Ms. Marlow’s Instrument of Agreement


I guess I took advantage of her, but when I saw her that day spanking that child over her knee, I knew I needed her help.

I had been a not so happily married man for three years at this point. My wife was pretty and dutiful and moved in all the right social circles, but she had proved to be a sexual martyr in the bedroom, lying there under me each night with her legs spread and her eyes closed waiting for it all to end. We had one child who was in the stage of the troublesome twos as they called it and I was feeling the house we lived in closing in on me. You see I’m a writer of fiction and spend most of my time in the back room pounding away at my Underwood typewriter. The room has a grand view of our backyard and rose garden and even of our neighbors yard.

It was from my open window there that I saw her for the first time sternly directing the children in her charge as she hung laundry. She had her dark hair pulled up in a tight bun as is the style and her white blouse and full-length skirt were impeccable. She wasn’t pretty, but her face had a certain homely appeal. She was a maid and nanny it seemed, doing the housework and minding the little ones of our neighbor. Their home was quite a bit larger than ours and they liked to put on airs as did others on our block. So these live-in maids were common to see, wringing out the laundry and sweeping the porches.

One day as I sat at my desk I heard a commotion over there. It seems the boy had decided to kick up a fuss and this nanny, from her tone, was going to put up with none of it. I craned my neck and saw her as she walked the boy of six or seven out to a bench under the willow tree, a paddle held in her right hand. The boy tried to get away as she pulled him down over her knee, but she handled him with surprising ease and was soon placing the wood against his backside with somewhat more than measured force. The lad was soon balling out his contrite tears as his younger brother and sister looked on. But what struck me the most about this penal demonstration was the agility of this maid’s use of force. She had, no doubt, paddled hundreds of backsides in her day and was a firm believer in the hierarchy of power and authority. I understood exactly how she felt and agreed with her view. The world was indeed controlled by the delivery of pain and pleasure.

That night as I penetrated my wife, the image of this maid came to my mind again and again. I saw the calm sternness of her face as she paddled the child to teach him the most important lesson in life. Domination and obedience had to be held above all. She had learned that as a child and so had I. My wife had learned that lesson too. This was what kept her wet each night as my manhood delved into her. But for some reason she had decided to spoil our son and not teach him his proper place in the order. I began to push into her more forcefully as I searched for a way to fix this problem.

The next day I decided the best rize escort solution was to bring this maid to our house. I wracked my brain trying to think of a discreet way to approach her. Finally I came up with the plan of throwing my son’s ball into their yard to initiate a conversation. My goal was to somehow get her away from our neighbor by obtaining some information about her. After all, our son was in need of a good authority figure during the day when my wife was out socializing and our house also needed the attentions of a good cleaner. But I had to be careful not to breach the social protocol. It was going to be a delicate maneuver.

That afternoon I tossed my son’s red ball over to their side and began to call politely for some assistance. She appeared not too long afterward drying her hands with a dish towel.

“Hello! My son seems to have launched his ball onto your property!” I said smiling.

She walked out into the yard and scanned the property.

“Is this it?” she asked pointing.

“Yes! yes! The boy’s got quite a foot!” I replied peering over the white plank fence.

As she picked it up and walked over to me, I was impressed by the health and size of her physique. I tried to look for something in her face that would give me an opening, but the mouth was firm and set. She handed the ball over to me.

“Thanks, my name is John Oliver. It’s nice to meet you.” I said.

“I’m Miss Marlow. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, sir.”

“I was wondering,” I continued, “do you know of a good agency in town where I could find a caretaker for my son?”

“Well, I work for the Brockton Agency and they do have caretakers available there.” she replied.

“Oh good, I’ll try them. Thanks!” I said.

The corners of her mouth came up only slightly at this point.

“You’re welcome, sir.” she replied before heading back in.

Later that day I went to the agency and made it quite clear I wanted Miss Marlow and only Miss Marlow as the caretaker for my son. I told them I was willing to pay their highest fee for her services and that it would only involve light cleaning duties. It took a month but the agency eventually convinced her of the wisdom of this move and had her report to me for work early one Monday. She seemed a bit uneasy when I met her at the door.

“Good morning, sir.” she said, “I’m here to start today.”

I acted surprised since I had told the agency not to inform her I had requested her specifically. I showed her to her room and then introduced her to my son.

“This is my son, David.” I told her as he ran past us screaming in the hall.

She watched him and nodded.

“He’s a good-looking child.” she said.

“Yes, but he’s a wild one.” I replied.

“That’s fine, we’ll have him adjusted soon enough.” she said.

In the weeks that followed I got to listen as she set about housecleaning and looking after the child. I heard bellows from the boy as she imposed her will on him day by day. There were terrible screams and tantrums until one day I heard the sound of her palm colliding forcefully against his backside as he wailed. Hearing the whole process of the confrontation excited me. Miss Marlow was now here in my house administering discipline where it was badly needed, as she had next door. That’s how the world worked, in a chain of authority moved by power and money. Miss Marlow, though I doubt she ever thought of herself this way, was in fact, a mercenary and a loyal servant to the ideology of pain.

After a month my son was, for the most part, tamed and out of diapers since not using the toilet brought the hardest spankings. Gone were the baby bottles and security blankets as well. When she caught him running in the house she yanked down his under shorts and reddened his rear end on the spot. The house was also brought up to a high standard of cleanliness and I was free to work at my leisure with no more interruptions.

Then one day I walked into the back room and found Miss Marlow standing there enjoying the view from my window. She didn’t turn or address me when I entered.

“Is there something you needed, Miss Marlow?”

“I was just noticing what a fine view you have from this window, sir?” she replied without turning.

“Ah yes, it helps me when I write to have fresh air and good scenery.” I said.

“There was just one thing I wanted to speak to you about.” she continued.

“Oh, what was that?” I asked with trepidation.

“Well sir, it’s the messes you make in the kitchen and also the condition you leave this room in.”

I stared at her in disbelief for a minute.

“But Miss Marlow, that was the reason I hired you.” I replied.

“Yes sir, you hired me to keep order and that’s what I plan to do.” she said.

“I’m not sure what you’re saying.” I replied.

“From now on this room stays clean and the kitchen is out of bounds.” she proclaimed.


“Do you need me to tell you again, sir?”

“Miss Marlow, may I remind you that I’m the one who is paying your salary?” I asserted.

“Yes sir, and I plan to perform my job without hindrance.”

I stood there amazed by this sudden shift.

“Are we in agreement or do I need to convince you in another way?” she asked.

“Another way? Miss Marlow, what are you talking about?” I queried.

“Okay.” she said before turning and walking out of the room.

“Miss Marlow?” I called after her quizzically.

But a moment later she returned with a paddle in her hand, the same paddle she had used on the boy next door.

“What’s this!?” I said startled.

“This is the instrument of agreement, sir.” she announced flatly.

At that moment I understood what had happened. She had seen my vantage point from the window into her former employer’s back yard and figured out why she had been hired. My body became weak.

“Look, I think you’re a bit confused here, Miss Marlow.”

“Sir, she said, “can you kneel on the couch for me and slide your trousers and undergarments down.”

My face and entire body flushed with heat after this, but oddly I felt myself obligated to follow her instructions. I moved hesitantly toward the couch but continued to try and bargain with her.

“I’m the adult here, Miss Marlow, and adults can be reasoned with.” I insisted.

“Please drop your trousers, sir.” she ordered coolly.

I complied and assumed a kneeling position on the couch, my elbows atop the back cushion. She then tugged my undergarment down exposing me completely. After this she took the paddle in two hands and squared herself to me.

The first blow landed with such force it sent my eyeglasses flying to the floor. The pain radiated hotly across my gluteal area and the force sent tremors rippling through my torso. The second blow hurt even more and caused my exposed testicles to swing out wildly.

“Okay! You’ve made your point!” I shouted, “I’ll stay out of the kitchen and keep this room spotless!”

“Yes you will.” was all she said before leaning back and delivering the next blow.

This one landed flatly and might have been heard around the block. I let out a loud cry, but then realized my bottom half was becoming strangely aroused.

The fourth blow was less painful and more playful to my senses as was each successive blow afterwards. It was then that I realized Miss Marlow understood as much about my psychology as I understood about hers. I needed to feel the mastery of a strong woman as she needed my tears of submission and contrition. So I decided to give her what she needed.

I began to ball like a child, even though the blows against my naked and numb backside were more humiliation now than anything else. Miss Marlow ended my punishment and pulled my undergarment back up after this.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson about being a sloppy boy!” she said, placing the paddle on my desk.

That night as I penetrated my listless wife my swollen posterior wouldn’t let me forget the spanking I’d received earlier. I wondered what Miss Marlow was doing in her bed at that moment. And as I thought of her possibly fingering herself I became so excited I pulled out of my wife and ejaculated in several strong blasts onto her unwitting face. Her disgust afterwards made the experience all the better for me.

In the months that followed, my son and I were both brought into complete agreement with Miss Marlow on all matters by her paddle of persuasion. My spankings came everyday at noon and I made sure I cried out loudly for her. This seemed to be the only thing she needed to get emotional and sexual gratification since there was never a day that she didn’t see my erect penis hanging down openly before her. The idea that I was ostensibly paying her to beat me was enough for her apparently along with the fact that she became the head of the household every time my naked backside was presented to her.

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