Private Hospital

If first impressions are any indication, the tree-lined drive through landscaped gardens to the Georgian house is a promising start. Even the signboard, 'Welcome to the Fountain Clinic', oozes class. Not hospital, clinic - very exclusive, thinks Amy Jones; gosh, she hopes she gets this nursing job.

Inside her favourable assessment is confirmed: marble floors, oak panels; understatedly tasteful. The antithesis of the flashy footballers and soap stars who are the establishment's best clients. Patients include 'exhausted' minor royalty, 'tired and emotional' management executives and actors with 'personal issues'. Amy so wants to work in these fragrant, sunlit halls, instead of the scuffed, reeking public hospital corridors where she has thus far been employed.

A likeable personality, Amy is adept at handling patients, yet decidedly non-academic, often seeming slightly disconnected and naïvely suggestible. Some current colleagues unkindly term her an airhead, conversely nursing college lecturers - mainly male - found Amy beguiling. Blonde, shapely and with an enviably proportioned rear end this may explain how she passed her exams.

Vacancies at the Fountain Clinic are never advertised, recruitment is by discreet personal recommendation only. Ideally, muses Dr Gooding, nurses should be competent, but not too clever. Malleable, open to instruction and above all - given the preferences of the private hospital's wealthy patients - easy on the eye. Gooding is both the clinical director and, thanks to a mix of financial alchemy and blatant social climbing, a major shareholder. He alone performs the onerous duty of interviewing prospective employees.

Amy is met by a beautiful young Asian girl, her white uniform contrasting with dark skin and raven hair. "I'm Maria, the director's PA," she explains, ushering her into his palatial office, where her interview commences directly.

Mr Gooding finds this potential recruit immediately impressive. "Discretion is everything to us, Ms Jones," he opines, lounging in a large leather chair and trying, without being too obvious, to sneak a glimpse up Amy's skirt. Detecting the direction of his gaze, Amy infuriatingly crosses her legs; it won't hurt to keep him wondering. "Household names are among our clients," Gooding continues, " including an almost endless succession of B-list TV celebs. It's vital their 'difficulties' aren't exposed to a prurient public."

"I quite understand," says Amy, who doesn't.

"Many of our patients suffer from stress: Temptations of a jet-set lifestyle, relationship problems, disruptive social behaviours and substance abuse. A few are referred from conventional medical establishments unable to meet their demands, sorry, needs. Others are sent by football clubs and film companies."

"What sort of treatments do you offer?" enquires Amy.

"Usually rest, supervision, exercise, a good diet, and counselling." Essentially keeping punters off the bottle and away from nose candy while indulging their inane, self-obsessed whining, thinks Gooding privately.

"Any surgery?" asks Amy.

"None, aside from body re-profiling procedures," answers Gooding, proudly.

"Body re-profiling?"

"What was once termed plastic surgery; breast enhancements, tummy tucks, nose jobs... not that you require any of those. Now, before you start, a few pointers on presentation and discipline."

Amy has been hired!

"We're sticklers for uniform and manners here," Gooding adds enthusiastically, "a bit old-fashioned but none the worse for it. You'll share a room with Maria, my PA, who'll explain everything."

That evening Amy sits in the comfortable staff quarters with her roommate. On her bed is a uniform and a slim volume of rules and instructions. Amy was amazed to be offered the job on the spot, even more so by the generous wages. Wow, she thinks, struggling to concentrate on what Maria is saying, nearly twice my old salary; whatever might they expect for that?

"So, on top it simple: blue cotton dress, starched white apron and cap," Maria says, her English idiomatic. "Underneath very traditional - be sure get this right, because Matron check - bra, panties, stockings and suspenders, all white, plus black shoes."

"High heels?" gasps Amy. "For nursing?"

"Weird, I know," Maria shrugs, "but they give girl good posture, no?" she twirls, pushing out her delectable bum in illustration. "And not much lifting and carrying, is easy, I think."

"Well yes," Amy concedes, covertly admiring her colleague's comely chassis, "but what happened to tights?"

"Patients don't like," Maria says dismissively, "Matron and Dr Gooding also. You must listen, Amy, when I tell you these things. Matron's word is law," she lowers her voice conspiratorially. "Matron also Mrs Gooding, he Mr Nice Guy, she Mrs Nasty Woman. She report you for discipline, he deal with matter, very strict."

"Discipline?" Amy looks puzzled.

"Amy," Maria is exasperated, "you must read staff handbook. Get in trouble then you punished," her hand slaps Amy's rump.

"What!' Amy is incredulous. "You don't mean a spanking?"

"Hospital very clear; no appeal, no written warning, you do wrong your bottom smacked, then is all forgotten," confirms Maria.

"Yes but, I mean, have you...?"

"Of course," admits Maria, "but for me perhaps not so bad, in Philippines this normal, you Western girls spoilt."

"Cheeky thing." Amy playfully tosses a pillow at her companion. What the hell, Amy hasn't yet encountered a situation she couldn't charm her way out of, not with men, anyway.

A day later, Amy is summoned to Matron's office for 'induction training'. She arrives promptly, nervously recalling unpleasant memories of her education at a private girl's school.

"Ah, Amy, and in good time too,'' calls an authoritative voice. Anxiously entering the austere room to her surprise, she discovers Maria, standing tight-lipped in the corner.

"Right, Amy," commences Matron without preamble, "you've had ample time to read the rules. Should you think them fanciful I'll now demonstrate unambiguously that's not the case." Amy's mouth opens but she can think of nothing to say. "Maria has erred," Matron continues sternly. "It's not the first time she's visited this room, so she knows what to expect. I shall deal with the matter myself." Matron turns; eyes shining with excitement.

"But..." Amy begins.

"But nothing, this isn't a debate, kindly sit and observe." Having delivered this rebuke, Matron switches her attention to the pretty Filipino. "Maria, sit on the desk."

"But, ma'am, what have I done?" the petite girl asks pathetically.

"I haven't decided yet," Matron replies caustically, "do as you're told, unless, of course, you wish to receive double the number of strokes?"

With considerable dignity given the circumstances, Maria perches on the desk edge, feet dangling above the floor. Immediately obeying Matron's instruction to lower her torso onto the polished surface, simultaneously raising her slender legs into the air with a hand behind each knee to keep them upright. Matron grunts her approval as Maria's uniform skirt falls to reveal stocking-clad legs and the curves of her delectable bottom. She tugs down Maria's skimpy white knickers, exposing her mocha-hued rear in all its perfection.

Watching in mute amazement, Amy is disturbed to experience a familiar tingling between her legs. Satisfied with Maria's awkward position, Matron opens a cupboard and contemplates the contents, eventually selecting a tawse and, enjoying the element of theatre, swishes the supple leather through the air to land with a ringing crack on the desktop.

"Six," intones Matron, "watch silently Amy, any nonsense and you'll be taking her place."

Amy looks on aghast as the punishment proceeds. Three strokes from the left, three from the right, delivered with the full strength of Matron's forearm across the unfortunate girl's rear. Maria yelps and squirms on the table; cute bum seared with unforgiving heat. Somehow managing to stay in position while Matron, flushed and panting, surveys the result with unseemly pleasure.

"Maria's fate should leave you in no doubt about who's in charge around here, Amy; I'll leave you to attend to her," says Matron, obviously anxious to depart.

Appalled, yet secretly fascinated, Amy helps her tearful friend from the chair. Hardly knowing what she's doing, Amy holds the diminutive nurse in her arms, whispering comforting words as she stares in horror at the marks on the girl's burning bottom. Tentatively her hands join Maria's, already massaging the target area. The skin is hot to the touch, her sympathy evidently appreciated. Maria gives a sensuous sigh, grinding her body against Amy; their lips met in a lingering kiss.

That night the two share a bed; Amy's first Sapphic encounter - judging from her enthusiasm and expertise, not Maria's. With busy tongues and fingers, both enjoy a succession of orgasms.

"But I'm not gay," gasps Amy, in confusion.

"Me neither," responds Maria enigmatically.

Amy's life settles into an enjoyable routine, mainly focussed on indulgent chats with patients and frequent romps with her newfound friend. Ditzy, without ever intending to be, she rapidly becomes everyone's favourite nurse and, since political correctness holds no sway here, attracts many a pat on her perfectly formed posterior.

In truth, Amy is being paid to be a tangible feel-good factor. Predictably she's propositioned - an oil Sheik offers a house should she be more liberal with her favours. Amy charmingly deflects such inducements in a manner carefully contrived to leave both parties un-offended.

For the moment, rather than seek male company Amy is content to walk in the grounds, or retreat to her room to read erotic novels and self-pleasure with one of several vibrators she keeps close to hand. Life at Fountain is good. Surprising then to unexpectedly hear her name called in far from friendly tones.

"Amy," Matron's stentorian voice echoes down the corridor, "my office, now!" Flustered, the nurse enters the bleak room, sensing she should shut the door behind her.

"Well, girl?" Matron demands coldly.

"Well, what, ma'am?" Amy asks anxiously.

"Don't act innocent with me. You knew what to expect if you stepped out of line, flaunting yourself in front of the patients," replies Matron triumphantly. She wears a pristine navy-blue linen dress, tightly belted to emphasise mature hips that sway with voluptuous promise as she clicks along corridors on four-inch heels. With her vivid red lips and black stockings, Matron is a uniform fetishist's dream. Jealous of the junior nurse's popularity with patients, Matron intends to exact revenge upon the young pretender to her sex goddess throne.

"This matter will be dealt with forthwith," Matron announces menacingly, "stand beside me!" Tremulously Amy obeys, stiffly at attention beside the imposing figure, shoulders back, breasts and bum outthrust, awaiting her fate. "Turn around," instructs Matron, and Amy meekly complies, giving a startled cry as the older woman lifts her skirt, tucking it into the waistband of her tunic.

Amy's pert bottom cheeks fill her tight and translucent white panties to perfection. "Right," Matron grasps Amy's wrists tightly, pulling her abruptly round to face her, "get over my knee." Amy's fingers and toes barely touch the floor as she struggles for balance. "A good spanking should restore your sense of decorum, young madam," announces Matron as her hand cracks down.

"Please, no," the prone nurse protests, the hurt instantly stinging her flesh. "Ahhhh," she burbles involuntarily as Matron unleashes a fusillade of slaps upon her unprotected rear, dispensing an impressively thorough bottom smacking. Within minutes every inch of Amy's poor sit-upon is hot and sore as Matron continues her self-appointed task with unseemly relish.

"Hmm, high time we had those knickers down," Matron announces after what seems to Amy a hellish eternity.

"Oh ma'am, don't..." Amy wails, then stops abruptly in mid-sentence as someone enters the office. Who might it be?

"What's the meaning of this?" roars an enraged male voice, and to Amy's distress, there stands Dr Gooding.

"I was..." but Matron's flushed face and unsteady tone of voice already tell their own story.

"I'm responsible for discipline in this establishment," Gooding's voice assumed a dangerous calm. Helped to her feet, Amy frantically rubs her smarting derriere. "Let me look." Her buttocks radiate heat to his assured touch. "That's going to take a while to fade," says Gooding. Matron sits, apparently transfixed.

"You will both accompany me to my office," the doctor says shortly and covertly adjusting their dress, the two women follow him through hospital corridors to his luxurious domain.

Once there, Amy sighs contentedly as the doctor massages cold cream into her rosy-hued moons; hands occasionally straying to her sensitive inner thighs. Amy hopes Gooding can't detect the wetness between her legs; painful though her posterior remains, the encounter with Matron has provided a valuable lesson: spanking turns her on.

"That should feel better, would you like to sit?" enquires the consultant, reluctantly removing his hands.

"No thanks," Amy gingerly rubs her glowing haunches,

"Quite,' replies Gooding, "However it seems only right you should be present while I punish Matron for ignoring the rules of this establishment. She will not be accorded any clemency because of our marital arrangements."

"But" Matron pleads, "you can't, it's too humiliating."

The clinic's director remains implacable. "You unfairly took it upon yourself to chastise Amy," (a task the doctor has eagerly been looking forward to performing himself), "it's appropriate she should watch you suffer a similar penalty." And before Amy's astonished eyes, his wife goes protesting across his knee.

Matron's embarrassment is complete; flimsy knickers peremptorily pulled off and onto the floor. A woman of authority, mature in years, draped with buttocks bared across a man's lap like some naughty schoolgirl awaiting an amply earned spanking.

Which she gets, extensively and soundly, the noise of Gooding's punishing palm counterpointed by frequently dissonant moans from a much-distressed recipient. Amy smiles as, reacting to the searing smart inexorably spreading across her expertly burnished globes, Matron twists and struggles to no avail in Gooding's masculine grasp. Matron's bigger bottom - although delectably taut and firm - requires longer to comprehensively slap to a scarlet hue. When Gooding's hand gets tired Amy is quick to assist, helpfully providing a hairbrush from Matron's handbag.

During the closing stages of this prolonged correction Matron, any vestige of restraint departed, wails in anguish, kicking her legs and giving the two watchers, exchanging conspiratorial glances, an excellent close-up view of her dewy cleft. Ever the perfectionist, Gooding is finally content with these punitive preliminaries and pauses her ordeal. Matron's relief is, however, short-lived. Forced over the doctor's desk and instructed to grip the far edge and keep her feet apart, she gasps in shock when Gooding announces his intention to dispense six salutary strokes of the cane. This unexpected development takes Amy's girlish spanking fantasies into a whole new realm, delivering an electric jolt of intense sensual desire. Gooding flicks the tip of the cane into the apex of Matron's spread legs.

"Oow!" Tears well up in Matron's eyes, dark mascara running down her cheeks as she clenches her thighs in response to this cruel treatment of her pussy. Watching the slender bamboo make harsh contact with the plump cheeks of her erstwhile tormentor, Amy surreptitiously rubs her yearning sex. Self-control surrendered; Matron cries out as each perfectly parallel stroke sinks into her generous curves. Amy winces in sympathy as the unfortunate woman slumps forward exhausted, blazing bottom seared by lines of molten fire.

Her ordeal isn't over yet, dismissing Amy from his office with instructions to return in an hour, Gooding turns his attention to the conclusion of Matron's correction and lubricates her buttock crease. Knowing only too well what to expect Matron lifts her haunches, reaching behind with shaking fingers to part her two peaches. The doctor's skilful digits work the lube around her rear portal, slicking the juices seeping from her aching quim over the tight entrance. Steadying her hips with one hand he rests the end of his rock-hard cock against Matron's back passage.

"Push back," he demands and submissively she impales her forbidden orifice onto his distended rod. Carefully, Gooding eases the impressive girth of his penis deeper until Matron's magnificent arse is filled to the brim and stretched to the limit.

"Oh yes," she growls lustily, "I love it when you fuck me there." She rocks ecstatically on his cock, simultaneously frigging her craving clitoris.

"Worked like a dream, didn't it?" pants Gooding, thrusting hard.

"You don't think she guessed?" queries his wife.

"No, as always, credulous but biddable."

"What a combination," agrees Matron, "the possibilities are endless. Now harder please, I need a proper seeing too."

"Don't you always?" sighs the doctor, as the required fucking is duly dispensed and both loudly climax.

Back in her room, Amy reaches into her bedside drawer for a vibrator. Imagining the conclusion of Matron's harsh penance has soaked her already overheated pussy, enabling Amy to slide the large dildo in with a single stroke.

"Oooh," she murmurs, accommodating its full length; this is proving to be a physically taxing job.

An hour later, showered and in a crisp new uniform, Amy reports to Gooding's office.

"I'm currently engaged in psychosexual research, which could enhance the international profile of this clinic," he explains with customary self-importance.

"Psychosexual?" she says warily, without a clue what this means, but with a shrewd idea of the likely implications. Gooding favours her with his most winning smile.

"Indeed, you see, it's blatantly obvious to me that during this morning's events, you became aroused."

"W-well..." stammered Amy, colouring crimson at the recall; after all, this isn't the sort of behaviour expected of nurses. Or is it? As she struggles to suppress her embarrassment, Gooding continues unfazed.

"It's quite common, the erotic tension between pleasure and pain, a complex unconscious response." Really? It all seems breathtakingly simple to Amy; spanking puts her in the mood for sex. "CP stimulates certain areas, triggering receptors..." Is this just a convoluted way, Amy wonders as he drones on, of getting into her knickers?

"Yes, OK," she cuts off the doctor in mid-flow, "I'll be pleased to assist with your experiment."

By the next afternoon Amy is having second thoughts; take her current position. Not uncomfortable, exactly, the top of the examination couch is padded, but talk about exposed! Amy kneels, feeling extremely self-conscious, head resting on her forearms, bottom rudely exposed and knickers around her knees.

Mercifully the only people present are Maria, Matron and, of course, Gooding, who views his patient with undisguised pleasure. For a start, this proves her blonde hair is from a gene pool, not a bottle.

"Excellent, Amy, now try to relax while I attach these electrodes."

"How many are there?" she asks, quivering.

"Four," Dr Gooding responds promptly, "one on each labia...."

"Oh!" Just this fleeting contact with her erogenous zones sends jolts of undiluted sensuality through Amy's moistening sex.

"One on each breast..." Gooding opens Amy's tunic, and teases each boob from its white bra cup, leaving the lacy fabric snugly in situ to squeeze and lift her perfect tits, the nipples, he notes approvingly, already erect.