"Okay, Mr Loverman," I said, rising to my feet and tipping him unceremoniously off my lap on to the floor, "up you get. Over to the desk." He was sprawled on the carpet, on his hands and knees, desparately trying to maintain some dignity. It proved beyond him, what with his trousers and knickers being knotted around his ankles and his bum a fiery red, criss-crossed with thick, painful strokes from the ruler. And then came the final indignity, as he stood up and his cock, hard and erect, was exposed. Helen giggled as she saw it for the first time.

"I know," I said. "Short and fat, isn't it? Reminds me of a sumo wrestler." He was standing next to me, and without really thinking about it I grabbed hold of his prick, feeling it hot and hard in my hand. Walking towards the desk, I dragged him behind me, as though he were on a leash. He let out a startled yell and I yanked at his prick even harder. "Heel, Mr Loverman, heel. No shilly-shallying." I wheeled in front of the desk and came to a halt; my change of direction caused me to pull hard on his prick again, and he whined in protest. I squeezed it hard and bent it downwards.

"Right, bend over the desk, Mr Loverman. Helen wants to punish you for being such a pain in the arse. You are a pain in the arse, aren't you?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Don't tell me, you clown, tell her," I retorted, flicking my hand across the back of his head.

"Yes I am, Helen," he replied instantly.

"Hmm, that won't do. Can't have him using your name, Helen. He's too lowly to be allowed to use your name. How about 'My Lady'?" Helen laughed and clapped her hands in assent. "'My Lady' it is, then." I slapped Mr Loverman on the rump. "What do you say?"

"Yes, I am, My Lady."

"Excellent. And now the punishment. You've got eight left, I believe." Mr Loverman partly turned and was on the verge of speaking, before he thought better of it. He was right, of course, the number had gone down to seven. "May as well round it up to ten, I suppose. Do you want to use your hand or the ruler? The hand hurts like hell, but it's worth it for a couple."

"I'll start with the hand, then," Helen said, and positioned herself behind him, her legs apart, knees braced, arms swinging freely. She looked like she was about to toss the 56 pound weight.

"Hit him like that and you'll knock him across the desk and out the window," I laughed.

"I've wanted to do something like this for so long, you arrogant slimebag," she said to his bent form, and swung her hand violently towards his upturned arse. It collided with it with a resounding, ear-shattering crack and both she and Mr Loverman let out a yell.

"You get five more for that, Mr Loverman," I cautioned. Helen, meanwhile, was already lining up her next blow, aiming for the other cheek this time, and again she swung mightily at him; her timing was astray this time, though, and the hit was a fairly tame one.

"You can take that one again," I told her. She grinned, wringing her hand, and picked up the ruler which was lying on the desk. I went round to the front of the desk and took hold of Mr Loverman's chin, tilting it up so that he had to look at me.

"You're not keeping count very well, Mr Loverman. I told you to count them out aloud, didn't I?" He looked at me miserably and apologised. "Not to worry," I continued. "We'll start again. Ten more, Helen."

Helen took to it with relish, the ruler vibrating furiously as it made contact with Mr Loverman's tormented rear. "One," he cried, "two, three, four." Helen was a natural, it seemed to me. She had quickly found a rhythm, and had realised that you don't need a long swing to effect a forceful contact; it was all in the timing, the movement of the hand as it approaches its target. I could see that Helen was introducing a slight break of the wrist in the instant before contact, which speeded up the movement of the ruler in its last few inches and introduced an agonising flick which increased the pain for the recipient five-fold. Yes, this girl was a natural. Her face was aglow with excitement and exertion, and she was totally wrapped up in what she was doing. I got the feeling she would be happy to carry on for another fifty more strokes, but by now Mr Loverman's arse was the colour and texture of a summer pudding, and I suspected he would not be able to take much more.

"Five, six, seven," he cried, his voice getting progressively more tremulous. His hands were clenched tight and his eyes screwed shut, a grimace of agonised resignation contorting his features.

"Nearly there, Mr Loverman, nearly there," I soothed, patting the top of his head and ruffling his hair.

"Eight, nine,"

Helen was building herself up for the last one, determined to make it a good one. She readied herself, swinging her arm from side to side to build up momentum, and then let fly with a fearsome, whipping motion. The ruler slammed into Mr Loverman's livid backside, whereupon it splintered and broke into three pieces. Helen, the rump of the ruler still in her clenched hand, laughed delightedly, while Mr Loverman slumped forward onto the desk, exhausted.

"Wow," I yelled, clapping my hands enthusiastically. "You must have done this before, you're a star. Isn't she, Mr Loverman?" I grabbed hold of him and dragged him on to his feet, turning him to face Helen. "Isn't she?"

"Yes, Miss. Yes, my Lady," he muttered, an agonised expression still on his face. His cock was still hard, and I flicked at it idly with the back of my hand. Mr Loverman yelped, but said nothing.

"This damned thing still won't sit down, I see. Well, we'd better do something about that." Mr Loverman looked at me sharply, suddenly expectant, hopeful. "Calm yourself, boy, calm yourself. You haven't done enough to deserve any favours from me yet. Sort yourself out. You know what to do."

And he did. Looking morosely, first at me, and then Helen, he moved round to the chair, settled himself back and began to wank himself.

"That'll be another shirt ruined, won't it, Mr Loverman? Expensive business, being my plaything, isn't it?"