A newspaper columnist reaps what she's sown, and a whole lot more...
Drusilla Page is a household name, an opinionated columnist in a poplar daily newspaper, There's nothing PC about this journalist, a hack who'll happily fat-shame other women and constantly espouses 'traditional values'.
Such morals are of course only for the little people, Drusilla comes from aristocratic stock, is no stranger to a snort of the Devil's marching powder at showbiz parties. Put bluntly, a high-profile hypocrite.
This evening Drusilla's booked to appear on a late night TV talk show and sits in her dressing room awaiting someone to discreetly fit a microphone. Unfortunately for her that technician, Nat, is consummately versed in Drusilla's notoriety and intends to take her to task. These days the journalist's viewpoint extends beyond her newspaper to encompass social media, including Twitter. Therein lies the problem.
"Hurry up," urges Drusilla as Nat wires her up.
"Plenty of time, you're not on air for 20 minutes," he replies calmly, "besides there's something you and I need to discuss."
"I don't think that likely," Drusilla says coldly.
"Specifically," continues Nat, "a recent online post about a young actress friend of mine. Emmy Colston."
"Oh," answers Drusilla, taken off guard, "that one."
"Yes," continues Nat, "that one. You're supposed to be a professional writer but didn't bother to establish if the allegations were true, just repeated gossip without checking. What you sent millions of followers almost cost her a career breakthrough part. Emmy wasn't even at the party, let alone taking drugs - unlike you."
"Alright, I admit it, not my finest moment, but the newspaper did apologise," responds Drusilla airily.
"In print, not online, and a week later on page 34," says Nat angrily.
"Look, I just give my readers and social media acolytes what they want," responds Drusilla, "I'm paid to provide controversy, not sweet reason. News just in, scandal sells." Even as she trots out this obviously rehearsed defence Drusilla doesn't appear to believe it.
"Give them what they want, get what you deserve," says Nat darkly.
"Meaning what exactly?" Drusilla says warily.
"A consequence based on the traditional values you so continually parrot; 'common sense' punishment from the 'good old days' you go on about.".
"You can't mean..."
"A spanking," confirms Nat with relish, "be assured I bloody well do."
"And how are you going to make me comply?"
"Not only has this conversation been recorded it could easily be 'woops sorry' accidentally transmitted. Also I'm a considerably stronger than you."
Which is how Drusilla is soon pinned face down over Nat's knee, designer skirt hoisted to expose her curvaceous rear, stiletto-shod feet drumming a distress call as her buttocks judder beneath the impact of his hand.
Nat spanks her long and hard, ignoring pleas for mercy and cries of distress. Spanks those buttocks through the spectrum from pink to red to crimson. Spanks Drusilla until every inch of her bottom burns fiercely and radiates a palpable heat. Pulls her panties off and spanks her again.
Within five minutes she's transformed from a haughty celebrity to disciplined penitent. It's been a long time since anyone stood up to Drusilla. At last a red-blooded bloke prepared to exert his dominion - the sort of man she craves.
"Get up," Nat's punitive onslaught finally ends. Helped to her feet and blinking furiously Drusilla desperately massages her scalding cheeks. "Don't think I've finished," he cautions.
"Really?" Drusilla considers him carefully. "What happens next?"
In truth Nat hasn't really thought that far, surprised to have arrived at this juncture without studio security being summoned. Drusilla reaches forward, undoes his belt and draws it through the loops of Nat's jean. "Perhaps you intend using this?"
Now it's his turn to be taken aback, clearly Drusilla retains a spark of defiance. Nat eyes the scalding havoc he's wrought across her buttocks and upper thighs. "No," he decides, "you've suffered sufficiently for the present."
Drusilla faces him, still unabashed. "Firm but fair," she observes with a wry smile. "In which case I should thank you for your clemency." She drops the worn leather, adeptly undoes the front of his 501s and propels Nat backwards onto her dressing room chair. Surrenders her skirt and heels and purposefully straddles the astonished young man.
"Quite the white knight," drawls Drusilla freeing Nat's burgeoning erection, "and goodness me, what a sword. That act of avenging valour seems to have turned you on every bit as much as it did me." Wet and ready she slowly lowers herself onto his engorged cock, taking him deep inside. "Ooh, up to the hilt," she gasps appreciatively. Rests her hands on his shoulders, hips skilfully undulating, dancing upon his lap.
Nat belatedly becomes aware that Drusilla is fucking him, their roles reversed she now the dominant. Urgently she slides forward and back along the length of Nat's rock-hard member, pelvic floor muscles working overtime, gripping him tightly. Nat grasps her impressive boobs, eliciting a sensual growl in response.
"Oh yes, squeeze them harder," she murmurs, doubling down on his pulsating rod. Knowing his climax is close Nat decides to reassert control; grasps her tormented buttocks and squeezes them tightly as he comes. This unexpectedly extreme catalyst of pain and pleasure proves all too much, Drusilla losses her composure completely and surrenders to an animated orgasm.
"The recording..." Drusilla ventures as they sit, momentarily spent.
"A lie," says Nat simply.
"And I," responds Drusilla. "I don't fuck and tell. However," she adds pertly, composure apparently regained, "consider me chastened but certainly not reformed.
"I'm posh darling, we don't suffer from sexual embarrassment. The upper class adore bottoms - I was schooled with a riding crop and soundly rogered where the sun don't shine when barely out of my teens. Consequently I intend to become intimately acquainted with your belt."
"Three minutes to air," calls a voice from the corridor.
"Quick, give me hand to clean up, I can't be filmed leaking spunk," says Drusilla.
"You'll certainly have a glow in your cheeks, although the viewers will see only two of them, replies Nat. "I'll be waiting, belt in hand, when you return." Drusilla shivers with pleasure at the thought and walks, gingerly but head held high, towards the cameras.
