An Elementary Spanking, Dear Watson…
This is the first of four excerpts I plan to post of my current WIP, The Good Doctor . The complete book is currently running as a series on Bethany’s Woodshed
“Stop! Doctor Watson! My bottom! No!”
With a flailing, nearly nude young aristocrat in his grasp, Doctor John Watson was not inclined to acquiesce to the request for several reasons. First among them was the simple fact that he was not done spanking the young lady. Her bottom was pink, but it would become much, much redder before her lesson was learned.
In spite of his patient’s vigorous struggles, she was not likely to escape before he was done with her. He was tall, with a flashing dark eye and well formed features which spoke to good breeding. His teeth were white and his back was strong and his physique was one equally suited to dancing, combat, swimming or thoroughly thrashing a deserving minx such as the one now putting her hand back to cover her cheeks. It was a futile effort, owing to the delicacy of her hand and the relative girth of her rear. He swatted her hand away, and gave her a very firm slap to discourage any further attempts at avoiding punishment.
“Stop that whining this instant!” He gave the order crisply. “I had warned you about your behavior, had I not, Miss Thistleborne?”
Miss Thistleborne of the Cheswick Thistlebornes was fifteenth in line to the throne of England, but that meant little to the man whose palm met her pleasantly plump cheeks with swift strokes.
“A doctor’s orders are to be obeyed,” he said firmly in response to her incoherent wail. “I told you to take your supplements daily, did I not? And you have refused them all.”
“They taste foul!”
“Do they taste worse than your backside feels?” He laid an additional swat against the squirming maidenly cheeks so that the patient might be able to better make a comparison. Her fine skirts had been thrown up over her back, her white linen undergarments were loosened and wound about her knees. What had started as a simple re-visit to ensure that treatment was going as planned had turned into a serious disciplinary interlude for Miss Thistleborne.
John was in demand for quite a number of well to do ladies and gentlemen, not only because of his excellence as a physician, but because he demanded strict compliance from those in his care. He saw the spanking he was delivering as no less a part of the treatment than the fish oil and daily walks he had prescribed upon his previous visit to Thistleborne Manor.
Though Miss Thistleborne protested at the top of her lungs, his large, hard palm met with her bottom three dozen more times. She was surely somewhat used to chastisement, no well brought up young woman reached the age of eighteen as Miss Thistleborne had without being corrected at some point. The fact she still seemed to be in need of corporal discipline was of no great surprise to John Watson. In his experience, a great many ladies needed some form of physical encouragement to take care of themselves.
Under the searing influence of his palm, the lady soon began to express her apologies and to make promises of obedience and compliance in the future.
“I will take my supplements and exercise, doctor, I do promise I will!”
“You will,” John agreed. “And if you do not, I shall return with a tawse.”
With that, he lowered Miss Thistleborne’s skirts, helped her up from his lap and then pointed to the corner of the drawing room.
“Stand there, young lady while I make a note. I will be adding suppositories to your regime.”
“There will be no complaints regarding the taste, at least,” he said, his cheek dimpling for a moment as his stern facade fell. It returned as soon as his patient’s eyes were lifted toward him. She was squirming visibly now, more stimulated by the notion of a healthy capsule in her bottom than the burning of her cheeks.
John opened a little satchel in which were several herbal suppositories for the restoration of vigor and the relieving of abdominal discomfort. The young lady had complained of a sore stomach, prompting his visit, although his examination had revealed no serious issues and he was fairly certain that the story had been just that, a story.
“Bend over,” he said. “Touch your toes.”
Miss Thistleborne did as she was told and her skirts were once again raised. John parted her cheeks with one hand and pressed a lubricated finger to her bottom hole with the other. The maiden let out a most pleasing gasp as he gently massaged the pad of his finger against the reluctant orifice, tenderly convincing her body to relax enough to allow his digit passage inside the tight ring of muscle.
“Oh, Doctor!” She gasped as his finger popped inside. John had not failed to notice that during her spanking, fine Miss Thistleborne had clearly become somewhat aroused. There was a gleam between her lower lips, which were flowering with a particular female scent. John plumbed the young lady’s bottom for a minute before withdrawing his finger and popping a cylindrical tablet into her bottom, pressing it as deep inside her as his digit would allow.
Miss Thistleborne’s reaction was rather sweet, a gasp and then a little moan. John withdrew his finger one last time, wiped it on a clean alcohol infused swab and patted her rosy red cheek.
“All done for now,” he said. “You may run along, I will make my recommendations for further treatment in writing to your father.”
Miss Thistleborne giggled and stepped out of her undergarments, grasping them against her chest as she lingered for a moment or two making wordless eyes at him.
“Is there something else I can do for you, Miss Thistleborne? Would you like your cheeks re-warmed?”
That was enough to make her flee the room without further ado. John smiled to himself as he packed up his case. She was a charming young lady and soon to be married, so he had heard. Her new husband would have his hands full with her.
There was no time to tarry at Thistleborne Manor. He had another appointment with a new patient whom he was seeing as a favor to a friend of his maiden aunt’s. She was the Lady Mary Holmes, a woman from a wealthy family and living by independent means in Baker Street.