"What she needs is a good spanking!"

Perhaps it was the long work day she'd already put in or maybe the delayed flight out that evening. Possibly it was the confusion with the hotel reservation that she was now experiencing as she stood at the registration desk. Or maybe the tension of the speech she would be giving at the conference tomorrow. Probably it was a combination of all these things that caused Monica Stephenson's outburst at the reservation girl. She exploded at the poor young woman behind the desk, demanding immediate remedy of the situation, issuing some choice expletives at the hotel in general and the woman in particular. While Monica fumed and complained the woman diligently checked her computer, then disappeared and returned smiling less than a minute later with a room key and confirmation slip.

"It's okay, Miss Stephenson" she assured her guest, "We have your reservation. I'm sorry for the delay. Have a pleasant stay with us and let us know if there's anything else you need."

Monica grumbled a response and snatched the room key from the startled girl's hand. Then she heard it, the male voice behind her.

"What she needs is a good spanking!"

The beautiful young advertising executive whirled around, furious at the audacity of the comment, and found herself staring in the eyes of a man waiting behind her to register. He was about her age, perhaps a few years older, dressed in a suit, and he calmly returned her glare.

"I'd suggest, sir", she responded icily, "that you stay out of something you know nothing about. I need neither your advice nor your opinion." Brusquely, she pushed past hIm and headed for the elevator.

Monica Stephenson had arrived to attend a two-day ad vertising conference and to be one of its speakers. She would address the group on "Advertising on Cable Television - Its Promisess and Pitfalls". Just 29 years old, she had risen fast in her field and had recently been named a Vice President of the agency she worked for. A statuesque beauty, she was cool, poised, intelligent. Some found these qualities intimidating; Monica knew what she wanted and how to get it, and every once in awhile a touch of feminine arrogance shone through.

It was late when Monica reached her hotel room, what with the delays and all, and she began to unpack, to settle in for her two-day stay, then to get ready for bed. But she was still furious-about all the mishaps of the day, but particularly about the insulting remark she'd heard from that guy behind her downstairs. The audacity, how dare he! She was a grown woman, 29 years old, a Vice-President of her agency! And he was suggesting that she needed a spanking and saying it loud enough for others to hear! A man she didn't even know! She was glad she'd given him a piece of her mind, perhaps he'd learn to be more respectful. And yet, she thought, he wasn't the first. Others had suggested half-joking, half-serious that she ought to be spanked. Why even one of the men at the agency had mentioned it a few months ago. He'd smiled as he said it and put his arm around her, but was there a touch of seriousness, a touch of intent in his voice? But no one ever had, not even tried. Except David. She smiled at the thought of her old boyfriend back when she was eighteen, maybe nineteen years old.

They'd been watching television alone at her parents house and she'd been taunting, teasing him about something. He'd warned her, but that just increased her disparaging comments. Suddenly, he'd grabbed for her and, as she squealed, pulled her across his lap on the sofa. He succeeded in delivering a couple of slaps to the seat of the shorts she was wearing, but she'd twisted and squirmed and laughingly rolled off his lap. She bounced to her feet and they both knew it was over - mission unaccomplished - she'd won. Even then "winning" was very important to Monica. She wondered where David was now, wondered what their relationship might have become had he succeeded in giving her a sound spanking.

Uncharacteristically, Monica took a good hour to fall asleep. She went over the speech in her mind, still a little nervous about giving it, but mostly she thought about the remark of the stranger in the registration line. Did she really need to be spanked? Did she really deserve one? An image emerged which she could not erase. She was stretched across someone's knees, not as a little girl, not even as someone's teenage girlfriend, but as modern-day, real-time Monica. And her bottom was being spanked. The more furiously she struggled, the faster she kicked her long legs, the harder she was spanked! It was all so unreal, so terrible. And yet...so intriguing, so delicious, so exciting!

"Snap out of it, Monica" one-half of her thought, "you're a grown woman, big girls aren't spanked. But the other half scolded her. "You've always gotten your own way" she thought, "always put Monica first. Maybe that stranger was right. Maybe you need a good spanking! Maybe it would do you good. Noooo!" she protested gently touching her bottom. But she wasn't sure. Sleep did not come easily.

Her speech was marvelous. Well attended, well received. And Monica was clearly "on" as she talked about the potential and problems of cable advertising. Her most striking brown and white business suit accentuated her soft brown medium-length hair as she stood at the podium, beautiful and poised. None of her preparatory tension was evident, she delivered her words flawlessly, no one even noticed the slight pause, the open-mouth surprise when she saw him in the audience, she recovered so quickly.

But she'd seen him - the stranger - the guy from last night's check-in line. He was attending the same conference! From the podium to the audience their eyes had met for just a second, they both knew it. Who was he? She learned soon enough for he approached her after the speech, congratulated her on its content and delivery, introduced himself. Jim somebody, from another advertising agency. She shook his hand.

"I'd like to apologize about last night", she said. "I guess I was tired and nervous about this speech. Could...could I make it up to you? Could we have a drink together...or a cup of coffee?"

"I think the person you should make that offer to is that poor girl behind the desk", he smiled. "But if you're feeling guilty and want to do penance, I'd be happy to."

"I am. Feeling guilty, that is", she answered. "How about five in the bar?"

She arrived first in the lounge. A concession? She wondered, for usually it was Monica who arrived last, kept others waiting, stayed in control. He came oniy moments later and they eased into the conversation of relative strangers, talking about the few things that were common to them - advertising, the conference,the hotel they were at. Small talk. Monica sipped from her glass of wine. There was a tension emerging within her, an urgency, a need. She gulped.

"Jim", she asked hesitantly, "what did you mean last night, with your comment?"

"While we were standing in line?"

"Yes. About me needing a... a sp.. .?"

"A what?", he asked, smiling, knowing what she was trying to say, an imperceptible taunt in his voice.

"A sp...spanking. A good spanking! Do you really believe I need one?"

"I have no idea", he remonstrated her mildly, "I barely know you. Your behavior last night certainly deserved one. But that's past. You tell me, do you deserve a spanking?"

She gulped again, her pretty face going tense, revealing confusion. His comment of the previous night, almost a threat, had unleashed feelings she barely knew she had. So strange, so unthinkable, so scary, so compelling. She knew what she wanted, knew what she was going to say. She looked straight into his eyes, once again a strong, decisive force.

Jim Tyler could not believe his ears. Sitting across from him was this absolutely beautiful, stunning creature. And she was asking, almost pleading that he spank her! He was not inexperienced with this subject, but still his actual involvement was infrequent enough that his blood now raced, his pulse quickened, the pleasant nervous tension in his stomach increased. God she was beautiful! Brown eyes, brown hair, high cheek bones, sassy personality! He recognized his excitement, knew he must not overreact.

"A spanking at your age can be quite embarrassing as well as painful," he warned.

"I know", she replied. "Liar," she thought, how could you know, Monica. She'd never really been spanked as an adult and only a few times as a child.

"You will not be in control, Miss Sassy Mouth", he lectured her. "You will be under my command and do things my way. Are you so sure you want this?"

The moment of truth. She paused for just a second, then nodded, keeping her eyes focussed on his. He asked her to raise her glass and then clinked his against it. A symbolic gesture of agreement, of celebration. "Here's my room key", he instructed. "I have another one. Be in my room at nine o'clock sharp", he said, his tone suddenly becoming stern. "I have a client to take to din ner. I'll be back shortly after nine."

Without another word he rose from the table and was gone.

Her panties were pulled over her hips, down her thighs until they too bunched at her knees. And the magnificent bottom of Monica Stephenson was bare!

At nine, actually a few minutes be fore, Monica slipped the key into the door of 2034 and entered Jim Tyler's room. It was much like her's four floors below containing the amenities of a typical luxury hotel room - king size bed, two phones, sofa. She looked around trying to envision the scene that would unfold. Nervously, she looked at her watch. Nine-eleven. Damn him! Why did he keep her waiting? She couldn't control the time of his arrival, but he could! It wasn't fair. Where did he get off, telling her where to be and when! But then she reminded herself that she'd asked for this.

She realized she really didn't know him. Not even his last name. She'd heard it when he'd introduced himself, but couldn?t remember. Who was he? Who was this stranger who was about to spank her bottom? She saw his briefcase sitting beside the nightstand. It would reveal something about him, tell her who this stranger was. Quickly, she opened the case and with nervous fingers sifted through the contents. Letters, memos, reports, minutes of a meeting. The paperwork of business, advertising to be specific. Randomly she selected a letter and began to read.

She was standing in the middle of the room reading the letter when the door clicked open. Startled, she held the letter behind her, but he'd seen. She faced him red-faced, like a caught schoolgirl.

"Well, Monica", he chided, "I invited you to my room, but not to go through my belongings. Have you no manners??"

"I...I didn't mean to..I just...Well, we hardly kn..know each other", she stammered. "I thought I might..."

"So the spoiled, insolent attitude you displayed last night was not sufficient. Now you've gone through someone else's personal papers", he said taking the letter from her.

A knot formed in her stomach. He really did sound stern, even angry!

"It's just that..."

But he was not listening, he was acting. He removed his suit coat and tossed it on the bed and then folded the sleeves of his dress shirt. Then he gripped her arm and marched her, not quickly, but firmly toward the sofa. And then he was seated in the center of the sofa and she was being pulled face down across his lap. She sprawled forward, hands in front, shapely legs behind, into the classic position she had not experienced for many years.

Monica's emotions swirled. She could not believe this was happening and yet she had asked for it. The time for decision was past, speculation was over, she was in real-time and she was actually going to be SPANKED! He held her firmly, adjusting her across his knees, until her bottom was arched and centered. But he was not yet ready, there would be preparations.

She had remained in the striking brown and white business suit, adding a necklace and earrings to enhance her attractiveness. Slowly he drew the dress above her waist until it folded over her back and then he worked her pantyhose in the opposite direction until they clustered at her knees. Intuitively, Monica had been prepared for these motions and did not resist them. But then he touched the waistband of her cotton panties.

"Oh, please!", she pleaded, "is...is that necessary? Must you?"

"Yes", he commanded tersely, "lift up".

She closed her eyes. He had no right to bare her bottom! And yet, he had every right! She had agreed. What did she expect? Slowly, reluctantly, but obediently she raised her hips. Her panties were pulled over her hips, down her thighs until they too bunched at her knees. And the magnificent bottom of Monica Stephenson was bare! Her face flushed red with humiliation as she wiggled in anticipation across his knees. She was bare-bottomed across the lap of this virtual stranger! And at age 29, a grown woman, she was about to be spanked. She could only imagine the scene she presented to this man!

But Jim Tyler required no imagination for he was staring down upon the most exquisite female posterior he had ever observed! The soft ovals undulated in anticipation of their fate, perfect mounds of shapely girlflesh. So white now, thought Jim, but not for long. In short order he would turn Monica's gorgeous buttocks pink, then red, then scarlet with the spanking of her young, spoiled life. But enough for thought, it was time to begin. He raised his hand high.

SPANK! The hard, flat palm landed forcefully across the summits of both bottomcheeks.

"Oww! Ooooo!" she squealed. "It hurts!"

"You were advised that it would, young lady", he responded. "You were also told that you would find it embarrassing. So you've already experienced a bit of both, but there is much more to come!"

SPANK! SPANK! His hand flattened across the fullness of her right buttock, then the left one.

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! He rep eated the sequence and then bridged the globes of her beautiful bottom, noticing with satisfaction the emerging shade of pink in her flesh.

The stinging impact of the slaps surprised Monica and she bolted in his grasp, not a true effort to escape, more an involuntary reaction to the punishment she was receiving. Oh, how it hurts, she thought. Why did she ever agree to...

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! ?Ooooo!!? His hand exploded across her bare seat with another trio of slaps. Left, right, center just above her thighs leaving soft, stinging giriflesh.

He spanked soundly, thoroughly, his hand descending in a suddenly unpredictable pattern and uneven rate. The hard male palm slapped Monica's throbbing bottom everywhere, across the quivering summits, then higher, then lower, descending upon a single reddening buttock, then upon both. She squealed and kicked unable to believe the fire that was burning in her behind, the heat that intensified with each new application of his palm.

And still he spanked! Jim Tyler fully enjoyed the paddling he was applying to this sassy, classy young lady. She had been so authoritative and demanding at the registration desk last night, so cool and poised during her speech today he thought. But she possessed none of those qualities now as she bucked and squirmed across his lap, her beautiful bottom turning a brighter and brighter red. Kicking, squealing, pleading, a grown woman being spanked like a little girl!

And then, abruptly, it ended. Monica was placed on her feet and her hands flew to her backside, each one clutching a burning buttock. Oh, how it stung! Tears welled in her eyes, then ran down her cheeks as she stood silently before her disciplinarian.

"You will stand in the corner and contemplate the behavior that has brought you to this situation", he commanded her sternly.

Obediently, tearfully she shuffled to the designated corner of the room and, as instructed, held the skirt of her business suit above her waist. She did so with one hand leaving the other free to knead her stinging posterior. He smilled at this action andd observed with satisfaction the two beacons of red girlflesh that pointed back at him. For the next five minutes he lectured her on good manners and scolded her for her behavior the previous night. She listened contritely, offering minimal defense for her actions, agreeing that she deserved the spanking she'd just received, saying it would do her good. Jim smiled, wondering what her reaction to his next words would be.

"There still remains, however, the matter of your totally unprofessional invasion of my briefcase", he said.

"Wh...what do you mean?", she stammered. "I told you that I just..I..I meant no harm." The knot in Monica's stomach suddenly returned. Surely he could not be suggesting...

"I think you?ve been taught a suffic ient lesson in manners for the way you talked to that poor girl at registration last night. But your actions just within this hour while you were alone in my room were just as bad. And they warrant another lesson."

She whirled around to face him, her eyes and mouth widening in disbelief. Large brown eyes still containing tears, looking at him with a mixture of rage and anxiety. Her mouth the shape of an at first unable to speak.

"Oh, oh please!", she pleaded. "You can't be serious! My bottom is on fire!" But he was unmoved.

"Come here!", he said softly, but firmly, taking her arm and leading her toward the bed. He'd already made preparations while he'd lectured her, placing the hairbrush on the bed. A wooden instrument, part of his normal travelling paraphernalia. Suddenly she saw it, realizing its implication.

"Oh. Jim! No! Not that. Wh..what are you going to do?"

But she did not really have to ask, she already knew what was going to happen. Knew what she deserved, what she needed. She was going to be spanked again, this time with a hairbrush!

Reluctantly, Monica allowed herself to be led. He sat at the corner of the bed, one leg over each side, once again pulling her firmly across his lap. His position at the bed-corner left her sprawling in the air, face down, her hair scraping the carpeted floor in front, legs kicking in back. And perfectly centered across his lap, again bared as he lifted her skirt, was her magnificent bottom. Without support, her body was more severely arched now, the twin buttocks protruding upward. Vulnerable globes of feminine bottomfiesh, awaiting their punishment, awaiting the hairbrush.

Jim reached for the hairbrush and tapped it lightly against her bottom. "There will be twenty-four", he advised. "Two dozen. Do you understand?"

She nodded in response, then not knowing if he had observed her reaction, issued a soft "Yes". She could not have imagined this scene twenty- four hours ago. She wondered what all those conference attendees who had been so impressed with her speech would think if they could see her now. The sophisticated advertising lady being spanked! On her bare bottom! With a hairbrush!

SMACK!! It definitely was a hairbrush and it had landed! In the center of her bottom leaving a fresh imprint across both waiting hillocks. SMACK! SMACK!

"Ouch! owwww!" She bucked in response to the sharpsting imparted by the hairbrush. It hurt so much more than his palm. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!!

"Aieeee! Nooo! P1...please?, she pleaded as the maple instrument cracked across Monica's right buttock, then the left one, then the center of her quivering, throbbing posterior. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!! The awful hairbrush repeated its pattern across her burning bottom and now Jim was speaking to her, questioning her.

"Do you think you will be able to leave other people?s belongings alone from now on?", he asked.

"Oh, yes, I will! Pl..please!"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!!

"Aieeee!! oooooo!!" She twisted and struggled in his grasp, tears runn ing down her cheeks onto the carpet below her. Her head whipped from side to side, her brown hair slapping the carpet with each back and forth motion. Shapely legs flashed violently, constrained only by the panties at her knees. He let her thrash, enjoying the scene. A beatitiful woman receiving the spanking of her life, her bottom undulating involuntarily at the punishment it was receiving.

"We are half done, Monica", he finally said. "We have twelve more to go. But I think you have learned your second lesson in manners and, lest you think me a cruel and unreasonable man, I am prepared to forego these final strokes. Unless you believe you need them!"

It was said half as a statement, half as a question. She could not believe her ears. He was giving her a choice! Her answer was obvious. The spanking had been the most humiliating experience of her adult life! To be upended like a child across the knees of this near stranger. And spanked! Spanked until her poor bottom throbbed. The stinging pain of his hand and hairbrush had been far more than she'd bargained for. She didn't think she'd sit for days! It was awful, it was terrible! And yet...

Her mind raced, a kaleidoscope of thoughts, as she balanced across his knees, staring at the floor through tear-filled eyes. You deserved that, Monica, she thought. You needed it! Others should have done it, but this fascinating man was the first one who dared. A strange, wonderful tension swept across her.

"I do need them!", she finally answered. "But could I ask one favor?" She waited, not continuing until he'd acknowledged her request, given her permission. "Please, if you will, could you use your hand. I've already learned my lesson and that hairbrush hurts terribly!"

She saw and heard the hairbrush drop to the floor. There was a brief pause and then the final twelve descents of Jim Tyler's palm across Monica Stephenson's glorious bottom began. They were the hardest yet, harder even than the hairbrush. The firm hand flattened the curves of its beautiful target in a cascade of punishing slaps. By the fourth spank Monica was beside herself, squealing, pleading, trying to bolt from his grasp as Jim's palm covered every inch of her scarlet bottom. She was a thoroughly spanked young lady, out of control, wanting him to stop, begging him to continue, not knowing what she wanted or, eventually, that her chastisement had ended. Her emotions spent she, at last, collapsed across his lap.

Slowly reality returned as the fire in her backside, the white heat of the spanking receded. She lay across his knees moaning softly until he lifted her into a sitting position on his lap. She winced when her still bare buttocks pressed against his thighs, but he remained silent, his arms wrapped around her, just holding her.

She breathed deeply, unsure of her emotions.

"Do..do you want me to go now?", she asked contritely.

"Only if you want to", he responded softly.

"I don't!" She turned, pressing her open mouth against his. When he stood up she closed her eyes and relaxed, allowing herself to be lifted by strong arms.

Room 2034 had two occupants that night and Monica's, four floors below, remained empty. In the morning they breakfasted together and then went their separate ways - to different sessions that day and to different destinations that evening as the conference ended. But she would see him again, she knew, for her lesson in manners had ended, but they still had much, much more to share.