I have often been told that with a bottom like mine I have to expect to be spanked. That hardly seems fair to me, but then I suppose if I have been naughty then… I mean I usually deserve it when Charlie spanks me and I have had my share of spanking boyfriends. If that was all then I would just chalk it up to being an occupational hazard of being a girl.

However, in my time I have been spanked by almost complete strangers. I mean what is that all about? Take the time I was going home on the tube. It was so busy as usual that I had to stand and I swear some of the prodding and nudges weren’t by accident.  I got so many stares with even old ladies gaping at my bum that I got quite self-conscious. Anyone would think I was naked, but I was wearing jeans and short lightweight jacket, nothing too provocative at all.

Eventually the passengers thinned out a bit and I was able sit down. That’s when I saw him.

Sitting opposite was a man of around 40 with steel grey hair and firm stern gaze. Just my type actually, but there was something about him that made me nervous and I couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Making quite a spectacle of yourself aren’t you?” he said lightly.

There was a hint of laughter in his voice, but I didn’t think he was mocking me. I thought about my bum and the stares I had been getting and blushed.

“Do you always wear such tight jeans as that in public?” he pressed me.

I muttered something like it was none of his business and blushed.

“One might argue that you have made it everyone’s business don’t you think?” he said in an almost friendly way.

I glowered at a point past his head, still not meeting his eyes.

“I’m speaking to you,” he said sharply, “If you don’t want to speak to me then politely say so.”

I felt foolish and even more embarrassed.

“Sorry but…” I looked around and lowered my voice. “It’s not my fault I have a big bum.”

“So why dress like that?” he said sounding puzzled, “I could see you were uncomfortable.”

My face was hot now and I dipped my head. He had a point I supposed.

“My name is Michael Antony,” he smiled and offered me his hand. Then added, “If I am bothering you…” he shrugged and went to lean back.

“Rachel, Rachel Roux,” I said shyly and took his hand.

“Roux,” he said thoughtful as we shook, “It means wheel doesn’t it, a special kind of wheel if I am not mistaken.”

I was intrigued. I knew it meant wheel but that was all. “Really? What do you mean?”

“The roux was a kind of mediaeval torture or punishment device,” he said. “How appropriate.”

My heart leapt and my ears pricked up as it always did when someone mentioned punishment. I must have given myself away because he was grinning.

“Why don’t we get a coffee and I’ll tell you more,” he said. It sounded like an order not a request.

I liked that, sort of.

*

Coffee turned into late afternoon tea at a rather grand building in Oxford Street. It looked a bit like a night club and even had several bars on the various levels, but Michael told me it was a drinking club.

We took a seat in a secluded alcove well away from the busy public areas, not that there were many people about at that time of day. There were books and a large airy window overlooking Marble Arch.

He talked about medieval punishments, both domestic and judicial for almost half an hour while we took tea and then he asked about me.

“I am a journalist,” I said, but I was distracted and squirmy from some of the things he had told me. So I asked, “What did you mean, ‘how appropriate?’”

“Well considering your behaviour and your rudeness to me I think you could stand a spell on the roux,” he chuckled.

I blushed again and gaped at him. “You mean whipped,” I blurted.

He laughed and his face cracked into friendly crags that added character to his face. “It would probably do you good, but I was thinking of nothing more serious that a good sound spanking and a spell in the corner.”

I went dizzy at this and my heart was pounding.

“You wouldn’t,” I gasped, but I didn’t sound at all certain.

“I bet you have been spanked before,” he said with a twinkle.

I blushed again and averted my eyes.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a very spankable bottom?” he said.

I nodded.

You could have cut the air with a knife as they, say and the silence was suddenly oppressive. It wasn’t only my face that was suddenly hot and damp. Michael pushed a button in the wall and I heard a very faint bell somewhere.

A minute later the smartly dressed woman who had served the tea presented herself with an efficient smile.

“I seem to have picked up some dust or something on my jacket,” he told her, “Can you find me a nice stout clothes brush?”

Her eyes flicked to me and I could have sworn that she smirked.

“Yes Sir,” she answered demurely.

I was still puzzling out the exchange when the woman returned with the large ebony brush and put it on the table. Just seeing it put me in mind of an alternative use for it and then the penny dropped.

“M-mr Antony…” I spluttered, “I think I had better go.” I thought my face would melt.

“Not until I have given you the spanking you so richly deserve,” he said earnestly as he took up the brush.

“But…” I looked around in horror, “You wouldn’t, not here?”

You notice I didn’t dispute my deserving it or his right to do it; for some reason that never occurs to me.

“Why not? Everyone here is very discreet and the club doesn’t get busy for hours,” he told me as he crooked his finger.

“Mr Antony please I…” I didn’t run and could only hug myself nervously.

“I am curious, do you honestly think it isn’t going to happen?” he asked with seemingly genuine interest.

I opened my mouth to reply and then closed it again.

“Come here then,” he said with a sigh as if it was all too much trouble or I was.

Somehow a moment later I was tumbled across his lap with the seat of my jeans bursting into his face. He patted my bottom twice and then sighed again. “Stand up and take them down.”

I was breathless now and anxiously looked towards the open end of the room alcove to the larger room beyond. Not a soul was around and the only sound was traffic outside and my own breathing.

I stood up then and worked the button in front. It was hard to get them down without taking my knickers too, which was why he probably said, “Those too.”

I half turned to hide my front and thought about how often I had done this at school.

“Now come here,” he said sharply, pulling me back down across his knee with my now bare bottom sticking up.

“Ooh Michael, I mean… Mr Antony…” I gasped, muttering, “Why does this always happen to me?”

He laughed and then stung me very sharply me with his hand right across my bum.

“Ow,” I squealed and I meant it, but he only spanked me again.

“You are going to do exactly what you are told and accept exactly what you are given,” he told me sternly.

The spanking was brisk and very stingy. It was loud too and for the first part I was more worried that someone would hear or come for the tray. I said as much.

“Be quiet,” Michael snapped, “If I say so we will do this downstairs where everyone arriving can watch.”

I was horrified and had no doubt that he meant it. There wasn’t very much I could do about it was there?

The spanking with his hand lasted a while and I was quite squirmy and sore long before he finished.

“I think you enjoyed that,” he said.

“I didn’t,” I protested, conscious that my bottom hurt and I was rather damp at both ends, situations that rather cancelled one another out I thought. I told myself that this meant I wasn’t lying.

“Well in any case you made an exhibition of yourself and were then rather rude,” he said.

“I wasn’t,” I whined.

“Then why did you come here with me?” he growled.

He did have a point, one that he shortly pressed home with the flat side of the big black wooden brush. My yelling superseded any impact sounds, either one of which would have roused any normal curious waiting staff.

In the hands of an expert a good spanking can make the buttocks ache and the skin covering stingy and sore all at the same time. Bruising is to be expected, but it should be an aftershock that reminds a girl for days after that she has had a good long spanking. This was my experience with Michael.

My sobbing was clean and genuine, something to really settle into. It was embarrassing too for I was certain now that anyone around knew what was happening. But this emotion quickly became secondary to my rather tortured tail end sufferings.

At several points during the spanking I thought he was never going to stop and even when he paused to scold me I knew it was only a brief reprieve. But finally the onslaught ended and collapsed in a heap of open tears as I hugged into his lap.

“Now while you go and stand in the corner I am going to have more tea,” he said at last.

I was still panting hard and had expected to be released.

“But…” I was frantic now, “Someone will see,” I wailed.

“Only Janice and she is an old friend,” he chuckled. “If you are a good girl then we will be out of here before anyone comes and then I’ll buy you dinner.”

I wanted to protest some more but a girl like me knows when not to argue.

*

Janice did indeed get an eyeful and I could hear her silent laughter the whole time she collected the tray and again when she returned with a refill for just Michael. It was completely mortifying and at several points I almost rebelled.

I have no idea how long I was there but at least twice someone rounded the corner and muttered something like, “Oh, sorry” or “Whoops.” I could have died.

Later one we had dinner and I have to admit that Michael is a pretty interesting guy. A man I now call a friend, albeit one with a rather hands on attitude to my welfare.