The housekeeper looked at Sophie with a mix of pity and incredulity. Then her employer’s wife caught her eye and they both blushed.

“It is quite alright Mrs Blanchester;” Sophie whispered meekly, “My husband is well within his rights.”

Mrs Blanchester, as far as anyone knew had never been married, but it was the custom to address housekeepers as Mrs, it gave them more authority. Not that Caroline Blanchester needed any help, as a young woman in her mid-30s, she was much older than both the maids and 10 years the senior of Sophie Grainger.

At first glance they might have been taken for sisters. Both women had a similar look, neither being above five feet four and both having long thick chestnut hair piled upon their heads as was the fashion that year. But where Mrs Blanchester’s grey dress fell elegantly from her hips in one smooth descending sweep in a narrow bell-shape, Sophie was not wearing a dress at all.

In fact she was currently wearing little more than her shift and bloomers. The former of these was cut short and stylishly to her waist so that it blended at the curve of her hips with the knee-length leg coverings that ended in lace at her knees.

Seeing the fall of the housekeeper’s gaze Sophie again blushed and tried to make light of it.

“At least I am wearing bloomers. As a girl we wore those dreadful draws that opened at the back,” she said with a faux brightness.

Caroline Blanchester blushed peony as she remembered the type of garment. She had not been much younger than Sophie when she too had worn them under similar circumstances. That is, drawn apart as she faced the wall to await the rod.

“Do you think I should…?” Sophie pointed at the drawing room wall to her left.

“I was told to wait with you, nothing else,” Caroline said uncomfortably, “What did Mr Grainger… suggest Madam?”

Mr Grainger rarely suggested anything, Sophie thought ruefully, he just gave orders; but then that was how she liked it, if she were honest. She ran through what he had told her.

“You will spend no little time in the corner by the time I am done with you,” he had chided her.

But he had not said to actually… she shrugged, she would anticipate his wishes. After all she was in error and thoroughly deserved her punishment. So with a sigh and another blush she turned to the face the wall as she might have done under the direction of a governess and placed her hands upon her head.

It crossed Caroline’s mind that accepting a spanking from one’s lawful husband was one thing, but to be embarrassed so before one’s own servants was a little rich. But who was she deceiving, at least the woman had a husband and when it came to Mr Grainger, Caroline would have done anything she was told.

The housekeeper had sent the younger maid on a long errand out of the house and given Kathy, the older girl, extensive duties in the scullery and lower house so neither would venture here even by chance. But both knew what was afoot. Caroline only hoped they wouldn’t gossip in the village.

With Sophie facing the wall all conversation ceased and both women stood in an uncomfortable silence. This is awkward, Caroline thought and wondered if she should sit down. She was still deliberating when the door opened and Mr Grainger entered.

He was a tall man, a little above 40. But he had none of the portliness of men of his age and to further the youthful look, wore an elegant dark suit that was currently the vogue.

As he came into the room he glanced at his pocket watch and then at his wife. He nodded in satisfaction, she was a good girl. Then he turned to Mrs Blanchester.

“Did my wife fetch her hairbrush from her room?” he asked her.

Caroline swallowed and then stepped forward and took the brush from the arm of the padded chair under the window.

William Grainger took it and hefted it in his hand.

“Not as stout as the hall brush, but less oppressive I suppose,” he said sharply.

Caroline’s eyes widened a little, as Sophie’s must have. The hall brush was near a foot long and made of mahogany. It hung on a hook in the hall for the purposes of dusting down street wear. It would have been a formidable spanking tool and the housekeeper’s bottom clenched in future anticipation of such an event.

As these thoughts ran through her mind Mr Grainger took hold of the Windsor chair against the other wall and set it down in the middle of the room.

“You may leave us,” he told his housekeeper.

Caroline felt both relieved and disappointed all at once. But his will in this was entirely appropriate.

“Yes Sir,” she agreed with a tilt of the head.

She tended to avoid full curtsies on account of her position, but heaven help the maids if they slacked on this account.

William waited until his housekeeper had left before he summoned Sophie from the wall.

“You know why you must suffer this?” he said sternly.

“Yes Sir,” Sophie said meekly.

Her husband waited.

“I made the misjudgement of spending my allowance of fripperies Sir,” she said at last.

She hoped that by parroting back his earlier words he would be pleased.

“Misjudgement implies that you have any judgement to miss in the first place,” he scolded her.

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir,” she said quickly. “I only meant…”

“Tell me, when you took the five pound note from my dresser,” he stressed the word ‘my,’ “Did you know it was wrong?”

Sophie blushed to her ears and looked down with a nod.

“How did you expect to contrive to get away with such a thing?” he sighed.

She shrugged. She genuinely had no idea, it had been an impulse.

“You are a foolish girl aren’t you?” he sighed again, “Perhaps I should strip you for the rod.”

“Yes Sir,” she whispered, but her heart began to race and she had to bite her lip to prevent a protest.

“Your attitude is sound anyway,” he growled, “Sounder than your judgement. Come here.”

Sophie skipped across the room like a mountain goat or ballerina and flopped into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry William,” she whispered. “Please give me the spanking I deserve.”

It was not a mantra he demanded, but it felt right.

He wasted no more time and pulled her down across his lap so that her head was dipped towards the floor and her cotton-clad bottom was elevated on his knee.

“I mean to spank you harshly and then you will return to the corner for the remainder of the afternoon,” he chided her.

“Yes Sir,” she trilled.

“And don’t think I will have the maids skulk away below stairs just to suit your dignity,” he snapped.

“No Sir,” she blushed.

This last passive act on her part was as much because of his hand working her bloomers down as the revelation that her shame would be displayed to the household.

Once her full round bottom was bare to his gaze he patted it with the flat side of the brush and watched snow white patches melt against the smooth ivory of her skin. Blanche à la Blanche, he thought wistfully, knowing that rouge en rouge would soon be her shade. He brought the brush down with a pistol crack and marvelled at the shock of white that quickly flooded with pink.

“Eiee,” she squealed and kicked her bloomer-bound ankles.

He spanked her again harder and then thrice more.

She yelped gracefully at each impact rocking her bottom back and forth on his lap as she squirmed. She tried to anchor herself with her elbows under his thighs but four spanks in she swept the left arm back to hug at his waist.

“I will stop your allowance for a month for your folly and if you ever do such a thing…” he barked as he spanked her hard, “…again, then you will feel the rod, if not the strap as well.”

“Yes Sir,” she gasped.

“Do you… do you… do you hear what I say?” he rasped, the brush spanking down with real bite at each repetition.

“Yes Sir,” she screeched, her voice now strained.

By now her bottom was a bright poppy red across its whole surface and little mottles of mauve raggedly stained her right curve. Satisfied with the aesthetics, he let the brush fall on the under curves of her bottom right where she sat, an action that extracted earnest soulful wails from his lady wife as she kicked her legs ever more frantically.

Tears pooled at her red-rimmed eyes and her moist protests were accompanied by laboured breathing at the rise and fall of his arm.

“Please Sir, oh Sir…” and then with a shriek, “William… I am so sorry,” she wailed.

“Are you? Are you indeed?” he said in a scolding voice, but not letting up one jot with his arm.

In fact the spanking lasted a good five minutes more before William was satisfied. By then Sophie was a tearful mess hugging into her husband in true contrition.

“Now madam, you can retire to the corner and think on your wilful behaviour,” he said gently after taking a moment to hug her back.

“Yes Sir,” she sobbed.

And then reluctantly she limped to the wall and took up position facing it with her hands on her head and her bloomers still wrapped firmly at her ankles like hobbles.

“You may put your hands in the small of your back,” he said kindly, “But leave your bloomers down. You are going to be there for quite some considerable time.”

“Yes Sir,” she said miserably.

Without the least display of surprise William suddenly went to the door and opened it on Caroline who was standing there suddenly flustered.

“You may see to in here now and Mrs Blanchester… do leave this door open, both the room and Mrs Grainger would benefit from an airing.”

“Yes Sir,” Caroline said with a nervous blush.

“I will take my tea here,” he chuckled as he shot a glance back at his wife’s sore and exposed bottom.

“Yes Sir,” Caroline said breathily, following his gaze.

She would bring some herself directly.

Ends.