Lucy

Lucy
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ISBN:  9781907753176
Author:  Evelyn Culber
Word Count:  59,375
Format:  eBook

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Sophie and the Circle of SlaverySophie and the Circle of Slavery

'I am going to smack your bare bottom,' she announced, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
   'Oh!' I exclaimed feebly as I stared at her, hoping I'd misheard but knowing I hadn't.
   'Second thoughts, Lucy?' she asked, with the suspicion of a smile.
   I gratefully seized the opportunity to consider, and was on the verge of backing out and accepting a black mark on my record, but when I stole another glance at her I felt the first stirrings of strange feelings...

Lucy, a young, bright art director with a successful advertising agency, suddenly finds herself facing an unreal and completely unexpected dilemma. Jonquil, her boss's gorgeous wife - and partner in the agency - gives her a stark choice of a sound bare bottom spanking or a black mark on her employment record. Reluctantly, Lucy submits to the humiliating spanking, but to her surprise she finds she gains far more than a clean slate.

After a second spanking she begins to come to terms with the submissive side of her nature, and a sudden windfall allows her to buy a remote cottage in the country, where she gradually gives full rein to her feelings...

I can't claim that my conversion to the heady pleasures of CP was as dramatic as the one experienced by St Paul on the road to Damascus or wherever it was, but it was still pretty mind-blowing. It also took much longer for me to embrace the connection between pain and pleasure than it did him to change his ways - but I got there in the end.
   It all happened about a year after I had started working for the Lenderby Partnership, a small but increasingly successful advertising agency in London. I had begun as a junior art director and, at the time that my bottom first felt the sting of a punishing hand, had proved myself to the extent that I had just been given my own accounts to work on.
   I was earning an excellent salary for a girl recently out of art college, was enjoying the work, getting on well with my colleagues, especially the other half of my all girl team, Chrissie, the copy writer. She was - and is - enviably slim, brunette, quiet, very pretty and good at her job.
   So, everything in the garden was lovely. Until I was summoned to see Jonquil Lenderby one Friday afternoon.
   I can't claim that I had the slightest premonition that my life was on the verge of radical change as I trotted along to her office. I was still basking in the glow of all the praise that had been lavished on Chrissie and me for our contribution to winning a big new account, and was reasonably confident that Jonquil wanted to add her appreciation.
   Not that her opinion was as important as her husband's. He, Clive, had founded the agency five years previously, and she had been his secretary before he took the plunge. Quite rightly appreciating her efficiency, he made her his partner in the new enterprise, then married her and, as far as I knew, it was all working out fine. They seemed able to separate business and leisure without any problems, and she certainly played a vital role in keeping the boring but crucial administrative side of things ticking over smoothly. And her stunning beauty and natural charm were of no hindrance at all when it came to keeping clients happy.
   But she never claimed to have an instinctive grasp of what makes good advertising, which is why I wasn't expecting a serious and helpful discussion on the thought processes that had led Chrissie and I to hit on the winning creative approach. On the other hand, I liked her a lot and was just as keen as anyone to stay in her good books. The only barrier between us was that I secretly fancied her husband and often felt pangs of jealously when I spotted those little signs of intimate harmony between them.
   I was too wrapped up in my happy mood to notice the coolness of her reception when she asked me to take a seat in her neat office, so what happened next not only had me gawping at her like an idiot, but scattered my wits to such an extent that I was incapable of arguing my case.
   It turned out that I had made a cock-up with my expenses for the previous month and, from her point of view, the conclusion that I was on the fiddle was almost unmistakable.
   'As you've never done anything like this before, Lucy,' she said coldly, 'I am prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt.'
   'Thank you,' I stuttered, desperately trying to pull myself together and explain that it had been inefficiency rather than a criminal nature.
   'So I am not going to sack you.'
   My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as I began to realise that it was actually quite serious.
  'You're good at your job, Lucy, and I do appreciate that things like expenses and other boring admin chores can be a distraction, but then neither should the accounts people have to waste their time sorting out your inadequacies. That's quite fair, isn't it?'
   'Yes, of course,' I stuttered, feeling my cheeks burn as I blushed, mainly due to anger with myself for my carelessness, which had directly led to this embarrassing situation and was ruining what had been a perfect day.
   Then she took the wind from my sails. 'As I see it, Lucy, there are two alternatives. Either I note it on your records, where it'll stay for as long as you're with us - and which could well influence your reference - or I punish you myself and nobody will know.'
   'Oh... I'll take your punishment, Jonquil,' I replied without thinking to ask for details.
   'Excellent,' she said warmly, and I began to relax a bit until I saw a rather threatening glint in her eye.
   I felt as though some unseen hand was squeezing my insides. It was not a nice feeling and what made it worse was that I could not understand it. There was just something about her whole attitude, which suggested that I was in for a nasty surprise. For once, I waited for her to enlarge. I have the fiery temper that usually goes with red hair and my normal reaction when threatened is to go in with all guns blazing, with the normal result that I live to regret the outburst. Thank God, on that occasion reason conquered instinct.
   Admittedly, when the echoes of her next sentence eventually faded away, I wished I had made some sort of protest and stopped her in her tracks.
   'I am going to smack your bare bottom,' she announced, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
   'Oh!' I exclaimed feebly as I stared at her, hoping I'd misheard but knowing I hadn't.
   'Second thoughts, Lucy?' she asked, with the suspicion of a smile.
   I gratefully seized the opportunity to consider, and was on the verge of backing out and accepting a black mark on my record, but when I stole another glance at her I felt the first stirrings of strange feelings.
   Apart from her beauty, I had often sensed a peculiar empathy between us, even though we had not come into contact that often. She was sitting more or less opposite me, her legs crossed, looking neat and remarkably unflustered, and I was suddenly aware of a sense of inferiority to her. In common with most members of the Creative Department, I claimed that the agency's success depended almost totally on our contribution, with all the others there to support us. At that moment it struck me fairly forcibly that, even though we created the advertising, the Jonquils of this world have a vitally important role. And, for the first time, I sensed the calm, controlled power that had obviously captivated the dishy Clive.
   It would not do me any harm to be taken down a peg or two, I admitted to myself.
   But by being spanked? As far as I knew I had never been punished that way, even as a kid. Corporal punishment was all part of the bad old days; Charles Dickens etc. I knew it had only just died out in boys' public schools, but then they had been living in the past for far too long anyway. This was the end of the twentieth century. The new millennium wasn't that far off.
   On the other hand, even then I was a bit of a bottom girl and had enjoyed a couple of mild affairs with other girls, so the thought of the inevitably intimate contact with a member of my own sex didn't make me want to throw up. My last boyfriend had seemed to get quite a bit of pleasure from my behind. Finally, I remembered using a phone box in the West End and reading some of the cards stuck to the walls, all offering amazing sexual services. As I had made my call, I focused on one from a girl suggesting that naughty boys and girls should contact her for a good spanking, and my giggles at the thought had made the conversation rather disjointed.
   All in all, not exactly enough to suggest that I had spent my relatively few years of maturity looking for someone to spank me, but clearly enough to stop me from telling her where to get off.
   Jonquil watched me, still smiling slightly but not showing any signs of impatience. Quite suddenly, any resistance faded.
   I felt ashamed of my inefficiency and some deep instinct told me that if I submitted, somehow I would rise in her estimation, which was important, both personally and professionally.
   'I'll accept the spanking,' I said quietly, looking down at the floor and feeling my cheeks burn as I blushed.
   Typically, as soon as I'd committed myself, second thoughts rushed into my seething brain, but I sensed that to try and re-open negotiations would only make things worse. I took several deep breaths in an attempt to steady my nerves - with no noticeable effect.
   'Good girl,' she said briskly, and stood up. We'd better use the recording studio, so can you check with Rosie to see whether it's free at... let's see, half past five.'
   'Yes, Jonquil,' I whispered, and tottered out.
   The studio was free and I spent the next twenty minutes in the ladies, knowing full well that I would not be in any condition to engage in casual conversation with any of my colleagues without making it quite clear that all was not well in my usually happy little world.
   With a couple of minutes to go, I quickly washed my damp hands, grabbed a drink of water for my horribly dry throat and slipped into the studio.
   The fact that I had not even wondered why she should choose that particular room showed what a state I was in. However, as soon as I sat down at the main console and pretended to be setting up a tape, I worked out that although it was uncomfortably cramped, it had the enormous advantage of being soundproof. The realisation that a bare bottom being smacked must be noisy led me to the conclusion that a smack loud enough to be heard through the solid walls of Jonquil's office would be painful.
  I stood up, half longing for her to come and get it over with and half wishing that she would remember an urgent appointment - preferably in Scotland - and so the evil deed would be put off for another day. I paced around in a tight circle, my hands on my threatened bottom, feeling very scared. Even waiting to go into the dentist wasn't nearly as bad. I was just assessing the inspired thought that I could claim to have completely forgotten a dental appointment when the thick door hissed open and Jonquil glided in.
   We faced each other for a moment. My legs and hands were trembling, my heart seemed to rise into my throat and its beat thudded in my head.
   'Let's get straight on with it, Lucy,' she said, her voice warm. Reassuringly so, and my nerves settled a bit. I watched her shift one of the chairs to the side, move another into the limited space in the middle of the room and sit down.
   She reached out and took my hand, gently pulling me forward until I was standing between her parted knees. Her hand felt soft and warm, which reassured me even more.
   'I'll take your trousers down first,' she announced evenly, reaching for the button, 'as it's much easier than when you're across my knee.'
   It seemed sensible to be compliant, so I held my jumper up. She looked up quickly and gave me another little smile and I felt even better. Until, that is, it struck me that she obviously knew exactly what she was doing. Therefore she had done this before. In which case, it was a reasonable assumption that her hand would make up in experience what it lacked in size and hardness.
   I gulped and blushed as she tugged my tight trousers down to my knees, suddenly terribly embarrassed at the thought of her eyes horribly close to my naked thighs and, even worse, the triangular bulge of my sex. I held my breath and hoped like hell that she wouldn't pull my knickers down there and then, so she could see it in all its glory. Just in case, I let go of my jumper and restored at least some of my modesty. My feeling of relief when she let my slacks go and began to guide me round to her right was intense, if short-lived.
   As I bent clumsily over her lap, the tightening of my knickers over my up-thrust bottom acted as a sharp reminder of what lay in store for me, and my heartbeat accelerated. Acting purely on instinct, I shuffled around until I was fairly comfortable, with my weight evenly distributed between hands, feet and middle, and then lay there, holding my breath, waiting meekly for the supreme indignity of having my knickers pulled down.
   Understandably, my thoughts were racing.
   I can remember being surprised at how soft her thighs were. I had vaguely envied Jonquil's slim figure, although I had never looked that closely - and she never wore anything figure-hugging, so I had never had much to go on.
   The temptation to ask her if I could be spanked over my knickers flitted briefly through my mind, and I was just trying to think of a convincing reason when I felt her fingers delving in the waistband, and knew I was too late.
   She bared me quite quickly, and when I felt cool air on my skin my insides seemed to shrivel up and I slumped helplessly on her lap, just failing to prevent the escape of a pathetic little whimper...

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