Over the Lap of Luxury Pt. 01

She flipped a page in her magazine and laughed. "I had to pick one that would easily fit over my lap," she said. "But I do like a big variety. Men. Women. All types. You know that."

"One of the most fun things about you," said Nick. "And which selection method did you use, my dear? The one the Robinsons recommended?"

"With a twist. We fooled the candidates into accepting a clothed spanking over my lap. Had to really make sure I had a naturally submissive one. I'm no tamer of wild horses."

Nick's amused eyes looked back Asher's way. He went pink at Portia mentioning his spanking and calling him naturally submissive like that, like he wasn't even right there listening. There was not one doubt in Asher's mind that if Nick was in his position back at that office building, there wouldn't be a snowball's chance in hell he would have accepted the spanking. Not even if it meant homelessness. He would have shouted fire me and slammed every door he could find all the way to the exit.

"Asher here was the only one that went right over my lap without question. Didn't you?"

So the other interns put up some fight, then. This knowledge embarrassed him even further. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well," laughed Nick. "Glad I don't have to deal with that side of you, darling! I'm off. Just going to get a few things before the trip."

Portia kissed her husband's lips rather politely, and went back to flipping through her magazine. Eventually, she calmed Asher's nerves by predicting a question on his mind.

"Nick would have no interest in laying a finger on you. He has decidedly different interests in that arena. But he's happy to let me play. Lord knows he does. He's got no shortage of dates everywhere he travels."

It was extremely welcome news. One solid spank with a hand Nick's size would probably send a lightweight like Asher into the next town over.

She took him by his hand, leading him back towards the house. This was how she led him outside in the first place, by hand. Equal parts sweet and demeaning, seeing as how his uniform and smart-band made his role clear to anyone who might mistake him for a boyfriend.

This time she steered him into the kitchen. Servants didn't eat in the dining room. It was either here or in his own quarters, he was told. Not a few minutes after he sat down, the private chef gave him a plate of the most delicious dinner he'd had in his entire life. It was even better than the nicest restaurants his family took him to, growing up in the times before the automation takeover. Portia asked, "Good?" and tousled his hair before leaving to see her husband. "You're on free time now."

He unpacked in his own bedroom, putting his books and mementos on the empty shelves. On his bed, he noticed folded pyjamas. Loose white cotton pants and a shirt. A note: Be wearing your pyjamas and standing in the corner by 10:30pm for your bedtime spanking.

Now it was a matter of passing time until this humbling appointment. He read a chapter of his current book before realizing he couldn't really concentrate a bit, tonight. All he could focus on were Portia's plans for his bottom.

So he moved on to something easier. Asher discovered that the TV in his quarters had just about every streaming service known to man with an account marked: Servants. Lest he forget. Still, it was yet another luxury benefit that helped make up for the indignity of servitude. In the face of pretty much every show or movie ever made, Asher just chose some nature documentary. Apparently lionesses were the real hunters in a pride. It made sense to Asher as far as his experience went today.

Eventually, ten-thirty rolled around. He couldn't decide if he was thrilled or terrified. For ten whole minutes Asher stood there facing the corner in his white cotton pyjamas, waiting and waiting. How was simply being told to face the corner so humiliating? It was, though. Maybe the powerlessness and childishness of it. That his disgrace was so obvious.

The door opened after he heard the clicking of heels, even this late at night. All his squirming on his feet stopped in a hurry. He became like a perfect statue. She watched him a moment, enjoying his shame.

"Okay, Asher," she said, picking up his hand. "We'll work on your corner time posture later. Come with me. I'm going to train you to properly take a hand-spanking."

Mrs. Darrow sat on the side of his bed. "I want you to stand with your hands on your head, out of the way. Usually, I'll remove your clothing myself, unless I say otherwise."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, putting his hands up obediently. It made him squirm a little, just this posture alone.

"You're embarrassed. And you should be. When you're in this position, standing by my side with your hands on your head, you've been a naughty boy."

She tugged down his pyjama bottoms and underwear, all in one pull. With his hands up, his shirt offered no coverage at all. He looked down. She'd seen it all before, having explored all of him in the tub. But it still shamed him, having his pants pulled down and being bared all formally like this.

"We'll teach this part of you some control, soon," she said, noting his half-interested, half-anxious state. "And I'm going to have all this hair removed soon, too. Now, lay over my lap."

Mrs. Darrow bent her legs to the side. Asher took his position, his bottom up high over her right thigh, his front pressed up against her silky soft dress. Both his feet were on the floor but his whole upper body was on the bed. It was more comfortable than being over the chair in the office, but much more humiliating now that he was bared, feeling the cool air on his exposed backside.

She tugged his shirt up a bit higher, making sure her target had no possible protection.

"A good servant has self-control," said Portia. "He does not instantly ejaculate the moment he's touched."

With that humiliating exaggeration hanging in the air, the spanking began. Right away he tensed up, kicking both his legs back, his feet now off the floor. These were all much more stinging, firm spanks than in the office.

She stopped to rub him and train him further. "I would understand all this kicking and squirming if I was taking the strap to your bottom. But this is only a hand-spanking. Put your legs down and go limp. Accept it completely. I expect you to fully submit for a normal hand-spanking, even if it makes you cry."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, letting himself go limp. His upper body sunk back into the soft bed, his feet hung behind himself. His cheeks were no longer tense.

"Let's try this again."

This time he did his very best to stay still with each stinging spank. Just half a minute in, his backside already burned hot. He nearly squirmed before letting out an anguished, sobbing squeal. Embarrassing as it was, it helped him not wiggle or tense up, being able to shout and cry his pain out instead. From then on, every single crack to his reddening cheeks caused some kind of loud grunt or yelp or cry. Sometimes, when it was intense and rapid-fire, he just heaved out a continuous moaning wail as the spanks rained down.

"There you go. Let everyone within earshot know a servant's getting spanked soundly in here. A well spanked servant is a well behaved servant."

He prayed nobody could hear. He was really carrying on, noise being his only outlet at all. "Aahh!" he cried out as a hard volley of sound spanks landed just above his thighs. He kept bucking his head back a little with each of the harder and slower stinging slaps, and she allowed this minor reaction without scolding him. It was possible to count this set of swats by the motion of his head alone.

Somehow he was aroused over this even though his bottom was on fire. Just the same as before, too. The more she humiliated him and made it clear he was completely powerless, the harder he got. Still, the pain was real and only building more and more in intensity.

"Please!" he begged. "Please stop! I won't do it again! It hurts! Ooh! Oww! Nooooo!"

Portia went on spanking as she lectured him. "That's the point. You're being punished. Good servants do not speak out of turn or beg during their hand-spankings. You can cry out and you can apologize for your misdeeds. But no bargaining or begging."

He tried gripping the quilted blanket on his bed to relieve some pain, holding it in his fists and squeezing. "I'm sorry! I'm SORRY! AAHH!"

"That's better, but don't squeeze at the blankets. Give me your hand if you're looking for comfort during a spanking like this. The closest one to me, pull it down at your side."

Asher did as he was told, and Portia held it in her left hand while her right continued to spank him soundly. It actually helped, as far as staying limp and accepting it. Sometimes he squeezed her hand through the pain, and she didn't mind. At least, she didn't scold him further.

In the short space between spanks, Asher felt the heat just pouring off his skin back there. He pictured both his cheeks fiery red. He still cried out pathetically, of course, but he was finally wearing himself out. Even his erection had begun to soften, like all parts of him were succumbing at once.

This downhill trajectory ended a moment later with Asher exhausted and broken after what had been a long, five minute spanking. His head stopped bridling back, his hand stopped gripping hers for dear life, and his shouts and cries had turned to soft, tired moans. Soon it was only silence, save for Portia's rhythmic hand.

Portia stopped, then. She only rubbed him now, the spanking over.

"This right here is true submission. Not all your spankings will end this way, but I wanted you to know how you'll usually feel after a proper punishment. Especially a bedtime spanking."

Asher felt blank, more than anything else. A void of a person. His body began to feel pleasantly tingly and warm, and his limbs were all heavy. Portia gently rubbed his hand, a thumb over the back, nudging him to stand. He did with some effort, all movement a bit difficult in this strange state of mind. Was this what getting drunk felt like? She pulled his clothes back on for him and examined his face.

"Poor thing," she said. "You're exhausted."

"Yes, ma'am," he admitted, his voice hazy.

He could barely keep his head up. Portia pulled back the covers and put him right to bed. "There," she said, tucking him in like an overgrown kid. "Tomorrow is a big day. Get your sleep."

Asher found that his soundly spanked bottom and a strict but thoughtful mistress were the best sleeping aids he'd ever tried. He succumbed before Portia had even left the room, dreamed pleasant dreams, and didn't wake until his smart-band's alarm buzzed him awake the next morning.