Close out her life? That IS what she was requesting... leave the outside world, and come here. My immediate response was, 'HELL YES'! But was it wise?

"Stella, I'm concerned about your life outside. Do you have family? Relatives who would want to visit your home? That would be difficult here! We cannot, certainly, have strangers wandering through our house." I sat back and considered. "But you certainly would have considered all that. Close your bank account? If you wish; I can certainly help you invest your money in safe investments, perhaps overseas currencies or gold. You may wish to keep your car; many of our family here attend theatre performances, concerts, movies. Or the favorite pass-time, shopping! I'm sure the mayor would be happy to know how much our staff does to stimulate the city's economy!"

I buzzed Fred to clear the dishes, and took Stella's hand. "I have a lovely day planned for us, but first a bit of fun." I sat down on a broad, deep couch, and patted the seat next to me.

"Every day, I plan to warm your bottom in one way or another, just to keep your mind on your submission. Place yourself over my lap, hands over your head to brace against the arm of the couch." She quickly took position, and my left arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her safely in place.

I began with some gentle spanks, just taps really, to get the blood flowing. Picking up speed and force, I started to work with careful precision. Sting was important, as I wanted this to be felt and remembered for a while today. Placement was too; hand-prints were fun, but a uniformly red bottom was much more beautiful... and I was shortly going to be showing her off.

Reaching behind the couch, I pulled out a solid mahogany paddle. It was an antique, from a finishing school in England. The economy had caused the school to close; I had been at the auction, early, to make some private purchases. My tawse was from there, and some of the bamboo canes. This paddle was from there as well: it had warmed the bottoms of English princesses and ladies and French countesses, even a Swedish Queen. I explained this to Stella as I paddled her, and required her to count strokes. Today it was to sting and to mark, not just for sensuous warming. The whacks were striking home solidly and with authority. And they had elicited a response from Stella I had not seen previously; they drew tears. By 25 strokes she was crying, by 40, she was sobbing deeply. I finished the 50, and required her to take her position.

"Stella! Color?"