Regulation in Progress
When Kat checks into a charming seaside cottage, she expects doilies and downtime—not a mysterious room labelled “Renovation in Progress.” But curiosity gets the better of her, and what she uncovers inside is a one-of-a-kind guest amenity, and a surprisingly thorough welcome that leaves her blushing—on more than one cheek. Regulation in Progress is a cheeky tale of misread warnings, unexpected hospitality, and a holiday experience that leaves a lasting impression.
1. A Cosy Little Mystery
Katherine Everley (known as Kat, to everyone except her bank manager) had stayed in plenty of quirky British holiday rentals, but Primrose Cottage took the teacake.
The fresh scent of sea air blended with the quaint vintage atmosphere. Chintz curtains hung in the living room windows, mismatched teacups rested on crocheted coasters, and the bookshelf was stacked with jigsaws and dusty paperbacks. It was the kind of place where time hadn’t so much stood still, as knitted itself a shawl and popped the kettle on.
After a coast-hopping adventure that had already treated her to her first ever nudist beach experience, an unexpected pub quiz victory, and days of paddleboarding bliss, she found herself at her final stop. She had grand plans to immortalise every moment on her blog — if she could ever find the time to actually write it.
The cottage was as advertised: full of seaside charm. A creaky old staircase, brass bedknobs, and a handwritten welcome note.
“Welcome, Kat! Do help yourself to the biscuits. Please leave muddy shoes outside. Oh — and kindly avoid the room at the end of the landing. Renovation in progress. Thank you!”
Naturally, that was the one thing Kat couldn’t stop thinking about.
2. The Forbidden Door
For two whole days, Kat respected the request. She sunbathed, she journaled, and she even made a valiant attempt at scrambled eggs. But curiosity, predictably, began to twitch.
So it was on her final morning, after an invigorating dip and a well-deserved nap on the beach — this time safely concealed behind her favourite bikini — that Kat decided it was time to investigate.
To her surprise, the mysterious door clicked open without resistance.
3. The Room of Curiosity
Inside, she found not stacked plasterboard and paint tins, but a clean, wood-panelled chamber with the far wall consisting of an almost room-sized mirror. Brass fixtures. Elegant lighting.
But the centrepiece — by a country mile — was a strange machine occupying the middle of the room: a sort of leather-padded vaulting horse with brass fittings and curving walnut side panels. It had the air of something designed for gymnastic improvement, or moral realignment. Possibly both.
The top of the contraption was generously cushioned and sloped like a chaise longue caught mid-curtsy — part elegant posture support, part alluring invitation. From one side, a mechanical appendage extended, like the arm of a retro robot, but tipped with an oval cherrywood paddle.
The speaker grille on the wall crackled.
“Thank you for choosing the Perambulatory Regulator, Mark Two.”
Kat blinked. “Sorry, I wasn’t aware I chose anything—”
The voice was tinny, but friendly, reminding Kat of a sensual female robot voice that you might hear in a 1960's Sci-fi B-movie.
“This prototype is designed for correction, restoration, and vigorous impact-based deep tissue massage of the gluteus maximus and upper-hamstring muscle groups.”
“Oh... boy,” Kat breathed. “For a vintage machine it sure seems to know a lot about anatomy. It looks like some sort of steampunk Peloton.”
Curiosity piqued, she couldn't resist running a hand across its luxurious leather cushioning. It was smooth and cool under her fingertips, sending a curious thrill up her arm. As she pressed down, trying to judge the softness of the padding, the voice reactivated:
“Please make yourself comfortable on the extra-smooth inclined body-rests.”
“I mean... you’re really selling it,” Kat chuckled, stepping closer. Despite the incongruity, the thing was oddly beautiful, she had to admit. Elegant craftsmanship. Dials and vents.
Leaning over the machine she spotted a polished brass lever with the label: Manual Intensity Override: Supervised Use Only.
Beside it was a vintage segmented LED display that reminded her of her digital bedside alarm clock. Leaning closer, she read the glowing red 06 beside the prominent green, BEGIN button.
“Okay. Hypothetically...” she murmured. “Six what? Reps? Minutes? Or... Swats?”
Her voice faltered on that last word, as if it knew something she didn’t. “Swats? Right. Okay. So what we're dealing with here is an actual spanking machine. Why couldn’t they just say so! This has to be the weirdest Airbnb Easter egg I’ve ever found.”
The machine was oddly charming. Not sinister. And she was alone. She could back out at any time.
“You know what?” she said, attempting to sound decisive. “Six swats really can't be that bad.”
She glanced at the door. Definitely nobody home. Nobody for miles.
As a guest in the house, and in this room against her hosts' request, she glanced down at her ivory linen sarong, still speckled with beach sand, and her dusty flip-flops. She couldn't risk marring that beautiful leather upholstery with even a grain of sand. Best to err on the side of caution, she thought, an instinct that was slightly out of character for her.
It was purely a mechanical device, yet Kat felt strangely self-conscious as she kicked off her shoes and slipped out of her sarong, letting it fall in a soft puddle beside the door.
Looking at herself in the mirrored wall, she noticed her playful red bikini was a perfect match for the red STOP button inset into the panel beside the speaker grille.
With a mixture of mischief and madness, she stepped forward and leaned into the padded incline. The angle was surprisingly comfortable. Moulded, and seeming to hug her thigh muscles as she eased herself onto it. The top of the machine curved with her hips so that she bridged over the unusual contraption.
She was a modern girl, and had never been spanked in her life before. In a fleeting daydream, she wondered if this was what it felt like — to be told off, and guided over someone’s lap. A shiver of anticipation tickled her spine, or maybe that was the effect of the cool leather against her bare midriff.
It wasn't quite fear, and not quite excitement. It occupied a middle ground. The sharp edge of possibility brushing up against her nerves.
At least now she had a much better view of the LED display.
“06? Check,” she said. “Intensity lever? Midpoint. I guess that’s normal. They say curiosity killed the cat, but let’s hope this Kat has nine lives. Or at least... more than six.”
With a final check to ensure the coast was clear — and just a flicker of apprehension at how far away that STOP button really was — her finger reached for the BEGIN button and... click.
“Position confirmed. Please remain still while the body-support stabilisers engage.”
“Wait— stabilisers—?”
Two padded arms slid smoothly from the lower frame and curled around her bare thighs with absolute authority. A third arm rose upwards from beside her right hip and locked itself down with a snappy mechanical click, hugging the small of her back.
She tried to shift, just to test it, but the restraints held her immobile. A ripple of unease fluttered in her chest, mingled with something warmer. She was helpless. Entirely at the mercy of this polite, implacable machine.
“Uh— okay,” she said aloud. “That’s... cosy. No take-backs then.”
The machine came to life with a gently throbbing hum of residual energy, buzzing with a barely perceptible vibration that penetrated up through the luxurious padding. It spoke of a quiet, understated power and authority. Kat's unease grew... just a little.
“Thank you for assuming the position. Your weight is calculated as 9 stone, 6 pounds, 3 ounces. Calibration complete.”
“Hey, don’t go announcing those stats to the whole village!” she said, then gave another wiggle — just to be sure. “Still stuck. Marvellous!”
“Default setting has been selected. Intensity: Standard.”
“This is going to make one hell of a blog post,” she muttered. “Assuming I survive.”
Kat kept her eyes on the LED readout, still reading: 06, and hoped she hadn't made a big mistake.
4. A Thorough Calibration
The first swat landed with efficiency rather than ceremony.
THWACK.
Kat squealed and squirmed in the frame. “Okay! Ow! That’s— okay, I felt that!”
An unfamiliar tingle spread as the unorthodox machine withdrew its paddle-arm with a whirr of motors and rapid clicking as gears rotated and sprung triggers snapped into place.
She waited, her eyes on the counter, expecting it to click down to: 05.
She barely registered the change of display before another click unleashed the arm and delivered the paddle with an accuracy that was impressive — if perhaps a little unnerving.
WHAP.
“Oof!”
She squinted at the display in disbelief: 6 8? With growing unease she tried to push upwards against the padded arm that lay across her lower back, but it was doing its job far too effectively.
“For your comfort, please remain stationary while the equipment is in operation.”
“Comfort? Seriously! And what on earth is going on with this ridiculous counter? It should be saying: 05 now. I think I should know.”
The arm drew back with hydraulic calm and delivered another swat — brisk, and certainly designed to make a point.
The number on the display wasn’t even a proper number this time: L8.
Kat whimpered. “Okay. So. It works. Congratulations, mad machine. You are officially very committed to your job.”
SMACK.
The display updated again: 98.
“Oh, brilliant,” she muttered. “The stupid display is broken.”
The paddle struck again — lower this time — and she exhaled sharply as the heat bloomed across her already-tender skin. Each impact built upon the last, becoming a steady throb that prickled beneath the surface. Meanwhile, the counter switched to: 58.
“Ow! Seriously, what even is this anyway? Some kind of Victorian finishing school simulator, or something?”
THWACK. Now: h8.
She groaned. But at least there was only one more to go.
CRACK. And the readout ticked over to: E8.
Some sort of “E” error code? Well how on earth was she going to get out of this thing? Kat gave a high-pitched squeak and buried her face in the crook of her arm.
“Well… at least I won’t need a cappuccino to wake me up today.”
She waited, hearing the same whirr of motors and clicking of gears. She presumed that awful paddle would have to be out of the way before the body support stabilisers could be released. She rolled her eyes. “Hmm. Stabilisers, indeed? They provide a bit too much stabilising if you ask me!”
But instead of the release that she was expecting, the machine delivered another mechanical swat. That paddle was relentless. It simply carried on. Efficient, unforgiving, and extraordinarily consistent.
THWACK. 28.
“Hey now — just hold your horses! I never signed up for this. I said yes to six!”
SMACK.
Now it was telling her: 18. With slowly dawning horror, Kat inclined her head — or at least, inclined it as much as she could with those awfully insistent automated restraint arms holding her in position.
08... 8L... 88...
As the swats rained down, the symmetry of the — eighty-eight — finally confirmed her worst suspicions.
“Oh my god,” she muttered. “I’ve been reading the darned thing upside down.”
“Not 'zero-six', but 'nine-zero'. Who in their right mind would have left this infernal contraption set to ninety swats?”
Then again, she thought, who in their right mind would even own such a thing?
A cold sweat joined the flush across her cheeks as she considered the full implication of her mistake. The smarting heat that throbbed in her bottom was no longer feeling like a novelty. Lying bound and utterly helpless to resist, she realised that her spanking was barely getting started.
In desperation, foolhardy though it later seemed, she jerked the intensity lever towards the left, hoping that would be the reduce power direction.
“Setting has been updated. Intensity: Energising.”
The buzzing hum of the machine seemed to rise an extra notch. There was only a slight increase in the force of the paddle swats, but the abrupt increase in speed was certainly amplifying the message even further.
“No!” Kat wailed. “Tone it down, not up!” Instinctively she wrenched the lever in the opposite direction.
“Unauthorised operation. You must stop the device before reducing intensity.”
Kat groaned. “Yeah? Great — so how do you suggest I do that?”
The brisk assault on her rear was doing nothing for her problem-solving skills. But unless her arms could quickly grow to double their current length, the STOP button remained visible, yet tormentingly out of reach.
Searching for a solution to that hopelessly unreachable STOP button only served to draw her attention back to the mirror. In a surreal twist that felt more like a nightmare than a dream, she felt as though the machine was punishing her for indulging her curiosity.
In spite of the discomfort, she was beginning to find some sort of meditative sense of calm in the experience. Although, achieving mindfulness was not exactly difficult when the metronomic swats of the paddle made it quite tricky to focus on anything else. She tried to find a silver lining, but it was hard to appreciate the discipline when every swat felt like a personal affront to her dignity.
After some moments lost in her thoughts, absorbing the inescapable sensations, she noticed the readout was now showing: 15. Followed by another — THWACK.
“Oh. Wonderful. Right on schedule — if your schedule’s written in evil,” she moaned, glimpsing the numbers: 05, a value she expected to have seen several minutes previously. Mentally rotating the display into its correct position, she sighed. Still fifty more to go.
There was little she could do but wait. She flopped forward onto the accommodating leather padding, occasionally glancing up at the mirror to witness her blushes and to see the machine performing its deft flicks of the paddle.
Against a backdrop of the unsympathetic automaton’s tireless efforts — whirring, clicking, smacking — she took occasional glances at the readout. Finally, when it seemed as though her ordeal would never be over, she saw the welcome sight of some readings she was waiting for.
90... 50... h0...
SMACK! THWACK! CRACK!
E0... 20... 10...
SMACK! THWACK! CRACK!
And with a conclusive whirr of motors and a slow easing of hydraulics, it was over. With a single perky DING — sounding far more cheerful than it had any right to be — the machine began blinking its display in a final relief: 00.
5. Release and Reflection
Kat slumped forward once more, blinking and breathless.
“Operation complete. Calibration shutdown in progress. Body-support stabilisers will automatically disengage in sixty seconds.”
After her experiences on the machine, she was eager to give her toasty behind a comforting massage — and to check for smouldering around the edges of her bikini bottoms. But the restraint arm across her lower back was very thoroughly padded, unlike herself, and made access impossible.
Kat lay there for a moment, flushed and breathless, as the sting deepened into a warm, throbbing pulse. In spite of the undeniable discomfort, there was no escaping a guilty thrill of delicious humiliation. She felt exhilarated... and very, very, well-disciplined.
“Moral realignment complete. Please exit with humility.”
She slid from the bench with the air of someone who’d survived an unexpected Pilates class that was led by a vengeful Army drill sergeant. She stood for a moment, processing. There was a warmth of perspiration on her lower back and around her thighs where the leather restraints had hugged her with their unnerving insistence.
Then she turned and looked at the machine, rubbing her burning and smarting bottom with grateful enthusiasm.
“Well, that was quite an experience. But, I think I'll stick to paddleboarding from now on.”
For something mechanical, the experience had felt oddly personal and intimate. It was as if the machine knew just how to make a point.
As she stepped toward the door, the speaker chirped one last time:
“We hope you have benefited from your experience on the Perambulatory Regulator, Mark Two. Have a nice day.”
Kat rolled her eyes and muttered, “Oh, shut up,” giving the machine a playful salute with her middle finger, before exiting swiftly through the door.
She couldn't bring herself to be angry with the machine. Not exactly. But her emotions were a jumble. She was feeling sore, yet strangely impressed — and just a little alarmed.
6. Recovery
She did not go swimming that afternoon. Nor did she sit in the garden to read.
She did enjoy a pot of tea — while standing — and paced the kitchen, contemplating the vagaries of curiosity, and whether her favourite red bikini might now be better colour-coordinated to her bottom.
She decided not to check.
There was a very small part of her, a small, ill-advised, incorrigible part, that was wondering what the Mark Three version might have to offer. Perhaps a less ambiguous video display, a choice of implements, or a rear-view action camera?
When the owners arrived for check-out, they were every bit as charming as their property.
“How was your stay?” asked the husband, Michael, as he carried a neatly folded set of linen to the car. “We hope you were comfortable. Most guests rave about the beds — although the comfort of the seating arrangements can be a little more... divisive.”
“It was certainly a memorable stay,” Kat assured him, with a hesitant half-smile. “And mostly very comfortable.”
Steph, Michael's wife, stepped into the hallway with a knowing smile. “That’s lovely to hear. You’re looking energised — almost glowing. Something must have made quite an impact.”
Kat blinked, taken aback.
“Probably the sea air,” Steph suggested innocently. “Or maybe some adventurous sightseeing?”
Kat choked slightly, feeling her thighs tensing in a moment of vivid déjà vu.
“But no soreness, I hope?” Steph continued, glancing at her with faux concern. “You have to be careful, or you can end up quite tender.”
“What do you mean?” Kat asked, nervous.
“Sun-cream, dear,” Steph said smoothly. “The coastal sun can catch you out, even on an overcast day.”
Michael gave a chuckle. “Ah — and then there's the permitted local rights of way. It's important not to stray.”
“Well— I didn’t exactly... stray,” Kat said, rather too quickly. “I mean, not really.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Steph said sweetly, with just enough mischief in her tone to suggest otherwise. “Although we did realise that we’d forgotten to lock the door at the end of the landing. Silly us!”
“Very silly,” agreed Michael. “But we knew you’d be far too well-behaved to go exploring where you shouldn't.”
Kat smiled stiffly. “Of course!”
There was a pause. Kat sipped her water and declined another offer to sit.
Michael glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. “Funnily enough, when you first arrived, we realised you were the kind of girl who'd enjoy some paddling.”
Kat’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
“Paddleboarding,” he corrected himself. “I noticed your board strapped down securely to the roof rack.”
“Yes — you seem very daring,” Steph chipped in. “Not the sort of girl to be restrained... by rules, I mean.”
Kat’s blush deepened.
“Well anyway,” said Michael, patting his hands together, “I think what Steph and I are trying to say is... you’ll be sorely missed.”
There was an even longer silence before Steph leaned in and whispered, “It’s terribly old-fashioned, I know. But so many people seem to find it... enlightening.”
Kat stared at her, searching for a reply, but nothing came to mind. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and managed a weak smile.
“I don't know about enlightening,” she replied with a wince, “but my behind has certainly seen the light!”
Epilogue
Kat signed the guestbook in her neatest handwriting:
Thank you for a delightfully energising stay. Cosy, full of character, and... surprisingly memorable. Would consider returning. Eventually. Next time, with a padded bikini, and some extra soft cushions.
She departed with a souvenir no one could see. It was an invisible, unspoken secret she’d feel every time she sat down for the next several days. As she drove away, by instinct, she found herself double-checking that her car seat-heater hadn't been accidentally left turned on.
She’d come for sea air and sunshine, but this wasn’t the tanning she’d expected. Still, it left a lasting impression, and one that she would never forget.