"Corporalist?" Patrick Jane smirked at his nominal supervisor, sitting behind her desk. "There's no such word in the English language."

Teresa Lisbon frowned. "So what? When did 'mentalist' become a real word?"

The C.B.I. consultant shrugged. "Isaac Asimov referred to 'mentalistic abilities' in-"

"Okay," the black-haired beauty interrupted, "But you know what I mean by 'corporalist,' Jane, assuming you read your contract renewal."

"That part about me being subject to corporal discipline from you?" His eyebrows arched. "That was merely meant to intimidate me."

She snorted. "You of all people should know me better than that, I don't bluff-that's your department. I had that clause inserted into your contract exactly for this sort of situation, in which your misconduct has badly embarrassed me."

"I needed that classified information about Redjohn," Patrick remonstrated.

Her visage was unyielding. "Accessing the director's computer files, Jane, that's way outside acceptable protocol. Since you work under me I nearly got fired myself saving your butt- figuratively that is, in a literal sense your ass is going to be lambasted but good."

He smiled anxiously. "You're too mature and cultured a person to engage in physical punishment, Lisbon."

Teresa confidently smiled back. "Nice try, but you won't manipulate me this time. I've tolerated your past insubordination because your unorthodox methods got results, but now you've gone too far. I have the authority to apply a paddle to your naked buttcheeks, which is exactly what I'm going to do-unless you're resigning from the C.B.I."

His resigned expression reflected his need for C.B.I. resources in tracking down his personal 'white whale.'

"You know that's not a viable option."

"Then meet me here at five-thirty, ready to be spanked like the mischievous little boy you are." She snickered. "No ifs or ands, however definitely bring your butt."

"What's she doing here?" Patrick demanded.

"A C.B.I. witness is required," his superior explained, "Agent Van Pelt is my choice since she'll appreciate my perspective."

Redheaded Grace Van Pelt grinned. "I'm sworn to confidentiality, our male colleagues won't know anything."

Teresa took a sturdy oaken Spencer paddle from the desktop. "Trousers down, underwear likewise unless it exposes your backside, then bend forward over the desk."

"Yes, ma'am." He reluctantly obeyed.

The redhead giggled at her coworker's seatless red 'Spank Me' briefs . "Cute undies, your derriere isn't bad-looking either."

Their leader raised the eighteen-holed instrument of correction, taking aim at her spankee's trembling white buttocks. "It'll look better when its color matches those panties."

Then she resoundingly paddywhacked Patrick, smacking the hardwood against his vulnerably upthrust posterior with sweeping strokes of her punitive implement; he began squirming and squealing, soon he was sobbing and howling throughout the extended emphatic chastisement- exactly 100 stinging swats.

"Awesome spanking," Grace gushed while accepting the paddle, "A red- assed shellacking! His bare buns are glowing brighter than those briefs."

"Give him another sixty extra-hard wallops," Teresa instructed.

Her victim sniffled. "Please, no more."

She chuckled. "Oh, yes-it takes two corporalists to discipline one mentalist..."