The people hustling along the bridge on their way to work could be forgiven for not even noticing. It was a rainy summer’s day and most of them had assignments to finish before the holidays. In any case, the small park that started under the bridge and ran alongside the river was often frequented by people jogging and working out, even on a week day.

If anyone had looked down into the park from the bridge, then the girl doing press-ups at the direction of the large sporty looking man, although pretty, did not present a particularly unusual sight. If they had thought about it at all, they may have thought that the earnestly active young woman in the dark sweat top and pink leggings was in training. Had they thought this, then they would be almost entirely right.

The only detail they had missed was that the woman was not wearing pink leggings. In fact she wasn’t wearing anything at all apart from the dark-hooded sweat top. Her rain-sheened naked legs and bottom were exposed to the gaze of anyone who passed near enough and bother to look. Today, on account of the rain, that was no one.

“Please Tom, please I’m sorry, let me put my shorts back on,” she panted, not daring to break off from her efforts.

Tom stood back and folded his rugby player’s arms as he carefully watched her body form.

“I didn’t bring them, they are back at your house, remember,” he growled.

“What,” she exclaimed, pausing for a moment.

“Keep going,” he barked, “I want 10 more.”

“For God’s sake Tom, how am I going to get home, there are people about now it’s getting late,” the girl wailed.

“You should have thought about that before you kept me waiting for 15 minutes; before even you decided on a late night with the girls.” His voice was ladened with menace.

“But… this is not fair, you can’t do this,” she whined.

“I am doing this and I’ll do more if you don’t shut up.”

Across the grass on her line of sight a man was walking his dog. He was a good 30 metres away and didn’t even glance in their direction, but if he had, he might just have seen that it was a bare bottom that was pumping up and down and not a legging-clad one.

The realisation shocked the girl. Who might be behind her? It was closer to the river path, even if more obscured by the flower bed. What could they see?

“Nine and 10,” Tom counted down, “And stop. Good job Kate.”

Kate collapsed into the wet grass, relieved for a moment that she was less visible. It took several moments to get her breath, far longer than usual; a consequence of her partying the night before.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it.

The grass was wet between her fingers and she toyed with it as she tried to compose her next sentence. The chill on her exposed legs and bottom was liberating, but no less embarrassing. He could see her bottom for heaven’s sake, even if for the moment no one else could.

“If you don’t want me to train you, then say the word,” he said levelly. “You knew that when you hired me, well contacted me anyway, I know there’s no money in this… well you knew I was strict. I thought you knew my reputation.”

“I did. I do, but it’s just… well, what with everything else… it’s tough, that’s all. I get that you can put me in my place when I get out of line, but that is in private. This is… well its embarrassing. What if someone sees?”

“I don’t care. You either want the medal, the glory, or you don’t. Anyway, you were getting far too complacent about… my other methods; welcoming them even. We needed to shake things up a bit after last night. The games are only weeks away.”

Her eyes went wide and she gaped, hardly able to speak.

“I don’t welcome… well it’s horrible, but…” she managed, hating to say the words, hating that he might have guessed.

“We’ll see about that,” he snorted. “Right now I want you once around the park and then home.”

“I can’t run now, there’s too many people,” Kate wailed.

“On your feet, jump to it,” he snapped, tugging at her hood to haul her up.

She clambered to her feet, desperately looking around at the rain-cleared park and up at the more distant bridge where the commuters and traffic hurried by.

“Come on, run,” he yelled, clapping his hands and moving behind her.

Kate tried to tug her sweat top down at the front, but it was largely in vain. So instead she executed the fastest run of the week, hood up and head down. By the time she got back to where he was waiting by the tunnel under the bridge, she was certain that half a dozen people had stopped and done a double-take as she passed them.

“Bastard,” she hissed as she approached him.

“Keep up,” he said, ignoring her as he turned into the tunnel at a run and headed for her riverside terrace.

She shot a look down the short pedestrian way under the bridge in case someone was coming through and then she broke after him.

Mercifully the rain had cleared the Thames Path along the river and no one came out of their house as she passed in that desperately exposed half mile to her front door. The worst part was passing the pub, which would have been crowded with drinkers and even tourists at any other time of day, even in the rain. And although there was no one to see, the idea of such an audience at her local shocked her and spurred her on.

In the end it took less than three minutes to reach her front door and they passed no one. Kate was willing to bet that she had broken her own personal best. Maybe I should have been a sprinter, she thought ruefully as he opened the door for her.

“Right, I trust there will be no more drinking and late nights before the games,” the trainer growled.

Kate sucked in her cheeks as she sheepishly shook her head and tugged at the front of her sweat top to cover her exposed sex.

“Make sure you are ready when I call tomorrow morning at 5.30 sharp.” He fixed with a hard stare.

“Yes Sir.”

“Let’s make sure of that,” he snorted, “You know the drill.”

“Oh come on, I have been punished enough,” she whined.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed her as he took her arm.

He sat down on the third step of her stairs pulling her easily and unresisting across his knees, her trim bottom, still bare from her training, domed up neatly on his lap as she adopted a parody of the push-up position. Then as she shifted in position and steadied herself with her arms, he reached down and removed one of his training shoes.

“So that you that you can go for gold, I’m going for red today,” he quipped as he blasted the flat side of the trainer across her bare bottom. “Feel that?”

“Yes,” she hissed, gritting her teeth.

“That?” He asked, spanking her again.

“Yes Sir,” she groaned.

“And that?” The loud thwack that accompanied his question echoed off the ceiling.

“Ah,” she grunted, no longer able to coherently reply.

The perfect spheres of her bottom now sported two sharp ovals that rapidly flooded with crimson.

“Am I wasting my time?” He lay on three short hard spanks, each drawing a groan from her as she struggled to hold position.

“No S-sir,” she gasped.

“Good,” he barked, “Because if you take your eye off the ball just one more time before the heats, then we will have a much longer conversation like this out there in the park. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir,” she squealed.

His great arm swept down in punitive elegance a dozen more times until a raspberry-like sound escaped her lips, heralding her first pooling of her eyes.

“I have a good mind to run you round the park again with your ruby backside on display as it is.”

“Noooo,” she wailed, no longer able to contain the tears.

“Then I suggest you shape up,” he urged.

The spanking lasted far longer than any other until she collapsed sobbing into his lap.

“Alright,” he said at last, “You’ll do.”

She nodded, hugging into him.

“Thanks for the motivation,” she sniffed.

Ends.