by Lucy Appleby
Don turned on to Marlborough Avenue and drove slowly, keeping a watchful eye on the house numbers. As he drew closer to his destination his heart rate quickened, and his fingers on the steering wheel felt unpleasantly sticky with sweat. There it was... number 55; a smart, detached house with a neat front garden and a front door painted bright red. There was a parking space available outside on the road, shaded by the boughs of a leafy Chestnut tree. He gulped, hit the accelerator and went careering off at a breakneck pace leaving number 55 far behind, squealing to a halt at the junction at the end of the road.
"Get a grip, man," he mumbled to himself. "Are you going to do this or not?" Yes! urged his inner self. Get a move on. "I can't," he wailed "It's just too embarrassing." Bollox. You've put it off for long enough. Go on. You'll be late. "Gawd, I'm cracking up now... talking to myself like a lunatic..." But he got himself under control, turned the car around and headed back, sheepishly sliding into the car park space outside number 55.
A few minutes later he was walking up the drive and fidgeting outside the front door. It was a full two minutes before he plucked up the courage to ring the door bell. Shortly after he did so, the click-clack of heels sounded from the hallway beyond, drawing closer, and then their owner opened the door.
"Donald?"
He could only nod, red-faced. He tried to smile. It came out as a grimace.
"Do come in. I'm Lorna Michaels."
He was stunned. He'd expected someone older. Someone ordinary. But this woman was in her mid to late thirties and she was hot. Even though her dark brown hair was swept professionally back from her face and secured into a neat knot, wispy tendrils escaped and framed her face. And what a face: arched brows, cool grey eyes, defined cheekbones and a generous mouth, touched with only the lightest application of makeup. She managed to look stunning without being conventionally beautiful.
"Pleased to meet you," he managed, finding it difficult not to stare as she closed the door. She was of athletic build, tallish, yet still had alluringly feminine curves.
"Likewise. This way please." She led the way to a room leading off to the left, with windows overlooking the back garden. It was a pleasant, tasteful room with forest green curtains and pale green paintwork, sparsely furnished with a mahogany desk and chair, a couch, a small coffee table, and a leather armchair. One wall was lined with bookshelves; another was adorned with restful watercolours of landscapes, interspersed with framed certificates of competence relating to Lorna Michaels' professional qualifications. On the mantelpiece above the fireplace a large clock softly ticked.
Lorna sat in the armchair and gestured to the couch. "Take a seat."
He did so, still feeling uncomfortable. "Thank you." He leaned back, trying to relax.
"May I get you some tea or coffee?"
"No thanks, I'm fine."
"I can tell you're a little nervous." She smiled, disarmingly. "There's no need to be." She spent a couple of minutes going through some formalities and confidentiality clauses in her terms of service, collected payment, then pointed to the jug of water and tumbler on the coffee table. "Help yourself. Now, Donald... is that what you like to be called?"
"Call me Don. Everyone else does."
She nodded "Don... I know we've had a brief email exchange in which you outlined your expectations of our sessions, but I think it would be beneficial if you will go through the details and then we'll talk about things in depth."
Now that it had come to the crunch, Don clammed up. "I, er... I, um... Well, it's like this," he faltered. "I want... I need to be..." The silence grew with his unfinished sentence, broken only by the soft (and now it seemed to be mocking) ticking of the clock.
"Spanked?" offered Lorna.
"Yes," he murmured, cringing.
"Then say it."
Grimacing, he managed to say, "I want... I want... to be spanked."
"Good! Excellent, Don. That's the first hurdle over."
It was a relief, he had to admit. She was right, articulating his innermost need after years of hiding it away was liberating. He truly began to relax, and as he did so, proved more open and communicative to her gentle probing.
To his surprise the hour-long session passed unbelievably quickly. He could have rabbited on for so much longer, but his new found therapist glanced at the clock on the mantle, leaned back in her chair and expertly brought the session to a close.
A week later, he arrived at her house minus his nerves and accumulated guilt. He was received graciously and shown into the consulting room. Lorna spent five minutes recapping from their last session, then got down to the business in hand.
"So Don, you've made tremendous progress, and on the strength of that, we're going to talk not only about discipline, but the type of woman you fantasise inflicting such discipline on you. What characteristics do you think she should have?"
Don frowned, having never really given it a second thought. "Well, I suppose she must be strong. Strong minded that is, not physically strong... but obviously strong enough to deliver a proper punishment."
"Ah, it's interesting you referred to punishment, not just to being spanked. We'll explore that angle later. You mentioned the lady administering the discipline should be strong minded. Let's talk about that..."
They did. And in his head, Don began to picture more clearly what his ideal woman disciplinarian would be like: intelligent, stern, a little scary, formidable, standing for no-nonsense, very much in control - of him as well as herself. Shortly before the end of the session he had an epiphany.
"You know something? I came here originally thinking I was a sad case, sick in the head. It was as though I had an illness and wanted to be fixed. But now... now I've stopped thinking of my fantasies as being something damaging. In fact, now that I've accepted them for what they are, I'm taking them to a whole new level in thinking about the type of woman I'd want to do these things with. You've helped me to recognise that I'm not odd, that there are other people out there like me."
"Yes indeed. I'm very pleased with how far you've come, Don." Lorna glanced at the clock. "And at our next session, we'll discuss various types of punishment implements. Same time next week?"
"You bet." Don jumped up. "Thanks Lorna." He left the house feeling buoyed up and confident. It was a feeling that persisted all week.
On his way to his third therapy session, Don felt sad because this would be his last session; they had been expensive, but well worth it. Though he could afford to have a few more, it perhaps wasn't worth it in order to go over and over the same ground. After all, now that he had embraced his kink, he was far more settled and at ease with himself, and his confidence had increased big time.
Lorna invited him into the therapy reception room and he took up his seat on the comfortable couch, but ten minutes later he was on his feet, leaning against the desk.
"Of course, this won't be a proper spanking," Lorna was saying. "Just enough to give you a small introduction and appreciation of each implement and the particular sensations conveyed. We'll start with something simple: the ruler." She held it before him. "Twelve inches of durable plastic. Feel it."
Crack! Crack! Crack!
"OH!" He almost jumped out of his skin. He hadn't been expecting her to do that, but now that she had, it was amazing. He reached round and rubbed his jeans-clad backside.
"I felt it," he said.
She nodded. "Compare and contrast with the sensation of a wooden spoon." From behind the desk (she must have had a stash of implements waiting) she produced a wooden spoon. He eyed it sceptically. She raised an eyebrow. "Ah. I see what you're thinking. It does look rather innocuous doesn't it. But don't be fooled. Are you ready?"
"Yeah." He held his breath and waited.
"Stick your bottom out more."
He felt his prick stiffen at those words, and obliged willingly.
Whap! Whap! Whap!
"Hey! You're right. It's quite stingy, that spoon."
"This paddle is far more stingy; and this one." She showed him an oval wooden paddle, and a larger one made from black leather. "Want to try these?"
"Please." He grinned. This was great. He was enjoying himself hugely.
"Then stick that bottom out, Donald. I won't tell you again," Lorna said in quite a different tone of voice.
Don was ecstatic. The scolding tone. The humiliating, juvenile position. The sting that was building in his nether regions. Of course it would be felt much more if he didn't have his trousers on, but still...
Whap! Whap! Whap!
"Ow!" He blinked. That had actually hurt. Before he had chance to protest, the wooden paddle descended fiercely.
Whap! Whap! WHAP!
"Aaaaaah! Ow! Owwww!" Don let go of the desk, his hands rubbing his buns.
"No rubbing. Get back into position," came the curt response.
Feeling like a chastised schoolboy - which wasn't at all unpleasant - Don went back over the desk, his bum twitching as he wondered what would come next. He was treated to samples from three tawses of different thicknesses all of which made him yelp. And finally, it was time for the cane.
"Gee - that thing looks the business," he said, not altogether sure he wanted to sample it.
"It's for beginners. You'll take three with it, and then we'll see how you react to this one... and this." She held up two more.
Thwick! Thwick! Thwick!
"Yeoww! Ow! Ow!" He felt like a wimp, shouting out like that, but really... for beginners or not, that thing stung. His buns were quite tender by now.
"This is not so springy, and it's a little thicker." There was a faint trace of repressed amusement in her voice which made Don resolve to take it like a man.
Thwick!
"AAAAARRRGH!" he yelped straightaway. "Oh man, that-"
Thwick!
"OWWW! Hurts!"
Thwick!
"Yeoww! Man, it really hurts!"
"Indeed," pronounced Lorna. "And now for the third sample." She brandished the thicker cane, tapped it once, twice on his rump as she lined up to position the strike exactly where she wanted it. There was a pause and a sound of whistling air as she brought her arm down.
THWICK!
"FUCK!" yelled Don.
"I won't tolerate language like that in my sessions, Donald," Lorna said quietly. Though her voice was soft, there was a hard edge to it. That stroke doesn't count. You just earned yourself an extra one.
"Sorry," Don muttered through clenched teeth. "I just didn't expect it to hurt like that." He braced himself.
Thwick!
He grunted, managing not to yell, but there were tears in his eyes and his arse felt as though it were on fire.
Thwick!
"AAOOOWWW!" He couldn't help himself. He shook his arse from side to side. To his shame, tears spilled from his eyes.
"Last one. Let's make it count, shall we?"
Don wondered briefly what she meant by making it count. It had just registered that it would likely be even harder than the others, when the cane impacted across his backside, quite low down on his sit spot.
THWICK!
His howl reverberated round the room as he jumped up and capered about, rubbing his scalded nates. "God," he spluttered. "That thing's evil. It's shredded my arse, it has."
"Nonsense. It's merely given you a little taste - which is what you wanted, Donald. It's what you asked for, isn't it?"
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