hugh had already turned and was walking toward the elevators. Erin and I followed.
Hugh’s office was large and comfortable. He let us in, turned on the lights, and then locked the door and closed the blinds.
“You–go stand in the corner, ” said Hugh sternly, “and don’t move.”
Erin immediately did as she was told.
Stuck in first gear
“What happened with Erin today?” Hugh asked me. “She was in a snit when she got home, which often means she is feeling guilty about something.”
“I got to the afternoon clinic late, too many patients to see, and she had done nothing to get ready for me. She was on the phone, I don’t know why. And she stayed in first gear all afternoon.”
“Right,” said Hugh, “I know what she’s like when she gets that way. I recognize it, I know what she needs, and I give it to her.” Then, to Erin, “Lift your dress.” His voice was steel. Erin, who appeared to be trying to vanish into the corner, complied promptly, delicate fingers taking hold of the ruffled hem and lifting it well up. She was standing near the door, illuminated by a light almost directly above her head. In that angled light, I saw four distinct transverse ridges across her tight blue panties.
“D’ya know what those are?” Hugh asked me.
“I gave her those tonight less than an hour ago, right in this office. That’s the only thing that will shape her up when she gets like that. She needs it, and she wants it, although when I give it to her I make damn sure she doesn’t like it. Shocked, are you?”
“No,” I said, and added bluntly, “In fact, I’ve thought of doing it to her myself.”
A world of good
“You should,” he said. “It’s only fair, after the way she treated you today. Would do her a world of good.”
“Hugh–no!” breathed Erin.
Hugh ignored her. “Only thing is, if you let her off easy, she will never respect you again. You can’t give her halfhearted whacks, it would do more harm than good.”
I remained calm by a heroic effort of will. ” I can do better than that,” I replied. “I have spanked a woman before, and I do know how to make it hurt.”
Hugh looked at me again, one eyebrow raised, his gaze conveying cautious respect.
“You know,” he said, “we English don’t think of spanking as a real punishment. The cane is the ticket if you really want to teach a lesson.”
“I don’t agree,” I replied. “Even simple hand spanking can be very effective.”
“With all due respect, Doctor, I’d have to see it to believe it.”
I nodded, conceding his right to suspend judgment and reserving my right to show him otherwise.
“In any case,” Hugh said, “there’s no time like the present, right?”
“Hugh–please!” said Erin.
Get over that desk
“That’s enough from you,” he replied. “Get out of the corner and get over that desk,” he commanded.
“No, Hugh, please no. Not the doctor.”
“Yes, the doctor. He’s the one who is paying you good money and treating you well and you can’t be bothered to do your job. I want him to give you a damn good thrashing and you bloody well deserve it.” Hugh gripped her by the shoulders and moved her to the front of the desk. Erin’s pleading look failed to move him, and she capitulated, bending well over the generous top of his desk, breasts squashed flat. She reached out her arms and grasped the opposite edge. Hugh went to a closet and returned with a supple piece of rattan with a crook handle.
“Take down her knickers and feel her bum,” he said to me. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? What a sexy lass she is. I think she has a yen for you, even if you are twenty years her senior. And I know you fancy her, I saw you staring at her arse when we were dancing.”
It was odd, but Hugh’s direct manner took all the awkwardness out of the situation. I didn’t have to hide my eagerness, or my arousal. He owned her, and he chose to share her with me. Why? I don’t know for sure, but I suspect there were several reasons, not just one. Erin had been intolerable with me, and she certainly deserved punishment; Hugh was embarrassed by her behavior; perhaps Hugh enjoyed the thought of someone else disciplining her. But whatever it was, there was something more in this sharing, a connection between Hugh and me that made the ownership and the discipline and the erotic energy now flooding the room all seem right and natural.
I lifted her dress
I lifted the hem of her dress and eased down the tight fabric to reveal four evenly-spaced tramlines. The exertion of the dancing had left her sweating and her skin was glistening, and where the cane had done its work the lines were thick and red. The crotch of her panties had a dark spot and the odor of feminine arousal wafted up; I wondered at what point in the evening she could have become aroused. Probably after the caning and before she and Hugh came up for dinner, I thought, remembering how she had looked when they came in late. Maybe she didn’t have a pair of clean panties to change into . . . or maybe Hugh refused her permission to change. Whatever the reason for Erin’s arousal, my own excitement was equally obvious. I fondled her bottom, running my fingers over the cheeks, admiring the ridges and feeling her quiver at my touch.
“Give her six more with this,” Hugh said, handing me the cane. “See if you can get them between the marks I left. After that, it’s up to you.”
“No, please,” said Erin, more to herself than to either of us.
I swished the cane through the air once, getting the feel of it. Erin jumped at the sound. I wanted, rather desperately, to make her cry, and I suspected the cane would not be enough. But the cane combined with the shame of her poor performance of the afternoon, the reminder that this was a punishment she genuinely deserved, would do the trick. The best tears are drawn from body and soul together.
“Erin, I’m not going to punish you if you don’t deserve it,” I said. “Do you deserve this?”
You’re a brute
“No,” she said, faintly. “not by you, you can’t do this, you’re not a doctor, you’re a brute!” Suddenly she moved to get up. I was only a step behind her and I moved quickly forward, took hold of her by the upper back, and forced her down again.
Holding her hand in the small of her back, I leaned forward and said, calmly but forcefully, “Don’t make me ask you a second time.”
Erin released her tensed muscles and eased back into position across the desk. She said nothing but her movement expressed surrender eloquently.
“Tell me why you deserve it, and speak up so I can hear you,” I said.
She paused, then said, “I deserve to be punished because . . . because I didn’t do my job today and I let you down. And you’ve been so nice to me and I am ashamed of my bad behavior.”
“That’s better,” I said. “You do deserve to be punished. Now hold on to the edge of the desk. You will be punished, as hard and as long as I want. If I have to ask Hugh to hold you down it will make it worse.”
Erin bit her lip, and was silent.
I gripped the cane slightly down from the crook, placed the end square across her bottom, and moved slightly away. The distance was perfect.
“This is going to hurt,” I said.
Erin shook her head, her face a grimace, her lovely bottom naked and vulnerable.
I raised the cane, held it in the air for a moment, then brought it back sharply just below the uppermost mark from her prior punishment. “Ahh-oooh-owwww,” said Erin, sounding very sincere.
The second stroke landed just below the first. I heard the smart “smack” of rattan on female flesh and saw ass-flesh ripple away from the point of impact. Erin clenched her bottom cheeks frantically, lifting her head up and hissing “owwww-owwww” through clenched teeth. “I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry, please don’t beat me any more.”
“Stick your bottom up,” I commanded, and Erin obediently complied. Her ass looked beautiful with four red lines from her earlier caning, the uppermost lines now separated by two new welts that were still blooming.
Whack! The next stroke seemed to almost paralyze her. She groaned, her eyes wide and wild, her feet still on the floor but her ass doing a slow, intensely erotic, rumba of pain.
Hugh’s face was a study in lust.
I gave her a moment’s respite, but only for my own lascivious pleasure. “Spread your legs,” I told her. She did so, stretching her panties tight between her thighs. I ran my fingers over the tramlines, then took the inner, lower portion of her left buttock in my right hand, my fingers grazing the inner recess, and squeezed it hard. Erin’s grunt sounded like a mare being mounted. Traditionalists prefer the woman being caned to hold quite still as she is anticipating the next stroke, but I don’t think of this as a hard-and-fast rule. A little erotic motion makes it impossible to create a perfectly straight ladder of welts, but it’s delightful to watch. In any case, I care more about her sensations than whether my handiwork appears tidy.
Another line of fire
Swaaack! went the cane, painting another line of fire on her luscious curves. “Ow! Ow! No more, please!” shouted Erin. She was rapidly losing her composure.
“You deserve this,” I said.
” I didn’t mean to,” she gasped.
“I don’t care what you mean,” I said, “I care what you do.”
I dragged the tip of the cane over her welted bottom, raised it, then brought it down again, hard.
She yelled, hoarsely and loudly, shaking her head back and forth wildly. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of the desk for dear life. Hugh, who was sitting a few feet behind her, stared intently at her gyrating ass. Yes, I thought to myself, familiarity can diminish the erotic appeal of the beloved’s buttocks, but when her bottom is writhing in pain it is once again pure beauty.
I landed the sixth stroke just as the pain from the fifth was reaching its maximum, and the agony overpowered her. She raised her chest off the desk, threw her head back, and screamed, a shrill, uninhibited scream, followed by ragged gasps. I thought she might break down in tears, but was neither surprised nor disappointed when she did not. I let her rest for a moment, then took her hand.
Over my lap
“This is what happens to bad girls,” I said, “but that’s not all.” I helped her up, then drew her a few feet to a chair, sat in it, and pulled her over my lap.
“No–no–no–” was all she could manage.
I moved her well forward so that her shoulders were not far from the floor and her ass stuck up in the air. I raised her dress again, revealing straight red lines over shapely pink curves; I was planning on making those curves a lot pinker. I reached down, pulled her panties all the way off, and started spanking her all over her welted bottom.
“I’m so disappointed in you.” (smacking)
“You’re a terrific nurse” (more smacking) “but you can be so dratted lazy!”
The dam burst as she broke into tears. I increased the force and frequency of the spanks and her wails became louder. This wasn’t the resigned crying of a woman who knows she’s going to get punished and can’t do anything about it; it was the loud bawling of a woman who can’t stand the pain she is experiencing. One word fit these cries: desperation. I continued spanking, hard and fast, all over her bare bottom. She howled louder and louder as I spanked harder and harder, tears running down her face.
During all of this her body was in vigorous motion. One moment her head would be up, both feet off the ground, and her back arched; then her feet would go down, then back up again. She scissored her legs together and apart in an involuntary response to the mounting pain in her bottom. This Christmas dance was even better than the tango! I noticed Hugh slide his chair a few feet so that he was looking directly up her legs. His eyes were wide, his tongue licking his lips, his head nodding slowly up and down.
My hand was stinging rather a lot, but this was as unimportant as the sting of wind in your face when you drive a convertible down a winding road on a beautiful evening. One benefit for me of her gyrations was that as her pelvis bucked up and down it massaged my erection in the most tantalizing and enjoyable way; this made me want to spank her harder, which I did. I noticed that there seemed to be no sign of impending bruising, which I took as a sign that her bottom was tough from regular punishment at home.
It was clear that spanking over her freshly-caned bottom had moved Erin’s pain receptors into high gear. She was emitting a mixture of scream, sobs, and yells, breathing in great gasps, her pretty face flooded with tears. Once or twice she managed to cry, “Stop! Stop!” but I saw no reason to stop so soon. Just as she was overwhelmed with pain, I was swept away in a violent river of eroticism, loving the feel of my hand striking her bottom, the sound of her hoarse crying, the sight of her ass thrusting up and down. As I kept spanking, her legs opening and closing created a delightful display of her feminine secrets.
I didn’t restrict myself to one part of her bottom, and spanked her all the way from the mid-upper region just below the bony plateau at the top of the hips to the join between bottom and thigh and down to mid-thigh. All the cane strokes had welted up nicely and the rest of her bottom had turned a deep red. The skin in the cleft between her delightful cheeks remained relatively white, and I endeavored to redden that as well. This was technically difficult, but it was worth the effort, and I kept at it, spanking on the left side, then on the right, over and over.
I leavened this crack punishment with more spanking elsewhere: on the summits, over the sides, down on the fleshy undercurves. Erin seemed to yell the loudest when the tips of my fingers struck the cane welts, but it was hard to be sure, the cleft spanking also elicited strong reactions. I suspect the hurt from each blow was no longer distinct and the entire experience had fused into one continuous mass of pain. However it was we got here–and whatever it was that “here” might be–I wanted to keep us there, and I kept on spanking, spanking, spanking as Erin howled, kicking her free leg, thrusting her trapped knee against my restraining leg, gasping and shouting in pain.
We went on like that for a long time, with me spanking and her continuously yelling in pain, twisting around on my lap.
Erin wasn’t resisting, just responding, but with such an active target it was a challenge keeping the punishment at maximal level while still keeping her over my lap. I moved her forward –she had wriggled back again–and moved my right leg over her left, trapping it and reducing her freedom of movement considerably. I began spanking again, harder than ever. Her writhing could not lessen her punishment but it was a graphic testimony of its effectiveness. When she stuck her ass up in the air I hit her right over the middle of her bottom; when she kicked her right leg out, I spanked her between her cheeks.
Her delicate anus
“Hold that leg out,” I instructed Hugh. He kneeled on the carpet, took her right ankle in his hands, and moved it so that her legs were far apart, the crack of her bottom spread wide, the inner parts cruelly exposed. I extended the spanking to these tender areas, making sure to punish her delicate anus, enjoying the contact between my fingers and this most intimate feminine area. Again she screamed, a prolonged howl that increased in intensity each time my hand slapped her bottom crack and my fingers her anus. This brought her punishment to a climax and suddenly, abruptly, all the fight died out of her. She stopped struggling, and I felt it was a good time to stop spanking.
She sobbed hard as I helped her up to sit on my lap. She buried her head in my shirt. For long minutes she could only cry, but finally she spoke.
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” she said.
“I forgive you, Erin,” I said, “it’s OK. But now I know what to give you when you are bad. Isn’t that right, young lady?”
Erin sniffled and gave me a wet nod.
Hugh came over and rubbed her back. “That’s my good girl, what a brave girl you were,” he said in the most loving and soothing voice. We stayed like that for some time until finally Erin had calmed down enough to be helped onto the couch, face down, still sniffling and her bottom still radiating heat. I had her drink some water and Hugh and I both continued to comfort her.
“Oh, Doctor?” said Hugh.
“You were right about spanking, I never dreamed it could be so effective.”
A successful collaboration
“Well,” I replied, “the caning made it possible. Another successful Anglo-American collaboration.”
“Right you are,” he laughed.
Hugh was rubbing Erin’s back and now and then his hand drifted onto her welted bottom, eliciting groans that sounded very like sighs. “That’s my girl, my lovely girl,” he said, and his voice was full of desire.
I stood and said I would be leaving.
“That’s very considerate of you, Doctor,” said Hugh. “but if you’d like to stay for the next part, you would be very welcome. You have earned it, and Erin knows better than to object.”
Copyright © 2001 Doc Tsai
Originally Posted asr & sss 12/25/01
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