Colonel Maitland's Study

"Since my husband has not had the courtesy to introduce us, Colonel, I am Dr. Sarah Zimmer."

Her voice was not quite steady. She held my gaze for a couple of seconds before looking away, obviously struggling to maintain some degree of composure.

"Of course, Doctor. I'm Colonel Maitland. How do you do."

Langford left with Jackson. I told the woman to remain seated for a moment while I got up and let Miles Casben in. I locked the door. The woman tried to stifle a gasp as she heard the click of the lock. Casben is ridiculously young, a student at the university with a profoundly detailed knowledge of all the arcana of modern technology. He's quite immature, but there's no denying he's a very handsome young fellow. It was interesting to see the mixture of emotions crossing the woman's face as he approached. Her expression ranged from alarm and dismay, presumably at the presence of a spectator, to a quickening awareness of his undeniable appeal as she gave a fleeting half-smile and patted at her hair, and then to renewed, wide-eyed concern as she noticed the video camera he was setting up on a tripod a few feet from my desk. She had not noticed the other cameras high on the walls.

I sat behind my desk and told her to stand up and face me.

"Take your clothes off, Sarah."

In the stunned silence that followed she just looked at me, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. When she spoke her voice was faint.

"Oh, no, please. I really couldn't do that. Not with you two looking." She turned and glanced quickly toward Casben and his camera, then back at me.

"And definitely not in front of those cameras! Please, Colonel!"

Minutes later her clothes were piled haphazardly on the chair beside her, and except for her high heels she was standing stark naked in front of the desk, her expression wary, wide-eyed, examining me with searching concentration, obviously on tenterhooks as she waited apprehensively for what was coming next.

I have ordered many women to disrobe in front of me. There are a few characteristic reactions. Some, immediately accepting the inevitable, become brisk and businesslike, and methodically unfasten buttons, unzip skirts or pants, struggle out of blouses and bras, and quickly pull panties down and step out of them. Some fumble and twitch and tear things, sniffling and sobbing all the while. Others protest and resist and back away, making heroic, but futile, little speeches. They have to be persuaded. But it's always the same in the end. Everything changes as soon as their clothes come off. Defeated, they quickly become compliant, even the feisty ones.

I feared that the Langford/Zimmer woman was going to be in the "this whole thing is just an unfortunate misunderstanding" category, but I was pleasantly surprised by how well she responded when I acquainted her with the realities of her situation. All the fight went out of her. She stripped slowly but efficiently. As she twisted to unzip her skirt at the side her hair fell across her face. The more she took off, the more interesting she became. When she was down to her panties she balked for a minute and just stood there sullenly, glowering at me, but I forcefully conveyed to her that any lack of cooperation would not be tolerated. She quickly took them off and kicked them aside, trying -- quite unsuccessfully -- to look superior and disdainful. Before getting down to business I looked musingly down at the discarded underwear, wispy and insubstantial down there on the carpet. Stretched tautly across her firm buttocks a minute earlier they had seemed so much thicker and protective; full-cut, a pastel shade of light tan, a thick waistband in white. I gestured to Casben. Blushing, he picked the panties up, put them on the chair, and moved it well away from the desk.

I handed her the last page of the appendix to the contract. She leaned over the desk and signed it quickly, her hair falling down across her face. She hadn't read a word of it.

I was reflecting that many women are not very alluring when naked, and it can be surprisingly difficult to predict who will fall into that group from their appearance fully clothed. Sarah Langford did not disappoint. Healthy, lusty, and fertile, her animal qualities were fully evident. Her proportions were revealed to their best advantage as she stood there unclothed. The flatness of her belly was emphasized by her full breasts, the narrowness of her waist, and the curvaceous sweep of her hips. Her breasts rose with every intake of breath. The rich dark pelt of her pubic hair formed a wide, dense triangle.

It was obvious that she was very worried indeed about what was coming next. Poor Doctor Zimmer, standing in my study with all her clothes off, trying to put on a brave front but hopelessly out of her element, with no idea how she was supposed to act in this unfamiliar, highly degrading situation with unknown rules and nowhere to turn for guidance except to me. She looked stricken, her face like a mask as she stood there unwillingly revealing all.

I put my cane on the desk. Sarah stared at it with horrified fascination. It's thin, hard, and flexible. I told her I would give her ten strokes, and I ordered her to put her hands on the desk. She complied rapidly. I could hear her ragged breathing. Her head was down and her hair brushed the desk, hiding her face. I came around the desk and took up my position behind her. From the rear her athletic figure was arresting. Tresses of her long, soft hair cascaded down her back. Her firm, round buttocks protruded obscenely, as if presenting the crudest of invitations for the male animal to mount her.

"Very good, Sarah. That's it. Stick your bottom out like that."

I lined the tip of the cane up on her rear end, gently tapped her with it, drew it back, and swung it quickly through a wide arc, delivering a brisk, stinging blow. She gasped and recoiled and rocked back and forth, slowly clenching her buttocks. I let her regroup, and then I waited a while longer to let the anticipation build. I struck her harder the next time, jerking a yelping scream out of her. Then I waited. It was very quiet. She was tense, quivering, breathing hard as she held her position, bent over, teetering on her high heels.

"Hold still, Sarah."

"I'm trying to." Her voice was a whisper. Her legs were shaking.

"Well, try harder."

She started to speak again, but I quickly delivered another swishing stroke to her rear end with firm authority, and I was immediately rewarded by her high-pitched squealing cry as she jolted upright, frantically clamping her buttocks with her hands in a feeble effort to soothe her pain. I made sure the remaining blows, each delivered after a tantalizing delay, had a similar effect.

Before the last of the ten I quietly beckoned Casben over to my side and pointed at Sarah's breasts, which were hanging like ripe fruit over the desk. He blushed again as he saw what I was pointing out to him, that her nipples were standing out, hard and firm.

I took the camera from Casben and handed the cane to him and told him to give her the last one. I said he needed to produce a definite reaction from her or he would have to do it again. I'm not sure who was more nervous, him or Sarah, who was looking sideways at him with trembling apprehension. As usual for a beginner, he was a little too tentative with the cane, but he thwacked her soundly and she dutifully emitted a very satisfactory howling yell and celebrated the end of her punishment session by staggering round the room, clutching her buttocks and trying to smile bravely through her tears.

A fairly routine session. I have the basic procedure down pretty well by now, of course. Any variation in my procedure is caused by the woman herself. The main problem for most of them is not the punishment itself, it's how to figure out what role they need to take. Surrender and compliance? Feisty insubordination? Pleas for mercy?

I remember a very attractive woman who was the wife of a prominent politician. When I ordered her to take all her clothes off she refused, with a condescending smile and a superior manner. She expected me to back down immediately because of her high social position. When she saw I meant business she started issuing threats and calling me vulgar names. The poor woman just did not understand, at first anyway, that I was going to be her avid tormenter for the next half hour, and nothing she could do or say would change that -- unless she wanted to break her prenuptial agreement with her husband. The sanctions it specified were severe. My job was to bring her to a state of complete subjugation, deference, and obedience. I succeeded. Before we were finished, the politician's wife was literally pleading and begging and apologizing, kneeling on the floor in the nude and hugging my knees and sobbing. Unfortunately for her, I always go harder on a woman who does not quickly adopt the appropriate attitude. That was one of the few occasions on which I actually suspended a nude woman by her wrists and took the whip to her.

Dr. Sarah Zimmer

That damned contract. I had honestly never imagined that Peter would insist on making me honor it. My lawyer had not been happy about it, of course, but he went along with it and explained why. He had told me that competent adults could agree to almost anything in contractual form except criminal conduct. The issue, though, was enforcing it. He put it this way.

"Suppose a couple sign an agreement before they get married. It says that neither one will withhold sex from the other for more than so many days in a row. There are such contracts, and there is nothing illegal about them. But suppose the wife withholds her consent to intercourse for, say, two or three weeks. What then? Does the husband take her to court? How would that play out? Can you imagine a judge ordering a wife to have intercourse with her husband because they signed a contract! Of course not. All the contract does is to announce what the parties expect of each other, to indicate that they agree with the provisions, and to specify the consequences if they fall short. Well and good, until the minute a dispute arises. If anyone were ever found in default under such an agreement, and it is highly doubtful that any court would even touch something like that, the very worst that could happen, laughable as this might seem, would be the award of monetary damages. Or, in your case, Peter's right to an uncontested divorce."

Well, I had signed a contract agreeing to accept corporal punishment from my husband "or his designee" if I violated any of the provisions affecting the household finances, communal property, or our exclusive sexual relationship. The exact nature of the punishment was not specified, but I hadn't worried about it. I had explored some kinky sex techniques once in a while with other partners before I married Peter, and when I signed the contract I was thinking that an occasional spanking would be a hoot, an exciting turn-on that would spice up our love life if things ever began to pall. I had never dreamed that Peter would use the provisions of that idiotic contract to justify getting me disciplined by that Colonel Maitland.

My memory of the Maitland incident is patchy. Some of it I couldn't forget if I tried, but other parts are blurry and vague. In the car on the way there I tried to talk Peter out of it, but he was adamant. I was scared, really scared. When we arrived at Maitland's huge house we were taken upstairs to a quiet, very spacious, and expensively-furnished private study. Maitland is a Brit, he seemed rather a cold fish at first, a dapper man in his sixties who turned out to have a very strong sense of ritual, order, and propriety. He sat behind his desk in his three-piece suit and had us look over the contract and sign it. Seeing it again was weird. It had seemed so innocuous when we had signed it as part of the pre-nup, but now it had a sinister quality that made the words themselves seem menacing and foreboding. Peter left to wait downstairs, thank goodness.

Maitland brought a young man into the room whom he introduced off-handedly as his assistant, Miles. I certainly hadn't been expecting that. I was surprised at how disconcerting it was. I had almost completely reconciled myself to having this old guy in his sixties do whatever he was going to do to me, but then to have this young handsome man come in to be a part of it made everything different. It was absurd, but I was thinking I should have worn something a little more dressy, and I should talk to him and show him how modern and smart I am, and -- what the hell, I was about to get spanked and then this young dude walks in and gets me all wet between the legs. Maitland interrupted my thoughts by telling me to go over to his desk, and the next thing I knew I had to take all my clothes off.

My hands were shaking as I removed my suit jacket and folded it before placing it on the chair. I undid my belt and took my skirt off. I stopped at that point. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

"Sarah, when I told you to take your clothes off I meant that you should take your clothes off. All of them. Every stitch. Now."

It was like a dream. My turtleneck sweater, my bra, and, oh Lord, my panties all came off. I was blushing furiously. Then I was just standing there, stark naked, the two men eying me with undisguised fascination. And then there were the video cameras! I had no idea what that was about. I was finding it hard to breathe.

It was quiet for several seconds. I was hugely embarrassed by my nakedness, and furious that I had been so easily reduced to such a state of helpless humiliation, my pendulous breasts and my belly button and my thick tangle of dark pubic hair exposed to the men's appraising stares. Even my husband hardly ever saw me like that. Slight drafts whispered between my legs and I had a tingling sensation down there. Maitland had made me put my heels back on, and it felt very peculiar to be wearing my shoes but otherwise not having a stitch on. Then he made me lean over the desk and he went out of view. He, and presumably the college kid also, would have had an uninterrupted view of my bare bottom, but of course I couldn't see what was going on back there, and in any case I had other preoccupations. In fact I was nearly fainting at the thought of what was coming next. I had no idea how much it was going to hurt. My emotions were indescribable, a mixture of anger, fear, and -- to my surprise -- a surging rush of sexual excitement.

I just had time to register the swish of the cane through the air before it made contact back there and I was in a sudden turmoil of white-hot smarting pain that immediately dominated my entire consciousness. I cried out involuntarily and bent forward, cringing, tears in my eyes, and cursed and swore at him, I have no idea what I said. I remember trying to regroup somehow so I would be prepared for the next one, but Maitland did it again and the thwacking sting of the cane drew a hoarse scream out of me. From that point I had absolutely no power to focus on or attend to or think about anything at all apart from the repeated swishing strokes and the insistent blazing soreness in my rear end that merged into a continuous glowing throbbing. Part of my mind was reflecting on how it could possibly be that I was feeling numbness back there in spite of such sharp pain, and another part was cold with seething fury at Maitland's casual, distant attitude as he kept up his sadistic assaults with that cane.

The bastard had got the Casben kid to walk around me with the video camera, and through my tears I saw its steady red light dispassionately indicating the coldly efficient operation of the recording mechanism. I tried to stop yelping and gasping and I tried to look as if it wasn't bothering me, but Maitland was cruelly waiting for long, unpredictable intervals before hitting me again so that I had always regrouped somewhat before the next blow. When it finally came, each new whack from the cane was as startling as the first one, and despite all my efforts to stay in control the sharp sting had me howling and screeching and writhing involuntarily every single time. I thought I was going to die of impotent fury as Maitland came around to the front again and casually made an adjustment to the video camera he was holding as he told Casben to take over with the cane. Casben went behind and took his turn, and when he thrashed me, damn it all, I had a shuddering orgasm just as Maitland caught my face on camera. As I stood up he was grinning in obvious delight at the titillating video footage I had so unwillingly provided for that merciless machine with the unblinking red eye.

Miles Casben

Dr. Sarah Zimmer turned out to be one of the very best. I have watched the video of her first session with us again and again. She strips and you get the full frontal view. You would never know it with her clothes on, she just looks thin, but in the nude she's perfect -- slim waist, flat belly, full breasts, and that wide crotch and curvy hips. My eyes would go back and forth between her belly button and that thick patch of pubic hair, and those breasts with the dark areas around the nipples. And then the caning itself was spectacular because every time she got swatted she gasped and stood right up and tried to protect her bottom with her hands, and Colonel Maitland didn't like that at all and made her bend over the desk again, and she kept trying to look around and her hair fell across her eyes, and she kept up this wailing and whimpering all the time, crying like a little girl. It's a long video and I never get tired of it.

I guess part of the fascination with Dr. Zimmer is that she's such an important person at the hospital. Once or twice when I was at the clinic for a session with my therapist I had seen the doctor, always in the middle of a gaggle of nurses getting her to sign orders and suchlike. It's ridiculous, I know, but the idea never occurred to me that a person like Dr. Zimmer could ever have her clothes off, let alone in front of us while she was getting punished for real by the Colonel's cane with all the cameras running.

All my dreams came true when the Colonel said I could give her the last swat with that cane. I tried to do what he did, so I rested the tip of the cane on her bottom and paused for a long, long time. She was snuffling and whimpering quietly and she was trembling, and she kept looking back trying to see what I was doing. The Colonel smiled at me and gave me a thumbs-up, so I swooshed the cane it through the air but at the last second I held back because I thought I was going to hit her too hard, but the tip of the cane gave a nasty little flick on her rear end and she screeched and scampered off to the side of the room, sort of sobbing and giggling at the same time. That was definitely the first time I have ever spanked a psychiatrist's bare bottom with a cane.

Sarah Zimmer, M.D.

That night I went up to the bedroom early to get ready for bed. I opened the door to the left of the king-size bed and wandered into my study. I guess you know you are a workaholic if your study is right next to your bedroom. A couple of faxes and a voicemail message. I punched in the number and waited. I was stark naked, as if I had unaccountably got stuck between the rituals of undressing and putting on my nightdress. In fact I often go around upstairs without my clothes on. It relaxes me. And at this particular moment, to my great surprise and annoyance, I was feeling distinctly horny. Damn it! I was thinking. I can't let Peter assume our bedtime routine is going to be business as usual tonight, not after he farmed me out to Maitland to get thrashed. Then a moment of panic. He wouldn't try anything, would he? No; I had sulked all the way home from Marshfield, and gave him the silent treatment all evening. He must have got the message loud and clear. But, there again, he has insisted a couple of times in the past. Perhaps I had better lock the other door. Was there a key? Where the hell was it? Then the phone was picked up at the other end. Oh, hello, Mr. Jenkins. Dr. Zimmer. Yes. About that new prescription. Don't start it if you've already taken your regular medication today. As I spoke I was absently combing the fingers of my free hand through my springy patch of pubic hair.