From the Top Shelf - Spanked in her Dreams

Devlin O'Neill is one of my favourite spanking authors; he and Poppy have an exciting and ever-evolving blog that you really must visit, if you haven't already done so. Devlin has very kindly given me permission to feature a selection from his latest book, Spanked in her Dreams, today.  You'll all recognize our good friend Erica, who graces the cover of the book. Be sure and visit her blog too. Then come back and enjoy...

“Patty? Patty! Where have you got to, girl?”

Patricia shook herself, slapped her own face a couple of times, and then straightened her black dress and white apron, and scurried toward the sound of her master’s voice.

“Yes, Mr. Carruthers, just coming, sir!”

The dapper and portly old gentleman gave another pull on the bell cord and then stalked over to yank the library door open, and Patricia nearly fell straight into his rather substantial belly.

“Where the devil have you been, Patty? Never mind that, do you know there’s scarcely a jigger of port in the bottle, and here it is gone four already, and what am I to do for a spot of port, eh? Hm?”

She dropped a curtsy and hurried past him, trying to appear small and insignificant despite her rather imposing height.

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir. I’ll take the decanter down and have Nichols charge it straight away, sir.”

“And another thing – did you tidy my desk this morning?”

“Uh …” She clasped the nearly empty crystal bottle to her bosom whilst she racked her brain. “I … I must have done, sir, as usual.”

“Then I’m sure you can tell me where my cigar cutter has got to, hm?”

“Your … your …” Her nose scrunched and her lips twisted in an agony of thought, but nothing came, and she sadly shook her head.

“No, sir, sorry, sir, I’m sure I’ve not seen it, sir.”

“Is that so?” Carruthers took a few paces, hands clasped behind him, his scowl fit to curdle milk. “And yet it’s gone, isn’t it, hm?”

“Er, yes, sir. Only, couldn’t you use a scissors? Or a knife? I can fetch one from the kitchen, a jolly sharp one, sir.”

“Chop a cigar with a knife? Are you out of your mind, girl? Might as well bite it off!” He took another couple of paces, and then waved a finger at her. “Pour that last bit of port for me, and then scuttle down the cellar this instant and fill that decanter, you impudent baggage. Massacre a perfectly good cigar with a knife, I don’t know what is wrong with you.”

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir.”

Patricia’s hands shook while she dribbled the last of the port into a glass, taking care to leave the dregs in the decanter, then set it on a small silver tray, and presented it to Carruthers.

“Very well then.” He sniffed the glass and sipped half the small measure. “Oh, and while you’re about it, fetch Nichols back here along with the port. I’ve a job of work for him.”

Her heart sank and soared at once, and Patricia bobbed her head and clutched the empty bottle to her bosom as she backed to the door. Fingers trembling, she shut it behind her and scurried to the back stairs. Mickey Nichols, Carruthers' chauffeur, cellar keeper, and all round handyman, lounged on a dining chair in the staff hall, one tall black chauffeur’s boot cocked up on another chair.

“Hey there, sweetness. What gives?”

“Oh, Mickey, his lordship’s got quite testy, and I’ve gone and let his port run out, so could you be a lamb and fill the decanter for me?”

“’Course I can, only it’ll cost you.” He grinned and stood, and Patricia blushed when the tall, handsome, irritating man smothered her lips with his. “Very nice, that, and I’ll be wanting more later on.”

She thrust the decanter at him and shook her head. “No, Mickey, that’s enough. I’m a good girl, I am, and you’re just toying with me. Now could you please fetch the port, before he gets in a proper strop?”

Nichols laughed and took the bottle, and dug a key ring from his pocket as he strode off...

“There you are, my darling.” He handed her the bottle. “Right as rain and twice as fit. He’s naught to complain of now, his nibs, has he?”

“Thanks, Mickey, ever so much … only …” She whimpered and hugged the decanter, and Nichols wrapped an arm around her, and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “He said for you to come back to the library, uh, to do a, a job of work.”

His eyebrows lifted high and Nichols’ face brightened in a crooked grin. “He said that, did he? Well then we’d best be going, hadn’t we, sweetness?”

...Nichols laughed lightly as he took her arm and propelled her toward the library. “It’ll be all right then.” He knocked briskly and much more loudly than she ever did, and then opened the door wide.

“Afternoon, sir!” he called.

Carruthers blinked, scowled, and then smiled as he looked up from his book, and got out of the desk chair. Patricia hurried to fill a glass with port, handed it to Carruthers on the tray, and then backed away toward what she hoped would be a quick and unremarked exit. Her master nodded and sipped, and then stopped her retreat with a stern look.

“Jolly good, Nichols. First rate batch of port, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would indeed, sir. Best I’ve sampled in a long while, sir.”

“Quite, quite. Only it needs something, this port. A cigar perhaps, don’t you think?”

“Well …” Nichols stroked his chin and shot a querulous glance to Patricia. “Not saying a cigar would be amiss, sir, only that the port stands well on its own.”

“Indeed, indeed, my boy.” Carruthers peered deeply into the glass and then drank it off. Patricia took a hopeful step forward, but he waved her off. “That’s all right, Patty, nothing more for me at the moment. Only that cigar, I can’t help thinking.”

Nichols went to his master’s desk, opened the heavy humidor on its top, and drew out a long, fat cigar, sniffed it, then put it back and took a shorter, thinner one. He looked around the desk, opened the humidor again, and then scowled.

“Oh. I see, sir. I think I have a cutter in my room, sir, and I’ll just nip down, shall I?”

Carruthers grunted impatiently and gazed out the window. “One has expectations, Nichols, doesn’t one? Of being able to enjoy the benefits of a lifetime’s work, you know, and to rest and relax oneself at the end of a job well done, as they say... So what it’s down to, Nichols, is that I simply can’t, and in fact I know why I can’t, and it’s bloody inconvenient is what it is.”

Nichols licked his lips and glanced at Patricia, who quailed and clasped her hands. “Uh, sir?”

“Fetch the cane, Nichols, there’s a good chap.”

“For, uh, who, sir?”

“For whom, Nichols, and that would be for her. Don’t disappoint me, man. Get on with it.”

Carruthers turned and paced, and Nichols sighed and went to the cupboard behind the master’s desk, opened it and fetched out a long, crook handled cane. He took a breath and lifted the stick, and the air whirred when he slashed.

Patricia chewed her knuckles, and tears welled in her eyes. She crept slowly toward Carruthers, but he ignored her, his eyes fixed on a point in the wall a few feet above her head.

“I really liked that cigar cutter, Nichols. It was a present from my father, I think. Or perhaps something I picked up at an auction, I’m not sure, only it was splendid, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, indeed it was, sir. Are you sure I can’t go and get the cutter from my room, sir?”

“The girl, Nichols. Tend to her.”

He sighed. “Yes, sir, straight away.”

His eyes beaming apology, Nichols strode toward Patricia. He took her arm and pulled her toward the desk. The cool, hard oak soothed her quivery tummy and hot breasts when she bent over and pressed against its top, and then she squeaked when the man reached down to gather her skirts and lift them up  and over her back.

“Mickey!” she whispered urgently, but he leaned over and shushed her, and cleared his throat in preamble.

“On the bare, sir? Mr. Carruthers?”

“Hm? Oh yes, yes, quite on the bare. Young baggage needs to learn a lesson, don’t you think?”

“Oh, uh, absolutely, sir. Bare it is, then.”

Patricia sniffled while Nichols untied the strings of her drawers, and let the smooth linen drift down and off her bottom. She crossed her ankles to keep her thighs tight together, but Nichols pushed her legs apart and whispered in her ear.“Don’t be coming all modest now, young miss. The master would have you sorted out proper, and you had best believe I’ll make a good job of it.”

Frightened beyond words, Patricia complied with his hideous demands and kept her feet where Nichols put them. He pressed his left hand lightly on her lower back and lifted the cane, and the dreadful swish-slack sound surprised her almost as much as the pain that quickly followed. The second stroke came, and Patricia gamely gathered strength enough to scream.

Nichols leaned on her back to keep her still, and turned his head. “How many, sir?”

“Oh, eh …” Carruthers puffed his cheeks and shrugged. “Three dozen, shall we say? Yes, three dozen it is. Jolly good.”

Patricia’s grievous wail echoed against the walls, and Nichols lifted the cane once more. It swished and fell again, and Patricia’s trim boot heels clacked the floorboards.

“Ow, Mickey, please! Sir, please, that’s enough! Ow! Mr. Carruthers sir! No more!”

Hot pink lines crisscrossed her plump behind, growing darker and darker as the caning continued. She screamed and pushed up, away from the desk, but Nichols simply pushed her into place once more, and looked round at his employer.

“I’m scarce half done, Mr. Carruthers, so if you wouldn’t mind, sir?”

He nodded toward the young maid’s shoulders, and Carruthers looked at him for a moment, then blinked and nodded.

“Quite right, yes. I’ll see to it, yes.” The old man ambled behind the desk, and Patricia wailed when he leaned on her shoulders.

“That’s better, what? Carry on then, with a will, mind.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nichols drew the cane well back and stroked hard, and Patricia screamed again, more hoarsely than before. Tears ran down her cheeks and she sobbed between shrieks, begging in broken sentences to be let off.

Finally the punishment ended and Nichols stepped back. Carruthers nodded and smiled as he rounded the desk to inspect the area of operations. Patricia’s behind glowed with crimson stripes, the flesh swollen and ridged by the cruel stick. Carruthers tested the corrugated surface with his fingers and nodded again.

“I expect that will keep you out of mischief for a while, girl. Now sort yourself out and pour young Nichols here a glass of port. I suppose you ought to have one as well, so help yourself.”

...Patricia whimpered and nodded, and straightened her back a little so she could reach her undergarments. Carruthers blinked as he watched Patricia put herself to rights... He smiled when Patricia let her skirts drop and turned to him.

“All right then, are you, girl?”

She nodded and dabbed swollen eyes with her handkerchief. “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

“Splendid. The port then, and I’ll have another as well.”

“Yes, sir.” She walked gingerly to the sideboard, her backside a mass of hot sting. Patricia filled three small glasses, and took the tray first to Carruthers, who took his glass to the wide window and peered out into the garden. He drank and slipped his fingers idly into his waistcoat pocket, then scowled and looked down at his hand.

“Now how do you suppose that got there?” He beamed and turned around, holding up his cigar cutter.

“Look, Nichols! You’ll never guess where I found it.”

“In your waistcoat pocket, sir?”

“Yes, in fact I did.” Carruthers snapped his fingers.

“I must have dropped it in there Monday night when the vicar came round. We had a smoke together, now I think of it. Fancy my mislaying it like that. Well, that’s a relief anyhow.”

There are many more exciting spankings just waiting to be enjoyed. You can order Spanked in her Dreams for your Kindle from Amazon or in hardcover from Lulu.