The Carrot and the Stick by C. P. Vanner

thigh to the fading welts on her bottom. ‘Such a naughty girl,’ he said quietly to himself. He pulled at the cheeks of her bottom to inspect her anus, and then pushed her thighs apart with his hands and tickled her moist sex lips, his fingers tracing their soft dampness.
    â€˜Such a very naughty girl,’ he repeated, with greater emphasis. And with that he smacked her once. Beth let out a little squeal. She had not expected such force. His palm must have printed itself on her soft flesh, a red map in the shape of a hand on one white buttock. He smacked her again and again, a flurry of smacks, the work of an artist putting the first wash of colour over the canvas.
    Beth wriggled and the tendons in her shapely legs tightened as she absorbed the pain. ‘I-I promise I’ll b-be good, sir,’ she stammered, the insistent lump against her hip increasing noticeably. His arousal contributed to hers and she just knew the moistness of her sex was perceptible. Then almost as if he could read her thoughts, Kearns stopped spanking her briefly and inserted one finger between her labia, sliding it back and forth against her clitoris, but Beth’s moans of pleasure turned to squeals of protest as he removed his finger and resumed the spanking.
    This time there were more controlled pauses between each smack, and each was carefully positioned until both cheeks had been covered from the first sculptured rising sweep at the small of her back to the junction with her thighs.
    By the time he stopped again her whole bottom was on fire. With his right hand Kearns lifted her slightly off his lap, and slid his left hand under her stomach. She felt his finger burrow through her pubic hair and insinuate into her sex, the base of the finger against her eager clitoris and the tip inside her vagina. She wiggled her thighs and the sore cheeks of her bottom to allow him easier access and then pushed herself down onto the invading digit.
    With his finger satisfactorily in place he resumed the spanking, beating her uncompromisingly with his right palm, the hand almost bouncing, springing up of its own accord from the resilient flesh after each stroke before he swept it down again with a crack of flesh upon flesh. Beth squealed constantly, writhing with increasing abandon on the intrusive finger. Both punisher and punished were totally absorbed in their part of the negotiations.
    Then, just as Beth felt her climax was inevitable, Kearns stopped. She could hear him panting as he surveyed his handiwork. Gone were the fading marks on Beth’s bottom, and in their place was mottled pink and purple flesh, flaming hot and tender to the touch. Kearns withdrew his finger from her sex and, as she eased herself up from his lap, he began to unfasten his trousers.
    â€˜Hold on, T.J.,’ Beth spoke between gasps. Her skirt had fallen back into place, but strands of hair stuck to her flushed brow and her cheeks were almost as red as her bottom. ‘A spanking, yes, but no one said anything about more than that. What sort of a girl do you think I am?’
    Kearns looked stern, but he stopped what he was doing, his waistband undone and his fingers poised on his zip. He glanced at the folder on his desk, and his look said enough.
    Beth had another decision to make... she reached for the folder and took an ornate fountain pen out of its holder. She pushed them both to Kearns.
    â€˜Five years,’ she said unsteadily.
    â€˜At five per,’ he replied.
    â€˜You’ll keep it at six if you want my undivided attention,’ she replied.
    Kearns pondered the deal for a brief moment, and then smiled grimly. He recouped what he could. ‘I want you naked first. Completely naked.’
    Beth said nothing, but undid her skirt and let it drop to the floor alongside her discarded knickers. It was followed by her blouse, and then her bra, her breasts spilling free before his appreciative gaze.
    â€˜You can leave your stockings,