The Spanking Wench: Chapter 2

The Spanking Wench

By Yu May and Jezebeth Noir 

Chapter 2: Full Video: Temple Wench Interviewed (And Spanked!)

By John Wilkes

John Wilkes swallowed as he watched the once-proud dark elf whimper and tremble, her lip quivering, her bottom jiggling as the Priestess finished what was apparently only a “warm up spanking.” He looked back up at the Pixiepoint presentation, which featured a cheesy clip art image of a dark elf bent over in the exact same position as the present-day temple wench before him. “So, you do all this to honor the Red Mistress, the first temple wench?”

Bridget shook her head. “Such a simple question, fitting for such a simple quesitoner! Of course there’s no need to honor the red-bottomed missy. She was only a spanking wench, after all.”

Wilkes scratched his head as he examined his notes. “But wasn’t she a powerful queen, gifted in dark magic? Didn’t she battle the Hero of Legend himself?”

Bridget shrugged. “I suppose. But that was before she became a spanking wench. And really, why should we remember or honor the deeds of some dark queen anyway, just because she had a not-quite-invincible army, and got ideas above her station?”

Not quite understanding, Wilkes glanced at his camera drone, but it had no answers for him. “So, the Goddess spared the Red Mistress’ life…”

“But not her bottom!” interjected Mr. Sandiman, with surprising cheerfulness. His voice echoed from within the dark, cramped chamber. There was a sound of wood scraping against concrete, and Sandiman began to drag what looked like a wooden sculpture of a horse’s ass, before its wooden tail snagged against the low hanging garage door. 

“Dagnabbit!” Stamping his feet, Sandiman shoved the wooden horse back into the dark tunnel and began to busy himself with the 50-year-old garage door again. 

Wilkes nodded, “...And that’s why you punish the temple wenches with flogging…so that their bottoms forever remain a shade of red, like the Red Mistress?”

Bridget sighed, slapping her forehead with the palm of one hand, and the wench’s backside with the palm of her other hand. “It’s not about punishment. It’s about kindness! Can’t you see that without our temple, this silly spanking wench would not be getting the spankings she so clearly needs?”

“But…why does she need so much spanking? What did she do wrong?”

Bridget continued to slap the temple wench’s upturned rear end and she explained the finer points of the halfling faith to the slow-witted blogger. “Wrong? This wench does plenty of things wrong. She’s not a very good spanking wench if you ask me. Always fussing and putting on airs. But even if she were a perfectly behaved spanking wench, she’d still need spankings just the same. If the Goddess didn’t want her to be spanked, why did she create her to be a spanking wench? Really, I don’t see why you’re so fixated on the spanking wench herself. The heart of our theology is in the nature of the Goddess, in her love of laughter, and in sharpening our minds in her service! If you look at my next slide–” 

Bridget froze as her phone alarm buzzed again. “Oh, nicknacks! We spent all our time discussing spanking wenches, and service is about to start. I’ll have to ask you to go stand in the corner. I’d offer you a seat, but it’s considered rude to sit in the presence of the Goddess. Does that make sense? Would you like me to use shorter words?”

Not sure if he was the butt of some strange joke, Wilkes politely declined the Priestess’ offer and made his way to the corner. As he tried to straighten up, and was forced to hunch, he felt oddly like he’d been sent to time out by an impatient pre-school teacher. Bridget busied herself by pulling the dark elf’s silvery hair into two absurd, childish pigtails, complete with pink ribbons and bows. Looking miserable, the wench scrunched her lips into the shape of an “M.”

The first few congregants began to arrive as the Priestess made final preparations. Wilkes spotted a halfling family of a father, mother, and a bright eyed little girl with spectacles. They were followed by a stern elderly halfling woman wearing a shawl, nearly as stout as a dwarf. A handsome young halfling man arrived next, scribbling furiously in a journal. Not paying attention, he trod on the elderly woman’s shawl, and when she glared at him he bowed low, offering a thousand pardons, until she shushed him. 

Over the next few minutes, a few small groups of halflings milled into the garage/temple. Wilkes thought some of them looked like typical halfling business folk (halflings were famously over-represented in middle management positions in the corporate world). Others seemed roughly dressed, as though they’d been on the dusty road recently.

Bridget kept looking at her phone, and Wilkes wondered if she was waiting for more congregants to arrive before beginning service. Finally, Bridget gave up and put her phone away, then raised her priestly staff high. “Fellow Good Folk, we gather together to honor the Lady of Love, the Lady of Laughter, the Lady of Lashes. We will soon honor her with our words. Let us first honor her with our silence.”

As if on cue, the hastily repaired overhead door behind the idol clanked open with an obnoxious roar, and Sandiman the handyman dragged out what Wilkes could only assume was the spanking bench.

Sure enough, the bench was roughly shaped like a wooden horse, but the legs were solid and carved geometrically. The seat of the bench was curved like a horse’s back, with a saddle-shaped cushion. But the exposed wood looked weathered and splintered, and attached to one end of the bench was a garish, cartoonish, wooden horse head, complete with an absurd painted face. Sandiman scraped it across the concrete floor towards the cobble stone mosaic. Beaming with delight, Bridget patted the temple wench’s bottom almost playfully to chase her off the mosaic, and the horse was dragged into place before the goddess.

“Yay! I love watching the spanking wench ride the horsey!” squealed the little halfling girl from the audience.

The wench turned on the Priestess, imploring. “No, Lady Mother! Not the spanking horse!”

As the Priestess tut-tutted, and the wench fussed, Wilkes heard a female voice whisper softly in his ear. “What an actress. She’s really hamming it up, isn’t she?”

Wilkes barely stopped himself from squealing. Somehow, a woman had snuck up on him in the corner, where the blinding light from the fluorescent bulb didn’t quite reach. Then it occurred to Wilkes that the woman was shorter than him, which was strange because she was looking down on him, but she wasn’t nearly short enough to be a halfling. Then he remembered that he was hunching over to avoid hitting his head, then straightened up to talk to the woman, but forgot he had been hunching over to avoid hitting his head, and cracked his skull on the beam of the ceiling. The elderly halfling woman in the shawl gave him a death stare, before turning her attention back on the whiny spanking wench being led to her doom. 

Hissing, Wilked rubbed the crown of his skull, and felt a rising goose egg. “Who are you? What are you talking about?”

The woman shook her head, her face hidden in shadow beneath her hood. She was just short enough she could walk around the cramped room without cracking her head. “I’m a guest, like you. The priestess was kind enough to invite me to witness one of these flogging ceremonies. I read your blog. It was most…entertaining.”

Wilkes puffed up his chest, but before he could turn the conversation to his blog, which was his favorite subject, the cloaked woman spoke over him. “As for your second question, what I’m talking about is that spanking wench’s performance. Do you think the halflings buy it, or are they all in on the joke?”

Wilkes turned his attention back to the wench, who was now gingerly setting herself onto the spanking horse, as though she was trying to avoid touching it. “Please, don’t make me! I’ll get splinters!” whimpered the wench.

“What joke? She’s clearly terrified, the poor thing.”

Before Wilkes could argue his point further, a light blared on his face, burning his retinas. As he stammered apologies for interrupting the service, he heard Lady Mother Bridget’s booming voice projecting from the other side of the room. “Good Folk, today we welcome among us an outsider. As you can all plainly see, he is a most distinguished scholar, who has taken an academic interest in our Lady. I humbly suggest we allow him to make the first offering to the Lady of Lashes, as our Guest of Honor. Isn’t our wench a lucky gal?”

There was a tittering of laughter from the congregation, and Wilkes felt himself inexplicably drawn forward from his corner, somehow feeling embarrassed and flattered all at once. “Oh, I really couldn’t! I don’t know what to say?”

Wilkes was about to discuss several amusing anecdotes related to his career as a blogger before he noticed Bridget offering him the bundle of birches from the sculpture, gesturing helpfully at the dark elf’s upturned bottom. “Roast her well!”

Wilkes blanched as he accepted the bundle, already feeling sorry for the wench. As he glanced down at the nameless dark elf, he noticed Sandiman binding her wrists in place against the two front legs of the horse with two leather thongs connected to the horse’s feet. “Um, why are you tying her up so tightly?”

Sandiman didn’t bother to look up from his work. “To keep her from bucking off, of course!”

As if in answer, the wench squealed, pulling up and away, before the restraints caught her wrists. Wilkes noticed two splinters of exposed wood had pricked her, one near her tummy, another against her breasts, which rested against the horse’s neck. Sandiman planted a playful swat on the wench’s bottom. “None of that caterwauling in my ear, missy!”

The saddle cushion somewhat protected the wench’s groin and bottom, though it also angled her bottom upward at an absurd angle, her legs dangling uselessly at either side of the horse. 

Wilkes noticed two leather loops on the back legs, identical to the front two. He felt sorry for the dark elf, who was craning her neck to look up at him pitifully, but he also couldn’t help but be fascinated. Finally, he was getting to the authentic roots of a provincial religious cult! “Do you want some help tying down her legs?”

All the halflings in the congregation chortled at this. Wilkes looked back and forth from the puppy eyed dark elf to Lady Mother Bridget. He caught a glimpse of the cloaked woman in the corner, casually leaning against the wall and tilting her head in his direction. “Go on, genius. Use your head!” she seemed to be telling him, wordlessly.

Wilkes blushed, realizing he was the center of attention. Turning awkwardly to the Lady Mother, he said the first thing that came to mind, trying to sound smart and witty. “Um, I suppose the Goddess doesn’t want the wench’s legs tied down?”

The halflings all chuckled politely, before Lady Mother Bridget raised her hands for silence, a twinkle in her eye. “Oh, I don’t suppose the Goddess minds one way or the other if you tie down her legs. But we generally prefer to keep the wench’s legs free.”

Wilkes was lost, so lost, that he was finally ready to admit to himself how lost he was. “...But…why?”

“Because it’s funnier when she kicks!” 

Wilkes blinked. “Ah…I understand.” (He didn’t.)

Wilkes raised the birch bundle awkwardly above the ample bottom that represented his target. “Is there something I should say to her?”

Bridget folded her hands sagely, resting on her staff and nodding towards the idol. “Oh, there are a few old saws, but you needn’t worry. The Goddess is most pleased when you speak your mind frankly! Try saying whatever pops into your darling, wee head! If that doesn’t work, try speaking anyway, and let your heart do the talking for you.”

Wilkes grimaced. He had been referring to the dark elf, not the goddess. Part of him felt like he should apologize to her for what he was about to do. He knew the dark elf had consented to enter this life of slavery, but when he looked at her trembling hindquarters, something about the whole situation felt wrong. Behind him, he heard a couple halflings in the audience cough awkwardly, and the sound of a cricket chirping.

The nameless temple wench carefully turned her head to catch his eye, so that only he noticed. She desperately mouthed the words: “Just do it!”

Wilkes obeyed, bringing the birch bundle down squarely across both her cheeks. With a sharp intake of breath, the wench flinched slightly, turning her face away. Wilkes raised the bundle, and this time only hesitated for half a second, before his heart told him to go for it. He delivered nine more crisp strokes with the birches. One of his lashes was badly aimed, and glanced off the wench’s left butt cheek with a scratching sound. Another landed lower than he intended, across her upper thighs. But he was gradually getting the feel for how to aim properly, and discovered how to roll his arm, enjoying the rich, dense “thwack!” that greeted his better strokes. 

Although the wench remained silent, she wriggled in place, and grunted. Wilkes was equally impressed by the wench’s resolve, and pleased with the knowledge that he was starting to have more of an effect. 

The wench might be putting on a bold front, but he could tell by the rising red welts that he was definitely hurting her. 

The sadism of this thought gave him pause, before he remembered how high and mighty this same dark elf had acted when she met him at the train station. He put the full force of his arm into the tenth and final spank, and to his delight, the wench kicked her legs and bucked, unable to stop herself from hooting, then hissing as she felt two exposed splinters dug into her thighs on either side of the horse’s flanks. “Ooo-hoo-hoo! ‘Tch! Aaaah, ha!”

Wilkes heard what sounded like the childish titter of a halfling girl behind him, before remembering he was supposed to say something. But all he felt was terrible. What was he supposed to say after a spanking? “Um…there there. Spanking’s over. Everything will be alright?”

The garage filled with howling laughter. Wilkes spun around, and found the entire audience of halflings slapping their knees and clutching their stomachs, as they laughed their deep, fruity laughs. “Have they all gone mad?” thought Wilkes.

 

“Ha ha! Perfect timing on the delivery!” gasped Sandiman.

“Hoo, hoo! So many layers of irony!” wheezed Lady Mother Bridget.

“Tee hee! Like she’s a little baby!” giggled the little girl.

“Hmm, I should add one like that to my material,” hummed the handsome young halfling man, scratching his pen furiously into his notebook.

The stocky looking older woman sniffed, before her tight lips cracked into a slight smile. “Humph. Not too bad, I suppose…for a first attempt.”

Seeing that their guest of honor was completely lost, Bridget held her hands high to silence the crowd. “Excellent opener, my fellow. You’re not a halfling, so you can’t make an appeal to the goddess, unfortunately, but I know she is well pleased with your efforts, however humble…Good folk, let’s hear it for our guest!” 

The room erupted in applause. Instead of clapping her hands, Bridget furiously clapped the wench’s butt cheeks to join in the fun. “And now, for something completely different, I think our guest has earned a little token of gratitude, for such a finely delivered jest! Mr. Wilcock…didn’t you want to interview our spanking wench?”

Wilkes nodded, but Bridget didn’t give him a chance to interrupt her sermonizing. “And didn’t you have an opportunity to interview this wench when she was sent to welcome you to our fair ‘burg?”

“Well, not exactly. I didn’t know she was a spanking wench. I assumed–”

Bridget slammed her staff to the ground, her face grave. “Yes, but that’s not entirely your fault. I’m afraid our errant little temple wench…misrepresented herself. Isn’t that true, you naughty thing?”

The audience gasped. The halfling girl looked at her parents quizzically. “The spanking girl tol’ a lie? Why would she do that? She gets spanked for fibbing!”

Her mother held a finger to her lips to shush her. “Because she’s a silly little elf, who doesn’t know better.” 

The wench kicked her feet, her toes curling and uncurling. “No! I didn’t lie! I only–”

Lady Mother Bridget snapped her holy staff across the wench’s backside. For the first time, Wilkes heard the wench roar. “Argh! Okay, okay, I didn’t tell the whole truth! I lied by omission!”

If the wench hoped that confessing her sin would spare her bottom from further torment, she was immediately disabused of that notion, as Bridget cracked her staff across the wench’s bottom, for the second time. “Indeed! Now, good folk, you are surely wondering: how could he not recognize a spanking wench at a glance?” 

Intrigued, the audience nodded, glancing at Wilkes. Even big people weren’t quite that stupid!

Knowing that she had their interest, Bridget gestured to the handyman. “Mr. Sandiman, the evidence, if you please!”

“Oh! Righto! She was wearing this sneaky disguise!” Sandiman pulled the dark elf’s leather motorcycle outfit from his satchel, and held the damning evidence up to the stunned congregation. 

Bridget tapped her staff lightly across the wench’s bottom, so that her puppy fat only jiggled slightly. “Wench! Where did you steal this absurd outfit?”

The wench writhed on top of her horse, looking imploringly over either of her shoulders. “I didn’t steal it! I found it–” 

The third whack from Bridget’s staff encouraged the wench to rethink her alibi. “Yow! I found it…in the pile of clothes for the donation drive!” 

Another snap of the staff left a fresh, reddish mark, which rose to join the previous three glistening welts. The wench tried to jump up off the horse, but her restrained wrists held her upper torso in place. Her legs swung up wildly, the way a falling cat twists its legs in mid-air. The wench’s mewls were equally cat-like. “Myeee–ow! Rawrrrl!!”

As the wench flopped right back down on her spanking horse like an expert, though completely unwilling, rodeo girl, there were fresh giggles at the amusing sight. “Yee-ouwwl! Yes, yes, I stole it! I confess my sin! Please don’t punish me! Baw!! Boo hoo!”

At the mention of punishment, Bridget grinned like a minx, before landing a fifth lash with her staff. “Punish you? Oh no, of course not! The Goddess is nothing if not forgiving and merciful! Lying may be a grievous sin in the eyes of many of the gods. Perhaps even a sin worthy of eternal damnation for your immortal soul. But, lucky for you, the Goddess isn’t interested in your immortal soul. Just your dumpy ass. Brothers and sisters, it is our duty to guide this foolish creature, until she is safely resting across the loving lap of the Lady! Praise be, for her wisdom!”

The entire congregation answered together: “Praise be, for her mercy!”

Feeling sorry for the wench, Wilkes tried to catch her eye, before he noticed something. Her cries sounded convincing, but her eyes were completely dry. Then he remembered what the woman in the cloak and cowl had said: about the wench being quite an actress. “She’s nowhere near breaking down?” thought Wilkes, feeling strangely disappointed. 

Bridget turned from her flock to address Wilkes. “Now, as for our guest, since you were so eager to interview our spanking wench, only for her to play her little trick on you, making herself out to be someone special, I think it only just that we give you the opportunity to question this temple wench. Go on, ask her anything. And if she gets tongue tied…” Bridget landed a sixth and final stroke of the staff, aiming it diagonally with such precision, it left a neat tally mark across the previous five welts. “...feel free to give her a good spank, to help loosen her tongue!

Taken by surprise, the wench let out a long, moaning “Ooooh!” and rubbed her feet together. Then, as she felt the sixth welt rise across her other welts, she tried to run away, the balls of her bare feet slipping and squeaking against the smooth stones below her. “Ooo, hoo-hoo-hoo!”

Despite his reservations, Wilkes cracked up at the sight, then looked for his drone. “Really? Thank you, Lady Mother Füdlewhopper! Um, what should I do with the birches? I need both my hands free in case this old camera starts acting up.”

Bridget held out a hand and accepted the birches. “I’m happy to hold them for you. Would you like to try another implement?”

Wilkes swallowed, wondering just how many different implements there could possibly be. “Implements? My, my, I’d love to see them…”

As he stared down at the wench’s already blistered bottom, he had a strange impulse to stroke the rising welts. “...but would it be acceptable for me to use my hand?”

Another round of chuckles rippled through the audience. Lady Mother Bridget wiped a tear from her eye. “Oh my! So simple, and yet so sweet! So elementary, and yet so elegant! Of course you may, and may those great, clumsy hands of yours serve as a gentle, guiding hand to our prodigal wench, leading her back to the Lap of the Lady! While you’re at it, feel free to give her a little massage, to warm her up. Or a good pinch, if she’s cheeky. I find it helps her pay attention.”

Half listening, Wilkes adjusted his drone to capture a perfect shot of the wench, so that her entire body appeared in frame, and moved to the other side of her. He did a double take at the mention of the massage, and stroked the wench’s bottom delicately, letting his palm lightly brush against her raised welts. He sensed her shiver at the touch. “Very well, in that case…” 

Wilkes landed the first spank, across the wench’s left butt cheek. The resounding clap was strangely musical to his ear, and the ripple of the impact almost hypnotic. The wench groaned, but kept silent. 

Then Wilkes remembered he was supposed to be conducting an interview. “So! Um…why did you decide to become a spanking wench?” 

The wench hissed, then went stubbornly silent. Feeling annoyed, Wilkes clapped the wench’s right butt cheek soundly. “Well? You must have had a reason.”

With a little “Yip!” of discomfort, the wench hopped in place as she felt the second smack, then wriggled slowly to pull herself away from the splinters that pricked her armpits and lower thighs on either side. “Ooo-wee! Okay, okay! I guess…I was bored?”

Wilkes blinked. “You got bored of being free? So, do you find this…work you do…more interesting?”

The wench clenched and unclenched her glutes, giving the illusion that her perky bottom was smiling, then frowning in concentration as she mulled over the question. “Sometimes.”

“What was the process like, to become a spanking wench? Did you have to take a test?”

The little girl in the audience snickered at this, but no one else joined in.

The wench sighed, then flashed a boastful stare at Wilkes, as though daring him to challenge her. “After I asked to become a temple wench, I was spanked, paddled, and flogged in myriad creative ways to warn me precisely what I was in for, before I made any commitments. Then I survived a grueling test of skill and endurance, competing against dozens of elves who all desired to enter into voluntary slavery to the halfling temple.”

Wilkes scratched his head. “What kind of tests? Do you mean some sort of…gladiatorial combat?”

There were a few scattered laughs. The halfling girl looked at her mother quizzically. “Mommy, are they talking about the reality TV show?”

“Yes dear. The spanking wench meant to say she was on Who Wants to Be a Spanking Wench? It was a few seasons ago!”

The halfling girl narrowed her eyes at the spanking wench’s upturned bottom, as though expecting her to get a spanking for telling lies. “But…there’s no gladiatorial combat on that show. They just spank all the silly elf girls who want to be spanking wenches, and have them recite from the children’s catechism. Well, that and the elf girls all say really mean and funny things about each other! Why is she trying to make it sound like it’s some sort of sport?”

The girl’s mother shrugged, while trying to shush her daughter. “I suppose the wench is playing make believe. She likes pretending to be something she’s not.”

The halfling girl flashed a toothy grin. “Oh! So, she’s not telling lies, just telling stories, right? So, is it all right for me to twist the truth a bit, like the spanking wench does?”

The mother beamed, patting her daughter on the head. “Only if you want a spanking, sweetie. Just like the spanking wench gets. Now, shush.”

The halflings all giggled as they overheard this exchange, with the exception of the stern, older woman. Famously, halfling parents were widely known to not favor using corporal punishment on children (with rare exceptions), to the point where a halfling parent threatening to spank their child was commonly viewed as an absurdity. Even the little girl joined the laughter, then silently nodded in obedience.

The nameless wench fumed silently as she overheard the crowd poking holes in her story, her face blushing red to match her backside.

Wilkes’ mind was reeling. In his futile attempts to find information about the halfling religion online, he’d read something about a televised program, but hadn’t been able to find recordings of it anywhere. (In the modern, magical world, there were millions of hours of banal televised programs churned out every year, to the point that finding one show amidst the endless ocean of content was practically impossible.) “So, this…reality show? Lots of dark elves compete?”

The wench seemed to ignore the question, before Wilkes remembered to pat her bottom a few times, half-heartedly. “Huh? Yeah! Mostly dark elves, but even some light elves and wood elves want to enter the service. And, as I said, I beat out all the competition.”

The old halfling woman spat, with enough force to knock over a spitoon resting on the opposite side of the room. “For one season, anyway.”

Again, the halfling’s snickered, and Wilkes understood they were all in on a private joke, and he was the odd man out. “So, does being a spanking–uh, a temple wench–provide meaning to your life? Is it rewarding?”

The wench glared at Wilkes, then turned her face away. “As much as anybody’s life has meaning, I suppose. And the job’s as rewarding as any other I’ve ever had.”

The stern, old halfling woman scoffed, as if answering Wilke’s question herself. “Baw!”

Conscious of the heckler, Wilkes glanced at the congregation, then noticed Bridget pantomiming the act of delivering a spank, as if playing charades. With a nod, Wilkes quickly planted a spank across the center of the wench’s bottom, feeling his palm sink into the flabby folds across either side of her butt crack. When the wench didn’t so much as twitch, he wanted to kick himself for holding back. “Er, does it pay well?”

“Why, you want to steal my job?” answered the wench sarcastically, without missing a beat.

The crowd tittered at the wench’s one-liner. It struck Wilkes that thus far, the audience was reacting to his questions like he was at an open-mic comedy night, not a somber religious ceremony. “Uh, no, don’t think I’m qualified. What I mean is this–” Wilkes remembered he should deliver a spank, and was pleased to see the wench stiffen, before wagging her buttocks up and down in a delayed response to the pain.

Wilkes smiled, enjoying the view. “Do you really want to be a spanking wench forever? Are there any, well, promotions for spanking wenches?”

The wench sniffed, but not to hide any tears. It was with derision. “Of course, I’m here for life. That was a condition of my voluntary enslavement. There’s no hierarchy for spanking wenches.”

“So, there’s no special honors or titles attached to being a spanking wench at, say, the Temple of the High Priestess? Do they–well, if you don’t mind my asking–do they get paid more at the bigger temples?” Wilkes heard the older members of the audience titter at this. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Bridget cross her arms, without laughing, and wondered if he’d just brought up a sore spot.

The spanking wench seemed to relax, sinking onto her bench. “The halflings don’t pay us spanking wenches at all, given that we’re slaves and all! Though some spanking wenches are ‘honored’ with a title, like ‘Miss Piggy,’ or ‘Lady Waterworks,’ or ‘Madame Can-Can.’ Those three work at the High Priestess’ Temple…”

The wench glanced over her shoulder, looking for Mr. Sandiman, the handyman. When she spotted him, she lifted her bottom and waggled it in his direction, as though daring him to comment. “They even have their own Temple Guards!”

Instinctively, Wilkes spanked the wench three times in quick succession, using his shoulder to put more rolling force into each, left, then right, then center. The wench hummed, then squeaked, then yelped as she felt each reverberating swat. Wilkes paused, then said the first thing that popped into his head. “That’s for showing so much cheek.”

At this, the audience chuckled politely at this, and even the wench flashed him a smile. “Aw! Have I been acting rude? Are you gonna’ punish me?”

Wilkes answered by aiming a spank to the spot where the wench’s lower right butt-cheek connected to her upper thigh. He enjoyed the sensation as he felt the flabby fold of flesh lift at the impact and bounce back into place. 

And as his hand gently caressed the dark elf’s warm, buzzing bottom, it occurred to Wilkes that the voluntary slave must have some sort of masochistic streak. Why else would she want to be a spanking wench? Finally, Wilkes let go of all the reservations and guilt he felt before. If she was allowed to enjoy herself, why shouldn’t he? “No. It’s not my job to punish you…”

Wilkes landed a similar stroke to her lower left butt-cheek, discovering a wonderful new rhythm. “It’s my job to interview you!”

When he landed the third spank across the center of the wench’s bottom, Wilkes let his hand rest. As he felt the elf’s tender, scorched flesh, he also felt like he finally understood something: he was making an impression. It was as if there was an electric sensation building in the air to greet each tingling thunderclap. He sensed how the lippy wench was now paying full attention to his every word. These halflings had the right idea: spanking this uppity dark elf really worked wonders on her attitude. “Now, getting back to the matter of pay. Since you receive no financial compensation for your service as a spanking wench, I suppose you expect to receive some sort of spiritual, eternal reward from the Goddess. What do you think heaven will be like?”

The wench’s bottom trembled beneath his palm. “I…If I remain faithful until the end, I will be welcomed into the heavenly court of the Goddess. Then the Lady of Love, the Lady of Laughter, and the Lady of Lashes will invite me to rest upon her lap.”

Wilkes remembered everything he’d read about other provincial religions, and thought he’d heard that sort of thing before. “Aha! She’ll sit you on her lap and embrace you, like a loving mother comforting her child. No more tears, no more pain, the end of your long-suffering journey, that sort of thing.”

The wench rubbed her feet together, the nylon ropes dangling loosely to match the subtle gesture. “No, I won’t be sitting on her lap. I won’t be sitting at all, actually. I’ll be bent across her lap…for a spanking, before the whole heavenly host.”

“Oh? One last spanking? As a sort of symbolic purification from the sins of the flesh, before you are forgiven and restored to glory?”

The wench glanced nervously over her shoulder, before quickly twisting her head away and hunching her shoulders. “Uh…no, it’s not the ‘last’ spanking. It’s only the first spanking. My reward for serving the Lady as a spanking wench. in this life, is to continue serving her as a spanking wench, in the next life, for ever and ever.”

There was a dead silence. Wilkes heard a cricket chirping in the garage. “...But…then…why would anyone ever want to be a spanking wench?”

The little girl in the audience cracked up, then started kicking her feet as her laughter built to a crescendo. The musical, child-like quality of the laughter was infectious, and soon the whole congregation was laughing uncontrollably.

Still lost, Wilkes noticed he was still groping the wench and pulled his hand away from her ass with a start. Then he checked his recording drone, remembered he had been recording himself the whole time, and desperately tried to rephrase his question. He hoped if he sounded professional enough now, the footage would seem less embarrassing later. “Ahem! What I mean to say is–well–how is that any different from hell? To be flogged endlessly, for all eternity?”

As the laughter died down, Lady Mother Bridget patted Wilkes’ hand affectionately, as if he was the cutest, slow-witted child she’d ever met, who was also twice her size. “Oh, no, no, dearie, you misunderstand. You’ve not to worry! That’s exactly what every temple wench wants for her eternal reward. Of course, none of us know precisely what it will be like in the heavenly chambers. Perhaps our Lady will spend every waking moment, incessantly spanking this poor, silly wench, or perhaps she will allow the saints to chastise her elven wenches on her behalf, as merited by our good works!” 

The old halfling woman barked, “Course, it’s not as if our backwater temple wench’s fat ass is all that important in the grand scheme of things.”

Bridget’s face turned red at the mention of the phrase “backwater temple.” “True, Sister Kolhändler, yet we can all take comfort in the knowledge that our lady loves us all, no matter our circumstances or station in life. She even loves her temple wenches…for their spankable little elven bottoms, at least. Well, Master Wilkes, I trust this interview has been most illuminating? Have you any further questions for our asinine wench?”

At the moment, Wilkes only felt like hiding under a rock. “Thank you! I think I’ve taken up quite enough of you good folk’s time. Please, don’t mind me, continue your ceremony. I’ll just…observe, that is, if my presence is, no trouble, of course! Feel free to tell me if I’m–”

Before Wilkes could shuffle back to his spot in the corner, the spanking wench cleared her throat, loud enough to be heard over all the hubbub. “Ahem!”

Slowly, deliberately, teasingly, the spanking wench raised her bottom high into the air, as if asking Wilkes to give it a kiss goodbye. “…Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Remembering he was still recording himself, and wondering what his readers would think of this footage, Wilkes felt his throat go dry. Then he raised his trembling right hand, and brought it down firmly across the wench’s right butt cheek, aiming the slap at a sharper, almost parallel angle across the target. For good measure, he used his left hand to plant another spank, with slightly more resolve, across the wench’s left butt cheek. Finally, feeling all his annoyance at the wench, at the halflings, and at himself for making a fool of him, he decided to take his frustration out on the wench’s bottom, since nothing else was at hand. Grabbing her nylon, rope undergarments in one hand, he twisted them in one fist and lifted slightly to pull them into a tight wedgie. The wench cooed as she felt her ass raised higher into the air, then squealed as she felt six fierce swats in quick succession, alternating in sets of three across both of her cheeks in turn. This was followed by another six crisp slaps across her thighs, again in sets of three. Using every ounce of his strength, Wilkes landed a final blow directly across the center of the wench’s bottom, and was pleased to see his hand make a rippling impact through the fat meat of her ass, before leaving a vivid imprint in the shape of his hand. The laughter of the halfling congregation was music to his ears, along with the willful wench’s warbling wail of pain, as he shuffled back to the corner.

“Hmph. That’s more like it. Nice to see he’s found a use for those freakishly big hands of his,” muttered the elderly merchant lady, who Wilkes now recognized as Sister Kolhändler.

Lady Mother Bridget raised her hands to silence her flock. “Thank you, honored guest. You are unquestionably a not-so-gentle gentleman and a spanking-good scholar. Now, who here wishes to petition our Lady for a boon? Remember, the wench’s bottom is here as an offering for us all.”

The wench groaned, as if she wasn’t too sure she wanted her bottom to be serving such a noble, sanctified function anymore.

Happily ignoring the wench’s discomfort, Bridget playfully patted the dark elf’s bottom. “Now, let us pray!”

[End of Chapter 2]