His Little Courtesan by Breanna Hayse

While being led carefully over his knee,
Jane's gaze fell upon the two instruments that Philip had chosen. She
whimpered, stiffening with the understanding that she was about to receive a
spanking that would make Rama's discipline seem like love pats.
    "A proper and through spanking is  exactly  what
you need young lady," Philip said, as he deftly balanced her on the peak
of his left knee, forcing her to brace her body against the floor with both
hands as her legs waved unhindered in the air. "You were very diligent in
your work to earn this one, and I promised that you will remember every smack
you receive."
    "Papa. I beg of you—"
      "That is quite enough, little
girl," the man growled, raising his hand. "Let's get this punishment   underway."
    Philip began with an old-fashioned
hand-spanking, delivering round after round of hard, solid smacks to his wife's
quivering little backside. He laid in with a swift marching rhythm, shocking
her alabaster globes into a bright, simmering red within a few seconds. Her
shrieks of pain kept time with his racing tempo, joined by the kicking of her
legs and squirming attempts to avoid being struck in the same spot twice. It
took only a minute before Jane was quickly reduced to keening screams for
mercy:
    "Ow! Papa, no!
Dear Lord! Owww!" she shrieked. "That hurts!"
    Philip gave no
response, allowing his hand free range over buttocks and thighs— the intensity of his swats increasing in
order to work her bottom up to a feverish cherry red.
    The desperate struggle and writhing across his
lap cause Jane's braid to fall loose, and her hair flew in long, thick waves of
disarray over her sobbing wet face. She released a loud howl as her plump
bottom bounced and jiggled with each resounding slap. Her shrieking increased
as he concentrated his attention on the curving overlap between her upper
thighs and bottom cheeks, making her flesh wobble and quake with each scathing
impact.
    He tightened his hold about her waist to
prevent her from bucking off his knee, and delivered a final ten echoing swats
to the backs of her legs, thoroughly coloring his canvas a satisfactory scarlet
hue.
    The finalization of the hand spanking allowed
Jane to slump into a trembling heap over her hard perch. She sobbed miserably,
begging any deity who would listen to her pleas to intervene, and save her
sore, hot bottom from further agony.
    "Am I getting through to you?" Philip
asked, permitting a few moments reprieve for his wayward wife to catch her
breath. He laid the hairbrush to rest upon the glowing cheeks.
      "Yes, sir! Oh dear, yes! Please
Papa,"  Jane begged .
"On my honor, I've learned my lesson. Please, do not use that hairbrush. I
promise that I'll never disobey you again. You cannot imagine the pain! Please.
I'm in agony…"
    "Had this been
the first time you found yourself over my lap for such an offense, I would
believe your promise to be trustworthy. However, it is not. I am afraid that
you have earned much more punishment for this last escapade, and that, by the
time I am finished with you, you will truly know the definition of the word
agony ."
    Having pronounced judgment, Philip lifted the
broad, thick brush from its resting place across her mounds
    "I need to see you exercise some
self-control in your life. That includes refusing to give in to your impulses.
We will start with that now," he informed her. "While you are across
my knee this time, I expect you to stay perfectly still. If you move so much as
a toe, I'll spank you twice as hard and twice as long. Am I clear?"
    Jane shuddered, hiding her face behind her
hands. He knew that it was impossible
for her to stay still! Even as a child, he'd commented on her 'worm-like
wriggling' when facing discipline. 
    "Y-yes, Papa," she stammered
woefully, clenching her bottom with anxiety. She squeezed her eyes shut and
held her breath, sensing Philip lifting the lethal brush high over his right
shoulder. It landed with a resounding crack, catching her