Work Text:
All Work and No Play
Tilly was so engrossed in her mid-term marking that she didn’t hear the keys jangling in the lock. Nor was she aware of Paul’s steady footsteps coming down the hall and drawing to a stop in the doorway as he leant against the frame and folded his arms. The first she was aware of anything other than the pile of disappointingly formulaic essays in front of her was the stomach-twisting sound of him drawling her own full name.
‘Matilda Beatrice Melton-Burns.’
Tilly jumped guiltily, and smothered a curse as her hand slipped and an inkblot spread slowly in the margin of the essay she was correcting.
‘Paul! What a…I, er…that is to say…’
He silenced her panicked babbling with a devastatingly raised eyebrow, just the right angle of sarcastic and stern surprise that turned her insides to water. Pointedly, he looked at the clock and then back to where she was sat at the dining room table.
‘It’s eight pm on a Wednesday, Matilda,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Where should you be?’
Tilly swallowed, her heart pounding.
‘I thought you had a meeting,’ she managed, squirming in her seat.
If anything, Paul’s eyebrow reached lofty new heights at that particular act of stupidity.
‘Interestin’ answer,’ he said, pushing up from the door frame and crossing over to where she was sat. ‘Want to try again?’
Tilly sighed and looked at her hands.
‘Yoga,’ she murmured in a small voice.
‘That’s right,’ Paul said, dropping his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to kiss her cheek. ‘Yoga. So tell me, why are you sat here marking…’ he broke off and peered down at the papers in front of her, ‘-Smacks and Smackability: A Lifestyle reinterpretation of Jane Austere’s Novels instead?’
Paul’s hands massaged firmly where they rested, making Tilly sigh with pleasure even while her stomach churned with nerves. Paul’s rules were neither burdensome nor unfair, but he was particularly strict about her taking time to care for herself. Skipping yoga in favour of catching up with her marking was not something he would look favourably upon.
‘I just…I’ve got so much to do. Too much. I’m sorry, but this is my job. Sometimes, I have to work late.’
Paul put his hand on her chin and turned her head so she was looking directly at him. Tilly tried to escape his intense blue gaze, but his hand was firm. She looked down at her hands, at the wall, at the light fitting – anywhere but right at him. He waited her out, thumb stroking her face the whole time she avoided his look. Finally, she took a deep breath for courage and her eyes met his. Warm blue looked back.
‘When have I ever gotten in the way of your job?’ he asked, his tone that reasonable firmness that burrowed under her skin. ‘Honey, if you have to work late, you can ask. We work these things out. I’m not unreasonable.’
Tilly stared at him, brows crinkling with confusion.
‘Why am I gonna spank you?’ he continued, his voice as smooth and calm as a mill pond.
‘For skipping yoga, I assumed,’ Tilly replied sullenly. ‘But you just said it’s ok if I have to work late, so…’
Paul chuckled. ‘That’s not quite what I said, Matilda, was it? I said that if you have to work late, you can ask and we can work things out. Now, try again. Why am I goin’ to warm your bottom for you?’
‘Paul!’ Tilly squirmed, her face heating the shade of red he planned for her backside.
Paul shook his head. ‘I’m not your partner, right now. Right now, I’m your Top. Last chance, or we’ll have a discussion spanking first. Why I am goin’ to take my paddle to you?’
Tilly gnawed her lower lip, willing her face to cool down from the embarrassment. Paul just kept looking right in her eyes, calm and implacable and waiting for an answer. It was infuriatingly reassuring.
‘I lied to you, and told you I was going to yoga,’ Tilly sighed, surrendering. ‘When instead I stayed home to do some work.’
‘Bingo. Good girl,’ Paul praised. ‘C’mon then, honey. Let’s take care of this.’
Tilly’s stomach jumped with pleasure while her heart sank with a sense of impending doom. It was quite the interesting sensation. Paul held out his hand and she took it gingerly, allowing him to lead her through to their lounge. She grimaced as he paused by the sideboard on the way to the sofa, collecting the rounded wooden paddle he kept there for disciplining her. He squeezed her hand at her hesitation, and then pulled her to stand in front of him as he sat down.
‘Time for some honesty, I think. When was the last time you actually went to yoga?’
‘Oh god.’
Tilly couldn’t suppress her horrified outburst at Paul’s question, and clapped her hands over her mouth as if she could cram the words back inside as she realised how revealing they were.
Paul nodded consideringly.
‘Too many to count, huh? Every time I’ve had a meeting? Well, unluckily for you, honey, tonight your luck ran out.’
Tilly shuffled anxiously in place, and Paul squeezed her hand again.
‘What about your other rules? Have you been breaking any of tho – oh, Tilly!’
Paul shook his head exasperatedly, and Tilly felt tears stinging the bridge of her nose. She dashed them away with her free hand. Paul tugged on the one he held captive, yanking her into his lap the right way up. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Tilly couldn’t help the tears that started to fall, washing the words she’d been bottling up for weeks loose. She told him everything, safely sobbing it into his shoulder. He rocked her gently, letting her let it all out.
‘Got yourself into a bit of a mess, huh honey? It’s alright, we’ll straighten things out.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Tilly sniffled. ‘I didn’t mean for things to go this far.’
Paul stroked her hair back from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
‘I know you didn’t. It’s never intentional with you. Not to start with. I get it. But I won’t let those bad habits creep back in. You crossed the line; it’s my job to help you back over it.’
Tilly shuddered as he helped her off his lap. He reached for the zip of her tight-fitting tweed pencil skirt and unfastened it, sliding it down her hips and letting it fall in a crumpled heap. He helped her step out of it, and then he reached for the waistband of her knickers. She mewled and squirmed a little as he pulled them down too, trying to cover herself with her hands. He rolled his eyes at that, smacking her hands, and then tugged her into position across his knee. She wriggled, trying to shift herself into a more comfortable position. He took hold of her hips and lifted her further off balance; her hands shot out in front of her to brace against the floor. She felt him lean over to pick up the paddle, and let out a tiny squeak as he laid the cool wood against her bottom.
‘I’m not paddlin’ you for getting stressed and overwhelmed. I’m goin’ to paddle you because you hid those things from me and because you lied to me. That’s never acceptable, Matilda, and will earn you a good, hard punishment ev’ry single time. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Tilly sniffled, traitorous tears returning. ‘Don’t I…don’t I e-even g-get a w-warm up f-first?’
Paul hummed consideringly, then snapped the paddle down hard. She screeched as bright pain bloomed where he had struck, and her bottom wriggled furiously as she kicked her legs and struggled to loosen his grip.
‘No, I don’t think so, Matilda. This isn’t about pleasure, is it? This is punishment, about teaching you a lesson you won’t soon forget.’
He tightened his grip around her waist and smacked her again. Her breath caught in her throat as a second burning oval of pure pain scalded her bottom, and premature tears blurred her vision. He wasn’t messing around, that was for sure and certain. A third swat followed just as the pain from the second reached its zenith, and any hopes that Tilly might have had of regaining her composure and hanging on to some sort of dignity vanished. He took his time, paddling her in a steady cadence that took control of the situation as well as her body.
‘I’m s-sorry,’ she managed, in between yelps and squeals and sobbing cries.
‘I know you are,’ he agreed, his paddle dancing across her tender skin leaving flames in its wake. ‘But this isn’t the first time we’ve had to deal with the lyin’, is it Matilda?’
‘No, sir. Ow! Oh, owowow. Please, Paul. Sir. Please.’
‘And I’ve told you several times now. I don’t have a problem with you getting’ stressed. I do have a problem with you concealin’ it from me.’ His voice was mild but the words and paddle stung furiously. ‘I am your Top, Matilda. But more importantly, I am your partner. I should be the first person you come to when you are struggling. That you didn’t, that you chose to lie to me instead? Well, that just tells me that I need to make the alternative a worse prospect. So this, my girl, is me making lying to me the worse option.’
Paul said no more, but let his paddle do the talking – and it had plenty to say as he addressed it to her rear end. Paul had the knack of capturing and consuming her entire attention from the very start, leaving no room for anything in her mind but how much it hurt. Even the shame and distress at having displeased him was driven from her consciousness with every blow from his paddle. There was no control, she gave it all to him and trusted him to give her what she needed. Each firm snap of the hard wood against her defenceless bottom drove the burn deep into her muscle, and choked tears clogged her awareness as she gave in to the punishment and lay limply across his knee. She cried out, her senses overwhelmed and her emotions overwhelming. They bubbled up, spilling from her body in salty, uncontrollable tears that stung her eyes and streaked her cheeks. She sobbed as he held her close and scorched her backside with his terrible paddle. All she could do was ride it out, allow the cleansing fire to burn away her stress and her actions, the pain leaving nothing behind but penitence and peace.
Dimly, she was aware of a clatter of wood as he dropped the paddle to the floor beside them. His large hand reached for her bottom and he rubbed firm forgiveness into her heated skin.
‘S’alright now, darlin’. It’s done. You have a good cry for me, my girl. Let it all out, that’s right.’
His tender drawl coaxed the last of her tears from her, and she clung to his leg and cried. His hand massaged her sore skin, gently spreading and soothing the pain to more manageable levels. She drew hitching breaths, struggling to regain her composure, and he stroked her skin and rubbed her back to help. Eventually, he helped her to her feet. She wobbled, the blood rushing from her head making her dizzy. His strong arms grasped her elbow and then drew her onto his lap. Wrapped in his warm embrace, she rested her head against his shoulder and allowed his familiar presence to comfort her.
‘I really am sorry, you know,’ she murmured sleepily as he rocked her slowly in his lap.
‘I know, darlin’. We all make mistakes. I’m not askin’ you to be perfect.’
She made a soft noise of protest, and he chuckled as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
‘No one’s perfect, Tilly. Not even you.’
‘I should’ve asked for your help,’ she whispered, curling up closer.
‘Next time, maybe you will. Assuming I did my job right.’
She whimpered as he tapped her where she was sorest.
‘Ow.’
Her protest was half-hearted, and she pressed her face into the crook of his shoulder and closed her eyes. He held her close, and they sat silently for a while, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the mantlepiece and the occasional hitching of her breath as she gradually calmed.
‘Tilly?’
‘Mmm?’
‘You might not be perfect. But, darlin’? You’re perfect for me.’