The Shoemaker

With apologies to The Spanking Writers

Recently I stopped in at a small shoe repair shop on the way home from work to have a leather garment repaired. I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't anything kinky, only an ordinary jacket.

I had never been to this particular establishment before since I usually patronized one close to my office, but this shop was the only one in town equipped to handle all leather items, not just shoes.

The front of the shop looked like an ordinary shoe store; the walls were lined with shelves full of shoes and boots. On the whole, the merchandise seemed functional rather than fashionable.

At the back was a service counter where the repairs were handled. Behind the counter was a large window that permitted an unobstructed view of the workroom beyond. While I waited to be served I watched a white-haired man busily stitching away at an ancient sewing machine. Next to him was a rail upon which were draped what looked like belts, straps, and a couple of two-tailed tawses. A young woman, dressed in a sweater and pleated skirt, stood beside the man, watching him somewhat nervously.

This, I imagined, was the room where the special orders for disciplinary implements were handled. In my mind I saw what would happen once the man finished the item he was working on.

He would gesture to the young woman to take her position at the work table. She would bend over, lift her skirt and lower her knickers, then hold firmly to the far edge of the table and wait for the master shoemaker to perform the quality control test required for all items that were produced in his shop. Six hard strokes were usually enough to confirm the excellent quality of his workmanship.

The shoemaker stopped his machine and looked up.

What do you think happened next?