Josie sat sucking in air until her cheeks were fit to burst and the face in the mirror opposite appeared to have the mumps. Then with slow deliberation she let the air ‘fart’ from her mouth in a crude raspberry until the last breath ended in a sigh.

So far she had only managed to address one eye of her make-up and she was already wondering what the point was. At 38 she was sure there wasn’t any now, she was too old. Maybe she should grow out her hair, she thought as she tugged at the very short boyish blonde rag-cut. Once upon a time she thought she looked cute and pixie like, but now… she let out another sigh and sunk back into the dressing table stool.

Finishing the other eye she stood up and turned. Her small bust was firm enough but she was way too broad in the beam for her liking.

“If only I were taller,” she muttered, bending forward a little more to scrutinise the literally growing backside issue. “Or prettier,” she added, thinking ‘or younger.’

At least work was fine, she consoled herself, and the next client doesn’t need me for five weeks. What about a holiday? Nowhere far, just… oh what was the point she was never going to do it. Then it hit her, she never ever would.

Why couldn’t she just make a change? Do something? Why wasn’t there a switch she could throw and change everything?

Ten minutes later she had packed a bag, grabbed the car keys and was heading for the coast.

As a child she had gone on holidays along the Dorset coast. It was a fair way from London, but just then she didn’t care. She did however have the presence of mind to phone ahead and grab a room in a small hotel near Weymouth. She cursed herself for the boring sensibleness of the precaution. But old habits die hard.

*

The sun was shining and in places it reflected off the remaining puddles of the narrow streets here and there turning the town to silver. Everywhere there were silly young girls giggling for England and dancing in and out of boutiques without ever buying.

Jacob put down his pencil and took another sip of tea. Where was the muse?

Looking at his efforts so far he cringed. The client wanted something different and the way Jacob felt he didn’t even have more of the same. The girl in his drawing was a cliché of curves striking a traditional pose over a rail. Although the lower curves of her bottom hinted that she had been spanked, she was smiling. Well it was different from the usual tearful submission he usual imbued such girls with, but he doubted it was what was required.

Jacob sighed and took up the pencil again. There had to be something, something new. He ran his eye along the latest crop of tourists and winced at yet another gaggle of too young girls. He could hire better in London if needed a mere model. Not one of these nascent women had a hint of wonder or mystery going for them. Although he did let his eye linger on a girl in short shorts window shopping at an art shop.

She was short–ish and rounded, but with cute pixie hair. True her upper thighs were a little dimpled, but the natural look made her look more interesting. Then she turned and glanced in his direction. He saw at once that she was older than he first took her for. She might even be in her early middle 30s. He was still looking when she caught his eye and quickly cast her gaze downwards and hurried on.

Jacob was sorry to see her go but he admired the retreating view all the same.

*

Josie was as out of sorts as ever when awoke that morning and bouncing between coffee and boutiques had not relieved her boredom. Then she had seen the 40-something hunk sketching outside the café. The chunky jumper worn with chinos and espadrilles suggested he had a youthful outlook, but maybe he was just a Bohemian. The sketch book certainly supported that image.

She watched his reflection in the shop window for a while before resolving to grab a coffee from his café. Maybe… but as she turned she saw he was watching her and she blushed. Damn, I am such a fool, she thought as she looked away and hastened off in the other direction.

Damn, damn, damn, she cursed all the way up the street as she hastened out of his sight.

It was 10 minutes before she calmed down and another 15 before she plucked up the courage to nonchalantly swing by the café again. But he was gone. Damn.

She might never have seen him again but shortly after lunch she stopped at one of Weymouth’s many pubs and found a seat in the corner of the snug. The book she had bought lay unopened on the table and instead she occupied herself looking at the ancient prints that adorned the walls.

The pub was an old one, at least 16^th century by the looks of it. Despite a garish fruit machine in the corner it looked as if Daniel Defoe might only just have stepped out. The walls were dark brown-black oak panels and here and there held twisted carvings of long dead craftsmen.

“Have you read that yet?” said a voice, “I couldn’t get into it myself.”

Startled Josie swung around and saw him smiling at her. It was the man from the café and now he was actually talking to her.

“Eh…” she gaped, and hastily scanned the walls for a sign or some other writing.

“The book,” he said easily nodding at the tome on the table.

“Oh… eh… um… well no… I…” she babbled.

“Maybe you will get it better than I did,” he dismissed the matter and stood up.

“You going?” she blurted and immediately winced.

“Only to the bar,” he answered. “Let me get you another too.”

“Well I haven’t really finished this one and… well I ought to… that is,” she said hurriedly, appalled even as she spoke at her utter clumsiness, bad by even her standards.

“Let me help,” he grinned, “Just say ‘yes please, it is a large G&T.’”

She snorted a laugh and grabbed her nose with embarrassment.

“Actually can you make that a small one and it was… eh… vodka and bitter lemon.”

“Coming right up,” he winked and crossed the small room to the bar.

By the time he had returned she had casually turned his sketch pad around and was glancing through it.

The themes made her blush and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. But all the same she found them compelling and was so engrossed that she didn’t see him come back.

“Oh you have found my girls,” he chuckled.

“Oh sorry I was…” she pulled a face and hastily pushed the book away.

“No it is okay, so long as they don’t offend you,” he smiled. “I was just working up some ideas for my next commission.”

“Oh you’re professional, I mean, of course you are. They are very good,” she spluttered. “Sorry, I am not used to such stuff.”

“You mean the BDSM scene and spanking or art?” he teased.

She blushed. She always blushed when confronted with the s-word, but strangely she wasn’t as out of her depth as she thought should be.

“Both,” she said crisply, but there was a twinkle in her eye and she smiled.

“Perhaps I can enlighten you then,” he said, his tongue gently nudging the inside of his mouth as he studied her face. “Although perhaps we had better start with the art,” he added after a creative pause. “There is a private gallery nearby, but I know the artist. It’s free wine any rate.”

“Is the art like yours?” she asked.

“No, apart from the odd nude it is mostly vanilla,” he shrugged.

“Pity,” she countered, pretending to be joking.

*

The art gallery visit led to dinner and three days later it had become their habit to meet for lunch at the café she had first seen him and then spend the afternoon together.

“How did you get into… well you know?” Josie asked more casually than she felt.

He shrugged and gave her an appraising look.

“I have been fascinated in spanking and related matters for as long as I can remember. Of course like so many others I thought I was the only one,” he said.

So far she had not asked much about his work and although he enjoyed her company, he was fast forming a view that she was firmly vanilla.

“But your pictures… aren’t they… well unusual, how did you get into that?” she pressed him with a lick of her lips.

“I went to art school and then got a job in advertising. The drawings were a hobby. But when the Internet really got going I published some of them. It just grew from there really,” he replied, not really sure what she wanted to know.

“Do you ever use models?” she asked, now putting all her attention on her coffee.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug.

“Did you ever… you know sp-spank any of them?” She stumbled over the s-word and but pressed on regardless with the smallest of blushes.

“Of course,” he laughed, “Most of them, If not for the art, then in earnest.”

“You spank girls for real then?” she blurted.

Several people around the street seating perked up and appeared to look around with interest; although as most of them were English no one actually looked in their direction. Josie blushed and lowered her voice as she said, “I mean for real, for real?”

“It is who I am,” he said almost sadly, “Sorry.”

“But do you think that grown women need to be… well, you know, just to make them behave. I mean not just for a game?” Josie was becoming animated despite herself.

“Do you mean do I believe that philosophically in a social political sense?” he chuckled, “You know I have never thought about it. I am not sure I would advocate a change in the law or a restructuring of society at large. After all Queen Victoria is safely dead.” He appeared to enjoying the exchange as well as Josie’s discomfort. “But it seems to work out within my little circle, professionally and personally.”

“So it has to be consensual then?” Josie asked in a hush tone.

Jacob frowned and for a moment appeared to be forcing a thought out through his ears.

“Not exactly,” he said at last, “I mean there is an implied and sometimes explicit agreement that it could happen to any woman within my orbit. But we don’t exactly… ahhh, put it into words, shall we say. And of course everyone involved is a consenting adult over 21. But if you are asking did I ever spank someone who wasn’t protesting in that moment, well… it is hard to explain. In my world there is punishment and there isn’t a girl in their right mind who wouldn’t think twice at the time, if you know what I mean.”

“No, not really,” Josie sighed.

“Well put it this way,” Jacob said suddenly sounding serious and concerned that she might think he was some kind of coercive shit, “There is a kind of club and everyone knows the rules. If they stick around then I assume they consent and we don’t need to trouble ourselves with ongoing micro-details.”

Josie frowned as she considered this point.

“What about me? Am I in your club?” she asked in a neutral tone.

Jacob studied her hard and shifted in his seat. He was suddenly sad and overwhelmed with regret.

“I have no reason to think you are,” he answered.

“How would you know?” Josie murmured, “How would I know, come to that? Is there a badge or an initiation of some kind?”

“If you stick around, sooner or later I will spank you,” he said sternly. “If you let me and don’t piss off afterwards, then we will both know your cute little bottom is on the line.”

Josie blushed. But part of her was thinking; it is not so little.

She was still blushing when he leaned in and asked her, “Do you like my work?”

Blush grew and Josie squirmed.

“Well yes but…” She couldn’t meet his eyes. She had been excited by his drawings from that first day.

“I have a picture I want you to see. It is up in my studio,” he told her, “Will you come?”

Josie shrugged, but still blushing she nodded.

*

The picture was ordinary enough. A simple coloured depiction of a young adult woman being switched on the bare bottom by an older woman ostensibly for spilling a pail of milk. Despite the all-woman theme there was something evocative about it, but she had seen better pictures by Jacob.

“Actually it isn’t one of mine,” Jacob said, “But the simple theme is compelling and my latest client likes it.”

“Oh,” was all Josie could manage.

“Doesn’t do anything for you then?” Jacob asked.

Josie shrugged. It did she knew, on some level anyway, but what could she say?

“What about these?” Jacob asked as he pulled a large A0 sketch book from the wall.

Josie blushed and began to hug herself. There was an older woman in business clothes being spanked by an older handsome man. A 30-something woman doing a ‘Marilyn Munroe’ with her skirt blowing up; only this woman had an obviously spanked bare bottom and several onlookers were laughing at her. There was another woman over the lap of a man in obvious discomfort as he spanked her ample bare bottom. This one she liked the best.

“Look at them,” Jacob said.

Josie had looked away in embarrassment and now looked back.

“I-I…” she stumbled over herself, thoughts tripping over her tongue.

“Have you ever been spanked?” Jacob asked, “I mean really soundly spanked on your bare bottom for real?”

“N-no,” Josie whispered, not outside her dreams anyway.

“Well I think I am going to spank you now,” Jacob said. “Or else it will hang between us forever and I think we like each other.”

“You wouldn’t… I mean… y-you can’t,” Josie gasped.

“Josie,” he said sharply, “I am. It is really going to happen. I am just going into the other room for a moment. If you are still here when I get back I am going to spank you. If not I’ll see you at dinner where we were last night and we’ll talk about it.”

There he had said it. He had also given her an out. Then he left.

Following him with her eyes, Josie then glanced at the exit and then looked back to the room which he had entered.

“Jacob, come on,” she called after him, “This is silly. You are not going to… sp…” the word caught in her throat.

He gave her five minutes and a life time before he returned. As he entered Josie looked at him with all the demeanour of a bunny stuck in a car headlight.

“Last chance,” he said and she blushed again.

Then gently he took her arm and led her over to the sofa in the corner. Then sitting down he pulled her unresisting across his lap and tugged at her summer shorts.

Josie was breathing firmly and a hand strayed to her mouth where it was gently chewed.

Getting no resistance, Jacob slowly eased down the grey denims, seeing her lift her hips slightly. Her bottom was full and barely contained by her unflattering knickers and after a moment he pulled these down too.

Josie whimpered at this but said nothing.

Nevertheless Jacob waited. Her could smell her arousal and smiled as she tucked her head under her shoulders and hugged into his leg.

His hand hurt more than she thought it would and she moaned softly as it stung her. The following spanks were no gentler but it was a good two or three minutes before she began to squirm. By then of course her bottom was quite red and darker streaks had begun to form in the general redness.

“Jacob,” she gasped, “That’s enough I…” she didn’t know what only that it seemed to be what she should say.

Jacob pulled her tighter to him and spanked her harder. His hand rising rapidly and spanking down hard at a point beyond her bottom so that loud applause rang out it mighty cracking blasts.

“Uh… Jacob,” she moaned.

“This is who I am woman,” he snarled, “Who are you? Who do you want to be?”

“Jacob, please,” she yelped and clawed at him and the sofa as she kicked.

Jacob spanked her for another minute until she began to struggle with a degree of determination. By then she was panting hard and her bottom looked sore and even a little bruised.

“Stop it, stop it,” she wept.

To her surprise he did. For a moment she felt a sense of loss and in her confusion she tumbled to the floor. She couldn’t look at him and tried to hide her exposed bottom with her hands. The skin was hot and more than tingled, it tanged with an incessant fizzing ache. She felt ashamed that she was so aroused but everything about this felt alien.

After a moment she clambered to her feet and hastily pulled up her shorts.

“I don’t think I am who you think I am,” she said wanly, “Sorry. I thought… I thought…”

Then she left.

*

The day was warm and clear and Josie could still feel the ache in her bottom where Jacob had spanked her. The night before in her hotel room she had stared narcissistically at her reddened bottom in the mirror before throwing herself face down on the bed. She resisted touching herself as if that would validate what he had done and make him right. But all the same unremembered erotic dreams assailed her sleep and on waking she had looked again at the damage only to be disappointed by its virtual disappearance.

Now as she walked around only the echo of an ache remained with her and when no one was looking she grabbed at her behind and squeezed it as to extract every last drop of his efforts before they left her completely.

She had deliberately taken a path away from town and the café where he might be. This time she had left the streets and entered a park which was somewhat overgrown and deserted by regular tourists.

She should find him, she thought and apologise for her sudden exit. After all he had warned her, and she hadn’t really stopped him and she knew now that she could have. It felt as if she had failed some test or yet again run away from her life. Why couldn’t she have an adventure for once?

As if it were some kind of omen, there on the path was a thin stick not unlike the one in the hand of the woman in drawing Jacob had shown her. She picked it up and swished it meaningfully through the air once or twice.

It would serve her right if Jacob were to punish her properly with one of these. She swallowed. Or even this one, she thought somewhat lightheadedly.

It didn’t take her long to find his studio and although at any moment she had expected to give in to her fear she managed to reach his door without once hesitating. She had even carried the switch openly like a banner, almost daring anyone to know what it was for.

He opened the door with a frown and beckoned her in.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

He nodded.

“Maybe I went too far,” he offered.

But she shook her head and swallowing hard extended her arm and offered him the switch.

“Play time is over isn’t,” she said meekly, “I deserve to be punished properly.”

“Look if it isn’t your thing then… what I mean is, I like you and maybe…” he was uncertain now never having quite felt this way.

“Oh it’s my thing alright, I just didn’t know it,” she said boldly, “I only hope it is not too late to join the club. Is it?”

“What club?” he blurted in confusion before remembering their conversation.

“Punish me Sir, properly and not as if I am a novice,” she insisted offering him the switch again.

“I don’t think you know what you are getting into,” he said. But he took the proffered switch firmly now.

“I think I am about to learn,” she said ruefully.

*

Her big round bottom curved up at him over the sofa. It was scored near 40 times with pencil thick welts and ridges from a sustained switching that had left her sobbing heartedly.

Jacob had thrashed her for over 10 minutes while he took his time dishing it out in sets and allowing her long moments to breath.

Apart from squeals and girlish yelps she had not once complained and when he paused too long in his chastisement she had wagged her bottom invitingly at him and even bucked up and down.

The smell of sex was pungent and it was a matter of debate who was the most ready for whom, he thought, very much eager to add another 40 swipes at the least excuse.

“Thank you Sir,” she gasped in a small wet voice when it was obvious he was done with her.

“Oh you are welcome,” he chuckled.

“What happens next?” she giggled through her remaining tears.

“Next,” he told her with relish, “I get to draw and I suggest you don’t move.”

She gaped at him and threw a look over her shoulder.

“What?” she gasped.

“Do as you’re told or I’ll start over,” he said sternly.

“Yes Sir,” she sighed.

“Don’t worry I am just going to make some quick preliminary sketches. I have other plans for you,” he said with a wink.

“Well I hope it’s not dinner,” she replied, “I don’t think I am ready to sit down yet.”

“Just be quiet while I work or you won’t sit down for a week,” he scolded her.

“You and whose army?” she challenged him.

“I can easily make that a month,” he snapped sounding serious.

“Okay, okay,” she said hastily, “I was only kidding.”