Colonel Maitland's Study

Before it happened that first time I had honestly never imagined for a moment that I would end up getting spanked by my new husband. Raped, maybe; a couple of times in bed at the end of a long day I had wearily told him I wasn't in the mood, but he had gone right ahead anyway, muttering some sort of feeble apology about his needs as a man as he tore my panties off and forced himself on me. My token efforts to fight him off only made the whole thing more exciting for him.

But for some odd reason being spanked by him seemed even more of a violation. It was surreal. I knew something was up the minute I got home from work that evening. I was even later than usual because I had been called back to one of the wards at the last minute to renew all the medication orders. The regular psychiatrist for that unit was on vacation, and the nursing supervisor had forgotten to ask me to cover for him.

Peter Langford is nearly old enough to be my father, and he's a billionaire. That is not why I married him, but of course no one believes me. And now that he's taken to spanking me I'm wondering how long this marriage is going to last. That evening he took me into his study and stood there in the middle of the room. We were both wearing our business attire. I took my suit jacket off and sat down in one of the leather armchairs, wondering of course what was coming next, but he made an irritated gesture and told me to stand up. He stared at me, his gaze unwavering, his expression cold. I felt like an incompetent employee about to receive a reprimand. He told me, quite calmly, that he was greatly disappointed in me. The silence became oppressive as he continued to stare at me, his expression grim. For the first time in my relationship with him he was really scaring me. My voice shook as I tried to defend myself.

"I'm a professional woman, Peter. I have responsibilities. Sometimes I get caught up in my work, you know that."

"It's a pity you don't get caught up in your marriage once in a while."

"Oh, Peter, that's not fair! You know I --"

"Take your skirt off, Sarah."

The rest is a little blurry. A pang of emotion surged through me, a curious mixture of fear and -- to my great embarrassment -- sudden sexual arousal. But, of course, I had to stand up for myself. I stared at him, frowning, and put my hands on my hips.

"What? You must be out of your mind! No way, buster."

He simply smiled at me.

"Just do it, Sarah. Unless you want me to strip you."

"Peter, what the hell is this? If you want sex, you have a very odd way of going about it. I can assure you --"

He ignored me. He stood up and came around the desk and grabbed my skirt and started tugging at it. That was enough.

"All right, all right! Jeez! If it's really so important to you, I'll do it, just don't tear my clothes, damn it!"

He raised his hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender and stood back, still smiling. I got my skirt off, quite mechanically and methodically, wondering what the hell was coming next. He brought out a straight chair and sat down and I was over his knee and getting slapped vigorously on the bottom, gasping with each blow, writhing and jerking as he held my wrists firmly at the small of my back, the heavy material of his trousers rubbing against my belly, my hair falling in my eyes as I stared down at the intricate pattern of the carpet, and then there was the sudden jolting orgasm as he yanked my panties down.

Miles Casben

When I met Colonel Maitland I had a part-time job installing video surveillance equipment, sound systems, and security alarms. He had wanted a bunch of cameras set up in his study, and I got the assignment. His place is something else. It's a real English Tudor mansion that was brought here in pieces and carefully reassembled exactly like the original. The guy must be made of money. When I finished he took me aside.

"Tricky job, Miles. Even I can see that. All that wiring had to go behind the walnut paneling, and you had to fix the high cameras directly onto the stonework, but you figured it all out in no time and it looks really good. What are they paying you?"

I told him, and explained that it was a part-time job to finance my computer science program at the university. He seemed pleased.

"Work for me, and I'll double your pay. I might not even need you every week, but I'll pay you either way. Can you be discreet? Keep things to yourself?"

The Colonel must have liked my answers, because he told me to come back one evening the next week. He was vague about my duties. When I arrived I was greeted by Mr. Jackson, an African American who seems to be employed as the Colonel's general-purpose servant. He asked me to wait in the main hallway. Then some people appeared at the front door, a man and a woman. Elegant, tall and good-looking, expensively dressed, both of them. I caught a whiff of flowery perfume from the woman. She looked nervous. She was wearing a skirt suit, dark nylons, and high-heeled shoes. Jackson led them upstairs and beckoned me to follow. He showed them into the study and then he disappeared downstairs. I waited outside the study door.

The door opened and the Colonel came out with the man.

"Please go down to the lounge, Mr. Merrihew. I will need thirty minutes or so with your wife. Jackson will fix you a drink." As the man headed downstairs the Colonel turned to me. "Ah, Miles. Stay put right there. I'll need you in a minute or two."

He retreated to his study and closed the door. From within I heard the faint sounds of agitated conversation. When he came out again he was carrying something.

"Just look after these for me, please, Miles."

He dumped what he was carrying into my arms and went back into the study. The door closed and I heard the key turn in the lock. I looked stupidly down at what I was holding. Skirt, nylons, blouse, bra, panties -- obviously the woman didn't have a stitch on in there. What the hell? Artist's model? The Colonel paints, maybe? Then, duh, I remembered the cameras and recording equipment I had installed and realized he must be making movies in there. Just as I was wondering what kind of movies, I heard a muffled thwack and a high-pitched scream. Ah. That kind.

I was called back the following week, but this time I was taken directly into the study and greeted by Maitland. Jackson showed a young woman in. It turned out that she was Dana Merrihew, the daughter of the couple we had seen the week before. Dana is 22, a college student, a lively, energetic, gleeful girl with an infectious smile, a mischievous look, and a sparkle in her eyes. Average height, compact, slender, shortish fair hair. She came right up to me and touched me on the arm.

"Haven't I seen you on campus?"

I told her I was a grad student in computer science, and she opened her eyes wide in mock horror and said something about the Big Bang Theory. Then she interrupted herself and rushed over to some shelves at the side of the room and looked admiringly at the Colonel's collection of statuettes.

"These are so cute!"

She bent forward, hands on her knees, gazing with rapt concentration. Then she bounced back towards us and said:

"OK, let's get to it, guys! How does this work?"

The Colonel told her to strip and put her clothes on the straight chair beside the desk. She giggled.

"Right! How do you want me to do it? I mean, you have all those cameras going. Am I enjoying it? Or should I look frightened? What's the scenario?"

The Colonel looked severely at her.

"I am going to punish you. It's entirely up to you how you feel about it."

"OK, OK. No need to be grumpy."

I was filming with the handheld camera, trying to hold it steady. The fixed cameras had all been set to record. Dana took her clothes off efficiently, folded them tidily, and placed them with exaggerated care on the chair, stooping down and giving them a triumphant little pat with her hand. She stood up and turned to face us, and suddenly I was finding it hard to catch my breath. Her legs were slim and there was a wide gap between her thighs at the top, surmounted by a very hairy pubic area. It looked like cat fur. There was a rubbery bounce to her small, firm breasts as she walked right up to the Colonel and put her hands on her hips.

"Now what, dear Colonel?"

"Call me 'Sir.'"

"Now what, Sir?"

She emphasized the "Sir."

"Put your hands on the desk and stick your bottom out."

"Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir."

She waggled her bottom lewdly as she bent over.

Dana was an attractive young woman, and seeing her in the nude had a very definite physical effect on me. But having her clothes off didn't faze her in the least. Maybe she was just so comfortable with herself that being naked made absolutely no difference to her. She was utterly artless and spontaneous.

The Colonel had a routine. He made Dana wait, bent over his desk, as he called Jackson to come in and take her clothes away. Jackson left, and the Colonel locked the door and came back over to the desk and got to work on Dana. His first swish of the cane definitely got her attention.

"Ow! That hurt like hell!"

She stood up and arched her back and massaged her bottom.

"This is all because of my new boyfriend, right? My parents think this will make me give him up?"

"Your parents sent you to me for punishment. You agreed and signed the contract. So I'm punishing you. The rest is between you and them. Hands back on the desk."

He drew the cane back and delivered another swishing blow that had her squealing and grimacing.

"Wow! I could get off on this. My boyfriend is an old man like you. He's one of my professors. Maybe he should spank me, too!"

The Colonel surprised me. I thought she had annoyed him so much with her flippant attitude that he would give her a real thrashing, but he just kept at it methodically as before, delivering a measured series of blows that got Dana writhing and crying out and gasping. He had made her count aloud the strokes of the cane, and she called each number out in a hoarse whisper. He stopped when she reached ten. She was breathless and her bottom looked sore, but she quickly regrouped. She looked ecstatic.

"I can't believe what a turn-on this is, Colonel! I'm as horny as hell! Do you guys want to do something about it?"

Smiling, she rushed over to me and hugged me tightly, thrusting herself at me and nuzzling her head on my shoulder. The Colonel came over and flicked the cane at her rear end.

"Ow!"

"Leave him alone and get dressed, Ms. Merrihew."

She pouted at him.

"Spoilsport!"

By the time Dr. Zimmer was sent to the Colonel I had been put in charge of all the real-time camera work and video recording.

Peter Langford

There was very little traffic on the way to Marshfield, and I was driving fast. Sarah was huddled in the passenger seat, studying her hands with frowning concentration, and occasionally darting an abrupt glance towards me. She had been giving me the silent treatment ever since the previous night, but I knew she couldn't keep it up. She would have to say something, and eventually she did.

"So we're still going through with this? Don't you think you've made your point by now, Peter?" She looked across at me, defiantly.

"Of course we're going through with it."

She sighed.

"What exactly is going to happen to me?"

"It's all in the contract, Sarah. I don't recall the details."

"Well, Peter, there are no details. That's the problem. I read it again last night. I almost missed the important part, it's buried in the appendix with all the legal definitions. 'Corporal punishment,' it says. 'Traditional methods, painful but harmless, to be agreed in advance on each occasion.' But no specifics! Are you really, truly going to allow your own wife to be subjected to some unspecified punishment by this stranger?"

"Colonel Maitland provides a discreet service, Sarah, and he handles it very professionally. But this is completely out of my hands, and you know it. My brothers have exactly the same contracts for Heather and Ashley. It's because of all the money. Father insisted on formal, legal protections against gold-diggers. No contract, no marriage, and no money. It's as simple as that."

She smiled grimly.

"I called Heather last night. She laughed. She had forgotten all about the damn contract. It was obvious nothing has happened to her. She sympathized and asked me to be sure to call her later and let her know what it was like. Then I called Ashley and she practically hung up on me. Said she didn't want to talk about it. Some things were best forgotten. Then she said she was sorry and started crying."

It hadn't occurred to me to ask my brothers if they had ever taken their wives to Roger Maitland. Sarah went on.

"And Ashley is so cool about everything. I can't imagine what must have happened to her for her to get that upset."

She retreated into a morose silence.

I was recalling the previous evening. I was at my desk. I had just found that entry in her check book and I had immediately called Neil. With perfect timing, Sarah strolled into my study, actually arriving home on time for once. She saw my frown and stopped. I looked up at her.

"Who the hell is Jenny Williams?"

She paled visibly.

"She's my therapist, Peter. What have you got there? My check book?"

"A therapist? You're seeing a therapist? You're a psychiatrist, for goodness' sake! Why do you need a therapist?"

"Peter, it's not unusual for people like me to see therapists. Most of my colleagues have therapists. We have stress in our lives. Our professional lives and our personal lives."

"How many times do I have to tell you?" My anger was mounting. "You're not like your colleagues. We have tremendous financial resources. Any intrusion into our lives by an outsider is very, very risky for us. You are so naïve, Sarah. What have you told her about us? Does she know where we live? And please don't tell me she knows about the pre-nup! Oh, no, this can't be happening."

I got up and started pacing, running my fingers through my hair. I glared at her, shaking my head, before speaking again.

"Neil is already on his way. I want his opinion. He's not pleased, Sarah."

Neil Whitcomb is a lawyer and one of my financial advisors. He's brilliant with finance, but he is amazingly deficient in social skills. When he arrived a half hour later he seemed even more upset than I was.

"It's a definite risk, Peter. Any uncontrolled exposure is dangerous. Mrs. Langford, surely you remember all those discussions we had while I was drawing up the pre-nuptial contract? About this being no ordinary marriage?"

"You got that right." She obviously couldn't resist taking that shot. "And it's not Mrs. Langford. It's Dr. Zimmer."

Whitcomb ignored her.

"You must take this seriously. I cannot overstate how utterly essential it is that you -- "

Exasperated, he looked to me for support. Then he paused and shook his head. He talked to me very intensely and earnestly, as if Sarah wasn't with us.

"Peter, if ever there were an occasion for invoking the contract provisions, this is it. I honestly don't believe your wife understands the situation at all. Her behavior is reckless in the extreme. We absolutely must get control of her. Immediately. I suggest you take her to Roger Maitland and --" He stopped, looking embarrassed. "You know, Peter. Get it done. The old-fashioned way."

I looked appraisingly at Sarah. I said to Whitcomb,

"Thank you for that input, Neil. In fact I agree with you. It's time for Sarah and I to take a trip to Marshfield."

"Good. You take care of that, and I'll deal with the therapist."

"What?" Sarah was looking horrified. "What the hell are you going to do to her? You can't -- "

She sat down, looking ill. For the first time, I truly believed she was actually beginning to get it.

In the car on way to Maitland's place Sarah had settled back into a fidgety silence which lasted until we turned off at the exit for Marshfield.

"Peter?" Her voice was small and child-like.

"Yes?"

"Do you think I'll have to take my clothes off?"

I thumped the heel of my hand on the steering wheel, startling her.

"Damn it, Sarah! The reason for having this Maitland fellow involved is that I can be spared the details. I have no idea what he's going to do, and I don't want or need to know."

"So you are perfectly OK with another man, a stranger, doing whatever the hell he wants with me, maybe stripping me and beating me?"

"I am perfectly OK with you being taught a lesson so you never again compromise the privacy of our family. You can tell me all about it afterwards if you like. Anyway, we're here."

Colonel Roger Maitland

The Langfords were due at six, and they pulled up in the courtyard right on time. I was at the window up in my study. They got out of the Mercedes. Langford was looking up at the roofline, presumably taking in the size of the house and the intricacies of the brickwork and the slate roof. His wife slowly followed him to the door, looking distant and preoccupied.

As I waited for my man Jackson to bring them upstairs I looked over the appendix to their contract again. The Langfords had signed the general agreement months ago, but today's little interlude -- Mrs. Langford's first visit to my study -- would require her to sign the appendix listing the specific items on this evening's agenda. I could make her strip; I could put her in restraints if necessary; I would give her at least ten strokes of the cane on her behind, but once the punishment started it would continue until I was satisfied; and I would be "indemnified and held harmless" from any complaint or allegation of coercion, kidnap, assault, and so forth. Neil Whitcomb, Esq., seemed to have covered everything, as usual.

Jackson brought the Langfords into my study. Because of its size the room is more a library than a study, though the bookshelves line the walls instead of projecting into the room in rows. The Langfords entered through the thick oak door in the middle of one of the long walls. Directly in front of them, on the other long wall, the massive stone fireplace led their gaze up to the cathedral ceiling. Four rough-hewn beams cross the room high up. There is a minstrel's gallery at the top of the wall to the left, and my desk is at that end of the room. I stood as they came in and beckoned them over and had them sit down in the carved and upholstered straight chairs in front of my desk. I began with some pleasantries. She obviously wasn't in any mood to talk, and he was all business.

"Well, Maitland, here's the check. You are quite familiar with our contract, of course?"

Peter Langford is tall and patrician-looking, used to being in charge, I would say."Thank you, Mr. Langford. Yes, I have a copy of the general contract right here. Would you both please sign it with today's date just to make sure we are all in agreement that it is still in force, and to authorize me to proceed as specified?"

Langford dashed off a quick signature without a glance at the document. His wife picked it up and studied it, frowning in concentration. I thought for a moment that there might be some difficulty. It certainly would not have been the first time a client's wife had balked at the last minute. But she sighed wearily and scribbled her signature, handing the papers back to me with an abrupt gesture.

I was sizing up the Langford woman. Very attractive. Probably in her late thirties. She was of average height and well-proportioned; slim if anything. That was the first impression, anyway, though experience has taught me that one cannot always tell. Her clothes were expensive and well-tailored. As I had been careful to specify in advance, she was wearing high heels. Her skirt suit was made of some soft velour material, and her dark hair was very long and silky. She seemed to be constantly pushing her hair out of her eyes. Anxiety, maybe? I was jolted out of these observations and musings when she spoke.