The doorbell rang around 8.30. Charles Powell knew at once it was the postgirl; she had a regular, slightly saucy ring, one long and two short. Drrringgg-ding-ding. And a ring meant a parcel - with luck those CP videos he'd been eagerly expecting from the States. With a pleasing sense of anticipation he opened the door.

Kelly - leggy, long dark hair, good figure - flashed him her usual cheeky grin. 'Hi! Recorded Delivery - need your signature!' Charles signed, wondering - not for the first time - how Kelly would respond if he invited her back for a drink one evening. Quite apart from anything else, her betrousered form revealed a full, temptingly spankable bottom. Maybe they could watch some of those videos together....

But meanwhile, this wasn't the videos. It was an official, OHMS brown envelope. What on earth...? Having received the rest of his mail and another cheeky grin from Kelly, and wistfully watched her pretty rump bounce off down the path, Charles slit open the envelope.

'Notice of Seizure: Indecent and Obscene Material,' read the heading. 'The items described below are considered liable to forfeiture (see note 1 below) because:

* they are considered to be indecent or obscene and are therefore prohibited from importation (see note 2 below), or....'

'Shit!' exclaimed Charles. 'Shit! Shit! Shit!' He'd been looking forward to those DVDs - quite apart from the fact they'd cost him $250 (plus p&p). And now those censorious, officious little prodnoses in Customs & Excise had taken it on themselves to decide what a free, adult citizen of the United Kingdom in the 21st century could or couldn't watch in the privacy of his own living-room. He expended some more heartfelt profanity on the innocent air.

Some minutes later, having calmed down and made himself a coffee, Charles sat down to consider the letter in more detail. There were, it seemed, three courses of action he could take. He could do nothing. He could challenge the decision in a court of law. Or he could request an internal hearing with the Customs Officer concerned.

The first choice meant he would simply lose the videos. The second: he would be up against a slick, expensive lawyer hired with taxpayer's money. A hiding to nothing, Charles decided, with a wry grin at his choice of metaphor. But the third option - well, why not? What was there to lose?

* * * * *

'I've come to see Customs Officer Calthorpe,' Charles tells the forbidding-looking receptionist at the Mount Pleasant Customs & Excise Office. Mount Pleasant, he thinks - what a joke. It's no mountain, and theere's nothing remotely pleasant about it.

'Take a seat, please,' snaps the dragon. Either she's got him pegged as a debauched porn-fan come to make a nuisance of himself, Charles muses, or she's as irresistibly charming as this to everyone. He retreats to an unwelcoming tubular chair and contemplates a foyer decorated in Late Debased Functional. No pictures, no magazines, nothing to look at whatsoever. Half an hour passes with all the speed of three weeks.

'Mr Powell,' utters the dragon. 'Room 35 on the second floor, please.'

Room 35 is a drab brown door, one of many in a drab green corridor. Charles knocks. 'Come in,' says a voice.

Charles enters - and pauses in surprise. When he wrote to Customs Officer C J Calthorpe, he had involuntarily pictured a balding middle-aged man with a bristly moustache, glasses and a disapproving expression. Well, at least he was right about the glasses.

Customs Officer Calthorpe, at a guess, is in her mid-20s. She wears a neatly-tailored black trouser suit and a cream silk blouse. Her fair hair is drawn back in a chignon; her brown eyes gaze through a pair of dark-rimmed spectacles. The effect clearly aims at seriousness and severity. To Charles, it gives quite the opposite impression - that of a young girl trying to act grown-up. It reminds him irresistibly of the cliché moment in those old Hollywood movies: 'Gee, Susie - you're beautiful without your glasses!'

'Mr Powell? Take a seat, please.' Her manner is cool, faintly hostile. 'I understand you wish to contest our decision to impound certain video discs. Are these they?' She gestures to a pile of DVDs on her desk with an air of restrained distaste, as if pointing out a newly-deposited pile of dog-shit. Charles glances at the titles: Spanking Analysis, I Married a Brat, Bedroom Discipline and several more.

'That's the ones,' he says, treating her to his most charming grin. 'Guilty as charged, officer. But what's the problem? It's mostly just people getting their bottoms smacked - surely that's not obscene?'

Her face remains stern. 'No, Mr Powell - it's not the flagellation we object too.' Her face betrays a flicker of emotion as she adds, 'Whatever my personal view might be. No, there are certain other activities depicted on the discs that fall foul of the legislation. Including' - she picks up a list and reads from it, her voice level and uninflected - 'graphic and explicit scenes of intercourse, masturbation, fellatio, buggery, cunnilingus, bondage and anal and vaginal penetration with sex aids.'

'Wow!' says Charles, grinning broadly. 'I can see you watched them thoroughly!'

A hint of a blush tinges Officer Calthorpe's cheeks. 'That's my job, Mr Powell.'

'Of course. But you've got six videos there - are you really claiming that they're all obscene?'

The hit is shrewdly aimed. By implication, her professionalism is being questioned and, just as intended, she rises to the challenge. 'Well, Mr Powell, if you can find one that isn't....'

'Well, of course, you're at an advantage there - you've watched them and I haven't. But if I can choose one at random?' He reaches out and picks up a disc from the pile. 'This one?'

'Very well.' Taking the disc from him with the same air of well-bred distaste, she slots it into a DVD player in the corner of the office. As she bends to insert the disc her jacket lifts, allowing Charles to appreciate that Officer Calthorpe is endowed with a neat but pleasingly rounded rear end.

Switching on the player and the TV, she motions Charles to sit down. From the TV set comes one of Charles's favourite sounds - that of a hand making vigorous contact with a bare bottom, interspersed with female gasps and yelps. As the set warms up, out of the darkness a picture swims into view.

She's evidently accessed a scene midway through the video. A pretty dark-haired girl is face-down across the lap of a young man sitting on a sofa. Her skirt is up above her waist, her panties down around her thighs. Sweetly framed between these two garments is a shapely and very rosy bare bottom, to which the young man is administering an energetic hand-spanking. The girl is wriggling and kicking her heels, but making no real effort to evade her punishment - which, to judge from the redness of her bottom-cheeks, has been going on for quite some time.

As Charles and C J Calthorpe watch, the man pauses and caresses the girl's glowing bottom. Then, from the sofa beside him, he picks up an oval, wooden-backed hairbrush. Peering ruefully over her shoulder, the girl protests, begging to be let off. To no avail. Soon the back of the hairbrush is smacking mercilessly down, now left, now right, on her already well-spanked mounds, colouring them a yet deeper red, making her squeal and squirm and utter tearful pleas.

Charles sneaks a glance at his companion. She's watching intently, though a murmur of disapproval escapes her lips. Sensing his glance, she turns. 'I think the obscene activity comes further on,' she says, reaching for the remote control, confused at being caught giving the video such close attention. 'This is legal enough....'

'But?'

'What do you mean - but?'

'There was a 'but' in your voice. Do I gather you don't approve of spanking?' asks Charles innocently.

She looks annoyed. 'My personal opinion is irrelevant. But since you ask - no, I don't.'

'Why not?'

'It's - it's degrading. Sexist. Beating a woman for pleasure - it's shameful.'

'But she's getting pleasure from it too. It's mutual - the pleasure's shared.'

'Nonsense. She's begging him to stop - he's hurting her! That hairbrush - it's brutal!'

'See for yourself - doesn't that look like she's enjoying it?'

On the screen the spanking continues. But now the girl is writhing and moaning beneath the strokes, unmistakably approaching orgasm. The man, still spanking vigorously, slips his other hand between her legs and pleasures her with his fingers, while she lifts her bottom as if to meet the stinging kisses of the brush, yowling in mingled pain and ecstasy as he spanks her to climax.

C J Calthorpe removes her glasses; they seem to have misted up slightly. Without them, her brown eyes are liquid and appealing, but she speaks sternly. 'That's faked for the camera. How could any woman possibly get pleasure from that?'

'Have you tried it?' demands Charles.

She flushes, shocked. 'No! Certainly not!'

'So you've never been spanked?'

'No! That is - not since I was little.'

'Then how can you possibly judge? You sit here in your office, deciding what people can or can't watch, can or can't enjoy - without any idea what it's all about. At the very least you should try to gain some first-hand experience!'

'I don't judge. I simply apply the law,' she protests. But she's visibly shaken by his onslaught.

'Oh, it's easy to hide behind the law. But I think the truth is you're scared - scared of venturing outside your own safe little customs shed.'

Charles waits, on tenterhooks. This is the key moment. If he's read her right - that she's sensitive about her youthful looks, determined to seem mature and experienced - she'll rise to the bait. If not - he's had it.

C J Calthorpe replaces her glasses and glares at him. 'I'm not scared in the least!' she announces.

Charles grins inwardly. Got you, my sweet, he thinks. 'OK then - prove it!'

'How?'

'Let me give you a good spanking, right here and now. And see for yourself if it isn't a much more complex experience than you've ever imagined.'

She looks shocked, but there's an unmistakable hint of secret excitement in her voice. 'Here? In my office? You're crazy! What if someone hears us?'

'We can lock the door. People must be used to hearing all sorts of strange noises round here - they'll think it's another video. But if you don't dare....'

She juts her lower lip fiercely. 'Of course I dare!'

'OK then.' Charles gets up, locks the door, then takes his upright chair and places it well clear of the desk. Sitting down on it, he pats the side of his thigh invitingly. 'Now take off your jacket, please, and come here, young lady.'

Customs Officer Calthorpe obeys, pouting for all the world like a little girl who knows she's in trouble with daddy. Unbidden, she removes her glasses again, then - as if by instinct - lets her fair hair loose from its chignon. It falls in a soft cascade down her back, almost to her waist. She comes and stands beside him, a slim but shapely figure in her silk blouse and black trousers. 'Will it hurt?' she asks apprehensively.

'Sure - that's the idea. What's the good of a spanking that doesn't hurt? But don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I'll start off gently, to warm you up nicely. There'll be nothing you can't bear.'

Charles reaches round and pats her bottom lightly. It feels deliciously soft. 'What's your name?' he asks gently. 'Your first name, I mean. If I'm going to spank your bottom, I think we should at least be on first name terms, don't you?'

'Catherine,' she responds shyly.

'Kate - or Cathy?'

'Cathy.'

'Fine - and I'm Charles. My friends call me Charlie. Now, over my knee, please, Cathy.'

'You realise,' she says with a sudden flash of her official manner, 'that this won't have any bearing on the matter of your videos?'

'Let's talk about that later. First we'll undo this waistband, I think - that's it - and now....' He slips down her trousers till they fall around her ankles then, taking her by the hand, draws her gently but firmly down over his lap. Right over, in prime spanking position, her bottom uppermost and her hands resting on the carpet to his left.

Cathy's bottom is still concealed by the tail of her silk blouse. Charles lifts it well back above her waist, exposing to his delighted gaze plump twin globes clad - or rather, barely more than half-clad - in lacy brief black panties. He strokes the smooth, cool flesh in joyful anticipation.

'Very nice,' he says, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her panties, 'but I think we'll have these down too.'

'Oh no,' she breathes, but makes no move to stop him as he eases the flimsy item down over her ripe rearward curves, well down her thighs. As she feels her most intimate garment being removed she shivers, causing the tender flesh-cushions to tremble enticingly.

Charles gazes enraptured at the luscious bare bottom thus presented to him. Round, quivering and vulnerable, it just begs to be spanked. He squeezes the soft mounds, making them ripple, feeling his erection harden. So sensitive a bottom will be sheer joy to punish. 'When were you last spanked, Cathy?' he asks.

'When I was thirteen,' she murmurs.

'And now you're...?'

'Twenty-five.'

'So no one has spanked this beautiful bottom for twelve whole years?' asks Charles, caressing the flawless curves. 'Cathy, that's a terrible shame. It's almost criminal. You've got a gorgeous bottom, you know - utterly spankable.'

'So here's what I'm going to do, young lady. As you're not used to being physically punished, I won't smack you too hard to begin with. I'll just warm you up nicely - then, when you're ready for it, we'll try a proper spanking. And I think you'll be quite surprised what you feel like. It'll hurt, sure - but an exciting kind of hurt.'

Steadying her with a hand across her slim waist, he begins to smack her bottom lightly, just hard enough to sting, relishing the way the soft white flesh bounces and trembles beneath his hand. Cathy lies submissively across his knee, making no protest, only wriggling slightly as the warmth builds up in her nether regions and her lovely cheeks turn a fetching pink.

As Charles spanks her he talks to her affectionately, telling her what a sweet, soft, spankable bottom she has, and how it looks even prettier now it's starting to blush. 'You're such a joy to spank, Cathy,' he tells her. 'If I was your boyfriend, I think you'd find yourself across my knee like this almost every day.'

After a few minutes he pauses, admiring the warm roseate glow that now suffuses every inch of her glorious bare bottom. 'OK, Cathy,' he says, 'that's warmed you up nicely. Now the real spanking starts.' Taking a firmer grip on the girl's waist, he raises his hand high in the air and brings it down full force on her rosy right cheek.

SMACK!! The sound rings round the tiny office like a pistol shot, and Cathy gasps and kicks her legs. Never would she have guessed just how much a hard male palm can sting a soft, pampered female bottom.

The next ten minutes leave her in no doubt. Charles spanks her hard and steadily, taking care to cover the whole expanse of the delicious target area and paying special attention to his favourite spank spot, the soft sensitive undercurve where bottom meets thigh. Each stinging smack deepens the blush on her quivering globes, from pink to red, from red to flaming scarlet - and still Charles's hand mercilessly rises and falls, spanking her to his heart's content.

Cathy Calthorpe has her pride. Even as Charles put her across his knee she promised herself she would take her spanking, however hard, without whimpering - that she would never degrade herself by begging and pleading like the girl in the video. That would be too shameful. But she hadn't the faintest idea, she now realises, just how much a simple hand-spanking can hurt. Every inch of her defenceless bottom stings and burns beneath his punishing strokes. It feels swollen to twice its usual size - and still the relentless spanks descend on her blazing cushions. Will he never stop? Despite herself, she gives voice.

'Owww! Oh please, stop! Yee-owww! Oh no more, please! I'm sorry, I'll - ooooh! Oh my poor bottom, it's - yowww! - so sore! It's burning hot! Ow-owww! Oh stop, Charlie, I beg you!'

She twists and turns on Charles's lap, her long legs kicking and blonde hair tossing back and forth, her wriggling bottom mantled with a sunset glow. It’s a glorious sight, and one that Charles is loath to relinquish. But at last he pauses, gently strokes the flaming curves – then slides his hand down between her legs.

Cathy moans and writhes on his lap as his fingers explore her secret cleft. It feels delectably hot and wet, the labia and clitoris swollen and throbbing with desire. ‘Aha – so you are enjoying it, you bad girl?’ says Charles, grinning.

‘No – yes – oh, I don’t know,’ stammers Cathy in confusion. ‘Oh, but it stings! Don’t spank me any more - please?’

‘Nearly finished, my sweet,’ he responds, helping her up from his lap. She looks so appealing as she stands there ruefully rubbing her smarting rear, face flushed and tears in her brown eyes – the perfect picture of a pretty girl who’s just had her first real, grown-up, bare-bottom spanking. She peers over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of her fiery curves. ‘Oh my god!’ she gasps. She would never have credited that her bottom could get as red as that....

‘You took that very well, Cathy,’ he tells her. ‘Now there’s just one little item to come - the finishing touch, as it were.’

Reaching over to the desk, he picks up a broad wooden two-foot rule. ‘A dozen smacks with this will round things off nicely, I think. Bend over the desk, please, young lady.’

‘Oh no!’ wails Cathy, horrified. ‘You can’t – it’ll hurt awfully!’ Petulantly she stamps her foot. ‘I won’t – you can’t make me!’

‘Temper tantrums, now is it?’ asks Charles mildly. ‘Well, I’m afraid that’ll be two dozen, then. Come on, Cathy, you’ve been very good till now. Don’t spoil it. Over the desk with you, please.’

Taking her by the hand, he leads her over to the desk. She pouts mutinously, but as if in a dream lets him position her bent over it, her hands gripping the far edge.

The tail of the blouse has fallen down again, covering her rear end. Charles lifts it back, exposing once more the defenceless and now bright red roundnesses of Cathy’s lovely rump, jutting out enticingly as if imploring further attention. On such tender, soundly-spanked mounds the ruler will sting like blazes, he reflects, but probably won’t leave bruises.

‘OK, Cathy,’ he says, ‘here goes. Be a good girl and stay bent over, or I’ll have to start again from the beginning.’

Swinging the ruler well back, he takes aim at the plump crowns of her trembling bottom.

Thwackk!!

“YOWWWWW!’ howls Cathy. A bar of flame seems to sear across her bottom-cheeks, and Charles watches in delight as a broad stripe of deeper red springs out against the prevailing hue, crimson on scarlet. Relishing the two-tone effect, he wields the ruler again.

Thwackk!

‘Yee-OWWWWW!’ Poor Cathy! A hand-spanking, she now realises, was nothing by comparison. Only two strokes, and already she feels she’ll never sit down in comfort again. Never could she have believed that she would submit to such punishment. Yet somehow, gritting her teeth, she stays bent over while the cruel wood cracks down again and again, blazing fire across her anguished flesh-cushions, each stroke making her squeal.

Twenty-one more ringing spanks, then Charles pauses to admire the result. A deep rich crimson now suffuses the luscious globes, covering every inch of the quivering target area. ‘Last one, my sweet, and a good one,’ he murmurs, taking careful aim at the plump tender undercurve of her bottom....

‘YAAA-HAAAH!’ Despite herself Cathy straightens up, clapping both hands to the injured spot - then shoots Charles a guilty glance.

‘That’s OK, Cathy,’ he says reassuringly, ‘it’s all over now.’ Taking her in his arms, he kisses away her tears. ‘You took that very, very well indeed,’ he whispers. ‘You’re a good girl really.’

He strokes her hair, then slips his hand down to caress the burning masses of her bottom. From there it strays round to the front, finding her even wetter than before. She moans in her throat, kissing him passionately, as his fingers explore deep inside her; one hand strokes the back of his neck while the other reaches down to cup the pulsating erection that’s trying to fight its way out of his trousers.

Embracing the girl eagerly, Charles eases her backwards towards the desk. ‘Oh no,’ she murmurs, ‘not like that. My bottom’s much too sore.’

And so a few minutes later, Customs Officer CJ Calthorpe is once more bent over her own desk having her bottom smacked. But this time the smacking is of a rather different kind, being administered by Charles’ belly and thighs as his engorged member drives ecstatically into her from the rear, while her hot rosy bottom thrusts out eagerly to meet his strokes.

* * * * *

The doorbell roused Charles from his daydream. Shaking his head at the utter implausibility of his fantasy – a sexy blonde customs officer letting him spank and screw her in her own office! A likely story! – he opened the door.

It was Kelly the postgirl again. This time with a parcel – and an embarrassed expression on her usually cheerful face.

‘This is for you,’ she said, handing him the parcel, and hesitated awkwardly as Charles examined what was evidently his eagerly awaited spanking videos. He looked up, puzzled, as Kelly blurted out, ‘That Recorded Delivery, remember? I did something silly. It’s not for you.’

For the first time, Charles looked at the address at the head of the letter. 12 Jason Mews. And he lived at 12 Jason Street. He laughed in relief. ‘Oh, it’s for that poor chap round the corner. Don’t worry, Kelly. Happens all the time.’

‘Yes, but this was Recorded Delivery – and you’ve opened it. That’s serious. I’ll really be for it!’

‘Hang on a minute,’ said Charles. ‘Ah – thought so.’ Rummaging through his other mail, he found an item in an unsealed window envelope and tossed out the contents. ‘OK, put it in this so the address shows through the window, then seal it. There – great. Now who’ll know the difference?’

Kelly beamed with joy. ‘Oh, that’s great! Charlie, you’ve saved my life! I owe you one, I really do. Honestly, I don’t deserve to be so lucky!’

‘Too right you don’t, my girl,’ said Charles with mock severity. ‘Next time it might be my letter you give to him. In fact, I don’t reckon you should get off entirely scot-free, do you?’

She gave him a saucy sidelong grin. ‘You think I should have my bottom smacked, don’t you?’

It was Charles’s turn to look disconcerted. ‘How’d you guess?’

‘I deliver your post, remember? I’ve seen those magazines you get, you kinky beast, full of poor innocent girls getting their bottoms spanked.’ She grinned even more broadly, not in the least embarrassed. ‘But that’s OK. A spanking’s the least I deserve. And anyway – I’ll probably enjoy it.’

‘Don’t count on it, young lady. I spank hard – and thoroughly.’

‘Bet you do. But that’s fine by me. Gotta get back to work now – but I’m off at one. See you then for my spanking, OK?’

Stepping closer, she gave him a hug and a warm kiss on the lips. Charles returned the kiss with interest, then reached down and landed a ringing smack on her bottom that made her yelp. ‘One on account – to let you know what you’ve got coming.’

‘Yow!’ said Kelly, rubbing the injured cheek. ‘Hey, that’s set me up nicely. See you later, sexy.’

She trotted off down the path, stopping at the gate to blow him a kiss and give a final rub to her smarting rear. Charles closed the door with a contented smile. What had started as a bad day had turned out excellent; and the best was yet to come.

And in the meantime, just to get him in the mood – he had some videos to watch....