Rollin Hand's Blog, page 5

November 26, 2014

Something About Thanksgiving

When I think of Thanksgiving I think of turkeys and stuffing and all that, but I also think of Puritans in wide funny hats with big buckles on them (query--what do the buckles do?) When I think of Puritans in funny hats I think of witches and town stocks and stern punishments and when I think of town stocks and punishments I think of birching and flogging. It's just the way my brain operates.

I got this story from Usenet. The author is identified as one Sam Brannan. It was a mess (sorry, Sam), so I've edited and reworked it, but essentially it's a scene in a seventeenth century Puritan village, presumably somewhere in New England.







                                                                    THE PILLORY 
  A hush quickly fell over the assembled villagers, and all eyes focused on the pillories in the town square as the women were led out.   To many young women this preparation for the punishment was the worst part of the sentence.  The shame and embarrassment at having this done as they looked out on relatives, friends, and neighbors was nearly unbearable. 


  Then they were locked in the pillories and the baring began. Constable Morgan prepared the woman at the right first.  A fair young woman, tall, with light brown hair, she bowed her head as much as the barred yoke in which her neck was locked would allow so as not to look at the group before her.  But the Constable was not to permit this.


  "Head up, please, Mistress", he said, "Look to your neighbors."  The young woman slowly raised her head, her pretty face blushing red as she saw her husband and family directly in front of her.  Part of the discipline was to have the parishioners, family, and friends and neighbors, witness punishment.  In back the Constable now began the dreadful process the women hated so badly.  Reaching to the young woman's feet, he took hold of the hem of her dress and began lifting it upward all the way to the small of her back, exposing her long white cotton underwear.  The stocks into which the woman had been placed were such that her backside protruded outward with her back slightly arched, so that the dress stayed up where it had been placed.  Slowly he then untied the strings of her underwear at her waist.  The woman's face blushed even redder now and she let out a low moan as the drawers were slid downward over her wide hips, buttocks, and legs to come to rest at her ankles.  

Stepping back, the Constable looked upon the young woman he had just stripped.  Wide hips curved nicely to long shapely legs.  Round firm buttocks protruded backwards towards him, the mounds quivering as the woman nervously shifted from foot to foot. He saw how fair the woman's skin was, how delicate and smooth, and he knew she would suffer immensely.
  "And now, Goodwife, you are about to see what it is like to have your bare bottom put under the birch!" he said as he walked away.

 The woman cringed, thinking of the pain she would soon suffer and the embarrassment at having these men, her husband included, see her take a hard switching on the bare!  The man now stepped to the left behind a young maiden of no more that 18 years.  A slim girl, she too tried to look away from the crowd as the Constable approached and had to be reminded to look straight ahead into the snicker of her younger brother who stood with her parents.  She blushed beet red as her dress was lifted and drawers pulled down.  This tall girl had long slim legs that ran to a tight upturned little backside. 

  "A good spanking on this tight little bottom will teach you to behave, Miss," said the Constable, placing a sharp pat or two on the girl’s rump.      The last set of stocks held an older woman, mature, certainly early 40s.  In front of her stood her daughter and her daughter's husband, and her two sons.  She had tears in her eyes from the shame and the fear of what was to be done as the Constable raised her dress in back.  Wide matronly hips and stocky legs met at a large well fleshed behind whose cheeks vibrated from the motion of her drawers being stripped down.  
"Mary, you should be ashamed of yourself", he said lowly. 
 "Ohhhh", the woman moaned softly, shifting her weight from foot to foot, not realizing that in doing so her fleshy buttocks rolled for the men's view.  How long had it been since last she had been spanked?  Many, many years … but still she remembered well the loud smack as her late husband's strap connected.  Then the pain … the sting ... the fire consuming the backside.  "O please, constable," she pleaded, "I don't want to be whipped!"  Now the man stood in front of the three stocks and addressed the onlookers:  "We are met here this day to discipline these three women, our sisters who have sinned.” He produced a scroll and read from it, an account of offenses committed against the commonweal. Gossip, delinquency, and slander were among the charges.
 “While hidden from your eyes, each of them stands now with her buttocks and legs bare,” he continued. “The sentence of the Elders was that each would receive a sound dose of the birch rod or the strap at my discretion until her buttocks are well spanked so as to make her unable to sit for some time thereafter.” 
A low chuckle broke out from the assembled group upon hearing this. A public spanking was not as severe as some village punishments, but it was certainly humiliating, all could attest to that.

 “Is there anyone here who knows of any reason why this sentence should not be carried out?"  (Silence from the group as the Constable looked across).  "Very well then", he continued, "The head of the household of each of these women will please step back behind the stocks to witness punishment."   "No. Please, sir constable," came a soft plea from the Matron as her eldest son, along with the girl's father and the woman's husband, stepped forward.  All three women bore expressions of anguish as the men walked around the side of their line to bring into view their bared rear ends.   Then, to complete the embarrassment for the errant women, the Constable called foreword three of his deputies. 
 Wide eyed, the three women, each now with tears rolling down her face, stared hard at the implement each carried in his hand.  The wife and the matron would get the birch rod, a thin bundle of three long switches tied with twine at one end and splaying out in a narrow fan pattern at the other. The women knew well the terrible sting and burn these rods could produce!  Each knew she would not be sitting that evening!  The young miss quailed in fear at the sight of the wide strap in her deputy’s hand. It would burn like fire. 
The Constable watched closely as each of his deputies took a position to the left and rear of the pilloried women.  From the front, the assembled villagers saw each of the women flinch as her buttocks were touched lightly with rod or strap.  The Constable walked to the right front of the platform gave the order. "Deputies, do your duty. Three dozen, well laid on." 
 "NO … Please, no," cried the wife near the Constable.  "Ahhh, no," moaned the older woman as she tightened her fists.  “Ohhh,” came a long exhale of air from the girl as she too braced for the flogging.  Almost immediately the loud and crisp WHACK of the strap against soft female flesh was heard.  A loud cry of pain came from the young girl while the other two took the first swish of the birch in near silence, the older woman letting out a low moan.  It has been so very long since I felt punishment, she thought as she tried to brace herself for the blows. 
"Slowly now, men," the Constable said, "Make each one felt." 

At different intervals now there arose a near constant sound --  the whine of the birch and the crack of the strap against bare flesh mingled with cries, moans, pleas and sobs from each of the women being disciplined.  The assembly bore witness to the humiliating correction, observing each face contort and brace from the pain, observing the tears running down the woman's faces, hearing the anguished cries.  In back, the family witnesses clearly saw plump female bottom cheeks ripple, jerk, vibrate, and shake as the birch rods and the strap spanked them.  Once white seats reddened under the steady barrage of strokes.  That it hurt was obvious to all watching.  In front, heads and hair shook from side to side. Fists tightened and opened as the women tried to bear up to the pain.  In back, feet began to dance on the boards of the platform.

  "Lay on well, men", ordered the Constable, "Make them feel it; do your duty." 
The deputies obeyed, drawing back and delivering carefully measured strokes that impacted the buttocks of the three penitents. The rods swished down in a blur and the strap smacked bare flesh with a loud retort.
 "Please… oh please..oh please…NO", cried the wife as the sting in her buttocks became unbearable. The birch switches felt like hot brands. It was a whipping like none other she’d ever endured. Each stroke produced an unbearable sting that spread from the crowns of her buttocks to the top of her head, washing over her in a wave of agony.
"OH..Dear God (sob)..My poor..(sob)..poor hiney," cried the older matron. The flogging was worse than any she’d ever received.
“Ow! Yow! Ow! Yow!” The young girl took her spanking with the strap with squeals, sobs and expulsions of air. Each sharp lick pushed her forward in the yoke chafing her neck. Her bottom felt seared as if she had backed naked into the family’s cooking fire.

 A member of the Parish in the audience asked aloud if anyone had been counting.  "Twenty four strokes so far for Goodwife Atkins", came an answer from a young man.  "Twenty-six for the other two", came a second reply.  "Oh my, oh my" whispered a young woman to her husband, "That must be terrible painful!"  "It is like the fires of hell licking at your seat," replied one who knew as she softly put hands over the back of her dress. 
 It was clear to all the three women were suffering terribly.  That they were in a great deal of pain was obvious.  The viewers in front saw faces contorted, hands opening and shutting, heads shaking from side to side, and the streams of tears running down red faces.  And, of course, each time the switches or strap smacked across a bare fanny of one she yelled like a banshee.  

The older matron fared no better. "Please..(sob) oh please..(so) NO.MORE..(sob)..NO MORE", she cried as the punishment continued. It had been many years since last she had had a whipping like this and it was indeed horrible!  
The young wife on the far right was also suffering as she had never done before!  Dancing up and down, her feet tapping out a lurid jig, her full bottom cheeks bobbed with each step of her dance and then compressed and jerked with each stinging swish of the birch rod across their rounded surfaces.
The young miss burst into tears. “No more! Please stop! I’m sorry!”
The matron’s flogging finished first. A few seconds later the young wife received her 36th searing stroke. A final smack of the strap signaled the end of the young girl’s punishment.The constable nodded. “Well, done, men. Please lower their dresses.” The deputies dropped the instruments of fustigation to do his bidding. Modesty was restored. He stood in front of the stocks and addressed the penitents. “You will remain in the stocks for one hour,” he said, knowing that they would have to endure the hot throbbing in their scorched buttocks without relief.
Then he addressed the crowd. “Justice has been done this day.”

 Then he added, “Well, that's that. The turkey dinner will now be served in the town hall.”
[Of course he didn’t say that, but hell, it is Thanksgiving and it seems to me that a Puritan village would get the punishing out of the way before supper was served.]




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Published on November 26, 2014 06:59

November 22, 2014

F/M Sundays -- The Reading of the Will

This story is a classic gem that some will recognize. My version says it came from a site called Angels and Brats in 2000. The original author may have been Lurking Col who has an author page at LSF. I say that because there is a sequel of sorts penned by him called The Determined Ms. Greene. So he may have written this one, but there is no name on my file.

At any rate, whoever the original author is, I hope he will forgive me because I made extensive editorial revisions, but I think this version reads better.



       THE READING OF THE WILL 
My father's will was to be read in the parlor of the family home. I arrived  at the house to find everyone in attendance, my relatives, the family staff, friends of the family -- and a Ms. Greene, apparently my father's solicitor.
  She was an imposing woman. Tall and broad shouldered with close cropped light hair framing beautiful eyes, she was dressed in a severe gray suit that hugged a shapely figure, suggesting her obvious charms while staying within boundaries dictated by the formality of the situation.  I pegged her at about thirty-five, which made her a decade older than I, but still within an age range that I could relate to. I found her most attractive. 
 I became apprehensive when Ms. Greene came to the part of the will relating to me. It spoke of "special treatment." Being acutely aware of the strained relations between me and my father in those last few years before I had left the family home, I was wary of being singled out for some kind of "treatment"  in the will. Until  then my concentration had been primarily on Ms. Greene's amazing legs and  voluptuous figure when suddenly she read: 
 "...and with regard to my darling son, whom I unfortunately spoiled during his formative years, I have made a special provision that must be met  before he can expect to inherit the bulk of my estate. I have included  here the details of the treatment that, with his acceptance, will be  provided by my solicitor. I further require that it be given immediately  before any further provisions of the will are read. Should my son refuse  the treatment I have prescribed for him, then his inheritance will be  forfeit and the supplementary provisions will split the bulk of my estate  among others." 
 "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I raged. "What treatment? What's  going on here?"
There was a general murmur of surprise from the rest of the assembled group as well. My father had passed away quite suddenly. I never had the chance to make amends for the way I had made his life  difficult while growing up. I guess I was a bit of a spoiled rich kid and a particularly bratty teenager.  Maybe I did need to make  amends.   It looks as if father had some thoughts of his own about how I  should make it up to him when he wrote his will.
 "The terms can remain confidential, uhm...to a certain extent," said Ms.  Greene sounding a little embarrassed herself. "If you will follow me into  the adjoining room I will describe what is required of you." She addressed the remaining relatives and staff. "The rest of you I would ask to remain here as this should not take long and then we will proceed  with the rest of the will." 
 I felt self conscious as I rose under the watchful eye of over 25  people in the room, all of whom were dying for me to refuse the terms of  the will, I'm sure. When we entered  the next room, the lovely Ms. Greene explained. "I hope you will make this easy on both of us as it is rather embarrassing for me too," she began.  "The terms are very unusual, but I have no alternative but to follow  through with them for your own sake, otherwise you won't inherit. The will  requires that you agree to accept what I suppose you'd call a delayed reckoning of of sorts." 
I was all ears, but what she said next floored me.  "You must agree to accept a good sound spanking."
 I couldn't believe my ears. I nearly fainted. "What? A spanking?" I said. 

She continued without missing a beat, "Yes. It further  states that I should treat you like a child: over my knee with your pants down and your bottom bare. I am required to deliver a firm and hard spanking with a  hairbrush which your father has provided. Right here and now." She then went to the desk,  opened a box that sat there and brought out an old wooden hairbrush.
  "This must be some kind of joke," I said. "This can't be legal." But she  assured me it was indeed legal and that according to the will I had only  five minutes in which to accept my father's punishment…and his estate.   "But everyone will hear...they'll know what's going on," I pleaded.
 "Yes, actually, I think that was part of your father's plan. It seems he thought the rest of the family and the household staff would be delighted  to hear you receive your just desserts. I guess there's no love lost, as they say. I suppose you didn't make yourself very popular over the years  did you?"
 "No, I guess not. I know I used to treat the staff and our relatives  pretty abominably when I was a kid. I'm sure they would be delighted for  me to get a..." I couldn't bring myself to say it.
 "A spanking?" she helpfully filled in the gap with a smile. She was  beginning to look more confident now. "I'm afraid they're bound to hear it  and I know it will be an embarrassment for you, but from what you say it  sounds as if maybe you deserve it."
My eyes went down to the floor and I  must have looked like a little kid about to get it. I couldn’t believe it. They were all out there, listening. They’d be able to hear my abject humiliation.
 "You should know that  I received my own share of spankings from my mom and dad growing up. They  were painful and humiliating but they did the trick of making me mind my  manners, most of the time," she offered. 
"If I let you do it...I mean...will you..." I didn't really know what I was asking. I guess I was looking for some sign that this wasn’t real, that it was a big joke at my expense. She just shook her head.
 "The terms of the will are clear, I'm afraid and I would be in breach of  professional ethics if I didn't do exactly as it stipulates. A hard and  thorough spanking on the bare bottom is called for and I can assure you I  know exactly how to do that. I learned how over my own mother's knee. I'm  afraid you will be a very sorry and tearful gentleman when I finish....but  rich too, don't forget that. You have only a few more minutes to decide, incidentally." 
The minutes ticked by and I began to sweat. To be bent over the lovely Ms. Greene's lap might have some attractions, but she also  looked like a very determined young woman, committed to doing the  job properly, either out of sense of professional duty or just the will to dispense justice.  Her formal looking outfit suddenly seemed to make sense.  Had she come dressed for the occasion?  

 "Are you prepared to accept your father's terms?" she asked. I nodded. She  smiled. She went to the desk and picked up the hairbrush and patted it  meaningfully against her palm. "Very well then. Please take your trousers off. Perhaps your shirt and tie as well. You don’t want to get everything wrinkled." 
With utter humiliation I did as she asked. I felt like a fool standing  there in my underwear. She had taken a seat on the leather couch causing her smart, tailored suit skirt to ride up to mid thigh. I noticed. Although I  was embarrassed, I was also turned on like never before and it showed. I don't think that biological fact could have escaped Ms. Greene, although she did not acknowledge it.  Instead, she assumed the demeanor of a maiden aunt or strict schoolteacher as she held the hairbrush in her hand and pointed with it to her lap. 
 "Come on, I don't really have to go over your lap, do I? I mean, this is a  bit ridiculous. I’m not ten years old."  
"You will lower yourself over my knees in the next minute or you will be a  poorer young man for it, I assure you."
 I sighed and went to her side. I leaned over but couldn't bring myself to lay myself fully over her lap. "Oh for Pete's sake, stop being such a baby about  this," she snapped as she grabbed my ear and pulled me down over her lap. It was no gentle tug either. "I expect you to take this like a man," she said. I stared at the pattern on the carpet feeling like an utter  juvenile. "This will be a real spanking but only equivalent to what you would  have received as a child if your parents had disciplined you properly. I warn you, if you try to get up before I'm finished, the spanking will begin all over  again as the will is clear that the spanking must be thorough and  complete. Do you understand?"

 "Yes," I whispered. As I stared at the floor, she inserted soft fingers and lowered my shorts in a  very matter-of fact way. There was nothing sexual in her attitude at all.  It was as if she were performing an unpleasant but necessary duty. In my mind I could see the room full of people next door about to hear me get my bare fanny tanned. They would be delighted, I was certain, and would  probably smile at each other with the sound of each whack coming through  the door.  
Then she began. She brought down the brush with a wicked smack square  across my bottom. I was surprised by the force she put behind it. My head  snapped up for a moment in shock as a wave of red hot sting spread across my behind. Then, I gritted my teeth and tried to hang on as she started to deliver a thorough and most effective spanking.  She was relentless. The brush fell again and again without letup...no  pauses for me to catch my breath and no way to handle the awful sting. Before long I was responding to each  whack and pleading.

"Ouch! Yah! Owww!" I yelled as each smack landed forcefully.
 At first I didn't want to yell out, but believe me when a hard brush  is delivered in a determined way across a bare bottom without letup, it  only takes about 15 or more whacks for you to forget about self control. I can only say that it stings and burns like blowtorch being applied to one's skin. Each smack creates a wave of blazing heat that builds on and amplifies the previous one. It was quite overwhelming. 
Finally, a pause: "How are you coping with it so far? Shall I continue or do you wish to forfeit your inheritance?" 
"No, but please no more," I begged her. I couldn't believe how quickly I  could be brought to the point of pleading. This woman had a thorough punishment in mind and she was achieving it very quickly.

 "Oh stop being such a baby, I've barely started."   Another series of smacks  built a blazing bonfire across my backside. I had never felt anything like it before  and hope to hell I never have to again.  She must have given me about fifty whacks with that hard wooden-backed brush. Each and every  one was distinct and painful. Each one delivered with force and  deliberateness by this determined young woman. My breathing came in short rapid gulps. I was pleaded with her to stop. I was  surprised to hear my voice begin to break.
 "Well," she said. "It sounds as if your father's message is getting  through to you."  She was taking a few more seconds  between each whack now making sure each one sank in. "Is it?" Particularly  hard whacks  hit on the underside of my bottom cheeks.
 "Yes, yes. I get the message. Pleeeease!" 
Vicious whacks now across my  thighs. I practically screamed. I really yelled now and after half a dozen on my  thighs I broke down and sobbed. That didn't stop the determined Ms. Greene though, she went right on with another dose across my blistered fanny which I was  certain must have swollen up like a balloon. It throbbed and stung like nothing I've ever felt before. Hot salty tears were staining my cheeks. I was  completely dominated, humiliated and exhausted. For the last little while I had been forgetting about the embarrassment of  having the crowd in the next room hear my ordeal. At first I thought they  would be an audience to some muffled smacks but they heard a lot more than  that. They heard my tears; they heard my pleas; they heard my sobs and  they heard every single whack across my bare and thoroughly punished  behind. Ms. Greene paused.

 That's when I heard a sound that made my humiliation  complete. From behind the doors-- the sound of a few hands clapping; then  a few more. Then quickly, everyone was applauding. "It sounds as if there's an appreciative crowd out there. I think they're  enjoying the show." I thought she was finished but not so. She continued  for another few minutes while I literally bawled my eyes out. I kicked my  legs and bounced up and down on her lap but I was determined to stick it  out. I was convinced that this Ms. Greene would be more than happy to  start all over again if I were to get up before being given permission. 
 After perhaps 100 or so of those devilishly stinging whacks, she finally  stopped. "Congratulations." She emphasized the word with an almighty  whallop. "You've taken your punishment very well," she said. "You've fulfilled the terms of your father's will." She rubbed the brush against  my inflamed backside. I slowly slid off her lap to the floor. I was too weak to get up right  away. I felt a thorough respect for the handsome Ms. Greene. She looked at me and said: "If you ever feel the need for a repeat dose, just give me a  call. I'd be happy to oblige. Your bottom looks gorgeous in red." 
I hardly  thought that asking for a repeat dose was likely at the time. The  suggestiveness of her tone, if anything, made me want to think about how I  might turn the tables on Ms. Greene. I was slowly pulling myself up and rubbing my backside furiously before putting my trousers back on, when I saw Ms. Greene open the door and walk  into the next room. A crowd of people  surrounded her and shook her  hand, congratulating her. I heard comments like: "Well done." "About  time." "Well deserved." "Wish I could have done it."So I stood  for the rest of the reading of the will, my face every bit as red  as my fanny. Everyone was glancing at me out of the corner of their eye, mirthfully enjoying my discomfort and embarrassment. But at least I had the last laugh because  the bulk of the estate was now mine.  There was plenty of money and I had already begun to plan my revenge .  
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Published on November 22, 2014 22:06

November 20, 2014

Cindy and the Hairbrush





Back in the 1970's, before the internet, before cell phones, even before the Betamax was invented -- hell, before Watergate -- there was Nu West. The medium was photography and 8mm film. The thing I always liked about Nu-West, even when all those other things came to pass, was the authenticity in their set ups and especially still photography. Ed Lee managed to capture the essence of the spanking fantasy. Their photo sets and 8mm films looked true to life in that they successfully created images that dovetailed with our expectations of how such things would really look. The actors weren't leather clad BDSM'ers or bikers or Nazis or such like many other products of the day. The scenes were not set in dungeons or vacant warehouses, or cheap motels. No, the scenes depicted looked exactly like what they purported to be -- incidents of domestic spanking in Anytown, USA.

There were several iconic models in those days: Debbie. Ann Bowman. Brenda Marshall. Later on, Kiri Kelly, the Jamison sisters, Jacque, Tanya Fox. Then there was Cindy. Cindy appeared in only two Nu-West films, Cindy and the Hairbrush and Cindy and the Paddle. I read somewhere (may have been Ed Lee's ramblings) that the experience was not a good one and after that she was never seen again.

But if ever there was an authentic looking scene depicting traditional domestic discipline, this grainy 8mm film was it. The whole thing looks true to life. Cindy is schoolgirl cute, dressed appropriately (no ultra short schoolgirl slut togs), Brenda Marshall (I think it's her) is a gem as a strict 70's mom. The expressions, the body language, the props, the positions -- it all looks real.

I think things like this should be preserved for posterity. We don't know if this will ever make its way into the Smithsonian, so that's why I'm doing my part to preserve our heritage.

I wrote a little story to go along with this photo set which consists mostly of screen grabs. The tale is an old trope -- a spanking for a bad report card. So here is my take on

                                                      CINDY AND THE HAIRBRUSH



Cindy Jeffers walked much slower the closer she got to home. The piece of paper in her hand seemed to burn with an unseen flame. Maybe that’s why her palms were sweaty. She dreaded what was coming. Today she had received her report card.Cindy was a popular junior at Fairwood Academy, a private school with a stellar reputation. She was on the cheerleading squad, the girls’ volleyball team, drama club and had lots of friends. Life was good. So good in fact that her grades began to slip because of all the socializing and extracurricular activities. Her mom, a former schoolteacher herself, had lectured her that first time, reminding her that grades of “C” were not acceptable. “We sacrifice and pay good money to send you to Fairwood,” her mother had said. “Let’s bring those C’s up to B’s and A’s.” And that had not been all. She’d been grounded for two weeks – an eternity.But the second report card had not been any better.“Cindy Ann Jeffers, you had better apply yourself. Grades of C will not get you into a good college,” her mother had said while shaking a finger in her direction. “As of now you are grounded.”That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was after her mom and dad had talked. Cindy was called into the study. “Your dad and I have talked,” said her mother. “Grounding doesn’t seem to be enough of a consequence to get you to buckle down.” Cindy remembered thinking ‘now what?’ “So, we have decided to reinstitute an old fashioned method, dear. Your generation may not be familiar with it, but mine was – a good sound spanking. And I got plenty of them. So, for every C you bring home next time you will receive 10 spanks with my hairbrush on your bare little bottom.”
Cindy stared at both of them, completely aghast, imagining the scene. But her protests that she was too old, it was too humiliating, it’s for little kids, all fell on deaf ears. Her appeals to her dad bore no fruit.“I’m sorry Cindy, but I agree with your mom. Maybe a good spanking is what you need to get you back on the path. But buckle down, Kitten, and mom’s hairbrush will not have to make an appearance.” For a time she did buckle down. But then life intruded and studies went by the wayside. The ultimate result was what she held in her hand. She’d managed only one B. There were 3 C’s and horror of horrors, a D. The B had been in math so it wasn’t hard for her to tally up the bill. Thirty spanks. But what about that D? She’d never even had one before.Her knees knocked and her legs felt like jelly as she climbed the steps to the house. Her mom knew what today was and was waiting for her. “I’m in the study, Cindy,” she heard her call.Cindy walked through the door of the study to see her mom seated in an armless chair she had placed in the center of the room. Her blood froze. Part of her had hoped it was all a bluff, that her mom would not see this through. Now was the moment of truth.“Cindy, do you have your report card?”
Cindy nodded.“Then let’s see it,” she said.
Cindy slowly handed her mom the folded card. She watched her mom’s face as she perused the card, blinking a few times as if she could not believe what she saw. Her mom looked up, a frown on her face was turning to anger. Cindy’s legs shook.
“Cindy Ann Jeffers, I am just appalled. What is this? You have three C’s and a … a D? I cannot believe this. This is terrible!”Cindy launched into a babbling litany of excuses and explanations. Her mom shook her head.
“No, Cindy. It just won’t do.” Then she straightened her posture, took a breath and said quietly, “You remember what we said…”“No, mom, not that …” squealed Cindy.
The grim determination on her mom’s face was evident when she returned. Without saying a word her mom held out her hand for the brush. Cindy gave it to her. Then came the awful command. “Get across my knee, Cindy Ann.”
Cindy nearly burst into tears at the humiliation of it all. But soon she was over momma’s lap, her body adjusted to position her bottom just so. Then her skirt was lifted. That was bad enough, but she wailed anew when Cindy felt her panties being tugged down to her knees. But her misery had just begun.
“I regret this is necessary, Cindy, but you are getting this spanking and you know you deserve it. You are getting 30 spanks for the C’s and frankly I don’t know how many more for the D. Do not try to squirm off my lap as you are being punished or your father may have something to add later – with his belt.”Whack! Cindy felt the brush land.
Whack! Whack! Two more spanks fell on opposite cheeks. It burned. Cindy gritted her teeth.Her mother initiated a methodical smacking, the brush striking every second or so. It stung ferociously. Each smack seemed to build on the previous one. After ten hard spanks her mom stopped. Cindy was grateful for the respite. The pain of the spanking had been worse than she had imagined.
“That’s the first ten, Cindy. I hope this is a learning experience.” Then she resumed, each spank with the awful brush making a statement, burning her bare fanny with waves of searing sting. She squealed and fluttered her feet.“Wah…ahhh…please mom!” Now it was even worse.But the relentless smacking continued. Cindy’s mom took her time, carefully placing each spank on a chosen spot, timing it achieve the best effect in order to thoroughly chastise her errant offspring. She recalled spankings from her own youth, remembering how her own mother had spanked in deliberate unhurried manner.
Spank! “Ow!” Spank! “Ow!” Spank! “Oweee!” Cindy thrashed around. It stung so bad.“Cindy Ann, you settle down, understand me? That’s the second ten. We still have a long way to go.”Cindy felt her bottom blaze with an infernal heat as her mom piled on the spanks. There was not an inch of her fanny that wasn’t a stinging fiery inferno. Tears streamed down her face and fell onto the carpet mere inches from her nose. Her body jerked in involuntary spasms each time another harsh spank connected with her tender bottom.
“That’s 30 spanks for the three C’s Cindy. That’s what we promised. But now there is the matter of this D.” She tightened her grip. “I’m going to really tan your hide for that. Get ready.”
And with that she launched into a barrage of rapid fire spanks that took Cindy’s breath away. There was no way to deal with the terrible burn that the spanking produced and Cindy let out a continuous wail as the unforgiving hairbrush spanked her buttocks to a fire engine red. Cindy wriggled vainly. Her mom held her in a tight grip. Her defenseless fanny quivered almost in continuous rippling motion as one spank after another landed in rapid succession, almost a continuous tattoo of wood smacking tender flesh.
Cindy broke down in tears, and after a final volley, her mom relented.“There,” she said, figuring that she had done a thorough enough job. Cindy’s behind was a shiny red, just the shade she remembered after trips across the parental lap in her own childhood. She had always inspected the damage afterward and Cindy’s fanny looked about right.
“Next time I had better see all A’s and B’s,” she said after setting Cindy back on her feet.Cindy trudged off, ruefully rubbing her inflamed buttocks that had just been so thoroughly chastised. She had learned a lesson this time. The question was, could she avoid a repeat in the future?

And that’s the end of the film. As we know, she couldn’t do any better the next time, and that will be the subject of another post bringing you the other Cindy film, Cindy and the Paddle.




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Published on November 20, 2014 12:32

November 17, 2014

Writing the Spanking Scene -- Chuck Wilson

 Sometimes a spanking story isn't a story at all. It's a word picture designed to push some buttons. This was pretty common back in the days before spanking erotica became semi- legitimized with the advent of publishing houses like the now defunct Blue Moon Publishing whose literary offerings included fully realized novels by the likes of Willa Kaufen, Martin Pyx, and Richard Manton, or Eve Howard's series of novels, soap operas about the fictional  community of Random Point, which in turn paved the way for the contemporary Corbin's Bend series published by Blushing Books.

But sometimes all you want is the action. One of the purveyors of get-to-the-point spanking lit was Chuck Wilson. I've featured Chuck before, but to recap, he wrote for various publishers including Bethany's Woodshed and CF Publications and his works are still available online from these folks. In a Chuck Wilson story, there is no story. He gives you the set-up, a thin plot justification for what will transpire and away you go. Sometimes that's all you want. With Chuck, that's what you get. Not only that, the situation is usually so preposterous it's almost silly,  a male fantasy so politically incorrect it makes Andrew Dice Clay look like a U Cal Berkely sociology professor.



Traveling Spanker

    "Girls," Nora Thompson said, addressing her 10 female staff members, "If
      you have any plans for the weekend, I would suggest that you cancel them.
      Fred Matthews has told me that he will be making a visit here at closing
      time today, and, as we are all aware, it will not be for social reasons."

      A collective groan was heard from the young women who ranged in age from
      22 to 28. Matthews was owner of a chain of fashion stores that offered
      only the most up-to-date and expensive women’s clothing. By hiring the
      best sales people he could find, he was able to pay high salaries, which
      generally kept the staff happy.

      But, by paying top dollar, he expected top effort at all times in keeping
      the sales up. When one of his stores around the country showed a decline
      in profits, employees at that store could expect a visit from him that
      would leave a strong impression in more ways than one.

      For, before a young woman was hired, she was informed of his work rules.
      And, when any store showed a drop-off in sales or received too many
      complaints from customers, he announced that he would be there on a given
      Saturday, the end of the work week, and, in no uncertain terms, let the
      staff members know of his disapproval.

      Fred had a unique way of making his displeasure known. He did not believe
      in verbal meetings, considering them a waste of time, especially after
      sometimes traveling hundreds of miles to get things straightened out.
      Scolding did not have the effect that a well-warmed set of bottom cheeks
      provided.

      At age 53, he had some old-fashioned ideas, one of which was the disbelief
      that a discussion meeting produced few results. It was often an "in-
      one-ear-and-out-the-other" type of gathering and though it might produce
      some short-term enthusiasm among the group, that excitement would soon
      wear off.

      So, early on in his business venture, he decided that stronger measures
      must be used to keep his young employees in line. He wasn’t sure how his
      plan would go over with them, but, by paying well enough, he thought greed
      would overshadow any hesitation on their part.

      While he and his sister were growing up, he discovered that, should a
      parent fail to reach a child through one end, a point could be made more
      emphatically through the other. In other words, a good, sound spanking was
      the best cure for misbehavior. It was over in a few minutes, the air was
      cleared and, if given and received in the right spirit, there were no hard
      feelings – except on the part of the anatomy that was affected by it.

      Fred expected some early resistance when he first broached the idea to his
      first group of employees, who said that such a penalty would be
      "demeaning" and was meant for children. This was especially true when he
      added that any spanking would be administered to the guilty party’s
      unclothed buttocks.

      As expected, some of the employees quit on the spot, but enough others,
      after having time to discuss the proposal among themselves, hesitantly
      agreed to give his plan a chance. They did ask, for the sake of modesty,
      to be allowed to retain at least a pair of light panties during punishment
      sessions.

      But Fred was adamant, expressing the belief that the skin should be bare
      for a spanking so that he could keep a close watch on how much damage was
      being caused to the employee’s bottom cheeks. So, that was that and all
      the women could do to avoid such embarrassment was to keep their minds on
      business and use their personalities to make sales.

      Personalities would go only so far, however, Fred figured, so he hired the
      loveliest young women available. Men often came into the stores with their
      wives or girlfriends, and a pretty face could do no harm in helping them
      to influence their women on what to buy. Boyfriends, especially, will
      often try to impress their girls by purchasing more expensive clothing for
      them.

      But, pretty or not, the saleswomen were human and liable to making
      mistakes. Sometimes they became lazy after a good sales month and figured
      they deserved a little respite. That was a bad move, for Fred judged how
      well a store was doing by its monthly income and not by how one
      salesperson was performing. He felt he couldn’t keep track on individuals.

      So, after going over the previous month’s receipts, he made a tour to the
      stores that were not achieving at the level he termed acceptable. The one
      at which 32-year-old Nora Thompson was manager was one of the stores on
      his list this time.

      Nora knew which woman or women were most to blame for one of Fred’s
      visits, but she didn’t let the other staff members know the names. It
      didn’t matter anyway, for, under his rules, everyone in that store –
      including Nora – would be carrying a red bottom under her dress by the
      time he left.

      So there was plenty of anxiety around the store that day as the staff
      members buckled down to their jobs in hopes that a big sales day before
      Fred arrived would cause him to at least show some leniency. They knew,
      however, that he believed that a spanking had to be hard to be effective,
      so their efforts likely would be too little, too late.



      "Good evening, Mr. Matthews," Nora Thompson said as she unlocked the front
      door to the store to admit the owner. He carried his 53 years well except
      for some slight graying around the temples. He kept himself in shape with
      visits to the gym as often as his busy schedule would allow.

      But what he was carrying in his briefcase was of most concern to Nora and
      her staff members on this day, for they knew that what lay inside would
      radically change the complexion on the rear portions of their anatomies.

      "Good evening, Nora," Fred replied. "Is everything – and everyone – ready?
      I have a plane to catch at 9:15 tonight."

      "Yes, sir," Nora said. "The girls are all lined up outside my office,
      and," she added with a smile, "they are more than a little nervous."

      "And well they should be," he declared. "Last month’s profits were not
      exactly record-setting. I trust that they will start to pick up when the
      store re-opens on Monday."

      "I’m sure they will," Nora replied as she led the man toward her office at
      the rear of the store. When they arrived, the found the 10 female staff
      members as Nora had described – lined up single file outside her office.
      They had all removed their outer garments and were standing in only
      pantyhose and bra while awaiting their call to Fred’s manner of "justice."

      "Good evening, ladies," he said in a most pleasant tone, though they were
      all aware that it would be anything but "good" for them within the next
      couple hours. "There is a matter that Ms. Thompson and I have to take care
      of before I get to you, so pull up whatever chairs you may find."

      The other young women had drawn straws to decide in which order they would
      be spanked, so those who would be waiting longest got the chairs that were
      available.

      Fred ushered Nora into her office and closed the door behind them as she
      immediately started to disrobe. Like the others, she was soon standing in
      pantyhose and bra and watched as he opened his briefcase. Inside, along
      with various papers, was the razor strop he always brought for such
      occasions.

      He then pulled out her armless desk chair, sat down and, meaningfully,
      patted his lap. Showing no sign of a protest, Nora walked to him, and,
      from his right side, draped herself face down into the traditional
      spanking position.

      She had gone through this experience enough times previously that the
      thought of retaining her pantyhose didn’t enter her mind, so there was no
      tightening of muscles as their descent began. Instead, she voluntarily
      lifter her hips to assist him in the baring of her pale, 32-year-old
      buttocks that were still soft and eminently spankable.

      "Actually, I have given you and your ladies more time than usual to get
      your act together," Fred told his manager as his hand began to warm the
      naked flesh. "That is because I have been too busy with sales people at my
      other stores. But profits have been declining here the last couple months
      and I decided that some spankings were in order."

      "Ooooh … Yes, sir … Owwww … You’re right … I have tried to keep my girls
      in line … Owwww … but I didn’t follow through … Owww … I promise that our
      sales output … Ouuchhh … will be better this month … Ohhhh … Owwww." As
      she talked, Nora’s now pink bottom wiggled over her employer’s lap.

      She felt like a child, but that was one of the extra benefits of a
      spanking, especially one delivered in the over-the-knees position. And
      knowing that her staff members were outside the room but could hear
      everything going on inside made it twice as humiliating.

      "Oh boy, she’s really getting it," Denise Graham declared, her hands going
      back to rub her still covered buttocks symbolically. "I can almost feel it
      myself."

      "Don’t worry," Laura Richards replied with a wry smile. "You will, and so
      will the rest of us."

      "Yeah," Amy Saunders added. "I’m just glad that our agreement doesn’t
      include spankings from Nora. If she had the chance, I’m sure she’d blister
      our tails good."

      That was the furthest thing from Nora’s mind at that time, however, for it
      was her own bottom that had her full attention. Fred’s left arm was
      wrapped securely around her waist as he dealt out hard slaps to each
      bouncing cheek in turn.

      "You have a very charming butt, my dear," he finally said, "but I have 10
      more waiting, and, as I said, I have a plane to catch. So I’ll let the
      razor strop take care of the rest of your spanking."

      Nora was released from his lap, and, with her pantyhose twisted at her
      ankles shuffled over to her desk. She knew what was expected of her, so,
      while Fred took the leather implement from his briefcase, she laid her
      upper body across the desk.

      That strop had become previously familiar with her buttocks, and, now
      shining a bright red, they trembled in knowledge of what that implement
      could do. One thing was certain. Neither Nora nor the other young women
      waiting their turns would be sitting down the following day. Thank
      goodness it would be Sunday, she thought, and would give her and her staff
      time to at least partially recover.

      Her thought was interrupted by that first flash of pain that the strop
      sent through her denuded bottom cheeks. She jumped and yelled out her
      displeasure but knew better than to jump up and rub them.

      The cheeks clenched tightly as did 10 other pair outside the room as if
      knowing what soon lay in store for them. Eleven pairs of buttocks would be
      facing the ceiling while their owners tried to get to sleep that night.




      Nora held onto the other side of the desk through seven more whacks as the
      strop did its assigned job. When her pantyhose were returned to their
      rightful position, the pressure they put on a freshly spanked bottom added
      to the effectiveness of the spanking.

      When she walked slowly out of the room, her facial cheeks nearly as red as
      those on her backside, Nora nodded to the young woman at the head of the
      line, 24-year-old Janet Barnett. It was her turn to face (?) the music.

      Fred had resumed his seat on the chair when Janet entered the room. This
      time there would be little delay in getting the spanking under way because
      the young brunette was already in her undergarments.

      Like Nora, Janet had been through the exercise before and knew what was
      expected of her. So, with little hesitation, she walked to him and bent
      meekly over his knees.

      Once the pantyhose had been dispatched, the room again echoed with sounds
      of female cries, preceded by a heavy hand landing with

      solid spanks on bare bottom flesh.

      Even though her punishment was over and her behind was burning under her
      tight pantyhose, Nora could not leave the store until all of the spankings
      had been administered. She had the key to the front door, and it was her
      responsibility to see that the store was secure after everyone left it. So
      she stood at one of the counters and leaned against it rather then test
      her blistered seat on one of the chairs.

      Everyone who drove to work that day would probably leave their cars locked
      in the parking lot for the next two nights, opting instead for the bus to
      and from their homes so that they could remain on their feet.




      She remained in that area of the store while watching one young woman
      after another enter her office to pay her part of the price for the
      staff’s failure to sales goals. All came out with tears in their eyes and
      gingerly rubbing their thoroughly tanned rear ends.

      As Fred emerged from her office, Nora forced a smile while shaking his
      hand and thanking him for his visit. "I’m sure it will make all of us work
      harder," she said.



      Fred’s right arm was weary as he boarded the plane for home and he was
      glad his workday was over. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy reddening a
      female fanny, but some of those young women were athletically inclined and
      had firm buttocks. Those were the ones who got longer spankings with the
      razor strop to give his palm a much-needed rest.

      He had called ahead to his live-in housekeeper, Anne Baldwin (his wife
      died 10 years earlier), to announce that he was on his way home, only to
      be told that their 17-year-old daughter, Denise, had been caught cheating
      on a test in school.

      Anne, 27, a dark-haired woman who brooked no nonsense, was left in charge
      of Denise for the past five years and was largely responsible for guiding
      the girl through her teenage years. She was even given spanking privileges
      for very serious offenses while Fred was gone, but, in most cases, she
      imposed restrictions laid down by him while physical discipline was put
      off until he returned home.

      Fortunately for Denise (and Fred), he would not be arriving home until
      after midnight, so her round bottom and his arm would get a reprieve until
      the following day. But he told Anne to inform the girl that her bottom
      would be too sore to sit on when he was finished disciplining her.

      That came as no surprise to the housekeeper, who, herself, needed to be
      kept in line on occasion. She, being a firm disciplinarian, understood
      that and was aware of his spanking proclivities in dealing with his store
      employees. She also saw him as a fair man, so, when he ruled such
      punishment was due, she did not hesitate to place her behind over his lap
      and lie quietly while her panties were being removed.

      "Damn!" Fred thought on the flight home. He had planned to spend a
      relaxing Sunday, which would include playing a round of golf. The way his
      arm now felt, golf may have been out of the question anyway, but he
      certainly didn’t plan to spend it blistering another female fanny.

      His reverie was suddenly broken by the voice of flight attendant Susan
      Blake. The 24-year-old beauty was based in Fred’s hometown and they had
      become well acquainted, especially during long flights. He usually had a
      seat in the back of the plane and Susan often sat with him for short
      periods to discuss their individual day’s activities.

      "Good evening, Mr. Matthews," she said. "How was your day?"

      "Tiring but worthwhile, I’m sure," he grinned.

      "I imagine there may be a few tired, not to mention sore, young ladies
      left in your wake," Susan said with a low laugh so as not to be overheard
      by other fliers. Fortunately, the flight was only half full for there were
      empty seats nearby.

      Fred had become so comfortable talking with her that earlier he told her
      the reason for most of his trips. He was amazed when she showed no hint of
      surprise, and, when asked why, she explained.

      "You may – or may not – believe this, Mr. Matthews," she giggled, "but I
      was not a little angel growing up. And this bottom I’m sitting on now
      spent quite a bit of time over my parents’ laps, especially in my teenage
      years."

      "You’re wrong, Susan," he declared. "I do believe it. You are a very
      good-looking young woman, the kind that is popular with the boys and tends
      to get into the most trouble. My daughter is very pretty, too, but she got
      into trouble at school and I have a date with her tomorrow to remind her
      that her bottom is for spanking as well as for sitting."

      "Good for you," Susan replied. "It’s too bad more parents aren’t like you.
      I must admit that I still miss the guidance my folks gave me by way of my
      rear end."

      "If I may be so bold as to ask," Fred said, "did your parents spank you
      bare-bottomed or over your clothing?"

      She laughed. "They never spared my modesty when I was due for a spanking.
      Sometimes, it was just a case of rolling up my dress or pulling down my
      jeans and then lowering my panties. On most occasions, though, they waited
      until bedtime and took down my pajama pants before starting to warm my
      butt."

      "I’ll bet you have a very pretty butt, too," he said with a knowing grin.
      "Perhaps sometime I will be able to provide some of that ‘guidance’ you
      need."

      "Perhaps," she replied with a brush. "But right now I had better get it in
      gear and see if any of the other passengers need anything. It’s always
      great talking with you though."

      Fred watched Susan wiggle down the aisle, with the hope that one day his
      dream would come true and that cute bottom would be wiggling over his
      knees.



      A knock on her bedroom door awakened Denise Matthews.

      "Breakfast will be ready in 15 minutes," housekeeper Anne Baldwin
      announced from the other side of the door, "and your father says he wants
      you downstairs on time. He also wants you to leave your pajamas on."

      "Uh … all right, Anne," the girl replied, trying to shake the cobwebs from
      her hair. Then it dawned on her. Fred Matthews had returned home
      overnight, and, sometime within the next 12 to 16 hours, she would be in
      that classic position she knew so well – face down and bare bottom up over
      his knees.

      As she showered and otherwise got ready for breakfast, Denise asked
      herself why she did such a stupid thing as to go through her teacher’s
      desk drawers while the room was vacant and scratch down the answers to the
      next day’s test.

      She could have been expelled, but the principal, aware of Fred’s
      old-fashioned method of punishment, decided to leave the matter to him.
      Chances were that the school office would be receiving a call the next
      morning saying Denise could not attend because of a fever. And that fever
      would likely be emanating from her rear end.

      When she arrived at the breakfast table, there was little talk of what lay
      ahead for her later that day. Her father did, however, instruct her to
      leave her pajamas on all day and possibly on Monday. "You won’t be going
      anywhere, and, besides, you may not even want to wear the pajama bottoms
      when your spanking is over."

      The spanking was set for 2 p.m., and Fred was nothing if not prompt for an
      appointment. They met in his study, along with Anne, who was on hand for
      most of the punishment sessions, and, as noted earlier, was sometimes the
      "main attraction."

      But this time she sat on a chair only a few feet away to watch the
      father-daughter "discussion." It was to be one-sided, for Fred’s arm would
      do most of the talking and Denise’s bottom the listening.

      They had already had a private talk concerning the girl’s misconduct, so
      there was little time lost before Denise was in position, bent over her
      father’s knees and her pajama-clad bottom turned up to him. And, again,
      there was no delay as Fred quickly pulled down the pants to give his hand
      an unobstructed target.

      Although Anne, herself, was far from being old at 27, she had to admire
      the twin teenage cheeks that Fred had unveiled. They were round, full and
      firm – the latter the result of her athleticism, both as a football
      cheerleader and her participation on the girls’ basketball team.

      But Fred’s hand was even more firm and that, along with the hairbrush that
      Anne had earlier provided, tanned the girlish buttocks to make sure that
      Denise would never again cheat on a test.



      "Another instructional trip, Mr. Matthews?" Stewardess Susan Blake asked
      with a smile two weeks later.

      "Yep," Fred replied.

      "You must have the most sore-bottomed employees in the country," she
      observed.

      "Also the most efficient, if I have anything to say about it," he grinned.

      "As I’m sure you do," Susan replied. "I’m sure you could convince me to
      mend my ways."

      That was an invitation if ever Fred heard one. On a previous flight, he
      had hinted about giving her the "guidance" that she felt she needed since,
      at 24, she was not receiving it at home any longer. He was not about to
      let the opportunity pass him by.

      Again, he was seated in the back of the plane and away from most of the
      passengers, so they were able to converse in low voices.

      "This flight ends at my destination and I will be staying overnight, so,
      if you’re not catching the next one, perhaps we can take care of that lack
      of guidance you once said you needed," he offered. "I’ll be staying at the
      Palace Hotel."

      Susan’s face flushed. "Yes, I’ll be overnight, too, but I don’t know if …"

      "Don’t worry," he assured her. "I realize that I am old enough to be your
      father, so think of me that way. There will be no sex, I promise you. Just
      a good, sound spanking that you obviously feel you need."

      "But wouldn’t others in the hotel hear the sounds?" Susan asked nervously.
      "I’ve never taken spankings quietly. I have a rather tender behind."

      "I always stay at that hotel when I am in town because the rooms are
      virtually soundproof," Fred noted. "Anyway, we can find a movie with
      violence on TV and anyone who might hear sounds from our room will think
      it is part of the program. And, if you start yelling too loud, I will give
      you a towel to put between your teeth and clamp down on."

      She thought for a few moments. "Okay. What the heck?" she said. "I can use
      a spanking and I’ve known you well enough that I know I can trust you."

      "You will get a dose of my hand and the razor strop I use on my
      employees," he replied.

      "Razor strop? Hey, wait a minute," she exclaimed. "I have another flight
      tomorrow and I will need to sit down at least part of the way."

      "Relax," he said with a smile. "Your behind may be a little more tender
      than usual, but you will be able to sit on it. I promise."

      "All right," she agreed. "We land at 5:40 p.m. You can call me on my cell
      phone and tell me your room number. I’ll be there at 7:30. Okay?"

      "Fine," he replied. "I’m sure you will profit from this."

      "I have a hunch you will, too," she grinned.


    
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Published on November 17, 2014 17:11

November 15, 2014

F/M Spanking Sunday -- Gloria Denham

Here is a brand new story hot off the presses. This story will be included in a new collection of never before published F/M spanking erotica to be released this month.
This story is about a cocky tennis pro at an upscale resort-- you know, the kind who give "lessons" to bored trophy wives while their husbands are out golfing.  Sometimes one's hubris causes one to attempt one seduction too many. Here is:





Gloria Denham

Todd looked again. Yeah, his radar was pinging. The platinum blonde at the bar was on the make. He had a sixth sense about these things. He could sense that she’d been shooting glances his way. Maybe she’d want tennis lessons. That would be a way in. She looked good for an older woman in her forties – busty, great long legs, platinum hair coiffed just so. And she looked bored. Hubby was likely off golfing and she was looking for action.
As the assistant tennis pro at the plush El Camino Resort he had plenty of opportunity to get close to rich society wives on the make. El Camino was one of a chain in the high end luxury resorts owned by Rockwell Corporation, a leisure time giant. In such a lush environment his boyish good looks and his position put him right in the sweet spot. The patrons were rich and the wives were trophy caliber. Many played tennis, and it was a given that tennis players were likely to be in good shape. He coaxed them into lessons, and more often than not, it all ended up in his king sized bed (or hers). It was his MO and it had worked.

And, it had landed him in hot water as well. The first time he’d been suspected of dalliance with a married guest, his boss had chewed him out royally. He brushed it off. What did they know? The way he saw it, he was providing a service. The second time he was caught he had to pay a visit to corporate to listen to a boring lecture from the Rockwell Resorts VP of Human Resources, one Ms. Valerie Navarro, a ball breaking bitch if there ever was one. Thin and small of stature, she was nonetheless powerful. Even though she looked like she’d blow away in a strong wind, she had all the authority, so he had to listen. She went on and on about appropriate behavior with guests. Rockwell policy strictly forbade these liaisons, she said. He was told there had better not be a third time or there would be serious consequences, blah, blah, blah. This Ms. Navarro was just the kind of snooty bureaucratic bitch he hated. Screw her. This babe at the bar, she was just too much. He had to try.
 He looked again. She saw him and smiled. He took that as an invitation.
“Buy you a drink?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said. “Gin and tonic, if you will.”
He told Sammi to set her up. He did and placed the drink in front of her. She cupped it smoothly and took a long sip. The woman was a looker, that was sure. In that short dress he got a good look at some of the best legs he’d seen in a long time. The dress had a deep v-shaped neck, too, giving him a good shot at some prime cleavage.
“Ahh,” she said. “Thank you.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Say, I’ve seen you around. Aren’t you down in the tennis shop or something?”
“That’s right,” said Todd. “I’m an assistant pro. Do you play?”
“Yeah, I do. Used to be pretty good, too. In high school I went to the state finals three years running.”
“Yeah?” said Todd. “You ought to take a lesson from me. I’d sharpen your game up.”
“Yeah. I’d like that. Gotta do something around here.” She frowned, indicating her displeasure at her current circumstances.
“Husband out golfing?” That was the likely source of her displeasure. It was what they did. They dumped their wives and went off with their buddies on one of El Camino’s three championship courses.
“Yes, he is. And leaving me to own devices.” She gave him a sly glance, looking him up and down. Its meaning was unmistakable. “You’re cute, but I bet all the girls tell you that.”
Todd’s cock swelled as she looked him over candidly. This is a live one for sure. “By the way,” she said, “I’m Gloria Denham.” She stuck out her hand.
“Todd Francis,” said Todd, taking it.
She scheduled a lesson for nine AM the next morning.
*****
“You are pretty good,” said Todd as they volleyed back and forth. Actually she was more than good. Her forehand came at him like a bullet and her backhand was solid. He could not believe how she was running him all over the court. She was in great shape for her age, and not only that, she was a crafty player.
“I could take you, you know,” she said, after they had volleyed for several minutes, warming up, and were taking a breather. “For a pro, you need work. More practice.” She said it dismissively with a toss of her head.
Todd’s jaw dropped. Had she really said that? “You could not,” he countered. “You’re just…”He didn’t finish.
“A woman? I’m just a woman?” She turned and walked toward the net. “So, I couldn’t beat a buff guy like you?” She said it with a flirtatious smile that signaled the game was on.
Todd got the message. It was an unmistakable challenge. One that could end up in her bedroom (or his) if he played his cards right.
“The hell you say.” Todd stopped and put his hands on his hips, eyeing her with an expression of disbelief.
“Care to put your ass on the line then?” Again the flirty smile.
“Sure, what’s the bet?”
“Well….,” she tapped her lips with her index finger, thinking. “Loser buys lunch and then we go back to my place and…. what the winner says goes -- for the rest of the afternoon.”
Whoa! It looked like she meant it, and no mistake about what she was suggesting. That was an offer Todd couldn’t refuse. He didn’t care what the hell corporate VP Miz Navarro said, he was going to take advantage of this one. This was one hot babe. Company policy be damned.
*****Todd nursed his wounded pride as he sat across from Gloria Denham at a trendy (and expensive) La Jolla watering hole. She had kicked his ass, but good.  He’d struggled to win even a point while she had run him ragged all over the court. In fact they were lunching early because Gloria had made such quick work of him, 6-1, 6-0. It was like she was some sort of ringer.
“Don’t pout, Todd,” she said. Her tone was sharp, a change from the seductress of earlier. He blushed. The admonishment sounded like something his junior high schoolteacher would say. “I whipped your ass, fair and square.” She was almost gloating. “Maybe that’s what I’ll do when we get to my suite.”
“Do what?” said Todd.
“Why, whip your ass, of course. You have a nice one, you know. Very cute and tight. I like that.”
Todd leaned forward. “W-what do you mean?” Had he heard right?
“I told you my tastes were exotic,” she said. “Come on, let’s go.”
She rose abruptly, signaling that the meal was at an end. Todd paid and followed after Gloria Denham like a puppy dog as she got up and strode out of the restaurant. Despite what she’d said, Todd was in full arousal mode watching the svelte hips of hers sashay in that flippy little tennis dress. So what if she was a little kinky? When she got a look at the Todd Rod she’d be his to command. They all fell into line eventually.
Her suite was the most luxurious one in the resort. Large, isolated and fully furnished with everything one could wish for, it was a statement about how the other half lived. Fully three thousand square feet in a penthouse setting, its commanding view of the Pacific Ocean was magnificent. Through a whole wall of glass he could practically see from downtown San Diego to Carlsbad and beyond. Todd’s thought was that Gloria’s husband must be one serious player to be able to afford all this. Which made him worry. What if he came back? On these trysts Todd usually took them to his place, modest digs, but safe.
“Look, this is all very nice, but what if your husband comes back?”
“He won’t. Trust me, we have plenty of time.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I am,” she said. Gloria was still wearing the tennis dress. It displayed her long legs to their best advantage. “In fact I’m going to shower and change,” she said, flashing another seductive smile. “In the meantime, you could go in the bathroom down the hall and do the same.”
Todd gave her his best wolfish grin. “Or, I could shower with you.”
“Oh, that would spoil the fun,” she said. “You just get yourself back here. And don’t worry about clothes – you won’t need them.”
Hot damn! Todd’s eyes followed that twitchy butt out of the room, and he then went into an adjacent bedroom. It had its own bath, of course. He showered and decided to come back out into the main suite clad in one of the plush robes the resort provided for the guests ( a mere two hundred dollars if you wanted to take it home with you after your stay). Gloria was still not out yet, but the water wasn’t running. Todd stood at the large west facing window looking at the ocean, waiting.
“Todd?” she called from the master bedroom.
“Yes?” he said moving in that direction.
“Don’t come in. I’m dressing. Take off the robe and go stand facing the corner.”
“What?” Face the corner? This was weird.
“I said, get yourself totally naked and stand in the corner like the naughty lad you are.”
“Well, really? Ok,” he said, reluctance clearly in his tone. Yeah, this babe was kinky somehow, he thought. But he figured he had to play along. She sure sounded different. Sharp. Commanding. Not at all the seductress from earlier.
“I won the match. You agreed. This is my session. I want you bare as a newborn babe, got it?” She shouted from down the hall.
“Uh…all right,” he said. He shrugged out of the robe leaving it in a pool on the floor and stood in a corner feeling embarrassed and really stupid. He stood there waiting…and waiting. Oddly he felt his erection rising. I’ll just get ready for her, he thought. Give her a good gander at the ‘ol Todd Rod. But after stroking it for a while he merely felt foolish and ridiculous. He was about to turn and go looking for Gloria Denham when he heard a sound behind him.
“All right, young man. Turn around.”
Todd turned. Instead of finding Gloria in a some skimpy bit of negligee (he’d imagined what it might be – black, frilly with lace and skimpy), she was dressed as if for work in a short tight business skirt, a white blouse, high heels and hose. In her hand she carried an object. Todd looked closely. It appeared to be a wooden hairbrush. Now Todd really felt dumb. She was fully dressed, he was naked. What was this?
“What is this?” said Todd. “I thought…”
“I don’t care what you thought, Todd.” She took a chair from the dining area and pulled it over into the great room, then sat down. “Come over here.”
Todd obeyed but as he approached he got a sinking feeling in his stomach. This was feeling to him like a repeat of a scene from his childhood. The last woman seated in a chair to summon him to her side while holding a hairbrush had been his mother the day he had been caught with Joey Clinton out in the garage looking at Joey’s Playboy collection. He had been ten. His mom had whaled his bared bottom hard with that hairbrush, lecturing him the whole time on the evils of pornography. He’d dissolved in tears, blubbering, pleading forgiveness, promising anything if only it would stop. It had finally stopped, but not until his salty tears and the snot running out of his nose had made a mess of the carpet next to that chair and his bottom was burning like the fires of hell. The shame of being bared and spanked had stayed with him for weeks, but strangely enough when he had attained puberty, recollection of that event usually produced a woody. He had one now.
“And just what is THAT?” said Gloria Denham, pointing the end of the brush at the Todd Rod, now sticking straight out, pointing at her tits which strained the front of the blouse. “Do you think this is going to be fun, Todd?”
Todd was tongue tied. He didn’t know what to say. In a heartbeat her whole demeanor had changed from seductive temptress to no-nonsense schoolmarm. “Wh—what are you going to do?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Todd? I’m going to spank you like a little boy.”
“Wh—why?” Todd couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Because. Just because. It pleases me. I won the match and what I want is to give your cute little boy butt a good shellacking. It should be an exemplary experience for you. So, mister. Get across my knee.” To emphasize the point she tapped her leg with the brush.
She pulled her skirt back revealing more of those shapely legs. Todd felt conflicted. On the one hand, this was crazy. On the other he was strangely turned on by the whole scene. So he eased himself across her lap, his cock nestling between her thighs clad in the sheerness of nylon hose. The feeling was electric. His penis slid down between her legs and she closed them slightly trapping his erection like a vise.
“Now you won’t go anywhere, young man. I’ll start with just my hand.”
The next thing Todd felt was her hand, rubbing his bare bottom, patting it, making little circles on it. If the situation hadn’t been so embarrassing he would have said it actually felt good, sexy, titillating.
Smack! That first hard slap was like a dousing with cold water. It stung.Smack! An identical smack on the other side.Then she launched into a volley of brisk spanks, slapping one cheek then the other, bringing her hand down hard right across his central crease. It burned. The tingling mild sting from those first few slaps morphed into mild discomfort. He waggled his body, shaking it off.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said, and tightened her left arm which encircled his waist and pulled him tight against her.
Then the spanking began in earnest. She was relentless. Spanks piled on top of spanks. His flesh burned. Sometimes a quick volley of wrist snappy spanks, sometimes full on hard whacks delivered slowly, each one a real burner. He tried to be stoic about it. Part of him wanted to cry out, to beg her to ease up. It was hurting – really hurting. Finally he couldn’t stand it. He reached his hand back to protect his inflamed bottom.
“You get your hand away,” she said, swatting it away. “I’m going to tan your little fanny good and don’t you try to interfere. We can go all afternoon you know.” As if to emphasize she delivered a set of rapid fire spanks that had him arching his back and fluttering his feet.
“Ow! Ow! Ok – ok!” he said, wriggling. “Just…just, it hurts!”
“Well, I know, silly. It’s a SPANKING. A real one. It should. To teach you a lesson. A good one.” The spanks continued to fall even as she spoke.
This was new information. What lesson? What had he done?
“I think we are ready to graduate to the hairbrush,” she said, after a furious barrage of stinging spanks that took his breath away. Todd felt her right leg slide to the side and she pushed him farther over her left knee. Then her right leg clamped his legs behind his knees. His nose was pushed into the carpet and his butt was arched in a prominent curve over her left knee. He had never felt so vulnerable. That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the spanking with that merciless hairbrush.
The first crack sent a burst of flame that blossomed out from his bottom and engulfed his senses. The awful sting dwarfed the discomfort of the hand spanking. He flailed while she laid it on, smack after smack. This time he wasn’t silent.
“Yeow! Ouch! Stop!” He pleaded in futility as the spanks rained down, sonorous whacks, each one igniting an explosion of heat on his tortured skin.
“When I spank a boy, I make a good job of it Todd. You’re cute little butt is almost done, I’d say. Ten more good ones and you count.”
How Todd managed to croak out a count of ten, he didn’t know, but finally it was over. She released his hand and lifted him up, making him slide down to his knees so he was kneeling between her legs.

“Now, that’s a good boy,” she said, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back.From somewhere she produced a blindfold and slipped it over his eyes. “Stand up,” she said. “Give me your hands.” Todd did. He was too dazed and in too much agony to oppose anything. His ass was burning up and tears were running down his face. Something was going on but he wasn’t sure what it was. This whole thing was something other than what he had thought.
While he was trying to figure it out, handcuffs were snapped on his wrists. This was another alarming event. “What are you doing?” he said. She had grabbed him by the elbow and was marching him somewhere. He stumbled along, helpless now. They hadn’t gone far. He felt his crotch touch something. The leather couch that dominated the main room, that’s what it felt like.
“Stand here,” said Gloria Denham.
He stood waiting. With his hands in the cuffs he couldn’t rub his buttocks. His seat felt swollen to twice its size and hot – flaming hot. If only he could rub some of the sting away. He heard the soft beep of numbers being punched into a smart phone. Then he heard Gloria’s voice. “He’s ready,” she said.
He was ready for what? Now what?
The next thing he heard was the soft chime of a doorbell. Someone was here. Who? Her husband? Oh God! No it couldn’t be her husband, he would just come right in.
“You stay right there,” said Gloria.
He heard her pad away and go open the door. “Come in,” he heard Gloria say. “Yes, he’s all ready for you.” Female. It was another female. He heard the new voice say, “Yes, I can see he’s all primed. Good job, Gloria.”
That voice. That voice. He knew that voice.
“Take off his blindfold.”
When Todd shook his head and blinked his eyes, clearing the blurriness brought on by the tears, he turned and looked. And his knees sagged. It was HER. Valerie Navarro, Rockwell’s Vice President of Human Resources. She stood there in a business suit, her head cocked to one side, looking him up and down. Almost tiny next to Gloria Denham, she nevertheless still exuded authority.
“Well, Todd, here we are,” she said. “We baited the lure and you took it – hook, line and sinker. I told you next time there would be consequences. This is a consequence. And we’re not done yet. Oh, no. I’m going to add my two cents worth and we’ll see how much your job is worth to you.”
While she was talking Gloria went into an adjacent room. When she came back she was flexing a long slender wand. It was yellow and very thin, so flexible she could bend it almost in a circle. “This is an English school cane,” said Valerie Navarro. “They don’t use these so much anymore, but back in the day this was the terror of many an English schoolboy.” She took it from Gloria and whipped it back and forth. It made a sick whine. Todd’s buttocks tightened. She didn’t mean to…to whip him with that? He couldn’t take it. Not on top of the spankings.
“The usual measure was six – what they called ‘six of the best’.” She let that sink in. Todd gulped. “But that was for schoolboys. I think for an adult like you, Todd, maybe ten is about right. What do you think? Would you be willing to take ten sizzling licks with this on that shiny red butt of yours to keep your job?”
So that was it. He had to take then strokes with that whippy cane to stay a tennis pro at El Camino.
“Up to you, Todd.” She added, “I don’t have all day.”
Todd had to think. Sweat beaded up on his forehead as he watched Valerie Navarro whip the cane around with her wrist.
“See Todd, I’m not as big or as strong as Gloria, so I had her sort of ‘prepare the terrain’ for me so to speak. Just so you’ll get the full benefit of every stroke. She says it’s all in the wrist. We’ll see.” She lowered the cane and tapped it against her leg in a gesture of impatience. “Do you want to come to work tomorrow or not?”
Todd was sweating and felt sick to his stomach from the cold knot of fear in his gut. This was the cushiest job he’d ever had. Beat the hell out of car sales or telemarketing. Both were hell and he did not want to go back. “Yes,” said Todd. But his knees shook.
Valerie Navarro nodded. “All right.” She tapped the back of the couch with the cane. “Over you go. Let’s get that hiney up in the air so I can have a go at it.” She swished the cane through the air, testing its feel.
Todd whimpered but bent over. He gripped the couch cushions with his hands.
“Gloria, kneel over Todd and hold him down. I don’t want him thrashing around.”
“I’d be happy to, Valerie. We can’t have our boy wiggling away.” She knelt on the couch, her thighs almost straddling his neck while she pushed down on his shoulders. He was completely immobile. Gloria was a big strong woman and Todd couldn’t move hardly an inch.
“Now,” she said. “It will be ten strokes, Todd. You will count each one for me. If you hold still and take all ten, you can keep your job. You can say ‘stop’ any time and I’ll stop. Then you walk out of here and don’t come back. Understand?”
Todd understood. He managed a muffled ‘yes.’
“Here we go,” she said. She set up to the side and measured the distance so that the tip of the cane barely extended past his right bottom cheek. Todd flinched as he felt the thin wood touch him. “It’s better if you don’t tense up,” she said.
He heard a whine and felt the impact before he heard the cane crack against his bare seat. Nothing could have prepared him, though, for the atrocious wave of pain that followed. It spread through him like a firebomb in a tunnel, obliterating all other senses. Nothing had ever hurt so badly.
“Yahhh!” he yelled. What? Nine more like that? He couldn’t take it, just couldn’t.But he managed to croak, “One.”
Each stroke was fiery hell, more pain than he’d ever experienced. The sequence went like this: first there was the wait; then he’d feel a tap-tap-tap of the stick as she lined it up; then nothing but a breeze, so he knew it was on the way – he sensed a brief disturbance in the air – he heard that sickening whine; then a white hot explosion of fiery hell. A thin line of liquid fire that made him grit his teeth and tense every muscle. He wanted to scream. As the agony washed over him, he waggled and bucked as if that would help, but it didn’t. Valerie Navarro calmly waited for him to stop twitching and settle down before she lined up and delivered another stroke. One by one he counted them off, his knuckles white as he gripped the sofa cushions. Along with the count he screeched like scalded cat, so loud in fact that Gloria expressed concern.
Valerie chuckled. “No one can hear him up here. He can cry all he wants.” Valerie took her time, spacing the strokes out. Each one was an event all by itself. When Todd had finally counted ten, she told Gloria to release him.
Todd stood up on unsteady legs. His ass was ablaze with fiery misery. Tears poured out of his eyes. He coughed, fluid choking his airway.
“Well, Todd, have we learned a little lesson here today?” said Valerie.
“Yes,” Todd managed to choke out.
“Good. I’ll leave you in Gloria’s capable hands. I trust there will not be another time.”
Todd shook his head. “No ma’am.”
She tossed the cane into a chair and departed, closing the door behind her.
Gloria unlocked the cuffs. Todd’s hands went immediately to his swollen and red streaked buttocks. Gloria watched with an amused smile as Todd tried to rub the sting out.  He pouted, his face a study in wounded pride. “You tricked me,” he said. “You were working for them all along.”
Gloria shrugged. “No trick. All I did was sit at a bar and you came on to me. You did it to yourself.” She beckoned with her finger. “Come into the bedroom. I have something for your butt. It’s really red.”
Todd didn’t know why he even listened, but his ass still felt like a hot stove. When he entered the bedroom he saw her pick up a jar and unscrew the cap.
“This is a pain reliever. I knew you’d need it. Lie down on the bed and I’ll put some on.”Her tone had shifted again. Now she seemed pleasant. The commanding bossy persona was gone.
He lay face down. She knelt on the bed beside him and spread some sort of gooey cream all over his ass. She was right. It did feel good. It was cool and soothing. After a few minutes of rubbing it in he felt much better. She got up. Todd turned his head to see what she was doing. He was of a mind to get the hell out of there, and soon. To his amazement she was undressing. The tight skirt came off, then the blouse. Just like that she was down to bra and panties and a sexy garter belt. Todd felt his cock begin to awaken.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“You’re mine for the day, remember? I told you I have exotic tastes. Spanking your tight little fanny turned me on. And that caning – mmmm, ummm – delicious watching you get a good one.” She slipped her panties down to reveal a furry thatch. She reached behind her and the bra came off allowing her gorgeous breasts to swing free.
“Roll over,” she said.
He did. His eyes tracked her appreciative gaze as she took in his erection that was swelling nicely.
“Wait a minute. I don’t want any more trouble. I learned my lesson, ok? I’m getting out of here.” He came up on his elbows.
She landed on the bed and pushed him back down. “You’re not going anywhere,” she said. Before he could even sit up, she straddled him and lowered herself onto his prick, which in spite of his intentions, now pointed straight up. He closed his eyes as the familiar surge of pleasure from the friction of sliding into a wet vagina took over.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, impaling herself to the hilt, squeezing her breasts and pinching her own nipples. “Sooo good.”
“Ahh,” Todd managed to croak. “But the rules…Ms Navarro.”
She stopped for a minute and leaned down, right into his face. “I make the rules, Todd. My name’s not Denham; it’s Rockwell. I’ve run Rockwell resorts since my husband died five years ago. Now stop blubbering and start fucking me properly. We have a long afternoon set aside, you and I, and I’m going to ride you like the Pony Express – ‘til you drop.”















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Published on November 15, 2014 17:49

November 13, 2014

The Sorority Bet

Here is a chapter from Gwen's Sorority Days. Rival sororities have a yearly bet.


“You might as well come over here and sit down.  First go put on a robe.” Joyce watched as the naked girl bounded out of the room. Her skin was fair except for the two rounded cheeks of her bottom which were now bright red. She returned clad in a bathrobe and gingerly eased herself into the sofa. “I hope it’s not a long story. I don’t want you cooled off too terribly much. You still have ten good paddle swats coming, you know.”
“Yes, I know. But it is an important story I think.” 
Joyce smiled and patted the paddle in her hand. Gwen’s eyes followed the ominous tapping. “Go ahead then, tell me.”
Gwen leaned forward and faced Joyce. “Competition among sororities was always really fierce. And the CAT’s were our big rival. It was a friendly rivalry, most of the time, and it went back years. Part of that rivalry was a yearly tradition that we called simply, ‘the bet’.”
“CAT’s?” asked Joyce.
“Chi Alpha Tau. CAT for short. And they lived up to their name. They could be catty. Anyway, there was this thing called the Pan-Hel trophy. It was awarded every year to the best sorority and best fraternity. We competed in grades, sports, charity fund-raising and even a singing competition. Everything was points. Points for winning at volleyball, points for best grade point average, points for everything you could compete about. That was for the trophy. But we had a running side bet with the CATs. Regardless of who won the trophy, we bet on who would get the most points. And the payoff of that bet was a little secret ceremony.”
“The pledges weren’t part of it because they were not really members yet, so the first I knew of ‘the bet’ was when I became a sophomore. It was a pretty intense competition and all year long both houses kept a running tally. If it was close, those final weeks could be very intense. At the end it was usually decided by grades and the day they were posted was a big day.
“Anyway, the way it worked was, the loser had to fete the winner. You had to prepare and serve a feast. All the sisters were part of this. And we dressed up. Because we were Greek clubs it was in costume--- a toga party, girls only. But to cap it off, at the end of the evening there was what we called ‘the wheel of misfortune’. This was really the big part of the bet. All of us at the party had to play. We had to put our names in a bowl, and at the end of the feast when everyone was finished, six names were to be drawn. Each of those six had to come up one by one and spin the wheel. And accept whatever fate it dictated.
“The wheel had been made years ago. It was like a dart board with these pie-shaped segments with numbers and colors. It divided into 8 segments plus two black segments with no number. The wheel was mounted on this frame that had hooks on it too. The hooks had numbers next to them from one to four. Well you can guess what went on the hooks. There was a leather spanker like that one, a standard sorority paddle, a leather strap, and a crook handled cane. Each implement had a set number of strokes that went with it.
“So if you were unlucky enough to have your name drawn, you would have to spin the wheel and wherever it landed, that was your fate. One twist was that if it landed on black, you had to doff your toga and spin again, so you got it stark naked. All the numbers were in white and red. If you landed on white 2, for example, you got to keep your panties up, but if it was red 2, well, you got it bare. If the previous spin was black, it didn’t matter.
“My junior year, we lost. CAT not only beat us, they took the trophy, so they were riding high. That year there were thirty five sisters excluding the pledge class. So on the appointed date all 35 of us dressed in our togas and carted the food and drink and everything over to the CAT house.”
“What were the togas like?” asked Joyce, “long flowing robes?”
“No. Just the opposite. They were short tunics with a belt or sash that came to about mid thigh. The CATs wore longer robes or dresses in the Greek style. This set them apart from us. We were the slave girls, they were the aristocrats for the evening. So we showed up for the party and as we filed in, we each had to write our name on a slip of paper and put it in a bowl. We knew what that was---later on six names would be drawn. And all of us from our president on down had to do it.
“That must have been hard for the seniors,” mused Joyce.
“Oh, yeah, especially the officers. They were used to being in authority positions and here they were, reduced to being serving girls like pledges, and at risk of being paddled or worse.”
“So the party started and we served food that we prepared in their kitchen. We were like caterers, you know? All evening we were running around in our skimpy togas, carrying around little trays and being waiters. Some of cooked, some of us cleaned, bur we all worked. And underneath it all there was this friction—the knowing smiles, the little remarks. We could tell they were all waiting gleefully for the after dinner ceremony. You know it dawned on me at one point that the charity auction thing I told you about was a lot like this. It’s probably where they got the idea.
“Some of us knew each other and they rubbed it in. They’d say things like ‘hope you are feeling lucky tonight,’ or ‘I wonder who is going to be squirming in her seat tomorrow---if she sits at all?’ Sometimes it was less kindly. Someone told our president, ‘I do hope it’s you Carolyn. I’ll love to see that fine ass of yours decorated with a few stripes.’ One girl told one of our members, ‘You know Britney, the way you constantly made a pest of yourself in Professor Bertram’s class, I think you need a good paddling. I really do hope we draw your name. It’s a pity it’s only six of you.’

“As you can guess, we had to grin and bear it. It was a rule that we would bear this kidding with good grace and it was considered bad form to talk back or get mad. In fact if any of us did, it was swats for that person later, after the party. So we just smiled and did our best to take it.
“We got more nervous as the time approached. Who would have to spin the wheel? The penalties were all set at pretty much the maximum for the implement. The cane was six, the paddle, ten. I think the strap was fifteen and the spanker thirty. Finally when all the plates were cleared away we were called into the large great room and they brought out the bowl with the names in it.
The CATs president, Miranda Thorp, then took over. She said, ‘Ladies we now come to that part of the evening we’ve all been waiting for. Our sisters at Kappa, to their misfortune, have lost the bet this year, and well, dears, it’s time to pay up. May we have the wheel please?’ Somebody rolled it out. We exchanged nervous looks as we saw the dread implements hanging on hooks on either side of the wheel. ‘We have three of our members who are running for next year’s office of pledge mistress so we decided that that it would be most appropriate for them to act as executioners, as it were, for tonight’s festivities.’ The three came forward and they were all pretty and athletic looking. We had no doubt that some of us were in for a hot time. Each one of them would draw two names and administer the penalty to those girls.
“I recall the first one was named Sandra. I did not know her. We all stood nervously in a line while she put her hand in the bowl and drew out a name. The first name she drew was Robin Deere. Robin gave a little gasp, but she stepped forward gamely. Robin was this very studious type, but really beautiful, raven black hair, terrific figure, too. Most of the time she hid it but in these skimpy togas her charms were on full display. Sandra said, ‘Robin, pleased to meet you’ and everyone chuckled. ‘Go ahead, spin the wheel.’
“The wheel had these little nails that passed over a pointer making this clacking sound, like Wheel of Fortune, that TV show. Robin spun it and it landed on a red 2. That meant the strap, 15 licks and bare. It wasn’t the worst I guess, but it was bad enough. Someone brought out a sturdy chair. Sandra told Robin to bend over the back of it, hands gripping the seat. She did and her tunic rode up. Sandra pulled it up all the way to reveal Robin’s shapely bottom clad only in sheer nylon panties. She took the strap off the hook and whooshed it straight down a few times. I saw Robin sort of flinch at the sound. Then Sandra said, ‘panties down please,’ and Robin obediently reached back with her thumbs and peeled her panties down to her knees.

“Sandra stood back and ran the strap through her fingers, then in this fluid motion she drew it back and swung it forward. It landed with a loud thwack! right on crowns of Robin’s bottom cheeks. Robin hissed but stayed down. It was considered poor form to break position, and in fact the rules said if you did, that stroke would not count. Sandra proceeded to swing that strap in a flat arc for 14 more searing licks that painted red stripes across Robin’s bottom. It was plain to see she had practiced with it, because she had the motion down pat. She’d run it through her fingers, cock her arm back and bring the strap forward in this lazy arc. But there was nothing lazy about the loud splat! it made. Robin’s bottom cheeks wobbled with each impact. It must have hurt. We all realized then that the pledge mistresses-to-be had probably practiced with all the implements on the hooks.
“Robin took her licks well though. That strap made her bottom cheeks dance but she held on. She finally got up, wincing and rubbing. She got back into the line and I heard her say, ‘yow, that girl could really swing that strap. She whipped my butt good—whew!’
‘The next name was Kim Matthews, a voluptuous sort of girl, but short. She had kind of a prominent posterior, I guess you’d say. Maybe that was good.  She stepped up, spun the wheel and got a white 3. That was ten with the paddle on the panties. Again, Sandra knew how to paddle and she gave Kim’s fanny  ten solid swats that had her lifting up on her toes and choking off squeals.
“I guess I want to know how you did,” said Joyce. “And how your friend Misty fared.”
“I’m coming to that. You see I cheated again. That’s why this is an important story.”
Joyce was astonished. “You didn’t! Gwen, I can’t believe this. Maybe we should just get on with the paddling you have coming.”
“No, no. Not in the way you think.”
“What did you do?” Joyce tapped the paddle meaningfully in her palm.
Gwen just shrugged and gave Joyce this little half smile. “I told you I had felt bad about Misty, so when we came in, Misty was carrying stuff and I said I’d put her name on a slip for her and drop it in the bowl. But what I did was, I wrote my name twice. You see all they did was count the number of slips in the bowl to make sure each Kappa had put one in, so…”
“So no one was the wiser that Misty was not at risk,” finished Joyce.
“Right. I figured it was the least I could do to sort of make amends.”
“And how did that work out?”
Gwen looked Joyce in the eye. “I got paddled. Bare.”
“The next pledge mistress candidate was this really solidly built girl that I  knew named Janet Keegan. She looked sort of Nordic, you know, blonde hair in bangs, big boned. She pulled my name out of the bowl. Well, let me tell you, my legs turned to jelly. I managed to come forward and Janet fixed me with this big broad smile. ‘Hello, Gwen,’ she said, ‘how nice to see you.’ The look on her face was like a cat eyeing a canary. ‘Give the wheel a spin, if you please.’ I spun it and got a red 3. That meant the paddle—bare. Ten swats.

“Then she said, ‘Oh, my’ with this mock look of concern. Everybody laughed. Then in this conversational tone she said, ‘How did you like Professor Greer’s romantic poetry class? I absolutely adored studying Coleridge didn’t you?’ This was so bizarre. I didn’t know what to say. Here was this woman whooshing the paddle around, limbering up and she was carrying on like we were old chums who’d bumped into each other at the student union.
“So I said I’d liked it and she said, ‘I think maybe you liked Dr. Greer more, the way you wiggled that cute butt of yours at him every time you came to class. Let’s see if we can make it really wiggle.’ Then she whispered in my ear, ‘I’m really going to enjoy giving you a hiding, Gwen. You have the cutest little fanny.’ Then she stepped back and said, ‘Over you go. I’m sure you know the position—hands on knees and skirt up. Oops, first, please slip those panties down.’
“I turned ten shades of red, but I slipped down my panties and bent over. I braced myself with my hands grabbing my knees. It was really a humiliating posture, especially in front of all those girls. She pressed the paddle on my hiney, taking aim, I’m sure. The next thing I felt was a hot burn as the paddle cracked down, making this whack! noise like a gun shot. The heat crested and just as it did, she smacked me again. It was really burning. She knew how to pace a paddling, I’ll say that. She waited between smacks, maybe ten, fifteen seconds. This was just as the heat from the last swat was reaching maximum intensity, then whack! I’d get another. I can imagine what I looked like---bare butt all red and wobbling when she hit it, me shuffling my feet trying to stay in position. I thought I was going to scream, but the last thing I wanted was to jump up and clutch my burning behind before it was over. How I made it through those ten searing licks, I’ll never know.

Joyce had been listening intently. “Wow, but I guess now you know what Misty went through.”
Gwen shrugged. “Yes, now I do.”
“Hmmm, I’ll have to think about this now,” said Joyce.
“Let me tell you the rest. After me, Janet drew the name of our president, of all people. I had to wonder about this. Carolyn Harper was sort of a tall regal beauty, you know, blonde, long legs, the works. As befitting a president she came forward with her head held high. She was like some Saxon queen, captured by the Amazons. Janet knew Carolyn too, although she was a year behind her. ‘Ah, Carolyn, how nice to see you.’ Carolyn smiled, but I know it was killing her to do so. It turns out they had both dated the same guy for a while so there was no love lost there, I think.
“Carolyn spun and it came up nearly as bad as it could be—it was a red 4. That meant the cane. Six strokes, bare. A hush came over the room. The tension was thick. Janet picked up the cane and flexed it. It looked wicked. It was thin and very whippy. She bent it nearly in a circle then let it go as Carolyn watched. It just wobbled back and forth like a snake getting ready to strike. Carolyn later told us that Janet whispered to her too, ‘You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to do this, Carolyn. I’m going to stripe that saucy butt of yours like there’s no tomorrow.’ Then she said, ‘we’ll do this schoolgirl style. So if you please, Madame President, take your panties down.’ All the CATs  giggled as the regal Caroline Harper peeled her panties down. She had a firm shapely bottom, that was for sure. ‘Now touch your toes, Carolyn, let’s get that bottom high and tight.’
“Carolyn bent over and presented that magnificent ass of hers. Janet stood to the side and measured, adjusting her stance. ‘We’ve been practicing you know, Carolyn. I do hope I acquit myself well, don’t you? Now keep very still. Don’t get up. If you do, there’s extra you know. We wouldn’t want that would we?’ Janet took the cane and held it over her head facing sideways to Carolyn. She pulled the cane back through her left hand and spun on the balls of her feet whipping it forward in this very fluid motion. The cane whined through the air and hit with a snap! Sound, like a twig breaking. Carolyn gave out this loud hiss, you know like when you draw air through your teeth. A red stripe appeared right across the middle of her hiney.

“We all winced. You could tell that had really hurt. Then Janet lined up and delivered another stroke with that practiced motion that made the cane strike accurately right across the crowns of Carolyn’s bottom cheeks. She hissed again and another red line appeared. We could tell now that this was a real ordeal. Carolyn’s legs were shaking. She was trying to stay down and take it. Janet, I just know, was trying to make her rise up. It was a battle of wills—Janet’s skill against Carolyn’s bravery. The third stroke was right in the fold, where your ass meets your thighs. Carolyn let out a muffled squeal. Janet stepped back a minute then lined up the fourth stroke. She tapped Carolyn’s bottom, and Carolyn flinched. Then Janet did that draw back and pivot motion and crack! the cane struck Carolyn on the underside of her buttocks just above the fold. Carolyn’s hands left her ankles and sort of fluttered and she moaned, but she stayed in position. Now Janet stood back and contemplated her handiwork so far. There were four lurid weals across Carolyn’s behind. She took up her stance once again. The fifth one did it. It landed right in the fold and Carolyn shrieked, “yeoww….Ahhhrhh!”  and stood up clutching her bottom. She stamped around for a moment and looked around, panicked.
“Janet just smiled and said, ‘How unfortunate. That one did not count. We’ll have to repeat, Madame President. Back over you go.’ Carolyn’s face was a study in anguish, but to her credit she did not beg. She regained a bit of composure and bent back over to present her bottom for what turned out to be two more searing strokes. When it was done you could see seven distinct red lines across her bottom. Everyone actually applauded when Janet finished. I never knew if they were clapping for Janet or Carolyn—maybe it was both.
“My goodness. It all sounds rather cruel,” said Joyce.
Gwen nodded. “That one was serious, for sure. I don’t know what it was between those two, but it sure went beyond the sorority bet. Janet had really given her a hiding.”
“The last pledge mistress candidate was a tall lanky girl named Virginia Burns, Ginny for short. I knew her. She was very friendly and outgoing. She was from the South and spoke with this thick drawl. She stepped up and drew Tracy Clark’s name from the bowl. Now, Tracy was this little blonde, cute as a button, but with a great figure. She was maybe five feet tall. Ginny was nearly a foot taller. Tracy spun the wheel and the thing everyone had dreaded all night happened. It landed on black. Well, everything went silent then, until Ginny said, ‘Well darlin’ looks like you have to take it all off. Go ahead now.’ Blushing ten shades of red Tracy stripped her toga and panties off to stand there in the buff. Ginny admired her for a minute then said, ‘Aren’t you just the cutest little thing, honey? Go give that wheel a spin. Let’s see what kind of lickin’ you’re going to get.’ Then Tracy walked up and spun the wheel. It landed on a white 1. Too bad. It was the mildest penalty, 30 swats with the leather spanker, but Tracy was already nude.
“Ginny eyed Tracy for a minute, then she dragged the chair back over and sat herself down, slapping the spanker on her thigh. ‘Tell you what honey. We’ll do this like your momma would do. You just come across my knee, now, you hear? I’m going to give that cute lil’ fanny of yours a good warming.’ Tracy grimaced but she had to do it. She let Ginny put her over her knee. She was so small her feet were up off the floor fluttering around. Ginny circled her waist with her left hand and pushed her over a little farther. Tracy was beyond embarrassed at being held over Ginny’s knee like a ten year old without a stitch of clothing on.

“Ginny raised the leather spanker and popped it down on Tracy’s behind. Tracy’s head flew back and her legs kicked up. Then Ginny did it again. It landed on Tracy’s bare bottom with a loud crack! ‘Somebody count,’ said Ginny, and they all did. Ginny’s arm rose and fell, the little spanker smacking Tracy’s bottom cheeks with resounding cracks. Tracy started wriggling, but Ginny said, ‘Oh, no, darlin’—none of that. You keep that cute little fanny right here.’ Ginny was in no hurry though, and it took a few minutes for her to dish out all 30 smacks. By that time little Tracy was writhing and yelping and her legs were kicking like a swimmer’s. It turned out her behind was cherry red when it was all done, too. It looked like a pretty thorough spanking to all of us. It was quite a sight because Tracy was so slight and Ginny was so tall and well built. She just totally dominated the smaller girl, and it did almost look like a stern momma dishing out a sound spanking to a naughty daughter.

“When it was over Tracy got up and rubbed her bottom, oblivious to the fact that she was standing there nude. Then she recovered her wits and quickly got into her clothes. The last one was a strapping, and I forget who got it, but again Ginny really knew how to dish it out and that girl was sporting a butt that had been well leathered by the time it was over.”
“Whew,” said Joyce. “That is some story. I’ll have to think about your paddling. But don’t think you’re off the hook, young lady.” Joyce wagged a finger at her. Then she saw the clock and froze. “Oh my God!”
Gwen looked at her, puzzled. “What is it?”
“It’s the time! I had no idea. I was supposed to meet Brad. He’s waiting for me. We have a date. I’m not even dressed.” This was bad. One thing Brad hated was her being late. He’d told her so on more than one occasion. She calculated the time. She’d be forty five minutes late at best even if she rushed. “Look, I have to go. We’ll take this up later.”
Gwen said, “Ok. Can I help?”
Joyce’s eye fell on the leather spanker. “Can I borrow this?” “Sure,” said Gwen, “but how will that help?”
Joyce wasn’t sure either but the vague outline of a plan was forming in her mind. And she had to admit, it was being fueled by the afternoon’s activities. Maybe Brad would be more forgiving if she could convince him she was really, really sorry.




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Published on November 13, 2014 20:43

November 11, 2014

Love Our Lurkers Day

[image error]It's that day again. Like Christmas, Easter and your mother-in-law's annual visit, it comes around every year. It's the day we set aside to honor our lurkers, those hardy souls who visit our blogs like clockwork, checking to see what new delights are posted for their delectication (I just made up a word), but never lodging a comment, always working under cover of darkness, hiding in the shadows, eschewing the light lest they be outed for visiting *gasp!* a blog devoted to (oh, the horror!) spanking. This is your day.

Now to encourage some of you to come forward -- yes, it's all right, come on, I don't bite -- I'll pose a few questions so that I may be better able to serve you.

1.How do you like the pictures? With the profusion of tumblr blogs, illustrating my posted fiction seems like a good idea. What do you think?

2. Period pieces -- in my "writing the spanking scene" posts I dig back into the past for samples of how they did it in great grandpa's day. Do you like those posts?

3. F/M Spanking Sunday. I switch orientations on Sunday for my F/M fans, but what do you think? Too much? Not enough?

4. Do any of you buy my books by linking direct to Amazon through the embedded links in the ebook covers in the right panel. Would links to Amazon UK, DE, CA etc. be helpful? How about to Apple B&N and Kobo and Scribd?

5. How about the stories? Do you like stories with strong plots/characters which may be a bit longer to develop or would you rather dispense with all that and get right to the action?

Finally, this is your day. Say anything you want. For those of you who still just want to lurk, here are some random pictures.
Paula Russell's take on Catherine De Medici

Another Paula. Reminds me I have to order a turkey for Thanksgiving.

The late great Ed Lee.

I love this artist. Who is he?
Hans Braun. One of his best.
I so wanted to use this as a cover for LaForge but the Amazon censors weren't buying it.
Finally for F/M fans. The great Julia Jamison.







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Published on November 11, 2014 08:21

November 9, 2014

F/M Sunday Part 2 -- Aunt Carol, the conclusion



Yes, this one was a two parter, so this Sunday there's a bonus.
 Summer with Aunt Carol Part 3

I awoke the next morning alone in my bed. The clock said 6:48, and I could hear Aunt Carol milling around getting ready for class. In my clouded awareness, I could feel the burning in my backside, as the memory of the previous night trickled into my consciousness. A few minutes later my door opened and I watched through sleepy eyes as Aunt Carol approached me. I turned toward her as she sat on the edge of the bed. As I looked up at her she stroked my hair and said, "Don't get up, I just wanted to check in with you to see if you were OK. I'm going to work now, but you can sleep a bit more. There is not much to do this morning. You are probably still tired from our ordeal last night...I know I'd sleep in if I could." She paused looking down lovingly at me. "I want to let last night speak for itself, OK?" I looked up with what must have been a blank, groggy expression. " I won't mention it again," she said, "But be sure that I'll give you a dose of the same if we have any more trouble. Understand?"












"Yes Aunt Carol," I replied. " Still pals?" she asked with a smile. "Yeah," I said groggily. "Good," she said as she kissed me on the head. "I'll see you around noon." She walked out of the room and I slipped off to sleep.

Several weeks went by and we both acted as if nothing had happened. I thought often of that night, the embarrassment, the contact, of being overpowered both emotionally and physically. In fact, not an hour went by where the scene of Aunt Carol's stern glare and her strong hand slapping my bare bottom did not occur to me. The odd thing was that the embarrassment and shame I felt at the time was replaced by a feeling of warmth and contentment when I thought of her. The experience of vulnerability, exposure, and vigorous punishment actually made the bond between us stronger. No one in my life had ever cared enough about me to get that emotional over anything I did. My parents certainly did not. But what was more important was the trust that was built between us. After my first spanking, I knew that our relationship was strong enough to sustain conflict. I also knew that Aunt Carol was capable of using her "parental" power in a fair and responsible way. This made it all that much easier to trust her, and know that if I made mistakes she would still love me, and that forgiveness would come as swiftly as the punishment.
It was early July, about 4 weeks after I had arrived when Aunt Carol came home a little early from school. I was just finishing up weeding the garden. When I came into the house she had already changed into her jeans. She looked a little pale and agitated, and I asked if she was OK. "Its just politics at the school," she told me. "I shouldn't let it bother me, because I know it will just blow over. But sometimes I just can't take the petty crap there." "Is there something I can do to help?" I asked. "Actually yes," she said in a flustered tone. "I was supposed to ship out the small figurines to the Edgewood Potter in Maine, and they still need to be packed. I was going to do it this afternoon, but I just can't deal with it today. If you want, you can pack up the ones on the second and third shelves...I think there are about 35...I'll call UPS tomorrow."
"I'd be glad to do it," I said. "Do you want me to pack them like the ones we did last week?" "That would be a great help, just be sure to over-box them. You know how rough UPS is! And thanks," she said as she brushed past me. As she left the house and went down the porch steps, she shouted back to me, "I've got to get out of here for a while, I'll be walking down stream. Don't come looking for me...I need to be alone."
I grabbed a glass of iced tea, gulped it down and headed for the barn. It was dusty in there, and I had to clean off all of the figurines before packing them up. It took me about 30 minutes to get them clean when I realized that I was going to run out of the bubble packing material. After looking all over the barn for more, I stood there wondering what to do...whether to just call it quits or go find Aunt Carol and ask her if there was more packing. I had really wound myself up to get the job done, so I figured I'd find her and just ask her quickly about what I should do and come back and finish up.
I headed out of the barn and across the meadow to the edge of the stream, and quickly walked along the edge toward the pond. As I came around a bend in the river, I looked up and was frozen still by the image before me. About 30 yards ahead of me I saw Aunt Carol wading into the water where the stream met the pond. What stunned me most was that she was completely naked. Almost by instinct, I quickly dashed into the brush hoping not to be seen by her while I watched her move in the water almost to knee height.
Her body was absolutely spectacular. I could see that her hair was tied into a pony tail that ran down to the middle of her shoulder blades. The contrast between the bronze skin of her legs and arms was highlighted by the delicate paleness of her slender back and the full, ovals of her bottom. The line of her silhouette moved gracefully from her relatively broad shoulders, slimming to her waist, and broadening again to her solid hips. Her 43 years were only betrayed by the slightest addition to the area of her outer thighs. The effect created a symmetry that perfectly balanced the width of her strong shoulders, and added to her stately appearance.
As she splashed in the water, she turned and faced the direction where I was hiding in the bushes. Her large alabaster breasts swayed gently as she moved. They were beautifully full and round, and sagged just a bit to give them a slightly pendulous appearance. Each soft mound was topped with a brownish aureole that was about the size of a silver dollar. While I was several dozen yards away, I thought that I could occasionally make out the outline of an erect nipple as she moved around trying to get used to the cool water. Her full thighs came together at a thick, dark patch of hair that stood out among the paleness of her creamy stomach and thighs. I was crouching there trying to conceal myself, when she suddenly jumped into the water, and disappeared beneath the surface of the pond.
I realized then that there was a tightness in my jeans as my erection strained against the taught fabric. I also noticed that I had barely been breathing during the few minutes I had been watching her. Just as I gasped a deep breath, Aunt Carol sprung up from the water sucking in her own breath, and gently began floating on her back. I stayed and watched as she splashed around, apparently enjoying herself. After about ten minutes she moved toward the shore and slowly climbed out of the water. I then saw her entire statuesque form for the first time. Her skin glistened in the sun, as she stood basking in the glow of the warm rays. I stayed, transfixed by the grace and beauty of her bare body. I watched for just a moment more while she spread out her sweatshirt and laid down in the sun. When the coast looked clear, I turned, and quickly dashed back to the barn. I couldn't get the image of Aunt Carol's body out of my head as I ran back along the water's edge and across the meadow.
As I entered the barn, not twenty minutes since I had left, I saw an unopened carton of the bubble pack I had been needing. "If it had teeth it would have bitten me," I thought to myself. With the all the materials I needed on hand, it took another 30 minutes to pack up the figurines. I did a good job on the packing and was confident that they would make the bumpy truck ride to the Maine shore. After closing up the barn I went into the house and up to my room. My erection never fully went down since my time at the pond, so I masturbated to relive the tension while imagining Aunt Carol's naked body in the water. Soon after the waves of my orgasm subsided, I drifted off to sleep.
When I woke it was late afternoon. I stumbled downstairs, only to find the kitchen empty. I looked outside and saw the back end of the pickup poking out from behind the side of the barn. I walked into the TV room, then out to the porch and found them both empty. Down the hall I could hear a rustling of papers coming from the study. When I entered the doorway, I saw Aunt Carol sitting in a Victorian chair with her feet up on the ottoman reading a journal of some sort. The blinds were drawn to keep the hot rays of the afternoon sun out of the room. The blinds were a rose color, and not entirely opaque. When the bright sunlight hit in the afternoon, it cast a soft pinkish hue which blanketed the room.
Aunt Carol was wearing a cotton sundress and her hair was wet, apparently from a recent shower. I was surprised that I had not been awakened by the noise from the shower running. "Hi," I said. Aunt Carol looked up from her magazine. Her blue eyes looked over her reading glasses which balanced half way down her nose. She folded the magazine in her lap and took the glasses off. "I thought you would never wake up," she said a little sarcastically. "Yeah," I responded, still feeling a little groggy. "I'm glad you came in. I wanted to talk to you anyway. Thanks for packing up the order for Maine. It looks like a you did a great job. I called UPS they'll be by later." "No problem," I said. "It actually did not take me very long to do, and I was glad to do it. Are you feeling any better than when you were when you came home from work?"
She paused for a moment. I had been rubbing my eyes, and when I looked up, her face took on an annoyed expression. "I was beginning to feel relaxed on my walk and I decided to take a swim. The water was nice and warm, and I swam for a while. It was really great until I got out of the water and realized I was on stage." It took a moment for the last part of what she said to sink in, but then I realized that I had been caught. My body immediately tensed up. As innocently as I could, I responded "What do you mean- on stage?" Suddenly her face flashed in anger and her eyes were like lasers. "Don't give me that crap," she said. "Did you think I couldn't see you hiding in the brush? For Christ's sake look at that shirt! Nothing in nature is that color." I looked down to see the shirt I had been wearing all day. It was a bright- almost electric cobalt blue. She was right. I must have stood out like a beacon against the sea of green vegetation. She continued angrily, now leaning forward in her chair, "So do I have to explain it to you? Or do you get it that purposely invading someone's private time and spying on them is a breach of trust. Do you get that?"
Once again I had screwed up, and once again I felt like trash. I looked down at my feet, hoping this would all go away. Suddenly, Aunt Carol rose from her chair and crossed the room. Grabbing me by the chin she forced me to look at her. "Look at me when I talk to you young man," she said in a determined tone. "We had a deal. The deal was that I was going to take some alone time. You agreed to give me some privacy. Isn't that right?" I tried to nod, but her grip on my chin did not allow much movement. "OK, she added. " So then you disregard our agreement and spy on me. What happens when you break a deal in this house?" Here eyes were burning into my soul. "I get punished," I said softly. "Yes you do," she quipped. And you have earned another all-expense-paid trip over my knee!"

Tears were beginning to well up in my eyes and my voice was choking up. "I'm sorry Aunt Carol," I managed to choke out. "I only went down to ask you a question about...." She cut me off angrily. "No excuses! That will only make your punishment worse." When I appeared to resign myself to my fate for the evening, she let go of my chin and stepped away from me. "Well I think the punishment should fit the crime," she said looking down at me. "Take all of your clothes off." "All of them?" I asked tentatively. "Yes," she said sternly. "I think you should see what it feels like to be exposed without your consent. Your spanking will be given entirely on your bare bottom. And the rest of your body will also be nude as well. We'll see if you like being leered at. And don't keep me waiting or you will pay dearly!" I took off my sandals, and was pulling off my shirt when Aunt Carol left the room saying, "When I come back here I want to see you fully nude, and standing in the corner. God help you if you don't do it." She was gone about four or five minutes and when she returned, I had done exactly as I was told and was in position. As she entered the room she crossed behind. I heard her moving around behind me and something sliding on the floor. Then it was quiet. A moment later her voice broke the strained silence that was between us. "O.K. young man turn around."

As I turned, I saw her sitting in an armless chair near the center of the room. I had my hands cupped modestly over my private areas, but she quickly told me to put my hands at my sides. "Come over here," she said sharply. "No, in fact...walk around for me. I want to glare at you for a while." I walked in circles in front of her. "It doesn't feel so good to be stared at when you are vulnerable, does it?" she asked. "No ma'am," I responded.

For the next five minutes or so she had me move in the room, bend and pose in different positions while she continued to scold and humiliate me. When she thought that I had had enough, she told me to stand beside her. The next thing I knew, she grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me across her broad lap. As she positioned me for my spanking, she chided me, "You are going to be one sorry young man when I'm through with you! This is one spanking you will remember for a very long time!." When she stopped adjusting my position, I was situated with my toes just barely on the ground. My body was bent into a nearly perfect arc. My hands were on the floor supporting the weight of my upper body while the compact globes of my vulnerable bottom was at the highest point. Before I could prepare myself I felt the first hard slap of her firm hand connecting with my left cheek. While the heat spread across the expanse of my skin, she spanked the same area on the right side. I winced with the shock of the sharp slapping, and soon she was beating a slow deliberate cadence on my tender, upturned bottom. The blows were coming about one per second, and she did not seem to be hitting me as hard as she did the last time. The tempo and intensity varied while she talked to me, emphasizing her points with sharper faster swats. "I hope this will get through to you that you do not spy on people," she said in a breathy, excited tone. Slap! Slap! Slap! "You will learn to respect the privacy of others."Slap! Slap! Slap! "Won't you!"

I tried to answer but my throat was tight, and I was alternately choking back tears letting out little yelps. She kept this up for a full five minutes. Occasionally, she would stop to grab my hair, turn my head so I could just see her with my peripheral vision, and lecture me on how I would develop character while I was in her house, or she would beat my ass until it was raw. Just as I thought I could not take any more, she suddenly let me up.
"Stand up right now," she commanded. "Now get over to that corner." I stood and quickly complied with her demand when she stopped me. "Wait," she said, as she grabbed me by the upper arm. "Come with me. I have a much more suitable place for you." With that she dragged me down the hall and out the front door into the porch. She then positioned me in the corner facing the house with my cherry red butt on display. "You're not going to leave me out here are you?" I asked nervously. " Not a word out of you or your ass will be so sore you'll wish you'd died. And don't move." She barked this warning with an intensity that made it clear that she was not kidding. She turned and went into the house. My heart sank as the screen door slammed.

So there I was. Naked, sniffling, spanked, and hoping like hell that no one came to visit. It was dusk and the last glow of pink light was glimmering over the trees to the West. So I stood...and stood...for what seemed like forever. When it was just about dark, I heard a rumble on the long driveway. Oh God, no, I thought....UPS! The truck came closer, bumping along, and scratching through the gravel and apparently came to a stop in front of the barn. I heard footsteps, then the cargo door to the truck open, more footsteps and a thump. The driver had loaded the package. When the cargo door came down, I thought I was home free. But then I heard footsteps as the driver approached the porch. I followed the sound as it came up the steps behind me and up onto the porch. It was almost dark now and Aunt Carol had not turned the porch light on yet. There was also the porch swing which was between where I was standing, face pressed to the side of the house, and where the UPS driver was standing. I hoped that if I stood still and was quiet, I could hide in the shadows, and the driver would not see me. Then the doorbell rang and I heard Aunt Carol coming to answer the door. My whole body was tense and I could feel my heart pounding. I was barely breathing when the front door opened and the porch light came on flooding the scene with a luminance that seemed brighter than it was because my eyes were adjusted to the darkness. As my eyesight adjusted to the light, I could see that I was still in the shadows of the porch swing.
Aunt Carol came out onto the porch to talk to the Driver. "Hi. Thanks for coming out so late," I heard my Aunt say. "No problem. Was it just the one big carton?" I heard a female voice reply. She was the young female driver who came on Thursdays and Fridays. If my memory served my she was in her late 20's, long hair and fairly short... under 5'5". She had a solid but feminine build, ample hips and a soft, Reubenesque silhouette. They made small talk for a few moments when suddenly, the driver stopped speaking in mid sentence. Then silence....
After what seemed like an eternity, (but what was probably only five seconds) the driver started giggling. "What is going on here?" she asked trying to hold back a laugh. "Oh," replied Aunt Carol, "That's my nephew. He seems to have trouble respecting other people's privacy. I was just teaching him a lesson." "I guess so!" the driver replied in an amused tone. "But what better way to teach someone about privacy, than for them to feel theirs being compromised?" the driver added. "And something a bit more striking to bring the lesson home," Aunt Carol said. "Well it looks like you are doing quite the job on that score," the driver quipped in that same bemused tone. "Well I'm not quite through with him this evening, but it's getting late and you need to be on your way. It's awfully nice of you to make it out here so late," Aunt Carol replied. "Well then, I'll let you get back to it. See you." The driver then skipped down the porch steps and into the truck. As she drove away, the headlights panned across the front of the house, illuminating everything on the porch.
I was mortified. The public humiliation was too much, and I was on the verge of tears. Aunt Carol grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the house. Once inside she took me down the hall, up the stairs and into her bedroom. There she told me to wait in the corner much as I had done in her study earlier that afternoon. She left me there and returned about five minutes later. She told me to turn around.
Aunt Carol had a Victorian 4-poster bed made of dark cherrywood. On the floor next to the bed was a small footstool made of the same wood, with a tapestry cushion on the top. She told me to go to the footstool and open the top up. I did as I was told, and found a thick leather belt inside. When I looked back up at her I realized she had changed into a sheer nightgown. She told me to hand the belt to her. She took the belt into her hand, uncoiled it, doubled it, and grabbed it where the two ends met. Doubled over like that, the belt was about 20" long, 3" wide, and looked terrifying. Aunt Carol swung it through the air and it made whooshing sound. Then she smacked it on the bed spread and it landed with a deep thump. My heart was pounding again, and I knew I was in trouble.
"I think this will get the point across to you," she said. "This oiled leather is devastatingly effective." She walked over to me and grabbed me by the chin again and made me look deeply into her eyes. "I am going to give you 12 very hard strokes. It may be the most painful experience of your life. But it will change the way you think about obeying me. I guarantee it." With that, she told me to kneel on the stool and bend over the bed. In this position, my torso was resting on the mattress, my arms were stretched straight out, and my bottom was perfectly presented for its punishment.

Aunt carol came behind me to the left, so she could use her right arm to swing. "You must remember to breathe deeply," she said. "If you don't the pain will be much worse, and you might pass out." Then I heard that deep whooshing again but this time it was followed by a loud “crack!” as the leather bit deeply into the tender flesh of my ass. The first blow landed directly over the crown of both cheeks, and the shock from both the force of the blow and the searing pain shocked me so much I shouted out in pain. I immediately began bargaining. "Please Aunt Carol! Please! I'll be good," I gasped, trying to catch my breath.
"Yes, yes you will be good from now on. You'll be very good," she said smugly. Whoosh, Crack! "Ahh! Oh God Aunt Carol, you're killing me!" I cried. The second cut of the belt also landed across both cheeks but was higher than the first stroke. It landed with an equal force. The pain was so intense that I thought I would pass out and I reflexively jumped out of position so I was kneeling up on the footstool. Aunt Carol immediately pushed me back in place. "Don't you dare move from that position again or I will give you 24 strokes. Do you understand me young man?" "Yes Aunt Carol," I said.
The beating continued with strokes coming about every minute or minute and a half. I cried out with every bite of that wicked leather belt. By the fourth stroke my eyes spilled over with tears and I began sobbing steadily. After the sixth stroke, she paused to examine my punished ass. "This is just right," she said. "I wish you could see it. There is still a beautiful blanket of pink everywhere from the spanking before," she said as she stroked my bottom. "The belt is leaving very nice striped welts. They are the color ripe strawberries. But you know we are not done," she added sternly.
She then stood and went back to her position. The next four swipes of the belt were as hard as the first, but this time she aimed so that just the last three or four inches of the belt would land in a pre-determined place. The effect was that the force from the swing would be concentrated in a small area. The places where the belt "licked" the skin was immediately set on fire. Within a minute or so the small abused patch would swell up into a bright red welt. By this time, I was sobbing uncontrollably. I can't remember what I was saying, but I was pleading for leniency...pleas that fell on deaf ears.
Aunt Carol came around the front of the bed And made me look at her. She brushed the tears from my eyes. "We're almost done. Just two more," she said. "Please Aunt Carol, I can't take any more," I was able to choke out through my tears. "Yes you can, little one," she added. "And you will take the last of your punishment like a good boy. These last two will be given quickly and very hard. Then it we'll be done." True to her word, the last two strokes were harder than I believed possible. She made little grunting noises when swinging like a tennis player serving. Then it was over.
Aunt Carol told me to stay in place, and to keep my eyes closed. She left the room while I sobbed quietly and tried regain some measure of composure. When she returned I heard her walking around me and some clicking and mechanical noises. About five minutes later she told me to sit up and open my eyes. By this time, my back and shoulders were sore from being bent over for so long and the pain in my back coursed through me as I straightened up. As I opened my eyes, I could make out a set of six Polaroids on the bed. They were photos of me just taken in all my glory, with the reddest, most inflamed bottom, and a tear streaked face.

"Just a few shots so you can remember what happens to little sneaks," Aunt Carol said. "Maybe I can put them in a photo album as a reminder," she added with a grin." "And now that you've paid the price for your errant ways, you may as well get a good look at what you so desperately wanted to see in the first place...this time with my permission." Then she stepped back and turned away from me. After undoing the buttons of her night gown, she let the garment fall down off of her shoulders and rest in a puddle at her feet. As she turned around, I took in her naked form through my tear filled eyes. Suddenly it all seemed worthwhile.
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Published on November 09, 2014 09:13

November 8, 2014

F/M Spanking Sunday -- Aunt Carol by beatendaily65



In keeping with my usual practice I present for your Sunday reading pleasure another F/M tale. This one is about a young lad and his discipline minded aunt. The author is beatendaily65 an author I had not heard of before nor seen since, but this story is a cut above the usual fare and he should contact me if he is still out there somewhere.
AUNT CAROL 


Part 1
When I was 15 my family sent me to live with my Aunt for the summer. I guess we were upper-middle class, with my father climbing the ladder of success. My dad had been busy building a new company in France and he thought it was a good opportunity for he and my mother to spend some time alone there while he was working. They also decided it would be a good time for me to get out of the burbs and into the country. I’d be away alone for the first time in my life. Not that it mattered much; my father spent almost all of his time working, and my mother was always experimenting with the “miracle diet of the month” and various medications to control her chronic depression. I practically raised myself without either of them, escaping into books and music.
I was basically a good kid...a bit introverted, thoughtful, honest, polite, and sensitive. Physically, I was small boned, and on the short side for my age. Never having had a role model to emulate, I had no experience with sports. So my body, while well proportioned, had a subtly frail appearance. Even though it would be late June when I arrived at Aunt Carol’s, my pale skin would illustrate the fact that I spent most of my time indoors.
After being sure I had everything packed, I loaded my stuff into the Oldsmobile sedan and climbed into the back seat for the long ride to Amberton, NH. The ride from our home in Arlington, MA would take about three and a half hours. I knew there would be no conversation of any substance; just long periods of silence punctuated by the occasional burst of country music when my father found a clear station on the Olds’ lousy radio. I braced myself for the drive.
I watched the scenery moving by the window, changing from big concrete office buildings to residential communities, and as the Boston skyline disappeared in the rear view mirror, the view became a collage of green.
I began thinking of Aunt Carol as we drove. Well, to be clear, she was not really my aunt. She and my mother had gone to Vassar together years ago, and my mom had always stayed in touch. After college, my mother and father got married, and Carol joined the Peace Corps., working to develop irrigation systems in Nigeria. It was apparently a pretty wild time, and she often became the center of negotiations with several factions within the country. All the major politicians there knew her by name. While in Africa, she met a British man named Ian Spence. They married shortly after and returning to live in the US when their stay in the Corps. was up. They settled in Northern NH, and bought a pretty little farm. After only a few years Ian developed liver cancer. Being from tough stock and never having been sick in his life, he was not in the habit of regular medical check-ups. The Cancer was pretty well established by the time he began feeling ill. Six months after the diagnosis, he was dead. At 32 Aunt Carol was widowed, alone in NH on her farm. The only fortunate thing was that she and Ian had purchased a fairly large life insurance policy which left her debt free, and with the equivalent of 5 or 6 years worth of income in her savings account. A good situation...but a horrible price to pay for it.
Aunt Carol never married again. I guess she threw her self into her work to deal with the grief of her loss. She became a part-time lecturer in the Political Science Dept. at Green Valley College and developed a sculpture and pottery business. Her barn was converted into a studio, and she spent hours refining her skill as a sculptress. Her work centered on techniques she observed in Africa. The little African style figurines and simple pottery she made became somewhat chic in the better shops in the region, and she soon had a cult following. Between teaching and sculpting, she earned a more than enough to live, and with some shrewd investing of the insurance money, she would be sure of financial security for the rest of her life.
Over the years Aunt Carol would come over for anniversaries, birthdays, and various holidays. We spent one Christmas at her house, but after driving through the snow for hours on the trip home, my father swore never to go there in the winter again. I enjoyed seeing Aunt Carol. She was the one adult that actually spoke to me as a human being. She always made a point of asking me real questions and worked to include me in conversations with the other adults. Although she had not played a very large part in my life, I always felt a special affection for her, and it seemed mutual.
Something had happened in the later years though. I don’t think it was any one thing, but we didn’t see Aunt Carol so much any more. I think she and my mom just grew apart. She had not seen me since I was 12 or 13. So when my parents suddenly told me I would be spending two and a half months with Aunt Carol, I was both surprised and elated.
As we pulled onto the road that led to the farm, I was struck by how green and lush the landscape was. Her house was almost as I had remembered; a simple white New England style farmhouse, with big bay windows, stained glass in the second floor, a barn, and the perfunctory half imploded equipment shed (it seemed, at least to my 16 y.o. mind, that every farm had at least one dilapidated shed that looked like it was about to fall down). The landscape trailed down across a green meadow to a stream which was too large to be called a brook, but too small to be called a river. The edges of the property lay somewhere in the areas of forest that flanked the house to the East, and just beyond the stream to the South.
We got out of the car and approached the house when Aunt Carol appeared through the door. She was wearing a pair of denim bib overalls, sneakers and a T-Shirt. Her hair was a thick mass of brown waves that were striped with gray as they cascaded aver her shoulder blades. Her face was stretched into a big grin that showed two rows of perfectly formed white teeth behind her full lips. It was only after she hugged my mother and turned to me that I remembered how wonderful her eyes were. They were a gray blue that could pierce right through your soul. The skin of her face was smooth and clear with just a hint of her 43 years showing in the fine lines of her forehead and at the corners of her eyes. When she hugged me I realized that I had grown some since I saw her last, but I still needed to grow some more to catch up to her 5'10" stature. As we embraced I melted into her soft body, her full breasts, and her firm grasp. Although I did not know it as such at the time, my little body was starved for that type of heartfelt affection that I never got at home.
The greetings were rushed because my father wanted to get back home to get a good night’s sleep before his early morning flight. So almost as soon as we arrived, my stuff was unloaded and I watched the back end of the big Olds winding away from us down the driveway. Aunt Carol helped me get my stuff into the house and showed my upstairs to my room. We then went down to the kitchen and she offered me some iced tea. I felt a bit nervous at first, but Aunt Carol’s warm demeanor soon put me at ease. After the tea was down she said I looked tired, and I was. She suggested I go take a nap before dinner, and we could talk more then.
After dinner we went out onto the porch. The house had one of those porch swings outside and we both settled in, me with some lemonade and she with a beer. We chatted for a while and finally she stood and walked to the edge of the porch facing me while leaning on the railing. “I have to be really honest with you,” she said looking away. “And I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but I have mixed feelings about having you here.” I was silent. All that could be heard were the crickets and an occasional whisper of the light breeze in the trees. “It is not that I don’t like you. I like you very, very much. In fact I think of you as my real nephew. I always used to look forward to talking to you during the holidays we spent together.” I stared a blank stare as she continued. “Its just that....well, you know I’ve been living here a really long time alone, and I am used to being here alone. I am accustomed things being a certain way in my home. Do you know what I mean?” She paused still looking away. “When your mother called and asked if you could stay with me, I was hesitant to say yes. Then I remembered how much I enjoyed spending time with you, and I relented. Besides, your parents need this time together...probably more than you know.” She shifted on her feet, still looking off at some unknown object in the meadow. “It is important for you to know that I am glad that you are here. I am looking forward to becoming good friends this summer. But it is also important for you to realize that I am not your parent. There are things I expect of you while you are here. I am not going to ask much of you, but those things I request, I expect to be done.”
She turned to me for the first time in her monologue and looked at me straight in the eye. The expression I saw on her face was one that I had not seen before. It was the face not of the Aunt Carol I knew, but of the woman who was strong enough to negotiate with the Nigerian Government, to survive the loss of her husband and go on. It was the face of a woman who was focused, clear and determined. “Is it a deal?”
I paused for a moment, transfixed by her intense glance. “Aunt Carol,” I said, “I’m glad that you allowed me to come out here to stay with you. I’ll do whatever I can to be a good guest, and not be any trouble around here.” “OK then. It’s a deal,” she said as she approached me and took my hand in hers to shake on it. It was then that I noticed how big and firm her hands were. They were working hands. Hands callused from years of pottery work and sculpting. I looked up as we shook hands and saw that the familiar Aunt Carol had returned again and was smiling warmly down at me. She spent about an hour explaining the deal to me and when we were both tired, we turned in for the night.
I awoke in my room to the bright sunlight streaming into the window. The Farmhouse was situated with southern exposure, which gave my small room bright light all day long. As my head began to clear, I was recalling details of the “deal” Aunt Carol and I made. It was simple. She taught at the college in the morning. When she left for work, she would leave a list of chores for me to do while she was away. I was to do them in the morning and then I was free to do whatever I wanted for the rest of the day. I was also expected to be at dinner on time at 6 PM sharp. She was very specific about not wanting to come looking for me. She told me that the most important thing for her was honesty, and that she needed to know that she could trust me. Simple enough I thought, and began my Summer with Aunt Carol.

Part 2
The first few weeks were like a storybook. Aunt Carol was usually gone by 7 am, and she would leave a list of my chores to be done that day on the table before she left. I would rise in the morning, have a quick breakfast, and knock off whatever chores were assigned. It was usually an easy task like sweeping out the barn, cleaning some old boxes out of the attic, or some simple landscaping. Since the weather had been so beautiful, I was actually enjoying the work and being outside in the mornings. I would generally be done with chores by 11 or so, and have a shower before Aunt Carol Arrived home just after noon. We’d have a leisurely lunch and then spend the rest of the day together. Sometimes we would go out shopping, but mostly we went down stream where the lake was and go swimming. Other days we’d just go on these long walks and talk about life, work, girls, and just about anything else that came up. Sometimes she would do her pottery. I’d sit and watch as the wheel spun, her strong, graceful hands molding, stretching, and shaping the moist, cool clay. She would tell me stories about her time spent in Nigeria, the crazy things that she and my mother did in college together, what it was like to fall in love, have a husband, and survive as a widow.
During these weeks I began to feel a closeness and safety with Aunt Carol in a way that I had never felt with another human being. I began to come out of my shell, taking the risk to share my fears, hopes, dreams and secrets with her. And like the clay on the potting wheel, she was mentoring, molding and guiding my growth and maturity. We spent almost every afternoon together.
One morning, I got up a little late. It was raining for the first time since I had arrived, and I realized that I had been relying on the sun to get me up each day. Since it was raining, Aunt Carol asked me to work in the barn. There were apparently some old metal and wood building materials that had been lying around since she bought the place. She wanted it sorted near the rear entrance to the barn so that the scrap yard could pick it up on Saturday. She also noted that they would be piled near where her pottery was stored, and to be very, very careful. She generally kept a small inventory of all of her figurines and pottery to allow her to respond quickly when orders came in. The supply represented about 6 weeks of work, and was kept on five shelves near the back door for easy loading into her little pick-up truck.
When I got into the barn, I turned the lights on and made my way over to the rusted pile of old metal and wood. It sure was a mess, and by this time it was almost 10 am ...I did not have much time to get the job done. Donning leather work gloves, I quickly began grabbing the scraps, and separating the metalwork from the wood. I made two piles and quickly made a major dent in the huge mass of junk. After about an hour of running back and forth between the various piles, I began to get tired and a bit sloppy. I started walking part way to the appropriate pile, and tossing the scraps across the barn the rest of the way. I was actually having fun playing “target practice.” This went on for a few minutes, when all of a sudden, a piece of scrap metal that I had just thrown, ricocheted off the crest of the scrap heap like a stone skipping on the surface of a calm pond. Thinking back, the Gods must have warped the laws of physics that morning, because the piece of metal I had thrown took a 45 degree turn to the left as it skimmed the top of the pile. I watched with horror as the scrap traveled clear across the top shelf of Aunt Carol’s storage area, neatly clearing off all of the figurines and a few bowls. My heart sank as I watched each piece crash to the floor and shatter into a multitude of colorful shards.
I walked over, got on my knees and surveyed the damage. Every piece of work that had been resting on the top shelf was destroyed...about one fifth of the total inventory. Well, I panicked and quickly swept up the debris, wrapped it and put it in the trash. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Aunt Carol’s face when she found out about the accident. Using every ounce of my 16 y.o. resources (which was not much to rely on) I figured out what I would do. I finished sorting the rest of the scrap...much more carefully this time. Then, I immediately took the remaining items in the inventory, and distributed them throughout all five shelves. The result was that all of the space had been used just as before the accident had occurred, but the items just had more space around them. “She’ll never notice,” I thought to myself, although deep inside I really didn’t believe it.
Aunt Carol returned about 15 minutes after I finished cleaning up. When I saw her the rush of guilt I felt was almost unbearable. She noticed and asked if I was OK. I told her I was, but that I had been feeling a bit under the weather...my stomach to be precise. It was a bit of a fib, but in actuality, I had no stomach for lying, and I did feel the weight of the guilt in my gut. She asked if I had done my chores. When I told her I had, she suggested I go take a nap, and that maybe I’d feel better. Just to get out of the room I took her up on the offer. After tossing around on the bed for an hour or so, I slipped into a deep sleep listening to the rain tapping on the window sill.
I awoke to the view of the setting Sun and some residual clouds that were clearing as the storm moved on. A familiar aroma of chicken soup was wafting up the stairs from the kitchen. I was feeling pretty grubby from all the dust in the barn so I thought I’d have a quick shower. The hot water felt good, and cleared my head. Unfortunately, as my head cleared I remembered the disaster in the barn, and felt that awful feeling of guilt in the pit of my stomach. Afterward, I dressed in a pair of white briefs, shorts, a polo shirt, and my sandals.
I went downstairs into the kitchen to find Aunt Carol stirring the pot with a large wooden spoon. When she heard me enter she turned around, smiling. “Feeling better?” she asked. “A little, I guess,” I replied tentatively. “Well I’ve made my famous chicken soup just for you. It always makes me feel better when I’m under the weather,” she added brightly. I smiled a half-hearted smile and said “Thanks.” I sat down at the kitchen table. Aunt Carol came around behind me and began rubbing my shoulders and the back of my head. Her hands felt good as they soothed the tension in my body. “Poor baby,” she said, “Let Aunt Carol take care of you.” She kissed me on the top of the head.
I felt like a piece of garbage. Here I was having just wrecked her inventory and she didn’t even know. Then I lied to her about feeling sick. So what does she do? She goes through all of the trouble to make me a special soup to help me feel better. I had never felt so ashamed and guilty in my life.
Before I knew it she was serving up the soup. It tasted great, and actually did make me feel better. After dinner, I usually do the dishes, but not tonight. Aunt Carol wouldn’t hear of it. While you are sick, I’m going to take care of this,” she said, “Why don’t you just watch some TV.” So I went into the den, turned on the set, and settled into the easy chair, trying to keep from feeling depressed. After about twenty minutes, the sounds of running water in the kitchen stopped, and Aunt Carol appeared in the doorway. It was dark in the den, and the lights from the kitchen gave her form a back-lit effect that allowed me to see only her silhouette in the entrance. “I’m going into town to get some groceries. Is there anything special I can get you?” she asked. “Yeah,” I thought, “You can get me out of this mess.” But I just told her not to worry about me, and that I’d see her when she got back. “OK, I’ll see you in a little while,” she said as she turned and went out of the house.
About ten minutes later, the front door opened again and I heard rushed footsteps coming toward the den. Before I could turn around, Aunt Carol stormed into the room and turned the light on. She then went to the TV and turned it off. When she turned toward me, I was immediately startled by the agitated look on her face. Her usually soft eyes had fire in them. Her normal, graceful gait and movements were replaced by a rigidity that seemed to seize her entire body. Here cheeks were flushed, and her hands were clenched into tight fists. The instant she spoke, I knew I was in trouble. Big trouble.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” she said almost shouting, but obviously struggling to control herself. Her voice was loud, strong and clear, with just hint of sibilance punctuating her syllables. I was struck dumb. I sat there like a deer in a car’s headlights, trying to figure out what to say. Before I could utter a word, she continued. “You don’t have to say a word,” she said angrily, “I know exactly what you did. You were so careless that you destroyed two weeks worth of my hard work and hundreds of dollars in materials. ” She began pacing back and forth as she spoke. “Then you tried to cover it up so I wouldn’t notice.” She paused looking at me with that intense glare. “Do you think I am so stupid that I wouldn’t notice something like this?” she asked. I didn’t think that she was stupid, but I also didn’t think she really expected me to answer, so I just continued to sit there.
Then she looked at me closer. “You’re not really sick, are you?” I tried to respond, ”Well, its that I was feeling so guilty....” She cut me off. “So you lied again! I can’t believe this,” she said pacing more quickly than before. “Here I am with my work trashed, and I’m waiting on the person responsible hand and foot, for nothing!.....” She trailed off to keep herself from swearing. There was a long pause, then she spoke a little more calmly. “I can get over the broken items. Those can be replaced. But to be tricked like this and played for a fool in my own home....”
I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was. That I wanted to tell her but I could not bear to disappoint her. That I respected her more than anyone else in the world. Christ, I thought, I loved her. “Aunt Carol, I can’t tell you how guilty I feel about this whole thing,” I said. But she cut me off. As she swiftly walked past me out of the room, she said, “I don’t want to hear any more of this crap. I’ll deal with you later.” She stormed out of the house. I heard her truck start, the wheels spin on the gravel driveway, and then watched the red tail lights glowing in the darkness as she drove away.
I was lying on my bed when she returned. I heard the front door slam, and I looked over at the digital clock in my room. The big LED numbers read 11:45. I heard rustling in the kitchen, cupboards slamming and then her footsteps as she ascended the long stairway to the second floor and went to her room. A few moments later, she knocked at my door. I was sitting up on the bed with a book in my hand. She opened the door and walked into the room. When she entered, I realized that she had changed into her pajamas. The pj’s were a dark blue satin two piece pants-suit type which were very flattering to her pretty figure.
“I’ve had some time to think and cool off,” she said. “A couple of beers at the Old Forge Tap is always good for that. But I am still plenty angry with you young man.” She paused looking at me. “While I was sitting there in the pub, it occurred to me that as angry as I am, you are probably feeling equally guilty. Why else would you have pulled such a silly stunt? Therefore, I have a solution that will alleviate my anger and purge you of your guilt. You deserve to be punished. And I will punish you tonight.”

“I don’t understand what you mean by punish,” I said meekly.
“For your carelessness and sneaky behavior, I am going to give you a sound, old-fashioned spanking,” she replied. 
I sat bolt-upright. “Are you kidding me?” I said, astonished. “ I’m 16 years old. You can’t spank me. I won’t let you!” 
She looked me square in the eye and in the most calm, deliberate voice she said, “No I am not kidding you. First of all, I don’t care how old you are. Your behavior has earned you this spanking and much more. Second, I am stronger than you are. If I decide to spank you, you won’t have a choice. Third, if you give me any more trouble, I’m going to put your little butt on the 6 am bus back to Boston tomorrow. And I don’t care if your parents have to charter the Concorde to get back to you. Is that clear?”
I sat there again not knowing what to say. She continued “I am going to be back here in 15 minutes. And you will take your spanking and do exactly as I say. Do you understand me young man?” All I could do was nod as she left the room. I couldn’t believe what I had heard. I had never been spanked before. Would it hurt? How would she do it? I was more nervous than I could ever remember. “How did I get myself into this mess?” I thought.
That was the longest fifteen minutes in history. But soon, my door swung open and Aunt Carol bounded into the room carrying a wooden ladder-back chair. “OK mister,” she said, “On your feet. NOW!” The tone of her voice startled me and I jumped up. She was serious! She put the chair down, sat on it, and told me to stand in front of her. I stood there as she stared at me. “The shorts won’t do. Take them down,” she said sternly. My embarrassment must have shown on my face and I paused for just a moment. “Did you hear me? I said NOW young man!” And she motioned as if to approach me. I immediately realized that my pants were going to come down whether I did it or not. So I started fumbling with the snap on my shorts. Seeing this, she settled back into the chair.

When my shorts were down around my ankles, she motioned me closer. I was then standing almost touching her knees when she began lecturing me on responsibility, honesty, and the value of keeping a promise. Once when I looked away, she raised her voice, and grabbed me by the chin. “You look at me when I am talking to you!” she said. She finished by telling me how disappointed she was in me, how I had let her down, and that she did not know if things would ever be the same between us. My face was all red from embarrassment and remorse. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” she asked.
“I’m really sorry all of this happened. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I never meant to hurt you and I under stand that you need to punish me. I deserve it,” I stammered in the softest most sincere tone I could muster. At this point I was heartbroken. All I wanted to do was please this woman and make her know how sorry I was.
“Very well then come here,” she said as she pulled me across her lap. As I bent over the room turned upside down. I was positioned with my feet barely touching the floor and my face just inches from the floor on the other side. Aunt Carol moved me around until my bottom was raised to just the right height and the crest was presented like two perfect ovals. I could feel the warmth of her sturdy, thighs through the thin silky material as her lap supported my slim frame. Aunt Carol then pulled my briefs up by the waistband to make sure the fabric was taught and would provide minimal protection to my vulnerable fanny.

Her strong right hand landed on the crown of my left cheek with a sharp “Slap!” A gasp involuntarily escaped my lips more out of surprise than out of pain. She was really going to let me have it. The following blows came slowly, maybe one slap per second. As she continued I could hear her muttering things to herself. She was getting wound up just thinking about what had happened. Her pace increased and she began scolding me and punctuating her points with sharp slaps. “You will never,” SLAP “ever,” SLAP “mislead me again!” Do you under stand me?!?” SLAP “Do,” SLAP “You?”
After a bout five minutes of this, I was yelping with genuine response to the impact of her strong hand. The heat in bottom was rising with each blow and I began kicking my legs and pleading. “Please Auntie,” I shouted. Please stop! I’m sorry. It hurts so much! Please!” She just kept on raining spanks to my cotton clad bottom, and I kicked so hard the shorts that had been around my ankles landed on the other side of us right in front of my face. But Aunt Carol’s strong arm had a firm grip on my middle. I wasn’t going anywhere. She covered the entire surface of my tush, from my waistband to the sensitive area where my bottom met my thigh. She even landed a few slaps to the tops of my thighs where there was no protection offered by the thin cotton briefs. A moment later, she stopped. I was gasping, just this side of tears. She was breathing heavily.

She let me stay there for a few moments and she collected herself while softly stroking my burning bottom. I began to relax, thinking it was over until she said, “You know we’re not done yet, don’t you? Stand up.” She spoke now more softly, but with equal intensity. I think we both knew now that I was going to comply with all of her requests. As soon as I was on my feet she was right behind be, marching me over to the mirror on the bureau. She turned me around so my bottom was facing the mirror. Before I could figure out what was happening, she slipped her thumbs into the waistband of my briefs, and pulled them to mid-thigh. She told me to turn around and look at myself. My bottom was a medium shade of pink, which grew just a bit darker at the crest of each cheek. She inspected me and rubbed the bare flesh with her hand. I felt a strange mixture of emotions. On one hand I was deeply humiliated by having been spanked like a child. I also felt a deep sense of security with this woman who cared so much about my upbringing. At the same time, I was deeply enjoying the intimacy of the moment; her firm hand gently stroking my naked, tender flesh was an incredibly intense experience. My body soaked up the contact, desperately trying to make up for all the years which were devoid of any physical contact.
“A nice start,” she said, “but there is much more work yet to do before you really learn your lesson.” Abruptly, she walked me over to the corner and made me stand there, briefs down with my spanked bottom on display. “Don’t you dare touch that tush of yours,” she said as she left the room, “And don’t move until I come back.” That determined, sharp tone was back in her voice again, and I knew it was best to obey.

Ten minutes later, I heard her come back into the room behind me. She sat down in the chair again and told me to approach her. Standing in front of her with my briefs down I was embarrassed that my private parts were in full view. I was fidgeting when she told me to put my hands at my sides and stop moving. When I was still, she spoke. “I’ve nearly worn out my hand on you and I don’t think we’re getting to the point. I am going to spank you again now, but this time you will let go and accept your punishment fully.” “I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “You will,” she replied. It was then that I saw it in her lap. At first I thought it was the big wooden spoon she was stirring the soup with earlier. But as I looked at it I realized it was another kitchen instrument. It was a small, wooden “shovel” used to take things out of the oven. It had a 5 inch handle, which led to a flat paddle-like area about 4 inches wide by seven inches long. It was hard to tell, but it looked like it was about 1/2 inch thick. My eyes widened with fear. She could tell I was afraid, and took my hand to guide me into position. “Come now,” she said in a soft tone.
This time she positioned me differently. With her seated in the same chair, she spread her legs as I approached, and pulled me between them. When I went over, I was now bent over only one of her legs. I was pushed much further forward this time, and my face and part of my chest were lying flat on the floor. She put her other leg over the back of my knees, locking me into place. She lectured me again, telling me that this was for my own good, and that she was determined to make me understand what honesty was all about.

Then it began. She started softly this time, but soon she was into the spirit of the moment and began berating me about my behavior while continuing the assault on my bare behind. The shovel made a much sharper sound than her hand had, and it stung much more. The first few swats had me shouting “ouch!,” “Please Auntie not so hard.” That only made her resolve grow stronger and she began really laying into my poor little tush. I tried to struggle but because of her leverage, I could not move from the middle of my torso to my knees. I began to panic, and a flood of emotions burst forth from me in uncontrollable sobs. I was no longer operating from my head as my feelings gushed out, but on some level I now understood that I had let go and was taking my punishment fully. It seemed that her voice was distant, but I could hear Aunt Carol shouting, “Am I getting through to you?!” CRACK! “You are going..” CRACK! “To learn to respect me!” CRACK! “You will never!” CRACK! “Ever!” SPLAT “Lie to me again!” CRACK! “Do you hear me?” SLAP!

I was awash in tears and was blubbering my pleas for her to stop. “Ouch, Aunt Carol Please! Stop!. I’m so sorry.” I knew what I was saying, but I doubt if she could understand a word through my tears. We went on like this for about five minutes. The intensity varied from slow to fast, hard to even harder, depending on her lecturing and points she wanted to emphasize. Then suddenly it was over. I was crying as hard as I ever had, and it took me several minutes lying over her lap to calm down. She was very gently stroking my battered bottom and my hair, while soothing me with soft words. She let me lay there for a few minutes more while I continued to sob.
Suddenly while I was still catching my breath, she said, ”OK up you go.” As I got to my feet, my legs were wobbly, and I struggled with my balance. She stood facing me and made me look into her eyes. She had a small bead of sweat on her brow from the exertion, and she was breathing almost as heavily as I was. I gazed into her beautiful eyes as she held my face in the palm of both her hands. The old Aunt Carol was back, looking at me with love, and tenderness. “Come over, lets see how we’ve done,” she said as she walked me in front of the mirror again. I gasped when I saw my behind. The entire area was an angry, deep, red, with slight purple hues in a few places. She stroked the area again, and I winced at the touch. After a few minutes, she had me lie face down on my bed, while she gently rubbed cold cream onto the skin. It was wonderful feeling her hands gently soothing the burning skin. I was so moved by the sudden tenderness, that I began sobbing anew. This time not out of pain but out of love, for my “Aunt.” When she realized I was crying again, she slid up along side me and gathered my to her soft, plush bosom. Planting little maternal kisses on my head, she stroked my hair saying, “There there. Auntie’s here for you. Shhh...little one.” Those were last words I heard as I drifted off to a peaceful sleep without a bit of guilt in my heart.
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Published on November 08, 2014 17:13

November 4, 2014

Cross Creek Part 2 -- a Western spanking tale




 Cross Creek, Part 2 
 
 “I’d be pleased if you would accompany me to the barn dance Saturday night, major.” There. She’d said it. After having Major Bradley in her household for several weeks, she was convinced he was an old fashioned gentleman.  Certainly easy on the eyes, despite the slight limp he cut a dashing figure. Emma realized that she was developing feelings for the man, and so she had taken the chance. She sensed a certain shyness about him and decided that she would have to make a move. The dance seemed the perfect opportunity.
It was after supper and they were in the parlor. Nathan seemed surprised, but then pleased. “Well, Emma, I can’t dance a lick, but you are a most attractive lady, and I would be honored.”That set Emma’s head in a tizzy. After all this time, a man was showing interest in her. The dance was held at the Grange Hall. Nearly everyone in town was there except for the neer-do-wells and drunken cowboys who were holed up in the saloons. But the permanent townsfolk were there.
“I may have few duties to perform, Emma.” Nathan had told her this as they prepared to leave the boarding house. “Nothing much, just making sure things don’t get out of hand. I hear Jed Howland is intent on spiking the punch bowl with his special concoction.” He chuckled, then his expression turned serious. “I also know the Prado gang is around.”Emma had heard about them. A rough bunch, according to the sheriff.
As they made their way to the Grange hall, Nate said, “Where are the girls? They are coming, aren’t they?”
“I think so,” said Emma. “And I told them no drinking. I trust you will support me on this.”Nate winked as he said, “We’ll make them mind. And that goes for you too, Emma. Remember, I’ve got that woodshed out back ...”

Emma’s buttocks twitched involuntarily as he said that. He was joking of course, but all the same the thought made her blush and a tingle ran up her spine.Eventually, Laura Lee, Jenny and Cora arrived. The dance was in full swing by that time. Emma had managed to drag Nate out on the dance floor and they were doing their best to keep up with a banjo, fiddle and an old piano. The floor filled and Emma could not see the girls. Nate saw her craning her neck, trying to catch a glimpse.
“Looking for someone?” said Nate.
“The girls,” said Emma. “I should warn them about that punch. Make sure they stick to the lemonade if they get thirsty.” She noticed Nate’s eyes focused on a group of men who had just come in. “What is it?” she asked.
“The Prado brothers,” said Nate. “I think I’ll have a word. You warn the girls not to go anywhere with strange men – and to stay out of that punch.” He took her arm and walked her to the side of the floor, then left her and began to push his way through the dancers toward the trio of rough looking men who had just come in.
Emma started off toward the other side of the large hall thinking she had seen Laura Lee with a cup in her hand. But halfway there she ran into Betty Farrow. Betty pulled her aside with the promise of some juicy gossip about Frank Miller’s wife Yolanda. Emma couldn’t resist. Gossip was a weakness of hers. Jim had disapproved vehemently of her fascination with gossip, which he called a sin, but it hadn’t worked. She was addicted to it. In addition she’d had some of that punch herself and wasn’t thinking all that clearly.
As she started talking to Betty, leaning in close to catch Betty’s conspiratorial whisper, loud voices made it impossible to hear the tidbit that Betty tried to share with her. A fracas had broken out at one end of the hall. There were shouts and a scuffle. The music stopped. In the middle of it all was Nate, standing between two men, apparently inebriated, who were arguing over the same woman. It took a moment to cool everyone down, but Nate handled it. The next thing Emma knew he was barreling toward her, concern on his face.
“The girls, where are they?”
Emma stared at him in confusion, then she gasped and put her hand to her mouth.  She’d been so intent on hearing the gossip from Betty Farrow that she had forgotten what she was supposed to do.“Oh! I didn’t speak with them.”
“You didn’t? Where are they?” he asked, looking around. Laura Lee, Jenny and Cora were nowhere in sight.“They… I don’t know. They were here …” Her voice trailed off.Nate let a disappointed sigh escape his lips. “I have to find them. The Prados are gone and so are the girls. I don’t like it.”“You think they went with those men?” Emma felt panicked now. If only she’d warned them.“Maybe,” said Nate. “I’m going to take a look outside.” “I’ll come with you,” said Emma. “You stay here, Emma. I don’t know what I’m going to find.” Nate watched Emma’s reaction to make sure she understood then turned and hurried out of the hall in search of the girls.******Nate questioned a few of the townspeople who verified that three young women, accompanied by three young men had left, walking south on main street. Toward the boarding house, thought Nate. He hurried along realizing that the time he had taken to break up the fight had given them a head start. Where would they have gone? It was a warm night and that suggested an outdoor location. There was a popular picnic spot along the creek past the town limits. He’d try that.*****Emma asked the same questions and got the same answers. Despite Nate’s admonition, she decided to see if she could track down the girls before something awful happened. It was her fault for getting distracted and failing to warn them, both about those men and the alcoholic punch.Before she figured out where she would look, she found herself back at the house. Lights were on and shadows flickered at the windows. She could hear voices. Someone was inside. Without hesitating, Emma opened the front door to find the parlor filled with people. Laura Lee, Jenny and Cora were there, as were three strange men. The smell of alcohol and tobacco smoke assaulted her nostrils. The girls were various states of embrace with these men and it was clear that these advances were not welcome. Laura Lee was trying to push away an obviously drunken man who had been attempting to paw her. The others were in a similar state, fending off crude advances.
They didn’t even notice Emma standing in the doorway until she practically shouted, “What is going on here? Who are you men?”Activity stopped momentarily while one looked up and with a sneer on his face casually asked, “Who in the hell are you lady?”Emma stomped her foot. “Get out of my house!” She screamed.“Sure,” he said, smirking at her. “Just as soon as we finish with these little ladies here. They invited us here and we ain’t leavin’ ‘til we’re done with ‘em.”*****Bradley found no one at the creekside spot and wondered if he’d overthought it. He backtracked toward town. His path led him past Emma’s house, and he noticed that some lights were on inside. There were voices, loud voices. One was Emma’s. He hurried up to the porch, and feeling that caution was called for, eased his way in with as little noise as possible. That enabled him to hear what one of the men had just said.Nate drew his pistol and stepped into the doorway to the parlor. The men saw him first and bolted upright, making ready for a fight --  before they saw the gun in his hand.“Don’t even think about it,” he said. “You’re leaving now.”
*****
They had just returned from Sunday services, which Emma had insisted they attend, hung over from the previous evening or not. Ironically the sermon had been on the evils of drink. Upon returning, Emma had informed all three girls that they had a choice, accept punishment for flaunting her house rules so brazenly, or leave. They were shocked and stunned at the pronouncement that the punishment would be an old fashioned strapping in the woodshed.
“You cannot seriously think that you are going to give us a … a licking! We are grown women!” Laura Lee and the others were aghast.
Emma folded her arms. “You’re right. I’m not. Major Bradley is going to do it. He told me that while growing up in Virginia, at the request of his mother, he frequently had to administer discipline to his younger cousins and sisters.” She stared down the girls who were sputtering and stammering in protest. “He agrees with me that it’s what you deserve. As a deputy sheriff he thinks that it’s entirely appropriate. It’s either that or leave. I’ve tolerated this flaunting of my rules long enough and last night was the last straw. You either come with me out to the woodshed and take what’s coming to you, or pack your bags and go. I’ll inform your parents that you are returning home.”
They really had no choice. The three young ladies followed their resolute landlady out to the woodshed. Jenny chattered nervously with Cora. Laura Lee clenched and unclenched her hands nervously. When they entered the shed, they stopped and gasped. A stern looking Nate Bradley stood to the side of a stout log held between a pair of saw bucks. In his hands he held a wide brown leather strap.
 “Ladies,” he said, “stand in a line over here. Here’s how this is going to go, and I don’t want any argument. One by one you are going across that log for twelve good licks. You will raise your skirts, bend over and not move. No getting up, and if you put your hands back, I start over.”Laura Lee, Jenny and Cora stood in a line against the wall of the shed and eyed the gleaming strap in horror. Their feet shuffled nervously as they attempted to mentally deal with the painful ordeal that was now upon them.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this but you all knew the rules. I’ll take Cora first. Cora, get over here.”Cora gingerly approached the log. Bradley had put a blanket over it so no one would get splinters. Gingerly Cora lifted her skirt up above her waist to reveal her legs and hips clad in thin bloomers. Blushing shamefully she lowered herself across the log until her torso was forward and her feet were planted the floor. Her body curved over the log so that her plump derriere was thrust upwards presenting Bradley with a prominent target.

 Cora was short but buxom, and her bottom was full and well developed. She sucked her breath in as Bradley rested the strap on Cora’s bottom, apparently testing the distance for the strokes he was about to deliver. Cora squirmed uncomfortably but Bradley told her to be still.There was dead silence as Bradley raised his arm then brought the strap down with a loud whoosh… splat! He struck right at the center of Cora’s seat. The soft moons rippled with the impact. Cora threw her head back and gasped.  The major lifted the strap for the second blow. He looked at Emma. “Mrs. Weston, please count.”“Uh…yes. One,” she said.Smack! The leather landed again. Another gasp from Cora.“Two,” said Emma.
Bradley proceeded to deliver a stinging strapping to Cora’s bouncing fanny, spreading the licks around to cover the entire surface of her bottom. The tempo was deliberate. It wasn’t hurried. To Emma it seemed as if the major intended to make each hearty swat an event. He waited for Emma to count before raising his arm for the next blow.Emma had never seen anything like it, and it was having a strange effect on her. The sight of the determined major meting out discipline to the girl aroused something within her, something she could not explain. She imagined being in Cora’s place, only her buttocks were bared, the cheeks of her own bottom absorbing blow after blow, lusty smacks delivered by a dominant male. He’d make her mind, and after that she’d be his to command. Where did these thoughts come from? She forced herself to stay on task.
“Four,” she said, counting the last hard crack. That one had struck the crease at the base of Cora’s buttocks and had made her squeal.What would his hand feel like? Wondered Emma. It would likely hurt, but what else? Cora was wriggling and fluttering her feet. Her body reacted, flinching with each smack of the leather, the flesh of her bottom wobbling. But would the fire become a warm glow later? One that would compel her to do things, unspeakable things? She shivered.
Cora was crying softly and her bottom was a fiery red through the thin fabric. She looked over her shoulder anxiously as Bradley pulled the strap back again.“Six more with this. Are you ready Cora?”

“Y-yes, sir,” she managed to say.The strap descended in a blur.Crack! The leather struck her bottom and she threw her head back and her feet came up.“Yeoww!” shrieked Cora.Emma counted seven.Bradley raised the strap to shoulder level and whipped it down again to strike Cora’s fanny square in the middle, eliciting another howl. Another lick produced the same result.“Nggggg….ahhhh!” wailed Cora.
The girl was clearly in distress. It was a serious licking. Emma was sure she had never experienced anything like it. The wriggling behind bounded and bobbed as stripe after stripe was laid on by the supple strap. Vivid red welts arose and Cora cried unabashedly. Emma watched, transfixed by the lurid display of Cora’s bare fanny, wriggling and flexing as the strap struck, forming red welts across the fulsome cheeks. The major’s face was a study in concentration as he lined up the strap to place each lick exactly where he wanted it, covering the entire expanse of Cora’s bottom, painting it uniformly red.
At the count of twelve, the major put down the strap. He eased Cora to her feet and gave her a hug.“We’re all done now,” he said.Cora cried lustily and rubbed her bottom, but Bradley made her stand facing the wall, skirts up. “You get to rub when the next one is done,” he said. “Part of the punishment.” Cora sobbed, but did as she was told.“All right. Jenny, you’re next.”

Emma watched transfixed as Jenny, and then Laura Lee, took their punishment. Each in turn lifted her skirts, revealing plump bottom cheeks clad in thin silk bloomers that hid little. The major applied what looked like a most sound strapping to the buttocks of the two girls. The bloomers tightly hugged the fleshy contours of their girlish bottoms and red stripes became plainly visible through the fabric as the licking progressed. For the next several minutes the only sounds in the closed confines of the shed were the whoosh of the strap as it sped to its target and the loud crack of leather on barely covered flesh. There was the kicking of legs and wails of distress as stroke after stroke was applied to wriggling female fannies by the resolute major.


When the punishment had been meted out, the three miscreants had been allowed to lower their skirts. As they faced him in a line, the major said, “I’m sorry it had to come to this but, darn it girls, you can’t go drinkin’ and taking off with strange men. That could have ended very badly. Now go on back to the house.”
The three girls traipsed off hurriedly, glad to be out of that ominous woodshed.Emma remained. All during the punishment she had thought it over and was determined to carry out what she had had been considering.
The major hung the strap up on a nail and turned to Emma. “I hope you didn’t think I was too hard on them, but it’s hard to give a strapping lightly. Maybe they’ll think twice next time.”Emma stood, fidgeting nervously. Nate noticed and eyed her quizzically. “Is there something you wanted to say?”“Yes, I – I feel responsible for what happened.”“Do you now?” said Nate. The way he looked at her made Emma’s knees knock.“I just wanted to say that,” she said. “I should have gone right to them, not gossiped with Betty Farrow.”“Is that so? You were gossiping with Betty Farrow?”“Yes. It’s my fault, too.” Emma looked into Nate’s eyes. His stare seemed to go right through her. Could she do this? She felt she had to atone in some way, to accept responsibility for what had happened. There could have been bloodshed.She drew herself up. “Yes. So there is one more chore for you to perform.” She went to the wall to fetch the strap.
“That won’t be necessary,” said Bradley. He dragged a chair over in front of the saw bucks and sat down. “Come here,” he said.Emma obeyed. She stood in front of him, waiting.“Sometimes, I just gave spankings,” he said. “Do you think you need a spanking, Emma?”“Yes,” she said in a whisper. “Yes, I do.”“Then lift your skirts and get over my knee, Emma.”Emma came around to his right side. She lifted her skirts and hesitantly placed herself face down over his knee. The major gripped her around the waist and adjusted her until her bottom was the apex of her jackknifed posture. It was humiliating and arousing at the same time. Her skirts fell over her back and her nether parts were exposed to the man through thin drawers. Apparently satisfied that she was positioned for a good spanking, he said, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes,” said Emma, trying to look over her shoulder. “But there is one more thing.” She took a deep breath. “I’d feel that the lesson would be more salutary if I were to be … bare for my punishment.”“You want me to take your drawers down?” There was surprise in Bradley’s voice.“Yes,” she said in a small voice. She lifted her hips, inviting him to lower her undergarments. The major obliged. He inserted his fingers and she felt her pantalettes slide down to her knees. Emma shivered. A cool breeze announced to her skin that her bottom was bare as a newborn babe’s. Then she felt the major’s palm resting on her bare flesh. It nearly made her swoon. It was the feel of a man’s hand, so absent from her life these two difficult years. Even for the purpose of punishment, it was welcome, she decided.

“Very well, Emma. Here we go,” he announced.
Splat! Splat! Splat! Three firm smacks impacted her bottom, left, right and center, stinging her. The shock made her raise her feet in back and lift her head up. Oh, my! She thought.
Then it began in earnest. The man’s palm smacked her bare bottom lustily, at an even tempo, alternating sides and covering the full expanse of her seat from the base of her tailbone to the succulent juncture between thigh and bottom cheek. The heat rose with each hearty smack, sting piling on sting causing her to squirm and wriggle. She imagined that she must present quite a sight, her bare behind wobbling and bouncing over his lap with each spank, her legs opening, showing the major all of her womanly charms. There was no going back now. This was as intimate a punishment as she had ever received from Jim.
Splat! Smack! Crack! His palm impacted her bare bottom at an even tempo, raising the heat even more. Her bottom throbbed, hot from the repeated spanks that fell with no small amount of force. He was spanking her for real, giving her what she had asked for. It was good; she needed to feel the sting. It would wash away the guilt she felt. This is what I deserve for being distracted by gossip.
It hurt, but it was a good hurt. And it thrilled her too. The heat from the spanking was making her womanly parts flood with desire. She felt wet and slippery down there. Nate must have sensed it too because he had slowed down and paused every now and then to rub her inflamed fanny. It felt so good that she moaned softly. Now he had taken to spanking her very deliberately, with rubs in between smacks. It was heavenly.
“Now,” said Nate, resting his palm on her bottom. “One more thing. I told you to stay at the dance, but you left and went looking for the girls on your own. If you are to be my woman, you will obey me when I tell you to do things for your own good.”
What had he said? His woman? “Yes, Nate.”
“These last ten will be hard, then we’re done.”Those last ten smacks stayed with her for a long time. He must have delivered them with the full force of his arm, because the heat and the sting were incredible. She yelped loudly as each one landed, and what that told her was that he had not, up to that point, been spanking her as hard as he could. Then it was over.
He rested his hand on her bottom, then rubbed her seat all over in small circles. She moaned and arched her hips. His fingers strayed closer and closer to that area between her legs, then they brushed against the lips of her sex. “Yes, Yes,” she gasped. She felt his fingers sliding along the folds of her slit and she opened her legs.“Oh, Nate. Yes. Don’t stop.” She was now in full arousal. The spanking and rubbing had done it, and now she was beyond the point of stopping. But he did.He stood up and lifted her up with him to stand facing each other. For a moment they just looked in each others’ eyes. Then he encircled her with his arms and kissed her deeply, drawing her close, so close that their bodies melded together. They stayed like that for some time before she stepped back.“I want you,” she said, and began to remove her dress. Bradley helped her, undoing laces, and lifting her dress over her head. She blushed upon hearing him whistle softly to himself as she stood before him in just her chemise. Then it was her turn to undo Nate’s buttons and clasps. When they were both ready, he said, “It’s not much of a bed, upstairs,” his head cocked, gesturing toward the stairway to the loft.  “It will do,” she said.
*****In Cross Creek Colorado there is a boarding house for young ladies. The town is prosperous now, and the daughters of farmers, ranchers and miners come from all over to Cross Creek for the jobs. Many choose to stay at Bradley’s Boarding House, formerly Mrs. Weston’s, but since Mrs. Weston has taken a new husband, the name had to be changed. The parents of the young ladies know it is safe there, for after all, the proprietor is a deputy sheriff. And there are rules, rules that are strictly enforced. Everyone in town agrees the young women who board there are all polite and well behaved. What they don’t see is the quickening of steps by the young ladies and their nervous glances every time they have to pass by the old woodshed out back.
Video stills by Spanking Epics
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Published on November 04, 2014 16:09