Part one here.

I had been with Eugenia for a year when we first met the Laithwaites. We were in Venice at the time and I have an abiding memory of sunshine and ladies in white lace dresses.

The Laithwaites were a mother and daughter also travelling alone on account of the widowhood of Mrs Laithwaite.

This widow, Elisabeth Laithwaite, was a comely 34 or so, having been introduced to marriage and motherhood while still very young. A state of affairs that about which Eugenia was not slow to express her disapproval.

However, rather than being offended, Elisabeth concurred with Eugenia and openly lamented the situation.

It soon became clear that the lack of a father and a young mother had inclined Lucy Laithwaite, her 18-year-old daughter, towards being an utter brat.

“There is nothing I can do with the girl,” Elisabeth had moaned, “She is so rude and not fit company for polite society.”

“Oh do shut up mother,” Lucy said in an imperious voice that pretended at a wisdom and poise she did not possess.

Even Eugenia was dumbfounded by the outburst and she had seen it all.

“Have you considered a finishing school?” Eugenia suggested.

“Oh please,” Lucy said in a bored voice, “What a completely preposterous idea. Mother, don’t think for one moment that I will entertain such a notion.”

“I am afraid that Lucy has been expelled from a great many schools,” Elisabeth said in a low voice as if afraid her daughter would hear. “I tried to place her in a perfectly lovely school near Geneva last year. It didn’t… end well. Now no one will take her.”

“Oh, I think I know of a school that would take her, Eugenia said casually.

“Oh heavens spare me,” Lucy said, rolling up her eyes. “If you want rid of me, then marry me off why don’t you?”

“Because no man will have you, you…” Elisabeth’s outburst was clearly unusual and hinted at the inner turmoil the woman was suffering.

Lucy, seemingly uncomfortable with her mother’s outburst flounced off and went and stood at the rail overlooking the canal.

I remember her still; a short slender girl with all too knowing eyes and a tumble of white-blonde tresses and big blue eyes. I think that day she wore her hair up and her dress was a blinding white in the sun, but that is not how I think of her now for things were about to change for Lucy and indeed for us all in different ways.

“You see, there is nothing to be done with the girl, I have quite ruined her,” Elisabeth said, suddenly bursting into tears.

The outburst drew my attention back to the conversation.

“Nonsense,” Eugenia soothed her, “I was serious before, I do know a school that would be the making of Lucy. Shall I tell you about it?”

*

“This is absolutely ridiculous, I will not wear it,” Lucy Laithwaite raged.

Eugenia and I watched her petulant outburst dispassionately but her mother Elisabeth sat wringing her hands and looked as if she might give way to her daughter as she always had.

We had come up with a plan, or should I say Eugenia had for it was she who had made all the arrangements and who had talked Elisabeth into a certain course of action. The three of us had descended on the hapless Lucy and while Eugenia instructed the hotel maid to lay out some new clothes. Meanwhile, I had gathered up her old ones until her wardrobes were quite empty. These items were to be placed in a trunk for return to London to eliminate any possibility that Lucy could circumvent our preparations.

Then we waited for Lucy, a rather late riser, to get up.

“Mother, what were you thinking? Can you not see that these people are mad?” Lucy accused in bitter tones.

“Mad are they, well I think I have been mad to let you get away with such behaviour for so long. Your father must be restless in his grave,” Elisabeth returned angry.

It was the most spirited I had yet seen her.

“Your mother has engaged my services as an impromptu governess of sorts,” Eugenia explained, “And it has been decided to send you off to finishing school in England.”

“What?” Lucy exclaimed.

At that moment she looked like a harridan and to complete the impression she seized a hairbrush from her nightstand and hurled at her mother. I was shocked at such behaviour and Elisabeth was clearly shaken.

Lucy followed up her latest outrage with a string of unladylike language and a reassertion of her conviction not to wear the clothing that had been set out for her.

In truth I couldn’t blame her and I remember that I had trouble hiding my amusement. For the clothes set out were childish in nature and more suited to a girl under 16. They consisted of a knee-length skirt in blue with a sailor-style collar that was large and showy beyond the vogue of the time even for older nursery-aged girls. There were also buckled shoes, white lacy petticoats and blue hair ribbons.

“I won’t wear it, I won’t, I won’t,” Lucy continued with her outburst.

However, Eugenia had no sympathy and only sighed.

“I see we will have to take sterner measures,” she said.

Then without another word she picked up the thrown hairbrush, which thankfully had missed its target and advanced on the monstrous brat that was Lucy.

“Wh-what are you going to do?” Lucy said anxiously, now perhaps sensing some peril.

“I am going to do what your mother should have done a long time ago,” Eugenia replied sharply as she pulled the straining Lucy from her bed and struggled with her across her knee.

“Let me go, please, what are you doing?” Lucy shrieked along with other such protests.

Ultimately they were to no avail and Lucy was soon sprawling across Eugenia’s lap like a spitting she-cat. Then Eugenia reached for the base of Lucy’s nightgown and began to roll the linen up the length of the girl’s legs until her smooth firm white thighs heaved into view.

“We must resolve this matter here and now,” Eugenia said as she fixed Elisabeth with a hard stare.

Elisabeth was ashen-faced, but she returned a tiny nod of approval.

Eugenia set her mouth and the last veil of Lucy’s modesty was lifted to reveal the two astonishingly white pert domes of her bare bottom. I gasped.

“Stop it,” Lucy shrieked.

By way of an answer Eugenia brought the brush down with a loud crack, quickly following it with a second and third until sting-filled pink blotches appeared and rapidly began to merge.

I noticed that Elisabeth held a hand to her mouth and looked decidedly pensive, but also I think, Lucy’s violent outburst had been the final straw for her. Given what was to follow I think all concerned can take no issue with the methods employed.

Up to this point Lucy had taken her spanking well and once it was clear she could not prevent it, she had clamped her jaw shut and opted for taking the rest in sullen silence. I think if she had been of better grace this level of acceptance might have been deemed enough for a first spanking, but too much had transpired and I could see that Eugenia was determined to gain a full submission from the girl.

The spanking was fast and hard leaving Lucy’s bare bottom an angry all-over red. However, the only sign that the girl was struggling with it was her moist blinking stares and her increasingly ragged breathing.

“You will not best me young lady,” Eugenia growled as she drew back her arm even further and landed yet more great fluid blows with the flat side of that worthy brush.

Then with a heavy red stained bottom Lucy suddenly began to buck and claw on Eugenia’s lap and all at once a raspberry-like sound escaped her lips. It was followed by a wail and quickly overtaken by chuckling sobs.

“Please Ma’am I’m sorry,” Lucy howled, “I’m so sorry.”

“Are you? Are you?” Eugenia asked angrily over and over punctuating her words with hard spanks.

“Oh yes, oh mercy,” Lucy sobbed.

“You think it is as easy as that?” Eugenia barked at her.

Lucy was given over to a full flood of tears and a song of angry wailing that quickly became hoarse in her throat.

“Please,” she croaked.

“You will learn that spanking is an art,” Eugenia said firmly, perhaps easing the spanks a little now, “And submission and aesthetics are important.”

“Yes Ma’am I’m sorry, I’ve learned my lesson,” Lucy wailed.

“I very much doubt that,” Eugenia snorted, “But if you are truly contrite then we can begin.”

“Oh please,” Lucy groaned.

“I want you to stop this comedy at once and tuck yourself into my legs so that your bottom is elevated for the rest of its punishment,” Eugenia explained.

“Oh please I’m sorry, I’ll wear the dress,” Lucy cried.

Eugenia ignored her and immediately resumed the spanking in earnest. After perhaps 15 or so good hard wallops a bawling Lucy struggled to comply with her instructions.

“You think this is a debate?” Eugenia accused her.

“No Ma’am,” Lucy said frantically.

“You will obey.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Very well, get up and put on your new dress,” Eugenia ordered.

I had to laugh as a very much changed Lucy hastened to comply. In the end I had to assist as Lucy had forgotten the workings of such attire, but finally she stood all smart and girlish and very, very contrite.

“This is suitable attire for a spoilt child,” Eugenia told her. “You will wear this dress and others like it until you are ready to attend the Caulfield Academy for Young Ladies where you will be required to dress like a lady. If your behaviour improves you will retain adult clothing during the holidays, if it doesn’t then you will not.”

“Yes Ma’am, but…” Lucy blinked her big blue wet eyes rapidly and began to wring her hands.

“There are no buts, do you understand?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Good. Now to show that you are truly repentant you will turn around and bend over to lower your under things,” Eugenia said casually.

Lucy gaped at her and even Elisabeth looked somewhat disconcerted.

“It is necessary for you to submit willing to a short punishment to demonstrate your new found demeanour,” Eugenia said brusquely. “Amy, fetch the cane.”

I licked my lips and did as I was told.

“Oh please Ma’am I have been punished enough,” Lucy protested.

“You wish another spanking then? Before we proceed?”

Lucy gasped and responded by awkwardly turning about and fumbling with the hem of her dress.

“You will bend and bare at once,” Eugenia ordered.

It was amusing to watch, but slowly and little-by-little a rather humble Lucy leaned down and lifted the veil of her skirt behind. It took even longer for her bloomers to fall, but fall they did until they formed an untidy puddle at her ankles.

“I received my first caning at your age,” Eugenia explained, “I was much like you in fact. I received eight as will you.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Lucy whispered.

It took a moment longer and some prompting, but finally Lucy was full bent over with her bare blister-bruised bottom thrust backwards.

“Lovely,” Eugenia sighed, “I am no hypocrite, I will enjoy this.”

The cane landed with a satisfying swish-thwack and Lucy jerked. But the girl was at the end brave and took her caning well. Only at the last two did she yell out and bob a little at her station. She managed to save a fresh round of tears until after she had shaken Eugenia by the hand.

“Thank you Ma’am,” she said in a sad voice.

Elisabeth who had been pensive throughout smiled and clapped her hands in petite applause.

“Now with your bottom still bare, you will go and stand in the corner Lucy,” Eugenia said sharply, “And we will take tea.”

For the rest of the day the only sign of rebellion from Lucy was when the maid came with tea and saw the girl still bare-bottomed in the corner. But that was only a fluttered sigh and quickly quelled with a word.

*

I can’t say that Lucy was a changed girl after that, but after a fashion, and with no other option, she cooperated with the new regime. Her attitude was aided in part by the knowledge that in a few weeks she would return to London and her new school where she believed she would at least escape the humiliating condition of enforced girlhood.

It was still amusing to see her out and about in Venice where she was often taken as a much younger girl if she was fortunate and much mocked if she was not. She occasionally railed at her situation and then came close to reverting to her former behaviour, but a public threat of a sound spanking soon had her toeing the line.

In fact Eugenia did not rely on that first spanking to keep Lucy in check and she, like I, was put on a maintenance regime where she was soundly spanked once a week.

Our paths were to cross many times in the years that followed and the Laithwaites became firm friends but there is yet one more aspect to this small family I wish to relate before coming to a close.

Once Lucy had by now gratefully returned to London her mother opted to stay on for a few months longer while Eugenia and I completed our grand tour of Italy. At the time I had wondered what Elisabeth had made of Eugenia’s methods, but I was not to be left puzzling at this for long.

One day on returning from a rare unaccompanied shopping trip, I believe I needed hairpins or some such, I overheard a strange sound coming from within Eugenia’s room. It did not take long before I realised that a spanking was in progress and a pretty sound one at that.

I was agog I have to admit, and not a little jealous. I knew that Lucy had returned to London so I could only think that the maid had crossed her in some way. So, naughty girl that I was, I stayed to listen at the door.

After several minutes the previously muffled groans of the unfortunate recipient of Eugenia’s attentions began to put more force in her cries and final began to yell out. If the miscreant had thought to signal an end she was to be woefully disappointed. If anything the impact of what I knew to be a hairbrush got louder.

“Present that bottom properly or I will begin over with a gentleman’s razor strap,” I heard Eugenia growl.

“Yes Ma’am,” came the distressed reply.

I knew then that I recognised the voice and although I could not immediately place it, I was sure that it was no young maid.

The spanking lasted a good while after that and by the end whoever was being spanked was sobbing hard.

“Amy you may come in now,” Eugenia said from beyond the door.

I blushed and a rash of butterflies took flight in my tummy. I had been caught and would be punished. However, my curiosity was stronger and without so much as a pause I opened the door and entered.

There in the corner in a girlish sailor suit was what I took for a young girl and I thought I must be wrong about the mature voice I had heard. But although the costume was immature, it was clear that the ravage bare bottom displayed to me was anything but. In fact it was perhaps the finest full round bottom I had ever seen.

I was still staring excitedly at the punished rounds when the owner stole a glance at me over her shoulder. It was Elisabeth.

“Keep your nose pressed to the wall,” Eugenia growled.

Elisabeth Laithwaite whirled her flushed face back to the wall in a trice.

“Elisabeth was feeling rather guilty about failing Lucy, especially after she was so readily brought to heel,” Eugenia explained, “So after some discussion, it was agreed that what was sauce for the goose was… well you get the idea.”

I nodded. I was dumfounded.

“In a while I will cane our naughty miss and mark me, it will be no girlish eight for you,” Eugenia scolded. And then to me she continued, “She is to be spanked every day and where the scandal is not too great she will be so attired in public for the rest of the month until she returns to London.”

“I see,” was all I could manage.

“Come now, do not be so shocked, you yourself know how cathartic sound punishment can be. Especially that accompanied with extensive humiliation.” Eugenia had a twinkle in her eye and I suddenly realised what firm friends we had become.

All the same I blushed and averted my eyes.

“In a few days I intend to give her an extensive birching in full Bavarian style, you may remember,” Eugenia said with a fruity lick of her lips.

I blushed again and nodded. Elisabeth shifted uneasily in the corner.

“After that, say in about a week or so, I will give Elisabeth here the choice of a repeat of the operation or a much more public humiliation. It will be a tortuous dilemma I assure you,” Eugenia said with relish, “But our friend here was quite clear at the inception of this little drama, I was to punish her to my utmost and with all my skill and experience.”

I gulped and shot a glance back at Elisabeth’s magnificent posterior.

“Perhaps she was not fully aware of the extent of your… experience in these matters,” I ventured.

“I am quite sure she wasn’t,” Eugenia chuckled. “Now my sweet friend, eavesdropping were you? I think you can disrobe and joining my new charge in the corner. In an hour or so I will cane you both together.”

And so began a very unusual afternoon.

My presence, not to say my proximity while in the corner, seemed to embarrass Elisabeth no end and Eugenia was determined to milk the situation. She had us stand side-by-side for over an hour while she no doubt compared our bottoms. Then hip to hip we had to kneel on the bed with our bottoms in the air and offer our behinds to Eugenia’s cane.

Our mistress dealt out our due in bursts of six, and stingy biting bursts they were too. My eyes were quite watering after just one set and poor Elisabeth could not hold her tongue at all. I have to say that it had been a while since I had had such a cleansing good cry and there was an added delicious piquancy to being thigh to thigh with another woman.

At one point towards the third set of hard biting cuts Eugenia remarked, “Amy, if you could only see, Elisabeth cries at both ends so prettily like you.”

I was mortified and for a moment my face must have rivalled my behind for colour. Thankfully, Elisabeth was lost in writhing sobs and as a novice at the emotions she must have been contending with. I doubt if she then realised what Eugenia had said or what she had revealed about her own secret nature.

However, as with my own experience, I knew that she would later relive her ‘ordeal’ as if it were a spicy novel and perhaps indulge in all that was usually forbidden in that regard.

After our caning we were returned to the corner and Eugenia took such pains at the slightest need to call the maid that within another hour Elisabeth and I were both quivering wrecks from the mortifying exposure. I wondered then what more horrors Elisabeth might face given the heavy baptism she had undergone and I must confess I was thrilled.

*

I did manage to speak to Elisabeth before the rather intense birching episode. I wanted to know if she knew what she was submitting to.

Her reply was surprising and fulsome. She said, “I rather hope not for I do not have great courage, but I do know a little of what Lucy must face. I find it intriguing to say the least and if the experience up to now is anything to go by, also most salutary. How then could ask less of myself?”

I nodded but had to add, “But you do know it will be… difficult?”

“Character building no doubt, but I ask you, will I come to any real harm? Have you?” She was suddenly the older woman and wise. I felt like the young girl I truly was next to her.

“No,” I agreed and together we laughed.

The laughter for Elisabeth was to be short-lived. Eugenia had made no ideal threats and Mrs Laithwaite was daily both soundly spanked and subjected to her humiliating attire, often donned during corner time and in full view of the maid.

The following Sunday we took a landau out to a cottage that Eugenia had bid me find, the precise details of which escape me. But it was small with a large attic and quite remote with a large forest nearby from which to furnish the necessary.

Elisabeth’s humiliation was begun with the instruction to denude herself until she was clad only in her brief bodice and stockings. And apart from the addition of some ugly country shoes, that was how she was led into the wood to collect the instruments of her own chastisement.

I must say that it was no unpleasant thing to watch that magnificent still peony stained bottom bend and bob among the gentle Tuscan woodland and Eugenia and I walked hand in hand without a care in the world as Elisabeth laboured.

“What if someone, a peasant perhaps, should chance by?” Elisabeth was clearly mortified and knew not what to clutch at to obscure from imagined prying eyes.

Eugenia shrugged and said, “I wish now we had brought a maid or two or maybe a rakish lothario to serve as an audience. I think you would weep ere a stroke was laid upon your arse in such dire straits. Then the fulfilment for us all afterwards would all the greater.”

“But the scandal…” Elisabeth was shocked.

“I would take pains that there was none I assure you. Do you not trust me?”

Elisabeth sighed and let her hands fall from her exposed womanhood.

“Truly I do and in my more tranquil thoughts I am content,” she said.

“Not too content I hope,” Eugenia teased.

“Indeed not,” Elisabeth said hastily.

Eugenia’s eyes narrowed and she muttered sharply, “I think a ginger fig and a curry comb with cayenne will be added to this evening’s proceedings.”

My breath was robbed from me at the prospect of such erotic cruelty and Elisabeth quailed and mouthed entreaties until she was urged to trot on ahead of us again.

“You shall administer the first few clysterings,” Eugenia said randomly, “I trust you have the resolve enough for it?”

“I think so,” I managed to say, but my head and heart was spinning.

“So do I, for if you fail me you will get as much as she endures,” Eugenia warned.

“Yes Ma’am,” I agreed hastily.

*

The birching came only after extensive preparation and I had to wonder if I had ever looked so humble. I remembered Bavaria, my worst and at the same time my most treasured memory. If I had ever doubted either Eugenia’s resolve or Elisabeth’s nature, such thoughts were dispelled that day.

Elisabeth was secured in a kneeling foetal position with her bottom obscenely directed at the ceiling. Her eyes had a glazed look and even before the first enema she was wet enough to receive a man in her larger place. Eugenia offered me a wink.

“Plenty of soap mind,” Eugenia urged.

Even I gulped; I knew that could sting a bit. However, we did not wait long and then moved to proceed.

After a good cleansing Elisabeth was climbing walls and didn’t know whether to purr or howl. The carefully fashioned ginger nugget settled the matter.

“Please take it out,” Elisabeth hissed.

“Nonsense, it is still potent and besides I have two or three more for you to enjoy,” Eugenia teased.

Elisabeth could scarce breath and what lungs she had, she used to beg.

Taking full advantage, Eugenia made her kiss and lick the birch withes and actually ask nicely to feel them burning across proffered bottom.

I thrilled at the scene as indeed did Elisabeth I think. For even though real tears poured down her cheeks, her inner thighs were equally wet.

The birching, when it came, was glorious. For the longest time Elisabeth did not know whether to beg or scream, wail or moan. Her bottom pumped and shook like dancer and such a lovely dance she shared.

Her bottom, which was already stained a mottled red, became textured with a lively graze that took on a darker hue as the first of the strokes stung home. Elisabeth hissed and groaned as she twisted in her bonds but she did not really sing a song worthy of the dance until the cayenne unguent was applied after her first course.

“How many rods did we make?” Eugenia asked with such nonchalance that I trembled.

“Perhaps seven, less than 10 certainly, but surely…” I ventured a reply.

“We will see how she fares after five goes around,” Eugenia purred. She was in her element.

*

I swear that Elisabeth did not sit down all that week and for the first three days she walked with a curious pigeon-toed gait. But she glowed like a goddess and I could have fallen in love I think.

“Amy I am envious,” Eugenia whispered to me a day or two after the epic punishment.

She had just spanked Elisabeth as she had promised and soundly too, regardless of her ravaged raw behind. The older woman’s tears had been sweet. I think for once she was grateful to stand in the corner, even if it was for the greater part of the afternoon.

“Amy I am envious,” Eugenia repeated, “I wish I too had a strong one to hound my vulnerable bottom so.”

I thought for a moment that she desired something of me.

“I crave a husband and master like no other to crush me to his will,” she continued.

I felt twinge of jealousy, but I also understood. Not all my thoughts were of her and Amazons like her.

“Perhaps such a man would skin my bottom raw in front of a host of his fellows and make me lick his boots in gratitude ever after,” she mused her eyes focussed on faraway.

I was shocked, you have no idea how much in awe of Eugenia I was.

Sensing my disquiet she shook herself and said, “Don’t worry, I would always find the time to toast your naughty bottom.”

I blushed.

“Speaking of which,” she grinned. “I think it is high time I spanked you.”

I was as lightheaded as I always was.

“You know, I think I would rather like you in one of those sailor outfits, you could carry it off almost as well as Lucy. Maybe when Elisabeth has gone home and we head on to Egypt you should go as my young niece,” she mused.

“Oh please,” I protested, “I would just die.”

So preoccupied was I with her threatened game that I was distracted throughout my spanking and did not offer up the reaction Eugenia had hoped for. As a consequence my bottom was so welted and blistered that I remained unseated for almost as long a dear Elisabeth.

As for Elisabeth, well she had one more fate to suffer on this trip, but that, as they say, is another story.

The end for now.

This is another snippet that turned up during the recent round of research. The discussion referred to in this excerpt couldn’t be found but it appears some middle aged women from both sides of the Atlantic were comparing notes about youthful experiences of corporal punishment back in 1998.

Here is all I found complete with forum speak and Net names.

*

Like Anne was saying, I can’t believe that we are all 60 now. Are all the ladies commenting here of our generation? I know Cats66 isn’t (curious name) but she seems to be a lone voice here.

I wonder if Miss Cats has anything to say about the subject in hand – I can’t help but doubt that. Things have gone all PC in the last 20 years. Probably no bad thing but oh well.

I was particular amused by Jeanie B’s disbelief at the antics of our English contingent back in their school days. What the hell is an Upper Sixth anyway? Sixth what?

If she think getting ‘pops’ on the bare bottom in school was just a British thing, then guess again.

Actually I think she was quite rude to Margaret_H_1940 (sorry but there are a lot of Margaret’s). I am glad her aunt spanked her bare bottom up to the age of 21. Maybe it’s an approach that should be reinstated. (Grins)

I know I said that most spankings I got at College were on the seat of the skirt or panties, but my sorority wasn’t that tame. You wouldn’t believe what we got up to during my pledge days and after. Ouch.

Seeing as I can’t say much about that, I will tell you about our house mother.

During my freshman year there was no room at the Sorority House. We just weren’t that rich. So I had to stay in college accommodation, where in those days we answered to a house mother.

Mrs G was not averse to handing out spankings and it seemed to me that she operated a system of spank first, second and third and don’t ask questions. (Unhappy face)

I saw many a girl leaving her room in tears. Mrs G packed a mean hairbrush and always applied to the bare seat. I don’t think many of us escaped at one time or another, the main cause being out past curfew.

As I said before, many of our routine spankings were with the Big Paddle on the seat of the skirt out in the hall for example’s sake, but I once felt it on the bare.

My room was on the corner so late-comers had the habit of flicking rocks at my window for me to let them in. It was never a good idea to ignore these ‘requests’ but mostly it was just past curfew and there were still girls that were up.

On this particular night it had gone passed one o’clock in the morning. I knew the girls that were shouting up at me in whispers (they were drunk) so I put on a gown over my PJs and snuck down to let them in.

Mrs G got to the lobby just as I opened the door.

I was wearing my night clothes and had obviously not been out, but I knew I was in trouble. I remember thinking whether my behavior would get a few swats with the Big Paddle or a trip over Mrs G’s knee. I am not sure which was the worse of the two, both were pretty bad. A bare-bottom spanking over her knee hurt and was embarrassing. Whereas the paddle hurt worse (think Dead Poet’s Society) but it was in some ways preferable.

Mrs G took as all into her sitting room and told the first girl to bare her bottom and bend over.

A mean paddling followed, by the end of which both the spanked girl and her friend were crying.

Then I watched the second girl get it, the first having gone to bed.

The second girl took rather badly and her bottom colored up rough. Then she went to bed too.

I guess I knew I was going to take swats and not for the first time, but I was completely shocked when Mrs G said “you might as well drop your pants as well.”

It so embarrassing bending over with my bare behind sticking out, but after the first swats I had other things to worry about. I swear I got it worse than the other two, that paddle didn’t seem to stop. My bottom was dark red and shocked into one great big stand-up welt once she was done.

It took an age to walk back to my room and I didn’t sit down for a day or two. My skin went almost black for days and it must have been near three weeks for all the marks to go.

Not my last spanking from her, but definitely the worst. I guess bare bottoms got spanked both sides of the pond. (Grins)

*

If you like anecdotes of this sort there are lots out there and I am glad to bring them to you. I found one or two like this, so watch this space.

Nathalie paused at the door and sighed. She had only been back three days and already seemed like she had never been away. Although in truth it had been a long time since she had been home for more than an overnight stay. Home, she frowned. I haven’t lived here for 10 years, she thought, but then she had barely lived anywhere for more than 18 months since then.

The smell of freshly mown grass and this year’s crop of roses assailed her with competing bouquets. She had forgotten that smell. It’s odd, after college I couldn’t wait to get away from the place, she realised. She turned to look at the village spread out along two streets below the house.

The Welsh hills faded into the purple haze in the distance, the border being only a mile beyond the bridge. She remembered that in her childhood many in the village had still had the Welsh accent.

Then youthful voices came near and hurried away again without revealing their owners. She laughed and remembered running the lanes in much the same the way.

Then she turned again and pushed open the door.

The sight that greeted her brought back other memories.

Her half-sister Phoebe was standing in the corner wearing nothing but her pyjama tops and little white ankle socks. Nathalie’s heart leapt into her mouth and she blushed.

Phoebe shifted awkwardly where she stood and her hands strayed from her sides to flutter around her exposed bottom. She hadn’t been spanked yet, that much was obvious.

“Isn’t she a bit old for that?” Nathalie ventured hesitantly.

Phoebe was nearly 19 after all and frankly this sort of thing did not happen to a grown woman any more.

Stan folded down the edge of his newspaper and appraised Nathalie with a disapproving look. He was both girls’ step father, the last in a long line of feckless partner choices by Nathalie and Phoebe’s mother, Mary. But he had least had stuck; the only real father either of them had ever known.

“Not while she lives under this roof,” Stan growled.

Nathalie blushed even more. She remembered that line. In fact the last time she had heard it had been just a few weeks before she had left home. That time it had been her standing in the corner with her bare bottom on display to Stan, her mother, a much younger Phoebe, Stan’s 18-year-old son Pete, his girlfriend and Old Mother Jones from next door. At 22 she had wanted to die from the shame of it, even now she could feel her face melt.

“But…” Whatever she was about to say caught in her throat as he mother gave her a warning look from the kitchen.

“I seem to remember that you weren’t too old at her age,” Stan continued.

Nathalie let her mouth fall open and adopted as neutral an expression as she was able.

“I remember when you were out all night on Binkley Hill,” Stan went on, “Magic mushrooms wasn’t it?”

Nathalie cringed, not that story please, she prayed.

“When I found out, I tanned your arse until your blisters had blisters,” he snorted.

Nathalie remembered. Half the village’s parent’s had been in the room. It seemed that this house had been the convening point for the worried Mums and Dads of Nathalie’s fellow mushroom devotees. She wasn’t the only girl with a sore bottom that night.

“What were you then? Aye, you’d ‘ave been about 19 then an all.”

Nathalie looked at the floor in the vain hope of spotting a trap door. Sadly there was no immediate escape to be found there.

“What did Phoebe do anyway?” Nathalie was desperate to change the subject.

“Out with Davy Thomas for half the night,” Stan said with a shrug, “Weren’t you girl?”

“Yes Da,” Phoebe said sullenly.

“Well it’s only natural, she’s over 18,” Nathalie suggested.

Stan eyed her and then snorted in the direction of Phoebe.

“What until three in the morning and him with a criminal record?” Stan growled.

Phoebe shifted awkwardly, her hands fluttering around her bare bottom again. Any more of that and Stan would make her put her hands on her head, Nathalie knew from bitter experience.

“Besides,” Stan added, “It wasn’t where she said she would be, was it my girl?”

“No Da,” Phoebe managed a big enough pout to be seen from behind.

“No Da,” Stan mimicked, “No, you got a sound spanking coming ain’t you?”

“Yes Da,” Phoebe sighed.

“Might as well get it over with,” Stan said putting his newspaper down “Get over here.”

Nathalie watched as a mortified Phoebe turned around with her hands front and dipped her head. Then as she walked reluctantly forward Stan took the family hairbrush from its place of the mantle above him.

“Silly girl,” Stan growled softly.

Phoebe chewed her lip and then a moment later she was tipped across her stepfather’s knee.

As Nathalie watched she found that her mouth was a little dry, and strange but familiar emotions pulsed through her. From where she was standing she could see the back of Phoebe’s head and as the hair fell in a chestnut cascade and along her sister’s back to the tight neat divide of her white bottom that was facing away from her.

As if to get as far away from the action as she could, Nathalie nervously hugged herself and moved to the other end of the room just as the first crisp spank landed.

“Uh,” Phoebe gasped.

From her new position, albeit further away, Nathalie could now see rounds and lower slopes of Phoebe’s bottom where a sharp red patch had been placed.

Stan’s face tightened as he raised his arm and let another brush-loaded swat fall with some real bite.

“Urm.” Phoebe’s grunt was louder this time, but not as loud as the thwack of wood on skin.

Stan spanked down with three more deliberate whacks, each drawing a distressed wail from Phoebe and then it was as if he remembered he was mad and the pace quickened.

“I told you not to see that lad,” he said angrily, “And why, oh why did you lie, that’s the worst thing.”

Phoebe let go with long drawn out moaning ows that came in waves following each spank and steadily got louder.

“Do you hear me?” Stan barked.

“Da, I’m sorry Da,” Phoebe wailed.

Nathalie could see from the way her shoulders were rising and falling that her sister was crying now.

“Yes well, you will be,” Stan growled.

By now Phoebe’s bottom was bright red with little swathes of goosepimples where the flesh was shocked by the impact of the brush. The area between the spanked and unspanked bottom was marked with a rubbery welt that got more pronounced as the spanking continued.

“Will you see him again, will you?” Stan sang in an angry mantra.

“No Da, no, I’m sorry.” The last word was drawn out and lost in a wail.

“You really had better not,” Stan said in a resigned voice as he brought the spanking to an end. “Now get into that corner with your bottom facing the room so everyone can see. And I do mean in the corner with your nose touching.”

“Yes Da,” Phoebe said miserably.

“You can stay there until we have had our supper and then you can go to bed without yours, do you understand?”

“Yes Da,” Phoebe said in a small voice.

Stan grunted and now satisfied he returned to his newspaper with a loud rustle as he shook it.

For Nathalie, she was suddenly 18 again and where Phoebe stood. Then she saw her mother watching her and knowing she was of the same mind, Nathalie blushed. Her mother smiled and went back to getting their tea.

*

A few nights later, Nathalie and her parents went to the pub leaving Phoebe at home. Her sister was still grounded on account of recent events and for once Nathalie was fairly certain she would not risk ducking out while they were gone.

Nathalie had forgotten how cosy and friendly an English pub could be and within an hour she had forgotten all about Phoebe and immersed herself in a game of darts.

“You keep playing like that and I’ll be buying the next round again,” John Crossman laughed.

They had put a bet on the outcome, but Stan was off his game and Nathalie more than made up for her mother’s shortcomings with the darts.

“Thanks John, I’ll have another vodka and tonic,” Nathalie crowed.

“You haven’t won yet,” John scoffed, pulling down the peak of his cloth cap as if shading his eyes from an imaginary sun would improve his aim.

“Perhaps you have had enough anyway,” Nathalie’s mother chided.

“Oh pish,” Nathalie muttered as she watched John.

The first of his darts went thunk into double top and was accompanied with a cheer.

“Treble top to win,” Stan said excitedly.

“No way, old man Crossman will miss,” Nathalie jeered.

The next dart went thunk into the board just below the treble.

“See, what did I tell you?” Nathalie said in a slurred voice.

Her mother frowned.

“That’s okay John, another double top will finish this,” Stan said ignoring them both.

But John’s last dart clipped the wire and went skidding across the floor.

Nathalie laughed raucously and snorted in a somewhat vulgar manner through her nose so that even Stan glared at her.

Oblivious, Nathalie finished the game in three darts.

“You two are shit,” Nathalie sneered, “So the vodka is on you.”

Nathalie looked at her mother for approval but she just looked embarrassed.

“I think you have had enough,” Stan said quietly.

Nathalie pulled a face and made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

“You’re not too old to go over my knee young lady,” Mary said in a scolding voice.

John covered a laugh, but several of the younger men began to jeer and tease her.

“Oh mother,” Nathalie groaned even as she blushed.

“Well if you don’t keep a civil tongue in your head, if she doesn’t, I will,” Stan warned, “My house, my rules.”

It was a hollow threat but Nathalie was mortified all the same. But despite the mockery and general laughter, she felt oddly dizzy by the thought, as if a lost emotion was half-remembered.

After that her luck changed at the darts and she fell silent and sulky even as she sipped her last drink. Stan had pointedly left her out of the round and she was too embarrassed to comment on it.

The wind picked up as they walked home, spraying drizzle in their faces and helping them to sober up. On nights like this the walk up the hill was never as much fun as the one down it. But Nathalie hardly noticed the weather and all the way home she thought about Phoebe in the corner and Stan’s spanking threat to her own bottom.

*

“You have been such a bitch since you came back to stay, the sooner you get a job the better,” her mother said angrily.

The argument had begun following yet another night in a pub that was fast losing its charms. Nathalie had woken up with a hangover and had not taken kindly to being nagged about getting up late.

“Well there aren’t any flipping jobs, that’s why I came home, duh,” Nathalie threw back.

“Don’t speak to me like that, sometimes I swear…” Mary didn’t finish and turned back to her laundry.

“Why not? Why the hell not? Why did I even come back here? You don’t want me.” Nathalie sounded childish and she knew it.

“Oh, don’t be so stupid, I know it’s hard, but… but can’t you just make the best of it?” Mary sighed.

Sometimes, she thought, it was like having two teenagers in the house.

“Oh Mum,” Nathalie whined, “It’s like… like… being in a prison with no walls. There is nowhere to go but the pub and… oh grrr,” she kicked impotently a laundry basket.

“Careful,” Mary scolded her.

“You don’t understand,” Nathalie said sulkily.

“I understand that you are being a brat. A prison indeed, you come and go as you want. You can see who you want. You can even get drunk it seems. Something will turn up.”

Nathalie raged inside and could do nothing but pout.

“That’s what I mean I think, there is nothing to hold me back, nothing to push against. All I get to do is wait around,” Nathalie moaned and plucked at some clean laundry awaiting the iron.

“Will you leave my washing alone, if you’re bored you could always help,” Mary snapped.

“That’s what I mean, you don’t get it,” Nathalie whined, “I’m 32 and I have nothing.”

She wasn’t bored exactly, but she was restless.

“If you don’t buck your ideas up I’ll put you across my knee,” her mother scolded.

“Maybe you should,” Nathalie said as she flounced off.

*

Days had passed and nothing happened to make Nathalie any less frustrated and her mood hadn’t improved when she snarled at her mother one morning.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I have had enough of it,” Stan growled from over the top of his newspaper.

Phoebe also looked up from her place at the breakfast table. She was blinking hard and chewing her lip. If she had answered mother back like that she would be across Stan’s knee before she could say ‘corner time.’

“You’ve had enough, I have had enough,” Nathalie shot back.

“All I said was maybe you could help me with the shopping today. I have so much laundry to do…” Mary ventured. She was acutely aware that Stan’s dander was up. Having a papa lion and a young lioness going at one another was not what she needed right now.

“You are always doing flipping bloody laundry,” Nathalie, “Why do you put up with it? Why can’t Phoebe and Stan do their own bloody fucking laundry?”

Phoebe might have pointed out that for the most part she did, but she was too busy gaping.

Stan dropped his newspaper into his lap and just stared at his stepdaughter, his mouth working soundlessly as he searched for an adequate response. For a moment he wondered if Nathalie didn’t have a point and looked at his wife aghast.

Mary shook her head and turned away with a shrug. “I don’t know what’s wrong with the girl,” she muttered.

“I bring the bloody money into this house,” Stan said in a pained voice, but his eyes darted over the great pile of laundry all the same. “What do you do?”

“Anything I bloody want apparently,” Nathalie gave him a scornful look and then got up from the table to leave.

“You come back here, I won’t have… I won’t have that language in my house, apologise to your mother.”

“Let it go Stan,” Mary sighed, “I don’t know what’s going on with her.”

“Yeah, let it go Stan,” Nathalie sneered.

“Why you little… I ought to…” Stan spluttered.

Phoebe glanced at the door and considered running for the hills. Stan was going to be in a spanking mood after this and her own copybook was far from clean.

“Listen you little madam, I have a good mind to put you across my knee and spank you until Tuesday,” Mary said sharply.

“Oh not that old bullshit again, put another record on,” Nathalie yawned.

“If you were 10 years younger…” Stan was fuming.

“Ten years, ha, what’s stopping you hey? You… oh just leave me alone,” Nathalie was lost now.

“Do you know what,” Stan said calmly, “There is absolutely nothing.”

Then to Mary and Phoebe’s disbelief he stood up and grabbed Nathalie by the arm.

“Phoebe, fetch the hairbrush,” he said in a commanding voice.

“You’re not… you can’t be serious, I mean… come on now.” Nathalie fluttered like a caged bird and started to back away.

“Oh no you don’t,” Stan barked as he sat down again and took his elder stepdaughter with him.

“Mum, please, you can’t let him,” Nathalie wailed.

“You know, I think I can,” Mary said in a steely voice, “I think you are long overdue.”

“But I’m too old for this, I… Stan!” The last word was squealed as her stepfather hooked his thumb under her skirt and yanked down her knickers.

Phoebe smirked as she handed Stan the hairbrush and then sat back to enjoy the show.

“Now young lady I am going to give you the spanking of your life,” Stan rumbled as he adjusted his position and lined up the flat side of the brush.

The first spank landed with a good solid thwack right where Nathalie sat and she shrieked.

“Okay, okay, I get it… yah,” she yelped again as she took another spank.

“You’re gonna get it alright,” Stan growled.

The next spank took her breath away and she squirmed wildly across Stan’s lap.

“Please, I’ll be good,” Nathalie wailed.

She sounded babyish and Phoebe giggled.

“Oh you’ll be more than good, you will be like a little church mouse for the rest of the week and guess what you are going to be doing all the laundry,” Stan snapped.

“Yes, okay,” Nathalie squealed.

“Oh I know it’s okay,” Stan bellowed as he spanked in harder.

“Ooh, please I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” that was the mantra she sang for the next several minutes.

But Stan was taking no prisoners and didn’t let up until Nathalie’s bottom had a strong burgundy hue and she was bawling with real tears.

“Golly, I wouldn’t want to have to sit on that any time soon,” Phoebe teased.

“Oh she won’t be, even if she can, which I doubt. Once she comes out of the corner she’s going to working her little bottom off for her Mum,” Stan replied.

“I will, I will,” Nathalie wailed.

“Okay then, now get into the corner… leave them down,” Stan growled. “You’ll stay there all morning and if I get a peep out of you…”

“Yes Stan,” Nathalie sniffed.

As Nathalie reluctantly limped towards the corner the doorbell rang.

“Is that Mrs Welbeck already?” Mary said anxiously.

“It might be just Clare and Pam,” Phoebe said casually, “We going into town.”

Nathalie let out a small wail.

“Oh and I think Michael, Clare’s new boyfriend will be with them,” Phoebe added with relish.

“Oh you can’t let them in,” Nathalie said pleadingly.

“Be quiet you,” Stan growled and then added, “You had better put the kettle on, we have company.”

From the corner wild emotions raged through Nathalie’s mind, but strangely she felt more a peace than she had for weeks. Finally she felt home.

Ends

Angharad sat at her keyboard and tried to concentrate. Her smooth dark locks had tumbled over her face like a curtain to hide her face. It was an old school trick and gave her the illusion of a temporary haven. It also meant that nobody could see what she was thinking for she was sure it must be written in her face. It was something that even at the age of 34 she had never grown out of.

“I’m sorry John, please John.” Sally’s words from the other room sounded quite distressed now.

Sally generally only said please when she was being spanked as she was now, although it usually took a while for the girl to reach that point. But then the spanking had been going on for some time now and Angharad desperately wanted to peek.

Angharad shifted on her seat, suddenly conscious of where her bottom touched the chair. She blushed.

John Henry and Sally were not an item, nor were they related. In fact their exact relationship to each other was something of a mystery to Angharad. She suspected that even Sally did not know. Relationships were never like this back home in Wales.

Some years before, Angharad had learned, Sally had come to work for John as his assistant, just as Angharad was now. She had claimed to have been 21, John had told her. But the girl had turned out to be hopeless at her job by his account, but he had felt protective towards the girl and not a little curious as something about her was off.

Later it had emerged that she had been only 17 when she had first arrived and had been on the run from some sort of home for criminally wayward girls. By that time Sally had turned 18 and John was able to prevent her return by taking responsibility for her in what, as far as Angharad could gather, was a kind of adult adoption arrangement.

“When he found out, he spanked me,” Sally had lisped shortly after Angharad’s arrival.

The revelation had not surprised the Welsh girl. It was already obvious by then that Sally was kept on a short leash and spanked when she transgressed.

“I have something of an unusual and old fashioned relationship with Sally,” John had told Angharad at the interview. “You are the third girl I have tried out in the last year since my arrangement with Sally has changed. The others have all taken exception to my domestic set-up.”

Angharad had been curious and far from being deterred, she had been intrigued by the situation. The post of assistant to one of the country’s most successful authors also promised to be interesting and well paid.

John was a large man with salt and pepper hair and a gravel voice. When he spoke he managed to look both stern and smiling at the same time. It was an attribute that Angharad found comforting for some reason. There was also something familiar about him that she could not quite place.

“Will your family mind you being so far from Wales?” John had asked at the same interview.

“Oh I, eh, don’t have a family. Well there is an aunt in Swansea, but I never see her. I grew up in a children’s home see,” Angharad had told him.

“Well as the post is a live-in position we like to foster a family atmosphere around here. I trust that suits?” John had said, although it seemed to Angharad that it was as much in a warning as a piece of information.

“I look forward to it, I never had a family before,” she had blurted with a blush.

“Yes well, just remember that I am in charge around here, I don’t need another wayward teen,” he had said with a wink.

Angharad had blushed.

That had been almost a year before and Angharad had seen a lot since then.

“Ow, ooh please John,” Sally wailed, the spanking was still well underway.

Angharad squeezed her thighs together and jiggled her bottom in her chair. Sometimes she wasted whole mornings sitting at her desk replaying Sally’s spankings in her mind. When John was out, she sometimes even went online to read about other counts or look at pictures.

Sally had been spanked once or twice for doing that and Angharad had sometimes wondered what would happen if she were caught.

Just then John entered glowering at the world and Angharad jumped and grabbed at some papers to shuffle in a fit of guilt.

“That girl… sometimes I think she wants to get spanked,” he said.

“Oh…” Angharad blushed. Why would he say that, she thought, her heart fluttering. “Wh-what did she do now?”

John sighed and then smiled indulgently.

“The little minx borrowed the car even though she is grounded,” he chuckled.

At the word grounded Angharad thrilled a little. It was so strange to talk about a young woman of 21 getting grounded.

“But I thought… don’t you check the diesel usage?” Angharad said as conversationally as she was able.

“She thought she could top up the tank from a jerry can,” John snorted.

“But you caught her?”

“Luckily yes, the stupid girl had put petrol in the can.” John employed is exasperated face.

“That’s not very good for the car is it?” Angharad tried to sound knowing.

“No,” John said pointedly. “That’s another reason that girl is going to spend the rest of the morning in the corner and tonight she gets a bed time spanking.”

Angharad went a little light-headed and dipped her head to hide a blush.

“Oh eh… that chapter you wanted…” She rapidly changed the subject.

John spent the next two or three minutes talking although Angharad barely listened. Her head was full of spankings and Sally.

Once he had left she got up and went towards the hall on the pretext of going to the toilet.

Beyond her office was an open area that served as a reception room and hallway. It was here that John met his agent and other visitors and it was here that Sally got many of her spankings. Angharad loved it when circumstances meant that she had to sit and watch, but she was far too shy to be seen to openly look without a pretext.

The pretext of the toilet now meant that she had to pass the sniffling blonde-haired Sally who stood in the far corner dressed only in T-shirt and short white ankle socks. Her bare bottom was facing the door and carried a smooth sheen of deep red all over both rounds. Angharad caught her breath and her heart skipped.

Sally shifted a little where she stood, knowing that she was being watched. Even from behind it was obvious that the younger girl was blushing, even her ears were peony. It must be so embarrassing for her, Angharad thought.

Then she thought of the times that Maxine the daily woman had seen the same scene or the days that she brought her grown-up daughter to help with the ironing. Some days the agent and his assistant called by. How much worse for the girl then?

Sometimes all of these people had seen her actually spanked. Angharad felt a little dizzy as she let the memories of past spankings overlay the scene before her now.

Then she thought of the times she had ordered pizza or Chinese and had let numerous delivery boys squint a look at Sally’s predicament. The guilt she felt over it made it all seem more thrilling.

On the way back from the toilet she paused in the doorway to appraise Sally’s bottom in profile. The red dome jutting into the room was even more starling from this angle and of course she could see something of Sally’s expression. Her sad eyes were downcast and watery. What was she thinking?

The rest of the morning was taken up with trips to the stationary cupboard, making coffee and at least one more trip to the toilet. Not a lot of work got done and for once Angharad didn’t need the internet.

*

Things might have continued in a kind of Celtic Twilight for Angharad with her creeping around the margins and savouring scraps from Sally and John’s relationship. However, one day things changed quiet literally out of the blue; a blue screen of death.

“Damn this computer,” Angharad raged.

She tried turning it off and then on again several times before calling John.

“Shit,” he groaned, “Another new computer.”

His had blown-up a week before taking with it half a morning’s work.

“Well at least after last time we have back-ups right?” He said wearily.

“Eh… well I told you the other day that the portable drive was full and that… eh… the online back-up wasn’t working so well.” Angharad heard a silent scream from a long way away and felt a little sick. “I am not sure the online has backed up today.”

“But I bought a new back-up,” he snapped.

Then his eye fell on the box next to Angharad’s computer; the unopened box.

“I was… busy. I haven’t connected it yet,” she winced.

John let a slow breath out through his nose.

Angharad’s mind raced as her face turned ashen white. She had been looking at the internet all yesterday afternoon.

“I’ll check my version and then call the agent, maybe we can salvage something,” he said woodenly.

“It’s only corrections right? I mean it’s just this morning’s work?” Angharad said tentatively.

“There was some old work… you know. My computer had the originals but that was my old one. I hadn’t finished uploading all the old files.” His voice sounded dead.

As soon as he had gone Angharad burst into tears.

*

John didn’t say much after that. The trouble was he didn’t want to say outright to the agent that he might have lost some work and so far they had been somewhat obtuse in their response to his hints.

Angharad felt absolutely sick about it.

“John I…” She had begun so many conversations that way.

He had always replied with a fixed smile and said something like, “It will be okay.”

Finally Angharad had phoned the agent herself and told them the problem.

“Typical,” the woman at the other end said, “These bloody creative types are always… well never mind. It will be a bit of a headache but we have everything that has ever been sent to us. I expect we can salvage most of it.”

“Look, it was my fault, not John’s, I mean…”

“I get it, your job is to take the fall, no sweat love,” the woman laughed.

Angharad didn’t know whether to be upset or relieved. She had certainly managed to convince the agent that John was some kind of flake, but at least they could recover some of the files.

The walk to John’s study took longer than usual and sick feeling in the pit of her stomach had never been stronger.

“John,” she said when she got there, “I think I have screwed up again.”

*

“So the agent thinks I am unprofessional, well that won’t kill me,” John said with a sigh.

He didn’t look happy, but then he smiled for the first time in days.

“At least there is some good news,” he said encouragingly. “What did you mean anyway, screwed up again? I already know about the back-ups and all you were doing was…”

“I was looking at porn.” There she said it.

He frowned.

“I had time to fix the back-up but I was… distracted,” she expanded her confession.

“Porn? Why…? Nothing too heavy, I mean…” He sounded panicked.

The only reason a woman would confess such a thing was if there was going to be some blow-back. Shit what has she done? Who has found out?

“N-no, nothing like that,” she gasped, “I was just… well you and Sally… well I… I…”

She took a deep breath and swallowed.

“It was spanking stuff,” she managed.

“Oh but I… well that’s no big deal,” he was genuinely embarrassed now.

“Except that I looked at in work time and…”

“Oh yes that, well…”

“Am I sacked?” She said bluntly.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, you messed up, it happens,” he groaned. “Just keep it down to a dull roar from now on will you.”

“Yes Sir,” Angharad said blushing to her ears.

As she walked away she felt faintly disappointed and didn’t know why.

*

Angharad rolled over and looked at the clock. It was 2.15, an hour later than when she had last looked. She glanced at the window in the hope of a hint of sunrise, but she knew there would be none.

She wished… she sunk back into the pillow and sighed. What did she wish? The tight sickness in her tummy had abated little since she had confronted John, only now she felt embarrassed. And something else; Longing? It sounded like a word from a romantic Victorian novel, but it was apt nonetheless. But for what was she longing; forgiveness? John had already forgiven her.

She closed her eyes and opened them again. It was 2.16.

*

Angharad opened her eyes with a start. It was still dark, but at least she had slept. She glanced at the clock again to be told that it was 5.23. This time there was some light at the window, but it was a long way off and faint; a yellow-grey glow just beyond the horizon which had turned the sky above from black to navy blue. The moon had set now, but one or two stars still shone against the early morning sky. Chief among them were Venus and Mars like a pair of lovers low in the sky. Love and war; was it an omen and if so, an omen of what?

She got out of bed and hastily pulled on her dressing gown. She had a purpose now, but she couldn’t identify it. An odd feeling, she thought, to set about a task without knowing what it was.

The pen glistened in the early morning night and cast a shadow over the vellum sat on her desk.

She slipped into the chair and switched on the lamp so that the desktop was bathed in a comforting light. Blank pages usually scared her, but today.

Dear Mr Henry, she began and then put the pen in her mouth to think for a moment before continuing.

Dear Mr Henry,

Ever since I came into your employ I have admired you. The clarity of your writing and your courage is inspiring. It is not only that you express unfashionable ideas, but you are living them in your relationship with Sally. A relationship which is as baffling to me as it is intriguing.

The other day when I should have been working, I was peeping at you and her together and wondering what it would be like to be…

Here Angharad paused, her pen hovering over the page. She could not bring herself to write the word ‘spanking’ even if she had no intention whatsoever of sending John the letter. She sighed and after pausing for a moment longer, she continued.

…punished by you in such a fashion.

I know that Sally appreciates your efforts and welcomes you as a mentor and a friend, so much so that I have always wondered why your relationship is not a romantic one. However, I know that it would be impudent of me to say more about this, if indeed I have not said too much already.

If this is the case then I apologise as I apologise for all my failings in your service. You are far to understanding and should have not been so lenient.

This brings me to my…

Again Angharad paused and struggled to find a word. Then boldly she pressed on.

…my humble suggestion and request.

I have seen how you give Sally a sound spanking on her bare bottom whenever her behaviour warrants it. Sometimes she is in the corner for some considerable time and yet thinks upon you without rancour. This I heartily condone and for my part fully understand her feelings.

My behaviour too has fallen far short of what I believe you deserve to expect and I realise now that I have long been puzzled by the fact that you do not punish me in a like manner when I fail you.

Is it that you think me too old for such treatment or that you do not feel you have the necessary authority. I have to tell you that neither should be a bar to handling me in any way you see fit.

In other words I hereby put into writing that I give you permission to spank me on my bare bottom for as long and hard and often as you think I should be. Further that I will submit to corner time and any other physical and related punishments.

Yours sincerely and truly,

Angharad

Angharad reread the letter several times and then folded it carefully and placed it in an envelope. It was then that she knew that she would put it into John’s in-tray.

*

“Angharad, will you come in here for a moment?”

John’s voice made her start, but it was not entirely unexpected. In fact she had been sitting anxiously at her desk all morning. It was now almost lunch time and she wondered if he had only just found it or had decided to make her stew a little before he… before he what? Suddenly she thought she had gone too far.

John appeared at the door, his face impassive. “Angharad,” he said.

“Oh, eh yes, I’m coming.”

She followed John back into his study convinced that she had really done it now. God, she was so stupid. Why would a serious man like John Henry be interested in the foolish ramblings of a frustrated woman?

Then she saw that the letter was open on his desk.

“Good news,” John said brightly, “The agent has found most of the lost work; largely thanks to you.”

“That’s good.” Angharad’s words sounded wooden.

“Yes, so you see there is no need to resign or face any consequences as far as I am concerned.”

Angharad blushed.

“You really are working out and are just about the best assistant I have ever had.” John beamed. “The last one who stayed for more than a month spent most of her time arranging my flowers as I recall. It played havoc with my hay fever. I wish her work-time hobby had been as harmless as yours.”

“Oh I… thank you, I think,” Angharad blushed to her ears.

John nodded and an awkward silence followed.

“But, I gather from your note that you want a much more… personal relationship and that you would like to be mentored like Sally?” John finally cut to the chase.

Angharad nodded.

“Exactly like Sally?” John had picked up a pencil off the desk and was rolling between his fingers. A nervous habit usually reserved for when he was negotiating a new contract.

“Well… you could be stricter with me I suppose, I mean…”

John chuckled and made a calming gesture with his hand to silence her, saying, “No, I don’t need you to sign off on the details. I just want to confirm with you that you are asking me to give you a spanking when you need it.”

Angharad went puce and looked at the floor. Then after a moment she gave a small nod.

“So, no more spanking porn, no more sneaking around and no more slacking off,” John said sternly.

“Yes Sir,” Angharad said quickly. She suddenly felt relieved.

“From now on I want you in by 10.30 on a weekday and in bed by 11.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Now, you can take down those trousers and whatever you have underneath and go and stand in the corner opposite where Sally usually stands.” John picked up the letter as he spoke and then slipped it into his desk draw. “You can wait there until I decide to spank you.”

Angharad worked her mouth and pointed behind her as if seeking physical confirmation.

“You heard me,” John barked.

“Yes Sir.”

“Oh and Angharad, if you want to change your mind at any point, just get dressed and get back to work and we will never speak of this again.”

Was that an out or was that a challenge? Angharad thought. She couldn’t meet his eyes though and in a moment of clarity she realised it was easier to obey than to confront her own emotions and she was suddenly free of all responsibility for what was to come.

*

When one lives in a house one never notices those small occasional sounds like the creak of a timber in the roof or the clunk of the boiler as the pilot light roars into life. Now Angharad heard them all and at each little noise she started in fear lest someone be about to come in.

The reality of standing in the corner with her bare bottom displayed to anyone who might enter the room was a more difficult experience than Angharad had imagined. For one thing the embarrassment was acute and never had she felt so vulnerable. For another, her mind raced with conflicting emotions of disbelief, denial and out and out nervousness about her inevitable confrontation with John. So much so, her right leg trembled uncontrollably.

At one point Sally entered the room behind and the blood fizzed in Angharad’s veins until she became light-headed. The older woman could hear the girl breathing not 10 feet behind her, but neither of them said a word and Angharad dared not turn around. The silence was oppressive. Then Sally beat a hasty retreat; heaven knew what she was thinking.

She was still coming to terms withal of this when she heard a heavier footfall on the stone floor by the door behind her.

“So you have decided to go through with it,” John said in a deep voice.

It was not until that moment that Angharad realised that that had never been in doubt and she knew her life was about to change. The fear and the excitement went to war within her.

“Yes Sir,” she breathed.

There was a sound of something being dragged across the carpet and she heard the heavy creak of John sitting on the Victorian straight-backed chair.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

She swallowed and unconsciously let her hands cup her front before she obeyed. He was sitting in the chair which now sat a yard or two from the wall. He was studying her with appraising eyes she could not meet as if he was seeing her for the first time. Instead her gaze was drawn by the hairbrush in his hand.

“Come here,” he said softly.

She nodded, but for a brief moment her legs wouldn’t obey. Then suddenly she was there tumbling over his lap so that her bare bottom was jack-knifed towards heaven.

Her bottom was large and wide with a deep-set cleft and heavy hams.

If he noticed her hot wetness between her legs or the way her thighs slicked together he made no sign, but she was mortified all the same. I shouldn’t be enjoying this, she thought; it doesn’t work if I do.

“So you have been a naughty girl,” he rasped. “You have been looking at porn in work time, slacking off and I wonder what else.”

“Yes Sir,” she reluctantly agreed, the shameful words torn from her.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“I have been a naughty girl.” Her voice was thick as her throat tightened and each moment became an hour. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she added in a hushed whisper.

“Are you,” he growled.

The first impact took her by surprise and her eyes flew open as she tried to make sense of a suddenly changed world.

“Are you?” He said as he spanked her again.

“Yes,” she hissed, “I’m sorry.”

He spanked her once more and she grunted. This time the pain was intense and seemed cling to the curve of her bottom and grow until it became half her existence.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped.

The next spank made her dance and buck on his lap and she took a moment to draw a breath.

“I’m sorry.”

He spanked much harder now, so that the tangy thwack echoed back at them off the ceiling.

“You won’t do it again, will you,” he barked at her, his words drilling into the back of her head and the set of her shoulders.

“No,” she said in a long drawn out wail, “I’m sorry.”

“No you won’t.” He spanked her hard on the underside of her curves so that she was tipped forward a little.

Her next words were indistinct and she bared her teeth in a grimace.

“What was that?” He demanded and spanked her where she sat in a series of short sharp blows.

“I’m mmmmm,” she groaned and then hissed, “Ssssssssssorry.”

The firm broad curves of her bottom held two dark red ovals, the one on the right buttock a little larger, he noted, although between the deep cleft of her bottom it was still white. He shook himself and returned to the task in hand.

“I do hope you are,” he remembered to say.

“I am,” Angharad wailed, her accent as strong and as a wet as the Welsh hills.

With the target area now stained red John picked up the pace and spanked until she rock and rolled in a parody of a dance on his lap. Her hands fluttered around the lower legs of the chair and she crossed her ankles to keep from kicking.

Halfway through the tirade Angharad hooted with a sob and from then on brayed like a welsh lamb. By the time the spanking was done the red areas of her bottom were tight like tanned leather so that her behind seemed to be twice its normal size.

“Now you know what a spanking is like,” John soothed.

“Yes Sir,” she sobbed.

“You can go back to the corner. It’s not as if you’ll get a lot of work done now.”

“Yes Sir,” she sniffed.

“Any regrets?”

She managed a smile as she stood rubbing her bottom and then added in her small Welsh voice, “No Sir.”

“Good girl.”

Then like a lamb she trotted over to the corner and settled down for a good long cry.

End.

Gordon Beauchamp looked out at the clear blue sky and frowned. He hated the peaceful clean scene. He hated the myriad shades of green that formed the trees that framed the town in the valley. The pretty crafted Cotswold stone buildings where his family had lived for centuries looked deceptively permanent. He hated it because it was a lie. There was little peace or beauty in the world while just a few miles away bombs fell on Bristol and the skies were marred by German bombers, specs against the sky like an unwelcome swarm in summer.

When the war had begun her had volunteered his services to his old regiment only to be told he was too old. He scratched unconsciously at the little bit of grey at his temple at the memory. Too old, he fumed; he was still nearer 40 than 50.

A few months later being desperate for men they had changed their mind, only this time he had failed the medical. He massaged his right leg and felt it twinge. Most days he did not even limp, he thought defensively.

“Anyway, captain of industry and all that,” the oh-so-polite-major at the War Office had said, “You are needed here.”

Gordon clenched and unclenched his fist. That was another lie. Oh sure he owned the factory, but he was hardly a hands-on sort of chap. Since his father had died he had never been more than one voice on the board.

Then intruding on his gloom came the unmistakably elegant footsteps on the landing above and he paused in his thoughts. Miss le Strange, he realised, always so well turned out and dignified. The thunderous footfalls on the hall tiles leading from the kitchen were a marked contrast to his mood.

Before Daphne le Strange could descend, Megan Jones came passed him at a lick, one arm in her coat and the other holding a slice of toast to her mouth on which she nibbled.

“Good morning Mr Beech-ham,” she sang out like an out of tune Welsh harp as she tumbled by.

A pretty girl in her early 20s, she was always in a rush. Gordon noted her straight black hair where it had escaped her hastily arranged hair pins. She had a round pretty face, and having already changed into her factory overalls he could see that round pretty much summed her up. Not that she was fat, not at all, just… round; a series of circles at her breasts and hips, which were emphasised by her short stature.

Not like the tall elegant Daphne le Strange who now descended the staircase in stylish long green coat with matching skirt like she was off to the theatre she had starred in before the war. She always changed into her overalls at the factory; in fact he had never seen her in them.

“Good morning Mr Beauchamp,” she said crisply, like a princess he thought.

“Good morning Miss le Strange,” Gordon inclined his head and smiled.

She glided past him and out of the door.

His day somewhat lifted, he tried to return to his gloomy thoughts of before. He had no right of relief from this endless war. Not while his country men were dying. However, he remembered the spitfire he had bought with his own money and the best part of another he had mobilised the townsfolk to raise the funds for. It was something.

Just like it was something that he was accommodating three of his factory workers in his home, it all helped the war effort. Three workers, he remembered looking at his watch.

“Miss Meadows,” he called, “Are you about?”

Are you even up yet, he thought in irritation.

Gordon went into the kitchen to look for any sign that the hapless Jeanie Meadows had been down for breakfast and had already gone. There was none. Surely… he thought in exasperation, she would not oversleep again.

Jeanie was the youngest of his three lodgers. He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think she had yet turned 20. She was pretty blonde thing, always nervous and eager, if often failing, to please. She had already overslept twice that week and she had yet to either pay her rent or hand over her ration book.

Going to the foot of the stairs he looked forlornly up towards her room wishing that Daphne or Megan had not already left and could go to her in his stead so he wouldn’t have to again intrude in a female world.

“Miss Meadows,” he yelled, hating the indignity of it.

Somewhere up above something stirred. Then it was if a herd of elephants had been let lose upon his upstairs hall and the passage that led to the women’s shared bathroom. Five minutes later a rather sheepish Jeanie emerged at the top of the stairs and tentatively began to come down.

“Miss Meadows you’re late. Again,” Gordon growled.

“I know but…” Jeanie whined.

“And I do hope you have found your ration book, you know Mrs Berkley will be in today to clean house and organise our provisions,” Gordon said sharply.

Jeanie bit her lip.

Gordon sighed. “The rent, you were paid two days ago, you do have the rent?”

As Jeanie reached the foot of the stairs she shook her head and suddenly took an interest in the floor.

“I’m sorry Mr Bo-champ,” she squeaked and pulled a face.

“It’s pronounced Beacham,” he said evenly, correcting her for the eighth or ninth time.

“Sorry Mr Beauchamp,” she winced, pronouncing more or less correctly this time, “I am sorry too about the money and… well I had to buy a dress… oh… oh… that’s where I left my ration book.”

Gordon closed his eyes and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“A dress?” he asked.

“Ooh,” Jeanie wailed, “Are you ever so cross? I am in trouble aren’t I?”

No I am in trouble, Gordon thought wearily.

“Are you going to spank me?” Jeanie said meekly. “I bet I will get a spanking when I get home, when my Dad finds out. Oh you won’t send me home, will you? I couldn’t bear it. I will do better, honest I will.”

He had spanked a silly girl or two from the village before now. And in the past he had even spanked his late wife. But they were all country girls and mostly not in his employ. They had expected that kind of handling. These city girls were not used to a firm hand or so he had thought.

“And if I were to spank you, do you think you will remember to get up on time… maybe pay the rent…?”

He didn’t think so.

Jeanie looked up at him hopefully now. Perhaps she was afraid she would be sent home she said, “Oh I am sure I would… I mean… well I know I deserve it and… and…”

Gordon frowned, he was missing something.

“Dad said… Mum and Dad said… I mean I was to tell you, should have told you I mean…” Jeanie kicked at her left foot with her right and looked at the floor again.

“Miss Meadows? What are you trying to say?”

“I was to tell you that if I didn’t behave you were to spank my bottom.” Jeanie was blushing furiously at this admission.

“I see,” Gordon frowned again, “And why didn’t you tell me this when you arrived?”

“I forgot,” she lied.

Gordon let out a heavy sigh. Then he said, “Very well, you will come to my study after tea tonight, with your ration book mind, and we will discuss your behaviour.”

“Yes Sir,” Jeanie said miserably.

“Now, wasn’t there somewhere you had to be?”

“To be Sir? Oh… oh… I’m late,” Jeanie wailed and without a backward glance she was gone.

*

After supper that evening Jeanie walked nervously to the study where Gordon was waiting. It was an old fashioned room, like something out of a picture show with Olivier or Ronald Coleman. She blushed. Mr Beauchamp did look rather like Ronald Coleman, she thought. Hadn’t he played a strict headmaster in one of his films?

She had no need to knock as the door was open and he could see her standing there from his desk.

“Ah Miss Meadows, come in,” he said in a stern voice.

“Shall I… shall close the door?” she asked shyly.

He nodded and indicated that she should.

As she approached she saw a tortoiseshell hairbrush on his desk; an old-fashioned type with a smooth back and a long straight handle.

He saw her looking at it and explained, “My late wife’s.”

“I had heard that posh people spanked with a hairbrush,” Jeanie said in a small voice to hide her shyness. “My Dad uses a slipper.”

“Posh people eh?” he smiled at this and then added, “My wife was about your age when we first got married.”

“Did you spank her too? With that I mean?” Jeanie was wide-eyed with the romance of the emerging story and imagined Mrs Beauchamp across Mr Beauchamp’s knee.

“Right up until her illness nearly 10 years ago,” Gordon said in a sad voice, for a moment averting his eyes.

“Oh gosh,” Jeanie gasped, “Then I am probably never going to be too old.”

“Tell me, how are you normally spanked?” Gordon asked as he picked up the brush.

Jeanie followed it with her eyes and hugged herself nervously.

“Over his knee with the slipper on my… my… with my… my things down.” Jeanie worried her lip with her teeth as she hesitantly explained.

Gordon studied her shapeless Oxford Bags and marvelled at the atrocious clothes young girls were wearing these days. It is the war I suppose, he thought bitterly.

Seeing where he was looking, Jeanie self-consciously patted at her trousers and tugged at the high waist with her thumbs. Gordon nodded as he stood up and moved his chair away from the desk.

Jeanie blushed and turned away as she slid the loose dark breeches down over her white cotton scanties. Not that Gordon saw that much, ever the gentleman he had also turned his back.

“Thank you for not sending me away, I am ever so sorry about the mess I made of things,” Jeanie said in a sorrowful voice once she had removed her bags.

Gordon turned around and eyed the girl in her underwear nervously. When he had been married, tanning the bare backside of the occasional village wench had not seemed so inappropriate.

“I think you should know that there was never a question of you being sent away. I simple wish you to buck your ideas up,” Gordon said firmly.

“Then I suppose I should thank you for taking the trouble,” Jeanie said meekly.

Taking up the hairbrush Gordon sat down and beckoned her to him.

“Time to address the matter in hand,” he said with a cough.

Jeanie gulped and moved forward until she was close enough to tumble over Gordon’s knee.

As her bottom arched up at him he hooked a thumb in her waistband and slid the clinging white cotton covering over her bulging bottom and down her thighs. Acutely aware that she was exposed to the gaze of a man, Jeanie gave a little gasp.

“There are rules in this house and in this world,” Gordon growled as he pressed the flat of the brush to Jeanie’s hindquarters.

“Yes Sir,” Jeanie squeaked.

The blood was rushing to her draped head, aiding the blush of her undignified position. It was embarrassing, scary and somehow comforting all at once. Oddly though, she thought of Ronald Coleman again.

“There is a war on and better men than you or I, are dying out there, women too,” Gordon continued angrily. “And yet, what do you do? Buy dresses with rent money. Lose your ration book. And… and… laze around in bed.”

“Ooh,” Jeanie wailed as tears pricked at her eyes.

Mr Beauchamp was right, she had been awful. Her blush now was from shame as well.

“Well I won’t have it,” Gordon snapped, bringing the brush down sharply across Jeanie’s bare bottom.

“Ah,” Jeanie grunted and kicked her legs.

“I won’t have it,” Gordon raged and spanked her again.

“I’m sorry Mr Beauchamp,” Jeanie gave out in a high pitched wail.

The next solid thwack added to an already growing red mark on her bottom and caused her to again kicker legs and squeal in distress.

“Do you hear me?” Gordon growled.

“Yes Sir,” Jeanie said miserably as she winced through another blast of the brush. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Are you? Are you? Are you?” Gordon repeated over and over, spanking Jeanie’s vulnerable bottom each time.

“I am Sir, really I am,” she squeaked urgently and shaking her bottom as if to throw loose the sting.

“I ought to spank you ‘til bed time, I ought to spank you every night until you pay the rent,” Gordon all but bellowed as he spanked on.

“Ooh, no Sir,” Jeanie wailed as tears sprang to her eyes. “I mean, yes Sir… ahhh, I mean… oh, oh, ooh.”

“If you get up late one more time or… or… just once and you’ll get more of the same,” Gordon spluttered.

“Yes Sir, but I won’t,” Jeanie gasped, her words competing with her laboured breathing.

“Right, now you can go and stand and face the wall over there and you will remain there as quiet as a church mouse for the rest of the evening.”

“Yes Sir,” Jeanie said, at last breaking to full sobs as she hastened to obey.

As she scurried away she tugged at her cotton scanties.

“Leave them down,” Gordon said paternally, “And put your hands on your head.”

“Yes Sir,” Jeanie said ruefully as she sniffed.

Gordon nodded in satisfaction as he took a final look at the now compliant girl before opening the door and leaving the room.

“That’s the way to do it Sir,” Megan chuckled from a place sitting on the stairs where she had been clearly listening. “If I had behaved like her, why… I would have got the strap on my bare arse back home.”

“Very educational I am sure,” Daphne said snootily as she pushed passed her colleague and ascended the stairs. “I’m getting away from all this vulgar tomfoolery.”

“Oh get you,” Megan said humorously, “Like you haven’t been loitering to listen in.”

“I have not,” Daphne said indignantly, “I was… I… oh,” with a final harrumph, she flounced off.

“Put in the corner as well, look you,” Megan said to Gordon in admiration. “Now there’s posh.”

Gordon nodded absently as he watched Daphne ascend the stairs.

“Now there’s one who could do with a tanned backside,” Megan said slyly, following his gaze.

Yes indeed, Gordon thought.

To be continued.

Our story began here.

Jeanie was first to breakfast the next morning and asides from a casual wince as she eased herself onto the dining room table; there was not the least hint of the previous night’s ‘discussion.’

“Good morning Mr Beauchamp,” she said brightly as Gordon entered the room.

He didn’t comment on the fact that she had managed to pronounce his name correctly or that she was up on time.

“Good morning Miss Meadows,” he replied warmly.

She grinned at him and reached for a slice of toast.

“No kippers this morning,” she said cheerfully as if that was a good thing.

“No,” Gordon replied carefully, wondering just how long it had been since Jeanie had sat down for breakfast. “They have been on the ration since the second week you arrived.”

“Oh,” Jeanie pulled a face as if to say ‘silly me.’

“There will be an egg each and perhaps some bacon on Sunday,” Gordon said positively.

“Oh wowzer,” Jeanie mumbled through a mouthful of toast.

“Oh wowzer indeed,” Gordon agreed, now amused to be indulging in what he guessed might be ‘hep-talk’ or some kind of jazz slang.

By the time Megan joined them at the table Jeanie was already on her second slice of toast.

After the usual morning greetings Megan began to babble on about a dance at the local church hall.

“Are you going?” she asked Jeanie.

“I don’t know,” Jeanie said hesitantly, looking nervously at Gordon.

“A church hall dance on a Thursday?” Gordon expressed his surprise, “But surely the curfew…?”

“It’s a morale booster for the troops. A special request from district commander I heard; something to do with Polish airmen. I don’t know,” Megan shrugged distractedly. “The factory girls have been told to clear out by 9.30 if their digs observe the curfew.”

“I see,” Gordon frowned.

He didn’t approve, but still, if it was for the war effort…

“I don’t suppose Daphne will be joining us,” Megan continued as she piled into the toast.

“She says breakfast is bad for her figure, besides it must take her simply hours with all that make-up and clothes,” Jeanie gushed. “It must be so wonderful to have worked in a theatre. Do you think she was famous?”

“Well I have never heard of her,” Megan snorted, adding, “I think if she had been terribly well known she would have been accepted into ENSA or be in one of Lawrence Olivier’s pictures. Not working in a silly old factory in the back of beyond,” oblivious to the open aspersions she cast on Gordon’s factory and home town.

Jeanie shot a glance at Gordon, embarrassed for him on account of Megan’s rude remarks.

“I rather think that we should leave Miss le Strange’s business to her don’t you?” Gordon said crisply.

“Oh yes Sir,” Jeanie said eagerly, her eyes wide.

Megan smirked and cast a sideways glance at the now meek Jeanie.

“Can we presume you will be up on time from now on?” Megan teased.

Jeanie blushed and sucked in her cheeks.

To change the subject and put Megan in her place a little he said, “Mrs Berkley had to rush off after making breakfast and won’t be back until this afternoon, so can I ask you to clear the dishes after breakfast Megan.”

“Oh, yes of course,” Megan said with a tight smile.

“I’ll help,” Jeanie gushed.

As he got up to leave Gordon smiled at the reformed girls’ helpfulness and wondered how long it would last.

*

Gordon had never kept close tabs on the women in his house. He was their employer and landlord, not their keeper. The curfew was an advisory one for the town to assist the authorities to combat saboteurs. It also served to prevent the small town from being overrun at night by nearby troops drawn to the hundreds of single women billeted there.

But still, it was his house and 10 o’clock was quite late enough for a woman to be out at night, especially when they had to work the next day. So when he heard an odd sound at the back of the house he went to investigate.

He knew that Jeanie was in bed and had no doubt that Daphne le Strange was too. As it was now almost eleven he had presumed that the same could be said for Megan. But then he remembered the dance.

He flicked a switch and the light shot a sure searchlight-sure beam down the back hallway. Transfixed in the glare was Megan; one foot in and one foot out of a downstairs window.

“Ah Mr Beauchamp, you scared me,” she said sheepishly.

“I scared you?” he frowned, “Was there something wrong with the door?”

“I lost track of time. I didn’t want to disturb you,” Megan said in false bonhomie as she dropped onto the floor.

“You did disturb me and…” he eyed a vase in pieces on the floor, “You have broken a rather expensive antique into the bargain. Why are you late young lady?”

“I’ll pay for that,” Megan said hastily, her Welsh accent suddenly very broad.

“What with, the next 10 years of your wages?”

“Ooh, I’m sorry,” she wailed.

“Have you a good reason for being back an hour after curfew? After all this is my house and I have a position to uphold,” Gordon growled.

“There was this Polish Flight Sergeant, a pilot see, a lovely man… he has shot down nine 109s and a Stuka…” Megan broke off as she realised that Gordon wasn’t impressed.

“What would your father have to say about that Miss Jones?” Gordon barked.

Megan bit her lower lip and dipped her head.

“I expect he would think I wasn’t too old for a good hiding,” Megan admitted. “I only had a dance… well… and then I sort of lost track of the time see.”

“You know what happened to Jeanie last night don’t you?”

“Oh Sir, please Sir… oh,” Megan wailed.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t put you across my knee for damn good spanking here and now,” Gordon was furious.

Megan couldn’t answer.

“Come with me at once, Miss Jones,” Gordon ordered as he led the way to his study.

By the time Megan caught up with him he was already sitting in the armless chair holding the brush.

“Ooh Sir,” she groaned as she walked dejectedly over to him.

She was somewhat ungainly, not to say undignified as she flopped over his lap, her circular hips giving way to an ample circular bottom angled up at him.

“Skirt,” Gordon said sharply, surprised at her ready compliance.

Megan got to her feet and quickly shed herself of her skirt and slip. She was about to drop her draws when Gordon pulled back over his knee.

“I’ll see to that,” he muttered, again amazed at her compliance and lack of modesty.

This was to be a business-like affair he realised and in the spirit of getting an unpleasant task over with, he shucked down her cotton under things and quickly addressed the pale moon of her bottom with the brush.

“I’m so sorry Sir,” Megan said miserably.

“I trust the good sergeant didn’t get this familiar with you,” Gordon mused aloud.

“Oh no Sir,” Megan was shocked.

“If I were to write to your father, I trust he would not disapprove what I am about to do?” Gordon said brusquely and tapped her bare behind setting it to wobble a little.

“Oh please Sir, don’t tell my Da, I’ll be a good girl.” Megan’s voice was shrill with panic.

“Very well,” Gordon sighed and brought the brush down with a splat.

Megan kicked and wailed throughout her spanking, although none of her protests dissuaded Gordon from turning Megan’s Welsh mountain-top white bottom as red as an English rose.

“Oh Sir, I’m sorry, so sorry,” she cried and boo-hooed for Wales.

Gordon spanked her hard for a good five or ten minutes before setting her on her feet. He had to avert his eyes as she made no attempt to cover the abundant dark triangle of her sex as she did a punitive dance for him.

“Go and face the wall until you are calm enough for bed,” Gordon snapped.

She didn’t need telling twice.

“I trust there is no bad feeling between us,” Gordon said as he put the brush down on his desk.

“I hope not Sir,” Megan sobbed into the wall, “I’m sorry about the vase.”

“We can forget that now,” Gordon sighed, “I only hope you have learned your lesson.”

“Oh yes Sir, honestly Sir I have,” Megan sniffed.

Gordon waited for a good 15 minutes before dismissing her. By then Megan had pulled herself together and even managed to offer Gordon a small rueful smile.

“Good night Sir,” she said meekly.

“Good night Miss Jones,” Gordon replied indulgently.

After she had gone he made one final check of the back window and turned out the lights.

The opening of the front door took him by surprise.

“Oh, good night Mr Beauchamp, what are you doing up?” Daphne le Strange said in a tone of idle curiosity as she breezed through the door.

“Miss le Strange, I thought… where have you been?” Gordon was taken aback.

“Been? What is that to you? I have been to that wretched dance,” Daphne said imperiously. “Quite dreadful really, not a proper officer among them. You know I had to dance with a Warrant Officer 2^nd Class.”

“Oh,” Gordon said indulgently, “Weren’t there any Warrant Officers 1^st Class present?”

“You know I don’t know,” Daphne frowned as if considering the point and then she added conversationally “There was the colonel of course and a rather rum major from the Home Guard, but they were both… shall we say… a little wrinkled.”

It was all Gordon could do not to laugh and suddenly he was envious, jealous even, of all those young men who had flirted with this elegant creature that night. Still, she was late and behaving like a hopelessly spoiled brat.

“And none of these military gentlemen suggested you should come home before the curfew?” Gordon said pointedly.

“Oh that,” Daphne said dismissively, “Surely that’s just a guide for the other girls.”

“You know, I have already had cause to spank Megan for being late,” Gordon said pointedly.

He had no intention of doing the same to the more mature Daphne. She did have a point of sorts. But he found her manner rather irritating and he hadn’t yet got over his annoyance at the warrant officer she had danced with.

“Really, how theatrical of you,” Daphne said snootily, “I hope she learned her lesson.”

“I rather think she did,” Gordon said folding his arms. “You know you are not too old to go across my knee.”

Daphne flushed a little and licked her lips. Then as nonchalantly as she was able she strolled towards the staircase to make good her escape.

Gordon’s eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement and his visage took on a determined look. One should never flee an old dog, he thought.

“You… you wouldn’t dare,” Daphne began to bluster.

“Miss le Strange, I think you really have this coming don’t you,” Gordon said humorously as he took her by the arm and half led and half tugged her to his study.

“Mr Beauchamp, I’m not a child… I… Mr Beauchamp please, what are you going to do?” Daphne sounded quite shrill now.

Gordon toppled her easily across his lap and admired the smooth round of her behind lost as it was in the folds of her elegant dress.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Daphne spluttered, but her voice was heavy with doubt.

Gordon threw over the skirt and lifted into her back to reveal Daphne’s slip.

“Now Mr Beauchamp,” Daphne struggled for a tone somewhere between reason and denial.

The slip followed the skirts so that Gordon could look upon Daphne’s pert bottom bursting from the silk pre-war dainties.

“Mr Beauchamp,” Daphne squealed.

“In deference to you being a lady, if you moderate your tone, I will let you keep these up,” he said pinching at the silk so as to tug threateningly on her final veil.

“You… I… Mr Beauchamp,” Daphne gathered up the last of her dignity, “I’m sorry I was late but…”

“You seem to think you are better than the others,” Gordon said pointedly.

“No I…”

“No?” Gordon broke in to her bluster, “Then why shouldn’t you get the spanking you so richly deserve too?”

“But I… please,” there was a surrendered desperation in her voice now, and she sighed, “Mr Beauchamp… oh.”

Gordon brought the brush down with a determined sweep of his arm and Daphne yelped.

“Oh you… ah,” she shrieked again at another impact.

Gordon put some more weight into his swat.

“Mr Beauchamp,” Daphne growled angrily.

“Miss le Strange,” Gordon spanked her again.

“Mr Beauchamp,” her grunt was strained.

Gordon spanked her in long hard sweeps as he held her effortlessly in place.

“Puh,” Daphne spluttered and then began to cry.

Gordon ignored her and spanked even harder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Daphne sobbed.

Gordon let her go.

It would do her dignity no harm to be sent to the corner he thought but Daphne broke into louder wailing sobs and fled the room.

Not my best courting technique, he thought bitterly, but then, what else could I do?

*

Gordon didn’t know why, but he sat in his study for a long time after Daphne left. He realised that the precious Miss le Strange was not just a silly girl like the others; she would never forgive him now. Her dignity and pride wouldn’t allow it. But why did he care so much? After all she was just a spoiled city girl who broke the rules.

Suddenly there was a small wrap at the door.

“Who… I mean come in?” Gordon called out.

It must be Megan or Jeanie wondering about the noise, he realised. Then Daphne crept into the room.

“Mr Beauchamp,” she said with as much dignity as she could manage, but her demeanour was rather meek. “I left… rather suddenly. Well I… I should have apologised properly. You were quite right, I broke curfew, which is unforgivable in war time.”

“That’s quite alright Miss le Strange, I think we both learned something,” Gordon said in an even voice.

“Yes,” Daphne said licking her lips nervously.

He noticed her hand stray to her bottom and she had obviously been crying some more.

“Also I…” Daphne continued, “At school I was taught to thank one’s… that is to say, when one is chastised… I should have thanked you I believe, as is the custom.”

“I think it is understandable under the circumstances,” Gordon said politely.

Daphne nodded.

“Anyway, I am sorry and thank you,” she said.

“My pleasure,” he said, very conscious of the irony.

She blushed and made to leave while he wracked his brains for something to say. Daphne was never going to be all sweetness and light about this in the morning as Jeanie was. Then she paused, perhaps just as desperate to put things right between them.

“Mr Beauchamp,” she began, “Mr Beauchamp, my real name is Davis, not le Strange.”

“A stage name no doubt,” he said, puzzled by her admission at this time.

“No,” she continued, “I was never an actress. I just wanted to be. I was… I was a stage manager’s assistant and on occasion, a make-up artist and dresser.”

“I see,” Gordon replied, although he didn’t at all.

“I know I put on airs… oh God, I don’t know why I am telling you all this.” she gasped and looked at the ceiling in a semblance of the confessional, “But it was all I had. But, I… I wanted you to know that I am not better than the others. I know you think I am, but… the truth is I am not good enough for you.”

“That’s not true and your words prove it,” Gordon said kindly.

Daphne looked at the floor and blushed, her hand again straying to her behind.

“Or are you trying to tell me that you are not too good to have your knickers taken down for a good spanking when you need it?” he tried to make light of it, but it sounded pompous and stern somehow.

But she smiled.

“I suppose I am, Mr Beauchamp,” she laughed.

“Perhaps you should call me Gordon,” he said.

It was the best gesture he had.

“If you are going to be spanking me, then I think I should stick to Mr Beauchamp,” she laughed again.

Her face lit up like sunshine.

Then in a quiet voice she added, “At least for now.”

To be continued…

[Thanks to TipTopper for the improved image quality]

Our story began here.

In the days that followed Daphne was studiously polite whenever she met Gordon on the stairs. In fact the only sign that anything had transpired at all were the amused looks that Megan batted back and forth between Daphne and him; a sure sign that she had overheard everything.

Usually a stern look from Gordon ended such appraisal, although Daphne herself did not give the slightest hint that she had noticed.

It was over a week later that Gordon and Daphne passed each other in the hall; the most they had seen of each other in days.

“Miss le Strange,” Gordon said stiffly as he inclined his head a little.

Daphne averted her eyes just a flick, perhaps remembering that he now knew her real name. Then she replied with a simple, “Mr Beauchamp.”

Gordon inwardly winced at the cold exchange and stood back to let her pass. As she did so, he could not help noticing that she left even more space between them than was necessary. She had almost reached the foot of the stairs to head up to her room when Gordon decided to seize the initiative.

“Lovely day,” he blurted.

Daphne paused and licked her lips as if she were considering a reply.

“I… eh, wouldn’t know, I haven’t been out,” she said tentatively.

He nodded as an awkward silence fell between them.

“I was… thinking of going out for a walk. In the sunshine as it were,” he proffered hesitantly.

“Oh well,” Daphne shook her head in surprised puzzlement, continuing, “Well, enjoy your walk Mr Beauchamp.”

“Why don’t you come with me? It seems such a pity to be cooped up in your room.”

It might have taken her less than a second to reply, but to Gordon it was as if a bomb had been dropped and he was waiting to see where it would land.

Then all she said was, “Thank you Mr Beauchamp, I’ll get my coat.”

*

They walked in silence for what seemed like hours as they took the hill path overlooking the town. Gordon knew nothing of the theatre or where to begin asking about her other interests. He also doubted very much that she would have the least interest in the army or the factory; the only two subjects that he knew anything about.

Then as is often the way they both chosen the same instant to break the silence.

“Do you…?” she began.

“Were you…?” he said over her.

They both laughed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, indicating that she should continue with his hand.

“Oh I… I was only going to ask…” she couldn’t now remember, so ploughed on with, “…have you always lived here?”

“I was born in the house where we live,” he said simply with a shrug. “I served in India for a brief time before the last war and then I was posted to Flanders. My leg brought me home. I was lucky I suppose. I have been nowhere since.”

“Oh I am surprised, you seem such a… well-travelled man,” Daphne said pleasantly.

“Oh I have been around a bit. Before the war I used to go up to London for the season. Paris too sometimes,” he said dismissively.

“Oh Paris, I have always wanted to go,” she burbled like a mountain spring.

Gordon was taken aback at how girlish she was once she dropped the stuffy theatrical façade.

“It makes me furious to think of those people there now,” Daphne continued, suddenly angry.

“Those people?” Gordon realised he hadn’t really been listening.

“Those…” she could scarce get the words out, finally she spat, “Nazi people. Oh the poor French.”

“Well absolutely,” Gordon said indignantly sharing her rage. “That popinjay clown and his evil posturing… but I tell you who really gets me mad, it’s those Whitehall types. Gammy leg be damned, I should be out there with my regiment.”

“Of course you should,” Daphne agreed emphatically. “Where are they at the moment?”

“North Africa, the last I heard,” Gordon explained.

“Oh gosh how exciting,” Daphne was enthralled.

The two of them crossed the ridge that dropped into Green Man’s Copse, scarcely noticing the view as Gordon regaled Daphne with tales of his time in India and France.

*

Gordon was awake and listening intently for what had disturbed him. An owl called out to him with a single hoot and opening one eye like that wide old bird he saw a rectangle of moonshine in on the floor.

The rattle-scratch was loud in the night and for a moment Gordon thought of mice. Then he recognised the hard click of a key in the front door lock.

Megan, he thought grimly. She had no shame. Unlike Jeanie, whom he had only spanked twice in recent weeks, the Welsh girl was quite willing to gamble with her bottom two or three times a week. That was his assumption anyway, presumably he only caught her a fraction of the time she got back late from seeing her Polish Flight Sergeant or else she wouldn’t do it.

It is time I investigated in something like a belt she says her father uses, he thought wearily as he dragged himself from bed.

From the top of the stairs he saw no light, although there was definitely someone in the hall by the front door. He could hear it painfully slowly eased shut. Then as he reached the end of the landing he heard a tiny creak on the stair.

The staircase bulb was dim, but it was bright enough to catch the culprit, Gordon thought grimly as he flicked the switch.

“Ah… Mr Beauchamp,” Daphne said sheepishly. “I was…”

As her voice tailed off he could see that she was holding her shoes in one hand had grasped the hem of a long evening gown, presumably so she wouldn’t trip.

“Miss le Strange, it is a quarter to one in the morning, where the devil have you been?”

“I…” she croaked and pointed forlornly to some unnamed place beyond the wall.

Gordon’s jaw tightened as he thought about whom she might have been seeing and what they might have…

“Miss le Strange, what the hell… what is this is outrageous behaviour?” Gordon rasped angrily.

Daphne quailed and swallowed hard.

“The colonel,” she squeaked.

“A married man,” Gordon bellowed.

“No I…”

Gordon tied another decisive knot in his dressing gown belt and swooped down the stairs like some great avenging bird. It was a small matter to swing Daphne over his shoulder and carry her down stairs to his study.

“I am going to give you the spanking of your life my girl,” he growled as he dropped into his chair and hauled up Daphne’s dress.

He was outraged to see that her stockings were unencumbered by any petticoats or slip and her knickers were of the saucy French kind.

“I thought you were a lady,” he groaned in disappointment, “Even after what you told me. But even Megan would not…”

Incensed now he dragged Daphne’s underwear down her thighs and only momentarily fazed by glamour of her tight round bottom, he began to belabour her with his hand.

“Ow, please Mr Beauchamp I can explain,” she wailed.

Gordon was furious and ignoring her he spanked her in a paddy for several long minutes until Daphne was hiccoughing tears and her make-up ran in black rivers down her eyes.

“So you little… the colonel eh?” Gordon paused for breath.

“I left him… I mean… I had to walk back…,” Daphne sobbed.

“What?” Gordon sat up.

“He told me… that…” Daphne sobbed, “That his wife knew some theatre people,” she heaved another sob, “But it was a lie, there was just the two of us.”

Gordon felt a fool and let Daphne drop to the floor where she hastily covered herself, although made no attempt to pull up her knickers, which still dangled off one foot.

“Are you alright, I mean, did he…”

“I’m fine, I… was such a fool,” she wailed.

“That bastard, just wait until… I’m sorry… I-I just couldn’t bear to think of you with him.”

“It’s my own fault, I deserve to be spanked,” Daphne sniffed.

“I suppose you do at that,” Gordon said pointedly.

“You walked you say? Why didn’t you get the bus, it runs until…”

Daphne blushed and looked down.

“What time did you meet him?” Gordon growled.

“Nine thirty,” Daphne mumbled. “And I was late,” she admitted.

“So you never intended to be home on time?”

Daphne shook her head.

“And you went to see this man, all smiling and flirting to get preferment in the theatre?”

Daphne replied with a small nod.

“I see,” Gordon said tartly, “In my… dismay and haste, I neglected to spank you properly.”

Daphne opened her mouth to protest and massaged her rear. But Gordon reached for the hairbrush on his desk and beckoned her.

“But…” Daphne gasped.

“You know what happens now Miss le Strange,” Gordon said.

“Look, this is completely ridiculous, can’t we…?” Daphne blustered.

“Come here.” Gordon cut her off.

“Gordon, please,” Daphne wailed.

His name on her lips was a punch in the chest, albeit a welcome one, but he wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“When my wife was wilful, I had a cane,” he warned, “Shall I fetch it now?”

Daphne got unsteadily to her feet and took half a step forward. It was enough and he pulled her easily across his lap and bared her bottom for another spanking.

The rifle-crack volley that followed was carried all the way upstairs where Megan and Jeanie were listening. The keening cries in hoity-toity tones left no doubt as to the identity of the hapless girl being spanked and Megan considered creeping down to watch.

“Gordon please, I only wanted… I mean a factory, I hate it,” Daphne sobbed, before screeching, “Oh heavens, oh God, aahh,” as the brush continued to assail her bare bottom.

“A factory is honest work, but no wife of mine is going to work in a theatre,” Gordon snapped.

The spanking paused.

“Wife?” Daphne said in surprise.

“If you’ll have me,” Gordon said, equally taken aback by his outburst.

“Oh yes, oh Gordon, oh yes,” Daphne gushed trying to turn herself over his lap.

“You stay there Daphne,” Gordon ordered, “You’re not going anywhere until I am done.”

“Yes Gordon,” Daphne replied dreamily, and then wailed, “Ooh,” as the spanking resumed.

“By the time I am done with you, you really will be standing up for breakfast.”

“Yes Gordon,” Daphne sobbed.

“I might even test out that cane before you get off to bed, so no more nonsense understand,” he said sternly as he let the brush swipe down for few more good spanks.

“Ugh, yes Gordon,” Daphne grunted.

By now he allowed himself to enjoy the splendour of his future wife’s bare bottom and he really was in no hurry. Their first kiss would come only after she had thoroughly learned her place in the corner. Well perhaps, their second he amended, as the brush struck home and extracted another healthy squeal. In any case, there was still much to be done at this end.

The End.

Our story began here.

Sylvia awoke the next morning desperately trying to resent all that had happened. In fact, in a long lazy life she could not recall ever quite working so hard at anything before. The truth was however, not only was she no longer bored, but recent events had left strangely excited about what the future might bring. She even found herself caring what her husband thought and where he might fit in to her… she grouped at an idea, reluctant to consider the implications of a train of thought… her new life?

As she turned in bed she became aware of the hardness of the bed under hip and the usually soft Egyptian cotton sheets chafing at the skin of her bottom. Instead of rolling over, she wriggled a little to enjoy the unfamiliar sensation. The she remembered that she no longer had the liberty to loll around in bed and that ‘Lady’ Granger would be expecting her.

The jokey appellation suddenly seemed both disrespectful and oddly appropriate and Sylvia blushed. That thought held her in further procrastination for a moment longer and then she again recalled she was expected elsewhere.

After a quick shower she had dressed and made her way to the little office in the servant’s quarters where Mary was awaiting her.

“I was beginning to wonder if you had had a change of heart about helping,” Mary said dryly.

If Sylvia noticed the implied opt out, but she ignored it and in the spirit of jumping in at the deep end she hastily said, “So what do you want me to do?”

Mary cocked an eyebrow before reaching for a grey paper folder on the desk.

“Go through these and see if the columns of numbers add up. Then mark any expenditure or incoming payments for that matter, which you do not understand. It is okay, this is only a copy of what is on the computer,” the housekeeper explained.

“Is that all?” Sylvia frowned.

“It is quite sufficient for you today and it is quite a long list of entries. It is a balance sheet you see.”

“Oh,” Sylvia stared back blankly.

“You know what a balance sheet is?” Mary asked.

“Eh… something to do with accounting,” Sylvia ventured.

Mary sighed and looked to heaven as if in prayer for patience.

“Look, it is quite simple. Down this column are the items written out in English. Here are the incoming monies and here are the expenditures. Follow them down to the last page here and you will see that they add up and both figures are the same. I want you to add up the figures in both columns yourself and make sure that there are no errors.”

Sylvia blanched and flicked over several pages. There must have been more than a dozen of them, with several hundred entries.

“Here,” Mary said, handing Sylvia a calculator, “You might need this.”

“Thanks,” Sylvia said queasily, not looking the least bit grateful.

“I’ll leave you to it,” the housekeeper said with a smile.

*

Sylvia had been running the numbers for what seemed like hours. All the columns seemed to add up; it said so at the bottom of the last page. She reasoned that if Mary had made a mistake, which was very unlikely, then how would she know anyway? It was simple enough, she decided as she took a sip from her fourth cup of coffee; work wasn’t so bad after all.

She was still feeling satisfied with herself when Mary returned.

“How are you getting on?” she asked encouragingly.

“No problems here that I can see,” Sylvia said confidently.

“Really,” Mary frowned, “Did you see any entries that you might wish to query?”

Sylvia shrugged. As far as she could tell the items were just a very long list of boring household purchases, wages and a few payments in from her husband.

“Are you sure? You didn’t think that the purchase of 250 cases of exploding purple flowerpot paint for £3.89 was at all odd?”

“Eh…?” Sylvia began to quickly shuffle the spread sheets, seeing them no more clearly than she had before. “Um… where was that?”

Mary had a face like iron as she pointed to the bottom of the second page.

“What about the purchase of 13 concubines for an orgy?”

“Concubines?” Sylvia looked confused and again ran her eyes down the list of entries. That one did ring a bell. “Concubines… I thought it said porcupines… what’s a concubine?”

“Porcupines? Why would we need 13 porcupines? What for an orgy?”

“I didn’t read it that closely, I thought…”

“And the figures were okay with you, even though I deliberately left in two mistakes in the amounts?”

Sylvia felt the world close in and it became somewhat hot as she bit her lower lip.

“You didn’t do much more than sit here drinking coffee did you?” Mary accused her.

Sylvia looked away to the side like a surly teenager.

“Numbers are not really my thing, they are boring,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Tomorrow we will try again,” Mary said with an exasperated sigh, “But for now…”

The sentence was finished by the act of taking a large clothes brush from the desk draw.

“Remove your clothing from below the waist,” Mary instructed, “After I am done with you, you can go and stand in the corner somewhere very prominent in lieu of lunch.”

“But…”

“Do it now,” Mary barked.

Sylvia was two people as she stood up and began removing her skirt and sliding her knickers down and off her legs. The meek foolish girl caught cheating and the grown-up, angry and amazed that she was surrendering so easily. She was still divided as Mary pulled her gently down across her lap and positioned her still tender bare bottom for another assault.

“Until I can trust you with such supervisory tasks as the accounts, then you will have to learn less edifying skills,” Mary said sharply.

Sylvia had no time to consider her words before the brush swept down with an impossibly loud impact that stole her breath and ran away with it. Nor had she recovered before the next swat bit into her hind end with jaws of fire.

“Mary, please,” she shrieked, but to no avail.

“Ms Granger or Ma’am to you while you are under correction,” Mary scolded.

“Yes Ma’am,” Sylvia replied miserably, her last coherent utterance for the best part of 10 minutes.

When at last the spanking was over, Mary led the sobbing Sylvia out of the office and up the passage to the steps at the end. Nor did they stop there.

This time Sylvia was taken to the main entrance hall and then halfway up the stairs to a half landing where she was placed facing the wall.

“As I told you before, I really hope you try to test me,” Mary growled. “Now stay there where everyone can see until I come back and tell you to move. And that my girl, will be well after lunch.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Sylvia sobbed and then put her face to the wall for her second round of corner time in as many days.

To be continued.

Our story began here.

Sylvia was on tenterhooks for a few days and fully, not to say nervously, expected a confrontation with Mary. She tried to tell herself that she was afraid at the prospect and perhaps she was, but her overwhelming emotion was something else. That first night after witnessing Mary’s punishment Sylvia had awoken with a start from some half-remembered but not altogether unwelcome dream in which she dimly relived the birching. Only this time it was her over the frame and her husband who held the birch.

However, apart from giving her some routine tasks, Mary said nothing about what she had witnessed, leaving Sylvia unsatisfied somehow. So Saturday came and finally Gerald came home.

Sylvia felt like a school girl as she leaned against the door leading to the front room. In her mind she had rehearsed the conversation, trying out various levels of nonchalance and bravado. But now he was here, her mouth was dry and everything she had planned to say seemed either contrived or down right lame.

She watched him hang his coat and pause to straighten his club tie in the small mirror that was pinned to the inside of the hall closet. He seemed taller somehow and rather than overweight, he appeared thicker set and more physically powerful. The iron grey streaks in his hair no longer made him look less the cuddly uncle-type who had made her laugh, but instead evoked a lion’s mane that complimented his steel blue eyes.

“Sylvia,” he said in a bright clear voice, “I hear you have been a naughty girl.”

She blushed and glanced nervously at the floor.

“I often thought to introduce you to another side of my life, but…” he shrugged and after regarding her for a moment turned to shut the closet door.

“I wish you had,” she said boldly.

Gerald looked back at her and studied her as if for the first time. He nodded as if coming to a decision, but the appraising gaze never left his face.

“This thing with Drake, Tatiana…” Sylvia licked her lips and added in a whisper, “and Mary Granger…?”

“Yes?” he turned to face her squarely and gave a little tug on his shirt sleeve so that it came level with his jacket cuff as he did so.

“I don’t understand it,” she sighed.

“I think you do.” His voice had an edge to it. “Or are you afraid?”

“Yes,” she replied tentatively and then with more force added, “And yes.”

“Do you object?” His voice was strange now; casual and yet sardonic, the words spoken in a tone that although akin to ‘could you pass the salt?’ actually hinted at a world hung in the balance ready to stand or fall at her answer.

“Do I object to what?” It was prevarication and evasion and she knew it.

He didn’t reply and waited for an answer to his first question.

A silent word danced on the tip of her tongue and she turned away. Retreating into the front room, she studied each familiar object there for an answer.

He followed her with a slow stride, a lion still stalking its prey.

“I want…” She didn’t know and fell silent again.

“Roll the dice, play the hand,” he urged, “Take a chance.”

“On you?” she sharply shot him a glance.

“I am my world,” he replied softly.

She nodded but repeated, “On you?”

He took another step as if he was about to pounce.

“Yes,” he replied.

“I think I already have taken a chance on you,” she smiled, “I think I did it when I married, I just didn’t know the rules then.”

“Then are you ready to learn them?”

She had opened a door on a new world she didn’t want to close. Now he was there as an offered guide. Her answer now was easy.

“Yes,” she said and then remembering something added, “Yes Sir.”

*

Dinner was a turning point for them both. Once Gerald had been installed at the head of the table the staff were transformed. Even Mary Granger took a humble stance and you would have thought that Sylvia had been lady of the manor her whole life.

“I am not used to this,” she whispered to Gerald. “I usually take my meal and sit in front of the TV. This is like a restaurant.”

“Perhaps you need to take a firmer hand with the staff,” Gerald replied with a twinkle in his eye.

Sylvia blushed and shot a glance at an imperious Mary overseeing the meal from the other end of the room.

“Mary responds well to a firm hand,” Gerald observed, “Don’t you Mary?”

“Yes Sir, very much so thank you,” Mary replied in a serious tone.

“Do you think my wife will ever learn to take charge here?” Gerald asked totally ignoring the presence of Tatiana and another girl.

Mary pursed her lips and seemed to appraise Sylvia for a moment.

“Gerald please,” Sylvia said shyly and after a quick look at the two maids, averted her eyes.

“Well Mary, what do you think?” Gerald asked again.

“No Sir,” Mary suggested.

“Do you agree Sylvia?” Gerald asked his wife in amusement.

“I suppose,” Sylvia said, her eyes fixed on her soup.

Gerald nodded thoughtfully as he took a sip of wine.

“I have to head back to London on Tuesday,” Gerald said as if he were changing the subject. Then he turned to Mary and continued, “After I have left and before you continue with my wife’s instruction, give her a good sound spanked bottom, somewhere not too discreet and put her in the corner for a while.”

Sylvia’s jaw dropped and she whirled on her husband as if to complain.

Before she could speak Mary answered him with a crisp, “Yes Sir.”

“Please Gerald you can’t,” Sylvia wailed.

Gerald put his wine down and looked at his wife with an expression approaching horrified disdain.

“I beg your pardon,” he said archly.

“You can’t just…” Sylvia blustered.

“I see,” Gerald sighed, “Mary, bring me a good stout clothes brush from the hall.”

“Certainly Sir,” Mary replied and turned as if on parade to do as she was told.

Sylvia followed the housekeeper’s departure with her eyes and then whirled around to confront her husband. “Gerald?” she gasped.

“I had intended… that is to say, I intend to have you bend over before bed and cane your bare bottom, but now I see you need something on account,” Gerald said as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Come here.”

“Gerald, please.” If blushing had carried a fatal risk then Sylvia would have died.

“Unless you wish to be very severely punished I suggest you obey me after first offering the correct response.”

Tatiana smirked and she and the other maid exchanged glances. Just as they did so Mary re-entered the room with the brush and both their eyes shot to the front.

Sylvia stared incredulously at her husband her head fizzing and a heavy pulse in her right ear.

“Come here,” Gerald barked at her.

Sylvia pulled the napkin from her lap and stood up. This was make or break she knew, but instead of arguing she mumbled, “Yes Sir.”

It seemed to take an age for her to cross the room; one foot elegantly placed directly in front of the other like a model on a catwalk. As she did so Gerald moved his chair away from the table and received the brush from Mary.

“Should we leave for a while Sir?” Mary asked him.

“No, I want you to stay,” Gerald replied.

Sylvia heaved a great sigh at this and suddenly wished the proverbial ground would open under her. As she did so she stopped until Gerald crooked a finder at her and indicated that she should walk around to stand on his right side. His wife balked at this and swallowed, but one look in his eyes told her not to even consider resistance, so she obeyed.

Taking her arm her tipped her easily over his lap and began to slide her black dress up her thighs to expose her bottom dressed in the briefest of briefs. Then these too were taken down and off her legs.

“I am going to teach you the rules, do you hear me?” he growled.

“Yes Sir,” she squeaked, mortified at the audience to her shame.

“Tell me Mary, is my wife a cry baby?” he asked his housekeeper.

“Comparatively so, yes Sir, but it is early days yet,” Mary suggested.

Gerald nodded and said something indistinct under his breath. He immediately followed this up with a sharp crack of the brush to Sylvia’s bare bottom.

“Yah,” she gasped, but undeterred he spanked her again.

The three women watching shifted a little where they stood and Tatiana moved her hands from behind her back and placed them neatly in front of her hips.

The spanking was slow, efficient and not to say, very, very thorough.

It was almost as if Gerald had waited all his life to spank Sylvia and he intended to make the most of it. Each spank drew a yelp or a pained groan and in very short order she was panting hard and struggling across his lap.

It took a while but Sylvia’s bottom was reduced to a full shiny purple red that neatly covered both her bare bottom cheeks like a coat of paint or smooth leather patches. By then of course her increasing distress had led her panting to break to sobs and to no one’s surprise she was crying like a naughty teen.

Not that Gerald showed any sign of stopping, his arm rose and fell with a slow reliable regularity, each spank extracting a further pained yell that soon left his wife bawling.

“I would spank you a while longer yet,” he said gruffly, “But you still have that cane I spoke of to come.”

“Yes Sir,” Sylvia wailed a sob.

“Alright,” he soothed lifting her face in his hand and kissing her forehead. “You can stand in the corner for me while I eat.”

“Yes Sir,” Sylvia said miserably, but she was acutely aware of being wet at both ends.

This was nothing like it was with Mary, she decided.

“You can eat yours cold off the mantle while I enjoy my cognac after,” Gerald told her, “And no pudding for you,” he scolded.

Sylvia nodded with all the appearance of miserable agreement, but there was a kind of wonder in her eyes as she hastened to the corner to face the wall.

Gerald watched her go and smiled and then after staring for a bit, he turned back to Mary and said, “Take the brakes off from now on, I think she needs a very firm hand, don’t you?”

“Should I…? I mean, what about Mr Drake?” Mary said lightly.

“No,” Gerald said hesitantly, “I don’t think she is ready for that yet.”

Standing as she was facing the wall, the sobbing Sylvia felt strangely disappointed at her husband’s ruling.

To be continued.

Sammie liked the place as soon as she saw it. It was the kind of house you saw in movies and the hometown cosy feel all along the tree-lined road had broken through her hard LA cynicism like balm for the soul. Not that she would ever admit it, perhaps not even to herself.

The couple who strolled onto the porch were not what she was expecting either. They were young and cool looking. She was at most a young 30 with long well groomed dark hair and looked like someone that belonged in a magazine. He was a little older with short sandy hair and a square jaw that held his easy smile like it never knew a frown. She was put in mind of the Marlboro Man, although this cowboy looked too smart to mess with cigarettes.

The c-word made her wince and was just one of the many reasons she was here.

As the car pulled to a halt the cool cowboy stepped from the porch and extend his arm with natural largesse.

“Aunt Aggie,” he grinned.

“Oh don’t, you make me feel old,” Sammie’s mother simpered.

Sammie rolled her eyes up at the lame exchange as an opener for getting back into character.

“Nonsense, you sophisticated city-types never get old,” he teased, “And anyway we are practically the same age.”

Sammie rolled up her eyes again, this was so lame. She knew her mother was at least six years older than her great nephew Dhenry. Dhenry, what kind of name was that anyway?

“This is Samantha, your… cousin, sort of? I never remember how it works,” Sammie’s mother offered hesitantly.

“Cousin will do fine Aggie, after all I can’t really call an 18-year-old my aunt can I?”

“She wouldn’t be your aunt anyway honey,” the long-haired woman said, coming forward.

“I’m almost 20 you dork.” Sammie muttered under her breath.

Aggie glared at her daughter, but Dhenry appeared not to hear.

“This is Kathy,” he said introducing his wife.

“Kathy,” Aggie said enthusiastically and took her hand.

Sammie folded her arms in defiance to the world.

“Samantha,” Aggie said in a tight voice, “Come and say hello.”

Sammie rolled her eyes up for the third time in as many minutes and heaved a sigh like she had just been asked to walk home on a wet day in January. Then she threw her long suntanned legs out of the car sideways and without unfolding her arms came to an upright position.

“The spit of her mother, with the same red hair and pretty too,” Kathy said with a warm smile as she offered Sammie her hand.

“Give me a break,” Sammie muttered, “My hair is washed out ginger and everyone knows it. And the only pretty one here is you.”

“Thanks… I guess, but you’re pretty too you know,” Kathy said uncomfortably.

Pretty lame, Sammie lied to herself for amusement, which showed on her face as a smirk.

“Young lady if you don’t amend your attitude…” Aggie said in a threatening tone.

Sammie went for a fourth eye-rolling.

“I can see we are going to have our work cut out for us with this one,” Dhenry chuckled.

“Look I am so grateful for taking her in like this,” Aggie said in a weary voice admixed with relief.

“It really is our pleasure, besides, what are families for?” Dhenry reassured her. “What was the beef with the courts anyway? I heard she was cleared…?”

“They never even pressed charges,” Aggie said quickly, “She was just a material witness, but there are some issues that came to light and… well the court said she could not reside within 50 miles of the city…”

“And you have your job… of course,” Dhenry said calmly.

“I don’t know anyone 50 miles from LA and there is no way she is setting up house on her own at the moment. As for family, there are only you or your Aunt Margaret in Boise…”

“Talk about me as if I am not here why don’t you?” Sammie said belligerently.

Aggie had never felt more embarrassed and that was saying something given the number of police stations and courts she had attended with Sammie in the last few months.

“I am rather afraid I took my eye off the ball since Tom left… Fiji, I ask you, he was always such a dreamer. You know his girlfriend is only… sorry,” she sighed, “It’s not his fault. My work has been… anyway it is out of my hands for the moment.”

“Hello,” Sammie said in a surly voice, “I am still here.”

“Excuse me,” Aggie said abruptly, “There is something that needs my urgent attention.”

With some sixth sense Sammie’s ears pricked up, but it was too late to flee. Aggie grabbed her daughter’s arm and without breaking step marched towards the porch with her daughter in train.

“Mom, come on, I’m sorry I…” Sammie whined.

Aggie didn’t speak but availing herself of a bench on the house’s veranda she sat down and hauled her half-struggling daughter across her knee.

“N-not here, come on,” Sammie gaped, her face colouring sharply.

The denim shorts were a struggle, but Aggie was fast becoming an expert and in a moment they were going south to meet Sammie’s ankles.

Before the girl could react her mother hooked a thumb in the band of her panties and they too joined the shorts.

“Mom,” Sammie gasped, “Please.”

For a moment Aggie lamented the fact that she didn’t have the hairbrush to hand, but needs must… she thought and brought her hand sharply down on the bare seat of her daughter.

“Omigod,” Sammie gasped, but the spank was the first of many.

The spanking was sound enough, but it was more of a marker against future behaviour and although Sammie’s bottom was red, the girl was more embarrassed than stung by the time she was set on her feet.

“Now Samantha, do you want to go to Aunt Margaret’s or stay here?” Aggie barked at her by now meek daughter.

“Here,” Sammie said in a small voice.

“Right, then mind your manners while your elders talk. Now face that wall there until you are told to move.

Sammie made to pull up her shorts but was told to leave them with a bark.

“If she gives you any trouble, you have my full permission to spank her,” Aggie said wearily. “And make it count; these days she is used to far more. Something we just got around to lately.”

“Oh I think we can manage that,” Dhenry said pointedly glancing at his wife.

Kathy blushed and sucked in her cheeks, a response that was not missed by Aggie who smirked a little. The older woman remembered just how Dhenry and Kathy handled their marriage.

“Did you hear that Samantha?” Aggie said in a scolding voice.

“Yes, ooh,” Sammie bit her lower lip.

Dhenry was surprised at the transformation. She just needs to be away from LA and the whole sin city routine for a while, he decided.

“I’m sorry for her attitude, but it has been a long drive. Not that I am making excuses…” Aggie said with a sigh.

“Aggie, we get it, no need to explain. I am sure that Sammie and I will get on like a house on fire as soon as she learns the rules.

“House on fire, eh, just don’t let her play with any matches,” Aggie said ruefully and glancing back at her daughter facing the wall on the porch. “She can stay there until it gets dark.”

“That’s in about 40 minutes and by then supper will be ready anyway,” Kathy put in.

On the porch Sammie groaned and shifted from side to side in irritation, but knew better than to complain.

*

Sammie had been with Dhenry and Kathy for about a week and had yet to settle in. The day after her mother had left, Dhenry had given her a pile of community college pamphlets with the pronouncement, “It’s that or you get a job.”

She had considered answering back, if only to test his resolve in disciplinary matters, but he had eyes like the chief cop who had arrested her and so far she had funked it.

The other thing Sammie couldn’t figure was the whole place, both house and town. It was a complete dump by LA standards. The TV was out of the Ark and they had no cable.

“Not a great package huh?” she had said when she had been told.

“Eh no, we have no package, zilch, nada, no cable,” Dhenry had explained.

Then she had been told that the house was a smoke free zone and that included the porch.

“I don’t smoke,” Sammie had said quickly.

Dhenry had given her a hard look then until she had been forced to look away.

“We don’t tolerate lies here either. I know perfectly well your mother has forbidden you to smoke, but you do it anyway, so I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. You’re 19 and what you do in town is your own affair; within reason that is,” he had scolded her.

Shifting uncomfortably and to change the subject Sammie had asked, “About town, what do you do here anyway? You’re not actually a cowboy are you?”

“Cowboy?” he laughed, displaying one of his sudden mood swings she was to get to know so well, “No, I am not any kind of a cowboy. I am the town sheriff.”

Sammie’s jaw had hit the floor; she could see why her mother had kept back that particular titbit of information.

“Kathy is the head librarian in town,” he continued, “No cowboys here.”

“I am one of two librarians,” Kathy put in, “I just happen to be senior. Just as Dhenry here is chief of police in town, but only has three deputies.”

“Rub it in why don’t you?” Dhenry growled good-naturedly, giving Kathy a swat on the tail.

The swat was something that occurred a lot between them and not always in such good humour, Sammie had noticed. It took her that first week to find out why.

Their home was big and solid and Sammie had been given a large cool room above the garage in a wing away from the main part of the house. It was all angles with alcoves so that her bed was out of sight of the desk and she could pretend it was an apartment. This not only afforded Sammie some privacy but as she suspected kept her out of their hair.

But with no real TV and only a magazine she had already read twice, Sammie decide to snoop.

On her first foray she found a paddle, a cane and an antique hairbrush on the dresser with pristine bristles on one side and devoid of varnish on the other. The third item she might have missed but for the first two and the fact that her mother had one like for much the same reason, if Sammie’s guess was correct.

There were also some books with suggestive titles like Sweet Surrender and Her Master’s Voice along with a copy of the Story of O, but they were clearly Kathy’s and on Dhenry’s shelf were car mechanic books and text books on law and law enforcement.

Her second reconnoitre came as a result of the sounds of an argument. Sammie was keen to know that Mr and Mrs Perfect weren’t so and at the back of her mind she was curious about how this might get resolved given her earlier discoveries. She wasn’t disappointed.

By the time she got to the landing where their room was, a spanking was already well under way.

The door to their room had been left open and by hanging back she could see that Dhenry had Kathy over his knee with her denims and panties down at her ankles. Her bottom was already a mean red, but Dhenry was putting the hairbrush to her like he was only just getting started.

“So you forgot to do the laundry,” Dhenry was saying in a hard but calm voice as he swatted away. “It’s no big deal, but don’t bitch to me about it and make it a problem.”

“But you have no clean shirt,” Kathy wailed.

“So why is that my fault?” he growled.

“It’s not I… ow, I was embarrassed and got mad… ah, sorry Sir, I’m sorry.” Kathy’s breathing was ragged and there were already tears in her voice.

This is neat-o, Sammie thought, but her schadenfreude was tempered by concern for Kathy’s bottom. It had got to the hard welty stage where the flesh had become shocked and swollen. Sammie knew herself that it was a hard gig; this from her own experience on the day after she had been arrested.

Dhenry then proved that he was strict and would tolerate no attitude or deflected guilt from his wife. The spanking, which was already sound enough, took on a new tempo and did not end for some minutes. Long before he was done Kathy was bawling like a teen and hugging into him for respite.

“Right young lady, you can put yourself in that corner and don’t move until… well don’t move,” Dhenry barked.

“Yes Sir,” Kathy sobbed.

Sammie watched in amazement as the 30-year-old woman, still hobbled by her jeans and panties, limped carefully to the corner and put her nose meekly to the wall.

“Dhenry,” she said in a muffled voice.

“Yes,” he replied archly.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“Dhenry.”

“Yes,” he said impatiently.

“Can you close the door in case…?” she swallowed, “In case… you know… Sammie…”

Dhenry chuckled and said, “Maybe this time, but she is going to find out.”

“I know,” Kathy whispered to someone very far away.

Then Dhenry moved across the room and Sammie dropped back in a panic, but he shut the door without looking up the landing.

Close call Sammie thought and then as carefully as she had come crept back to her room, her heart pounding. Her dad had always been easy going and spankings had been few and far between back home. I guess Dhenry is cut from a different cloth, she thought, and gulped.

*

Throughout breakfast Sammie couldn’t help stealing pointed glances at Kathy. And when the older woman visibly winced as she eased onto her seat at the table, Kathy noticed Sammie watching and blushed.

“You heard what happened last night didn’t you?” Kathy whispered after Dhenry had rolled out the door to mount his SUV with all the show of a cowboy sheriff of old.

Sammie coloured a little and shrugged.

“I wasn’t sure what I was hearing so I snuck down,” she said in an uncomfortable voice, “I saw through the door.”

“You were snooping before that weren’t you?” Kathy said with a blush.

Sammie nodded.

“Busted,” she said, “You gonna tell Dhenry?”

“What do you think he’d do if I did?” Kathy asked as she shifted uncomfortably and folded her arms.

Sammie sucked in a breath that she didn’t release but just stood there with her mouth open and blanched.

“Spanking, paddling, switching are age old traditions around here and Dhenry takes them to heart, we both do,” Kathy said gently, “You are a long way from LA here. I need to know if I have a viper in the nest or just a lost girl who gets it.”

“How do you mean?” Sammie was conscious of the awkward void between her and the older woman.

“I mean sooner or later we are both going to get blistered behinds while the other is around, and that means you brat-girl, LA know-all or not. So, are we going to be friends?” Kathy shook off her discomfort and rounded on the younger woman.

“I don’t know,” Sammie looked at her shoes, “I get it I guess and… I’d like to be your friend.”

“So, what do you think Dhenry would do if I told him you were snooping around our stuff and spying on us?” Kathy’s eyes danced back and forth as if she was willing a right answer from her young cousin-in-law.

“Spank me I guess,” Sammie mumbled and kicked at her shoe without looking up.

“And how do you feel about that?” Kathy pressed her.

“I-I… my Dad was kinda soft… Mom tries but I guess I got too grown-up too fast for her… I guess I kinda got it coming sometimes. I mean I sometimes wish my Dad had pushed back… well you know… kinda,” Sammie mumbled through the speech without looking up until the end. “You gonna tell him?”

“No, I think your snooping aided your education somewhat,” Kathy smiled visibly more relaxed, “Let’s keep it between us, but if I find you have been spying on me getting… well then you can kiss your bee-hind goodbye.”

“Deal,” Sammie grinned.

“Now after you help me with the dishes I’ll drive us both in to town and you can check out courses and the small ads at the library,” Kathy chivvied her.

*

It had rained all morning and the library was busier than usual. Several of the foul-weather readers who had taken refuge from the inclemency outside were somewhat noisy and there had been several complaints from the regulars.

Among the newcomers was Sammie, who was fast making new friends in and around the Main Street coffee shop. She had even secured a part-time job there after Dhenry had called in a favour. A lot of the kids in town were impressed that Sammie knew the cute and cool sheriff, especially the girls and Sammie was quickly becoming popular.

“Will you girls be quiet,” Kathy scolded the small group of young women in the corner for the third time that morning.

“What are you going to do? Fine us?” Rosemary Tailor, one of Sammie’s new friends sneered.

The others giggled, all except Sammie who blushed.

Kathy gave her a hard stare before rounding on the others.

“I could speak to your mother and yours Josephine Samuels, I see you there, I know what she would do,” Kathy said sharply.

Josephine and another girl Kathy didn’t know glowed red like traffic stop lights while Rosemary mouthed a silent mimic of the Head Librarian’s words. But all the same she fell to whispers as Kathy gave Sammie a warning look and then moved away.

“Hey look,” Rosemary gushed as soon as Kathy was out of earshot, “They have some sex books.”

The four girls dropped the magazines they had been reading and moved over to the shelf to look.

“The Art of Fellatio,” Josephine giggled, picking up the book.

“Sex for Beginners,” Rosemary guffawed.

Then Josephine squealed in delight as she grabbed a book emblazoned with the legend: “Spanking, a disciplinary manual.”

Sammie felt a strange head rush and gaped as she coloured. She wasn’t the only one, Lucy another new girl in town went bright pink as she stared wide-eyed at the pictures and title headings on the pages that Josephine flipped over.

Sammie took it from her with something approaching reverence as the two more raucous young women fixed on some Chinese pillow books. But she noticed that Lucy still had her eyes glued to the book so she hastily put it back on the shelf lest she show undue interest.

Further along there were art books with nude men as well as women and it was these that quickly grabbed their interest. Then Rosemary found a Mapplethorpe and the girls dissolved into laughter.

“Oh gross,” Rosemary said in a loud voice, her usual default setting.

“Will you girls be quiet, I won’t tell you again,” Kathy shushed them.

While Rosemary made another show of defiance Sammie seized her chance and whirled around and slipping away to the other shelf, she grabbed the book about spanking. She reasoned that she couldn’t very well borrow it openly and it would be easier enough to return; what did it matter if she didn’t actually check it out?

“If you girls can’t be quiet I’ll have to ask you to leave. I might even exclude you for a month and then I will tell your parents,” Kathy said wearily.

“What are we, kids? We are not in high school now,” Rosemary spat back.

But the others shushed her and each for their own reasons began to move away.

Just then Dhenry came in hoping to take Kathy to lunch.

“You girls causing some mayhem?” he said in his best paternal voice.

All four girls blushed; Josephine and Rosemary even fluttered their eyelashes.

“No Sir,” they giggled.

“Hi Sammie, how is your course hunting going? And anyway, shouldn’t you be at work?” Dhenry said.

“Oh eh, hi… it’s okay… I don’t work today,” Sammie stuttered.

Under his hard eyes, his smile was easy, but a slight frown touched his brow as looked them over. Maybe it was just the innocent guilt of meeting the law but all four shifted uneasily and backed away towards the door even as they continued to giggle.

One step beyond the barrier the alarm sounded.

“Hold up there,” Dhenry called over, he could see at once the look of panic that marred Sammie’s face.

The girls looked bored as they rolled their eyes up at the checkout desk; everyone but Sammie that was. She wondered if she looked as sick as she felt.

Kathy quickly searched their bags, puzzled at the lack of evidence. Then she saw Sammie’s face and the fact that Dhenry had already singled her out for attention. Oh Sammie, what have you done, she thought?

As Kathy looked in Sammie’s bag she saw at once what the issue was. She hastily swiped it with the barcode reader without removing it and then quickly stamped it.

“You must have forgotten,” she said quickly.

Dhenry leaned forward at grabbed the bag before she could close it and stole a glance. He exchanged a look with Kathy.

“Must have,” Dhenry said in a growl.

The others missed it, but Sammie wanted the ground to open up and swallow her down to hell.

“I’ll talk to you later young lady,” Dhenry said quietly.

*

Sammie didn’t quite know what to expect. The embarrassment of being caught with an erotic book was quite bad enough but her immediate emotion had been one of relief that Kathy had quietly validated it instead of causing a scene. Now that she made her way home she wondered how she was going to face them. Dhenry was the law for heaven’s sake, and she rolled up her eyes at her own stupidity, how would it have looked if she had been arrested?

Then as she got nearer the house the feeling of disconnect and an overwhelming assault of butterflies was augmented as she recalled Dhenry’s words, “I’ll talk to you later young lady.”

He couldn’t possibly mean…?

As she reached the end of the drive Dhenry’s SUV swung in off the road and went past her. She noticed he didn’t as much as look in her direction and she wondered if this was a sign that he was mad.

By the time she reached the house Dhenry was waiting on the porch with an opened beer.

“About this time I like to unwind with a brew,” he said in a casual tone, but there was an edge to his voice.

She stopped and regarded him sheepishly, maybe it was alright and he really didn’t have a problem with her.

“But then a chore crops up and sometimes the beer has to wait,” he continued as he set the bottle down on the rail where it was shady.

“I could use a beer myself,” Sammie ventured.

“Oh I bet you could, but that really is not going to happen, not in this house. Not until you are 21.” He sounded a little pissed now, she thought.

“I guess not,” she whispered.

Normally she would have told him she had plenty of beer back in LA and what was the big deal. But just then she sensed that this wasn’t time to test his resolve or the extent of the disciplinary waters.

“So, do you want to wait until Kathy comes home or do you want to get it over with?” he drawled.

She swallowed and wondered if she knew what he meant. She certainly hoped not.

“What do you mean?” It was a nervous breath.

“Are you testing me young lady? You know perfectly well what you have coming,” he growled.

“No I… please can’t we talk about this? Is this about the…” She didn’t finish as she was suddenly aware of the weight of the book in her bag and she hefted it in his direction.

“Oh we can talk about it sure enough. We can talk about theft. We can talk about deception. We can talk about stealing from family and the folks of this town. We can even talk about why on Earth you would want an unsuitable book like that in the first place. Shall I go on?”

Dhenry folded his arms and leaned back a little as if to get a good look at the woman who lived in his house.

Only she didn’t exactly feel like a woman right then. The years were escaping her even as she hopped awkwardly from foot to foot. Sixteen would be a stretch just then.

“No,” she mumbled and looked at the floor. “Look, I meant to bring it back, I just wanted to… you know, look at it.”

“And you couldn’t just take it out like a normal person?” he accused.

“I… I was embarrassed,” she admitted.

“I am not surprised. Wanted to do some research on how we handle treacherous little thieves around here did you?”

“No I… I really didn’t mean to… I was just curious and…” she fell silent.

Dhenry sighed.

“Look I know what you thought and didn’t think, mostly didn’t think would be my guess. If I thought you had any real malice then we wouldn’t be having this discussion and you would be packing your bags,” he said. “And that brings us back to my question. You want to wait or get it over with?”

“Wait…? I… I don’t…”

“Let’s make this real simple,” he said sharply. “You can go and stand on the porch where your mom put you that first day. We’ll see what Kathy thinks when she gets home.”

“Out here on the porch? I mean that’s something that we don’t usually… it was just that one time,” Sammie blustered through a crimson face. “I mean… time out is for little kids.”

“This ain’t exactly a time out,” Dhenry growled. “It’s corner time pure and simple. Now get and do as you’re told.”

Sammie swallowed and tried to gather some dignity. Then with an effort she put one foot in front of the other and walked up the porch steps. Once there she tossed the bag into the swing seat and leaned against the wall sideways on.

“If you don’t mind me young lady, I am going to paddle your rear end raw and then when Kathy gets home you’ll get a switching too.” Dhenry faced her down worse than any city tough she usually tried to avoid.

“But I…”

“Turn and face the wall as you were before. Exactly how you were before with your skinnies and panties at your ankles and be quick about it,” Dhenry rasped at her in a controlled snap just below a yell.

“Ooh,” Sammie wailed, but she was suddenly cowed and hastened to obey.

She was mortified that he could see her bare behind. And then risking a glance over her shoulder, she was even more mortified that he wasn’t even looking at her, but drinking his beer and gazing at the early evening horizon.

*

The sun was low in a fiery sky as Kathy pulled off the road and onto the drive. The white-washed house and picket fences were all bathed in a warm orange glow and draped in long shadows from the trees lining the lane that bordered the property.

As soon as she made the turn she could see Dhenry and Sammie standing on the porch, but it took a moment longer to realise that the latter was facing the wall by the swing seat next to the door. The rail obscured everything below the girl’s waist, but as Kathy stepped from the car she spied that Sammie’s denims and panties were bunched at her ankles and the girl was definitely doing corner time.

Her predicament wouldn’t be obvious from the road but she doubted that Sammie realised that or that it would be much comfort if she had.

“I thought…” Kathy murmured; she could see now that as yet Sammie had been left unspanked.

“It seems our little thief wanted to stall some, so I gave her some time to think about it,” Dhenry explained and took another swig of beer. The chill had left it, but he had tried to string it out nonetheless so as to have only the one before did what he had to do.

“Oh Dhenry, she’s not exactly a thief. I am sure she intended to return…” Kathy protested.

“Oh is that a fact?” Dhenry said sharply, “That’s not what you said when I arrested the Bormann girl last summer. She only boosted a book on witchcraft on account of her father being the preacher.”

“Yes well…” Kathy blushed.

She remembered that the girl’s father had whaled Jenny Bormann’s behind at the family barbecue and she hadn’t showed for work for three days afterwards. It had been the talk of the town.

Her father had promised her another good spanking if the judge stopped at a fine and she didn’t have to do any jail time. Jail time for a library book, Kathy sometimes wondered what went through these folk’s minds. Neither had been necessary as far as the court was concerned, but Kathy doubted that Jenny had sat down for a month afterwards.

Dhenry had later showed his own displeasure at his wife’s lack of perspective. It had helped with the guilt somewhat and she could see now why he was angry at her reticence at his stance on Sammie.

“You think what she did was acceptable?” Dhenry continued.

“No,” Kathy sighed, “You’re right I suppose, just let’s not say thief alright?”

“But you agree she has a good spanking coming?” he pressed his wife.

Kathy looked at Sammie who shifted uncomfortably where she stood. Even from behind it was obvious she was blushing to her ears.

Time stood on end for the cornered girl as she waited for Kathy’s verdict.

“Yes,” Kathy agreed, “I am pretty mad about it actually, but I guess you’re mad enough for the both of us.”

Dhenry nodded, somewhat placated.

“What do you say to that Sammie?” he asked his young cousin.

“Ooh… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” she whined.

“You saying you don’t have a spanking coming?” Dhenry growled.

“No Sir I…”

“Turn around then,” Dhenry barked.

A shamefaced Sammie reluctantly shuffled around to face them with her head dipped and her teeth worrying her lower lip. As she did so her hands moved to cover front.

“I ought to take my belt to you or a switch,” Dhenry said softly, “But I doubt you ever had anything like you’re about to get judging from your mother’s previous efforts, so I’ll settle for the small paddle this time.”

Sammie lifted her head momentarily affronted by the aspersions cast upon her mom’s spanking abilities, but one look at Dhenry’s face sent her chin south again and she decided it might be better to reserve judgement.

It hadn’t escaped her notice that Dhenry had already acquired the paddle and she wasn’t so sure it was all that small.

“Any final words?” Dhenry asked; he included Kathy with his eyes.

“No Sir,” Sammie’s voice was on the very edge of panic.

Kathy shook her head. It was going to be strange seeing Dhenry spank another girl.

Dhenry took her by the arm and guided Sammie’s shuffling steps towards him and tumbled her gently over his lap. For Sammie this was novel, never having been spanked by a man before. His thighs were firmer than Mom’s, and where with her mother she had put up token resistance for form’s sake, here she was truly helpless and exposed across the sheriff’s knee.

The blood pumped to Sammie’s head with the increased embarrassment and pinned down as she was, she felt both lost and secure at the same time.

“So you’re interested in spanking are you, well here is a first-hand insight for you,” Dhenry growled.

At the reminder of what she had done Sammie felt vaguely sick and for a moment and for the first time in her life, it crossed her mind that she might actually deserve this.

Dhenry gave her no time to dwell on this epiphany and brought down the short hard leather paddle with a firm crack that arrested Sammie’s train of thought. Even then it took a moment for the shock to transform into a sting that pricked her behind the eyes.

The second swat built on the first and then as another blasted down as the sting mounted to an out and blaze that extracted a decided wail from the helpless Sammie.

“Omigodfuckbejeezus,” she shrieked.

“Yeah, he tends to have that effect on me too,” Kathy said ruefully as she watched Sammie’s firm young bottom cheeks go from a sharp pink to an ever deeper red.

The swats came in a regular beat now so that Sammie tried to kick back with her constrained legs and bucked up and down across Dhenry’s lap.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God, please,” Sammie shrieked in a rising crescendo.

The sting had become a real fire now and Sammie thought of skinned knees as child, only this was on her bottom. The tears overtook her suddenly and came as great chuckling sobs that rattled in her throat.

Kathy shifted against the rail and clutched at her throat. Her confused mind thrilled with concern but also she was aware of where her thighs met as she always was when a spanking arose. Despite Sammie’s distress Kathy’s eyes took in the tight domes of the girl’s bottom with the two scarlet welted pads that crowned them and wondered if her bottom ever looked like that. But she knew that it did, she had many times felt for herself the hard shocked pads of flesh that sang for shame in her tail.

The spanking lasted for a good while as Kathy knew it would and Dhenry did not let up until sometime after Sammie had begun protesting her sincere regrets.

“Now young lady are we done here?” Dhenry said after a pause.

“Yes Sir,” Sammie said frantically.

“So you’re not going to take any more books without checking them out?”

“No Sir,” she sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Good girl, now you can go back to the corner… the one in the house now I think,” Dhenry quickly amended as he glanced around at the gathering gloom, “You can stay there and think about what you did until I tell you to come out.”

“Yes Sir,” Sammie agreed eagerly, realising the spanking was over.

It briefly occurred to her that sometimes with Mom she had tried to resent being spanked, but today for the first time she knew it was an unworthy thought. In fact far from resentment, she actually felt cleansed and when Dhenry had said ‘good girl’ she also felt forgiven.

“Come on, I’ll show you the corner,” Kathy said gently as she took Sammie by the arm and led her shuffling into the house. Then she added ruefully, “I know it well.”

“I’m sorry Kathy, I’m sorry,” Sammie said, continuing to sob.

“I know, I know,” Kathy shushed her.

*

Sammie sat uneasily for the next few days, which was about as long as it took for her to look either of them in the eye.

“I feel such a screw up,” she finally plucked up the courage to say to Kathy. “I am really sorry I boosted that book. But I promise I would have brought it back.”

“I know kiddo, I get it. I would never have had the courage to check that book out, not at your age anyway. If Dhenry hadn’t have been there I am not sure I would have told him,” Kathy reassured her.

“I… I kind of hope you would have done, I mean… he was right to be mad at me,” Sammie said shyly.

Kathy pulled her mouth into a sympathetic line that might have passed for a smile.

“Well it’s over with now,” she shrugged.

“Yeah, you know, that’s what I like about this small town way of dealing with things. I had to go through months of ass-pain with the suits back in LA before I could even get it over with. I realise now what I put Mom through. That’s why I am glad Dhenry found out. I mean, I think I would have had it on my conscience and so would you maybe. You know, like Mom sort of, you would have had to be in it with me.”

It was the most introspection Kathy had heard coming out of Sammie’s mouth, but then a spanking often did that for a girl.

“So, did you make any great discoveries about spanking in that book?” Kathy asked to change the subject.

Sammie blushed and gave a shrug.

“I don’t really get where the punishment thing and the fun parts meet. Or don’t,” she said, averting her eyes again. “I mean I kind of get that seeing someone spanked is fun. You know I spied on you… well that was neat now that I think about it. But it was just a thing, you know. I think what Dhenry did will stay with me forever, like, you know, it means something.”

“It’s a really big deal when you know you are going to get it, isn’t it?” Kathy prompted her.

“Yeah,” Sammie said eagerly, “It’s like you matter, you know, like what you do matters, even if it is a screw up.”

“At the time it’s a sensory overload that you need more than want, even when you hate it,” Kathy suggested in a half-mumble. “But afterwards you feel…”

“All clean and forgiven,” Sammie gushed in agreement.

Kathy nodded.

“The book said something about the most erotic spankings being associated with punishment,” Sammie said with a frown, “I kind of get that now.”

“You mean you found being spanked erotic,” Kathy gaped at her.

“Noo… not exactly, but the intensity afterwards… a long, long time afterwards,” Sammie said ruefully, rubbing her bottom, “Well I kind of get it, you know. It’s crazy isn’t it?”

“I never thought about it so much, let alone talked about it,” Kathy admitted, “It’s just something that Dhenry and I do. It’s how he takes care of me. Well one of them.”

“But isn’t kissing and making-up afterwards more fun if you have been… you know?” Sammie wanted to know.

Kathy blushed, “I think that is quite enough about that,” she said tartly.

Sammie giggled and joined her in blushing.

Kathy moved towards the car to get to work but as she reached the top step she turned and said, “Oh… maybe… maybe I could borrow that book before you take it back?”

Sammie grinned and said, “Sure.”

*

It was a week later and Dhenry stood on his usual spot on the porch drinking a beer when Kathy’s car made the turn at the end of the drive. He could tell at once that there was something wrong. The engine noise was off and as it drew near he could see off-side fender and headlamp were a mess.

“You okay honey,” he called over, concern carved into his face.

Sammie jumped up from the swing seat and ran over for a closer look.

“Man, what happened?” she gasped.

Kathy sat grimly behind the wheel and chewed at her lower lip.

“Kathy?” Dhenry put down his beer and crossed the yard with heightened concern.

“I’m okay,” Kathy said, opening the door. “It’s just the car.”

“I can see that, what happened?” Dhenry sighed. “You know we only had it fixed three months back.”

“I know, I know,” Kathy said irritably.

Dhenry bent his head to kiss her when he smelt the mints on her breath.

“Someone’s birthday?” he threw the curveball.

“Elaine’s having a kid,” Sammie said without thinking, “Why…? How did you…?”

“You stopped off at the Dewdrop for a beer.” It wasn’t a question. Then seeing that she blanched, he added, “Two or three maybe?”

“Two,” Kathy whispered.

“Is that when you hit something?”

“Atkinson’s car,” It was terse statement of fact. “Hell the old man wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t what, drinking?”

“He was just going in for one,” Kathy mumbled.

“Did Helen or Bart or anyone deal with it at the scene?” Dhenry asked in a professional voice.

“I wasn’t drunk, Helen agreed. Old man Atkinson was fine about it, he said…” Kathy’s voice tailed off; Dhenry was giving her the look.

“One beer might have been fine, if you hadn’t of been sucking mints, which is a kind of lie,” Dhenry growled, “But two, if it was only two, and wrecking the car…”

“I didn’t wreck it, it’s…”

Dhenry silenced her with a scowl.

“I’m in trouble aren’t I?” Kathy winced.

“Big trouble little lady,” he growled.

“Ouch,” Kathy squeaked and pulled a rue-filled face.

“I wait until I am home before I have a drink,” he said sharply.

“Yes Sir,” she conceded with a blush.

She was well aware Sammie was just there within earshot and shifted uneasily.

Sammie smirked on hearing Kathy use the s-word and with a snigger she moved quietly away to a safe distance lest she be completely dismissed.

“You know how I had Sammie the other day,” Dhenry said icily.

Kathy gaped.

“Not out here… someone…”

“You remember last time when I sent you off to the woods for a switch all naked below the waist?”

“I had more than two that time,” Kathy wailed.

“That’s why I am letting you off easily,” he scolded, “If you mind me now that is.”

He pointed at the porch without taking his eyes off her.

“Ooh,” Kathy stamped her foot offered him a lemon-sucking face, but marched off obediently nonetheless.

Once on the porch she shiftily looked all around, especially towards the road, before working the zipper on her skirt and stepping out of it. Then with one more angry and defiant look, she shucked down her panties and turned to face the wall. There were no neighbours to see and the view from the road was obscured, so unless anyone came right up to the house it was private enough from outsiders. Kathy darted a sideways look at Sammie sitting nearby. Still she felt embarrassingly exposed.

Sammie swallowed a smile and drew her legs up into a hug as she sat on the swing seat just a few feet away.

“Having fun,” Kathy hissed at the girl without turning her head from the wall.

“Oh, the most,” Sammie giggled.

*

Dhenry let his wife stew for a good while until he had finished his slow beer. The fact that Sammie was drinking it all in would serve as an added lesson to Kathy. She knew better than to drink and drive, for safety’s sake at the very least. Never mind how it looked to the town that the Sherriff’s wife and head librarian was so feckless.

He glanced at Kathy who stood nervously swaying with her nose pressed to the white-washed wall and let his eye wander down the elegant curve of her tightly split behind. Something twitched in his pants and he had to shake himself for focus.

“All right honey let’s get this over with,” he drawled, seeing her start.

Dhenry eyed Sammie and gave her warning look, which caused his cousin to blush. But then she garnered his meaning and leapt out of the swing seat to retreat down the porch some.

The broad-shouldered ‘cowboy’ cop dropped into her vacated place and drew his wife to him as he did so.

“Now, are you going to tell me you don’t have this coming?” Dhenry said in a low voice as he smoothed Kathy’s bare bottom with his hand.

“No Sir,” Kathy lisped; her eyes wide and blinking rapidly.

Dhenry reached down for the medium wooden paddle that he had earlier put under the seat and placed it next to him. Kathy tried to look back over her shoulder at the sound of wood scraping on wood and gulped.

But for now her husband had other plans. Before she knew what was happening, his great open paw swatted down like an angry bear and she gaped like hunted fish with the impact.

“Just a little hand spanking to set the tone,” he growled.

Kathy had no breath for protests and squirmed under the rapid volley that followed.

Then she found her voice, “Oh, ahh, Dhenry, please…”

At the other end of the porch Sammie pressed both knuckles to her mouth as she watched Kathy’s bottom quickly turn deep red.

“Hush baby, you know you got this coming,” he said sharply.

Kathy bucked as she crossed and re-crossed her ankles under the onslaught, but Dhenry took his time and the hand-spanking lasted a good 15 minutes before he was done.

When it was over a moist-eyed Kathy lay panting across his lap, all fight gone from her body.

“Now you know we aren’t done, don’t you honey?” Dhenry murmured and picked up the paddle.

Kathy didn’t reply, at least it wasn’t the heavy paddle or something worse, she thought as she braced herself. He could so easily have made a sharper point given what she had done.

The paddle was some 16 inches long and fitted easily in Dhenry’s hand. It wasn’t too thick, but had finger-sized holes drilled in the striking surface like her old sorority bat.

“I don’t think you’ll be sitting for a spell by the time I am done,” he said sternly.

Nor do I, thought a rueful Kathy.

This time the bear had claws and the paddle swat had real bite.

Kathy met the challenge with a jaw-clenching grimace. Her red bottom was suddenly invaded by a shocked white rectangle with angry puce holes. But it didn’t stay white for long and the oblong rapidly filled with yet more red.

The second swat, not quite matching the first, welted along one edge and Kathy gave an angry wail. From then on at one swat every few seconds she had to contend with a growing fire that soon had tears spilling form her eyes.

This spanking was shorter than the first, but throughout Kathy bucked and squirmed on Dhenry’s lap until finally she broke down sobbing.

Dhenry shot a glance at the still enthralled Sammie and jerked his head towards the door. Sammie took the hint and crept away.

“Oh baby, I’m sorry,” Kathy sobbed as she crawled up into his arms.

Dhenry kissed her forehead and then rocked her gently to let her cry herself out. As she wept he traced the extensive welting on her bottom with his fingers, drawing hisses and sighs from her as he did so. She was one well-spanked girl, he decided.

Nevertheless, he was still mad with Kathy and all further reconciliation had to wait until they were both safely in bed. As was brought home to her when she tried to suggest she escape to the kitchen.

“Shall I make supper,” she ventured once she had stopped crying.

“Oh no my pretty one, you can go into the house and find your usual corner just as you are. You don’t get off that easily,” Dhenry rumbled like a bear.

Kathy gaped at him, “But Sammie…”

“I really don’t care,” Dhenry intoned, folding his arms against further discussion.

As Kathy took her place inside for a long stint of corner time, Sammie offered to make some food, but Dhenry wouldn’t hear of it.

“I don’t see why you should be put out just because Kathy got herself a spanking. I’ll order pizza,” he said.

“Ooh,” Kathy wailed from the corner.

She bobbed up and down at the knees in frustration until Sammie thought she might burst.

“You know the rules my love,” Dhenry scolded.

“But…”

“We won’t let the pizza boy see, not if you’re a good girl,” he said with a wicked smile.

Sammie giggled at the idea of Kathy being so exposed.

“Can’t I at least move over to the other corner?” Kathy pleaded.

Dhenry appeared to consider this and Kathy stole a hopeful glance at him over her shoulder while he pondered.

“No,” he said at last, “I don’t think so.”

“Oooh,” Kathy wailed again in frustration. Something told her it was going to be a long night.

*

“So now you know,” Kathy said sheepishly as she took the last item out of the back of the wardrobe.

Sammie stood bug-eyed at the array of paddles, straps and canes laid out on the bed.

Kathy sat carefully on the bed to ready herself for deluge of questions, her bottom flaring a little after her encounter of a few days before.

“There are quite a lot of… has he… have you… felt all of these?” Sammie asked in an incredulous voice.

“Most,” Kathy answered tentatively, “The cane is… a challenge and I have never felt the big one. It’s English I think. Dhenry prefers a good old American switch.”

“What about this one?” Sammie gasped as she seized a large thin-bladed paddle.

“Uh-huh,” Kathy answered in the affirmative. “It stings more than bruises. My old sorority paddle is much worse.”

She pointed at a slightly larger version of the one Dhenry had used on her three days before.

“I felt that a few times at college, my sorority took discipline seriously back then.”

“Back then? You make sound like the Stone Age, you were only there what? Eight years ago,” Sammie pointed out.

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Kathy winced as reached back to her behind. “It bruises like the devil.”

“Speaking of which, how is your…?” Sammie murmured.

“Still blistered and bruised thank you very much,” Kathy said crisply, “Well still sore anyway.”

“Do you always have to stand in the corner like that? I mean for so long?” Sammie’s brow furrowed with something like concern.

“More or less,” Kathy admitted with a blush.

“With your eh… bottom left bare like that?”

“Uh-huh,” Kathy winced.

“When that pizza boy came I thought you were going to die,” Sammie gasped, reliving her disbelief.

“He didn’t see did he?” Kathy asked in a panicked voice.

“No, no Dhenry was careful,” Sammie reassured her.

“Not that Dhenry hasn’t threatened,” Kathy sighed with relief, “And drink driving is something that might earn it.”

“Then I for one am going to stick to Coke,” Sammie rolled her eyes.

Kathy laughed.

“Hey, let’s see that book,” she said suddenly, “I showed you mine after all.”

Excitedly both women scrambled for the book on the chair and began giggling over its contents.

*

It had threatened to rain all day and then with just hours to go until sunset the sky had cleared to bathe Main Street in a warm orange light.

“Typical,” Sammie’s boss said as he left, “Still maybe I can get out into the yard for a spell. Need a ride home?”

“No thanks,” Sammie smiled, “Kathy is picking me up in a minute.”

As she spoke Kathy pulled around the corner and slowed to a stop.

“Well okay,” he said with a cheery wave.

“Hi Sammie,” Kathy smiled at her from the car. “You don’t mind if we call in at the Sherriff’s Office first, I have to drop something off for Dhenry.”

“Hey, a real life cop-shop, I haven’t been there yet, it might be cool,” Sammie replied as she dropped in beside Kathy.

“If you say so,” Kathy snorted, “We won’t be a minute.”

Sammie picked up a sack of books off the back seat and began to turn over the covers one by one.

“Nothing about your current obsession there, sorry,” Kathy said with a wink.

Sammie blushed. It had been two weeks since the spanking incident and with Kathy’s collusion, she had checked out the library for any other books to clue her in about spanking and domestic punishment. There hadn’t been a great deal. The Story of O was too hands off for Sammie’s tastes and the Marquis De Sade was too much and rather gross in places.

Kathy had pointed her in the direction of the used paperbacks that were for sale at 50 cents each. There had been a couple of Danielle Steels that were better than nothing and some other pre-PC romances. Then Kathy had nudged her towards the sci-fi section and to some authors such as John Norman and Sharon Green.

The books were all very dog-eared with lurid drawings of scantily clad women on the covers. Both authors had been very coy about actual spanking scenes, but the scenarios were more to her taste than O.

Sammie might have plucked up some courage and asked for some more tips but the car pulled up outside the station house, a small modern building behind Main Street. There was only one police vehicle in the parking lot and it looked as if it was primarily for off-road pursuit or major emergencies.

“Coming?” Kathy asked as she got out.

Sammie shrugged and reluctantly followed. Now that she was here the police HQ brought back some unpleasant memories for her. But Kathy seemed right at home and just pushed on through the large glass doors in front.

Jolene Bates was the only staffer in the building as they entered and she was on the phone.

“Just wait in there,” she mouthed with a nod towards Dhenry’s office.

Kathy nodded and smiled.

“Pretty small,” Sammie sniffed.

“Like I said before, there are only four deputies stationed here. The State troopers take care of the highway and we don’t get much trouble in town,” Kathy explained.

Sammie ran her finger along the shelves and looked about at crime posters and one that said in big letters; “Get Your License.”

Then she saw some files on the desk with names of people here in town that she recognised.

“Hey look at these,” she exclaimed.

“Oh I don’t think you should…” Kathy began but then her eye fell upon an entry, “Oh my God, she never did… I can’t believe it.”

“What?” Sammie said excitedly, “Oh shit, that’s the preacher’s wife.”

Both women clapped their hands to their mouths and squealed in disbelief.

“What else does it say?” Sammie said eagerly.

Kathy picked up another file and began flicking through some pages.

“Tom Willover hasn’t paid his fire arms licence… oh and,” she snorted disapprovingly.

“No about the preacher’s wife,” Sammie said eagerly.

Just then they heard Dhenry’s voice out front and Kathy snapped the files closed.

“Leave them,” she hissed.

Sammie realised that the files were confidential but she wanted to know more about the preacher’s wife. So once Kathy had left the room, Sammie snatched up the file and began to nose through it.

The voices in the outer room sounded far away so Sammie just skipped to the page on the preacher and his family.

“What in hell do you think you are doing?”

Sammie whirled around with a start to be confronted by an angry Dhenry in the doorway.

“I was just…” Sammie blanched.

“Don’t you know they are not for your eyes?” his anger was contained but more than a little apparent.

“I guess,” Sammie squeaked.

“I ought to run your ass into jail,” he barked.

Sammie felt sick. This was LA all over again. Her mother was going to kill her.

“Wait until I get you home.” Dhenry’s voice had an undertone of menace.

“Yes Sir,” Sammie squeaked as she shot a glance at the cells at the back of the office.

But Dhenry took her by the arm and led her firmly from the building with a flustered Kathy in tow.

*

Sammie knew she was going to get a spanking. Or hoped she was in as much as it was a preferable alternative to being packed off back to LA. Not that either choice filled her with much joy as she gulped back bucketful’s of apprehension.

Neither did she glean much comfort from the setting of her dressing down. The porch was too near the road out of town for her liking and as a location for another spanking it positively sucked.

“What in the Devil’s name do you think you were doing?” Dhenry said in a hard-edged voice she could imagine he usually reserved for suspects.

“I was just curious,” Sammie offered weakly, it was lame and she knew it.

“Yeah, I am getting that, like you were just curious before when you stole that book,” Dhenry said dryly.

“You’re not going to send me back to LA are you?” she was close to tears.

“Oh, I’ll give you something to cry about,” he barked, but added in a sigh, “No I am not sending you home.”

“Dhenry…” Kathy interrupted.

“You know she’s has this coming,” he said impatiently.

“Well yes but…”

“There are no buts about this. This one could cost me my job,” Dhenry had never sounded so disappointed.

Tears really did pool at Sammie’s eyes at the words.

“Dhenry, please it’s not that bad, Jolene won’t say anything, but listen…” Kathy sounded as if she was reasoning with a bear.

“Kathy I know you think I am too hard on the girl, but that is hardly the point,” he said wearily.

“I know but it wasn’t her fault,” Kathy let the words out slowly.

Dhenry whirled on her to refute her claim but something in her eyes told him he was missing something.

“I… I kind of looked too, Sammie was just…” Kathy leaked the words to Dhenry like water to a dying man in a desert.

Sammie felt sick, like the time she had frozen back in LA instead of calling the cops. It couldn’t happen again. If only she had listened to Kathy when she said to drop it? But she just had to know, hadn’t she?

“She said not to, I was just curious,” Sammie blurted.

“Was that before or after Kathy looked too?” Dhenry said in a low voice, not taking his eyes from his wife.

Kathy sucked in her cheeks and coloured so that the truth was written on her face.

“It was my fault, you caught me,” Sammie said in a pleading voice.

“I caught you, but not her, is that it?” Dhenry sighed, his eyes still fixed on his wife who would not meet his eyes.

Kathy nodded.

Sammie winced. The gig was up and nothing could save either of them now.

“It was my fault,” Kathy said dejectedly, “I set her a bad example.”

“So it would seem,” Dhenry groaned. “Well you can both forget what you read. If one word of it leaks out I’ll know who to blame. I’ll take the skin of both your ‘hinies and neither of you will sit down for a month.

“Yes Sir,” they both chirruped in unison.

“Now guess what comes next?” Dhenry drawled.

“Where do you want us?” Kathy said glumly.

“I want you both out there in the woods cutting switches,” Dhenry told them.

Kathy didn’t look surprised and Sammie just looked at her shoes.

“Before you do that, you can both leave your denims and panties on the rail here,” Dhenry said wearily.

Kathy nodded, but Sammie gaped.

“The woods over there by the public highway?” she wailed, not quite believing it.

Kathy pursed her lips and nodded on Dhenry’s behalf.

“And when you get back you can both face the wall out here until I am ready for you,” he added.

“Yes Sir,” Kathy said in a tight voice.

“Ooh, this is…” Sammie moaned.

“Deserved,” Kathy finished for her.

“I guess,” Sammie said ruefully, adding in a put out voice, “But LA was never like this, let me tell you.”

“I bet it’s not,” Kathy said grimly as she began to shuck down her denims.

*

Sammie and Kathy didn’t have long to wait. Once they were denuded below the waist Dhenry handed a pair of clippers to his wife and told her what he expected.

“We can’t just go and… not like this,” Sammie wailed as she stood at a crouch tugging her sweater down in front.

Kathy was less coy, but it wasn’t her husband seeing her that concerned her. She looked at Dhenry’s impassive face and then at the woods on the other side of the main road. As she watched a car went by at a lick, although with no sign that the driver even saw them. But still it was barely 80 yards off and they had to cross the road.

“Come on, let’s be quick about it before another car comes by,” Kathy said in a determined voice.

Right on cue another vehicle came by, this time slower so that the driver might have seen had he glanced in their direction.

“Don’t go far,” Dhenry warned.

Kathy steeled herself and then keeping the shrubs on their drive hard to her left she made for the road. Sammie chose to back away until Dhenry turned away to grab a beer and then she scurried after Kathy mooning the house in the rays of dying sun.

One more car sped by before they hit the road and Sammie could see a sullen-faced kid looking their way in back. But he showed no sign of noticing their lack of lower attire and in any case the car was gone in a moment.

“Come on,” Kathy yelled in an excited voice, “Before another comes.”

Then like two college girls skinny dipping they shrieked in a parody of joy and scurried across the road to the relative safety of the trees on the other side.

“Maybe it will be dark by the time we have to cross back,” Sammie said hopefully as she struggled for breath.

“Dhenry will want us back long before then and I really don’t want to make him any madder than he already is,” Kathy said glumly.

“This is crazy, what if someone sees us,” Sammie said excitedly, “I bet no one else ever had to this.”

“I have never been caught, not since I was your age anyway” Kathy replied, but she was smirking, “But last summer Dhenry and I were out walking around here and we saw your friend Josephine out here in much the same state as we are now and I am pretty sure she was collecting a switch.”

Despite their predicament Sammie smiled.

“She ducked away before we had a good look, but it was her right enough. I can’t think of any other reason she would be out here mooning the world.”

“A local custom then?” Sammie replied, feeling a little better.

“It was certainly how I was brought up, well once I reached senior high and beyond anyway. Nothing like it for putting a college-aged girl in her place,” Kathy said ruefully. “Also I am pretty sure I am not the only spanked wife around here, although I am not sure how many go bare-assed into the words to cut switches.”

“If my friends back in LA could see me know I would die,” Sammie grimaced.

“Screw your friends in LA, what about that little madam Rosemary?” Kathy pulled a face.

“Oh don’t,” Sammie groaned.

“Come on, here’s the right sort of tree here,” Kathy sighed; she should know she had been cutting switches like this for half her life.

Getting back across the road was another trial and at least 10 cars went by before Kathy urged them to run.

Sammie was still puzzling as to why they needed three switches each when Kathy broke ahead, her white bottom bobbing in the growing reddish the last of the evening light like a foretaste of what was to come.

The sound of another car was the only spur she needed to catch-up and by the time she breathlessly reached the porch she had never been so glad to be home.

Home? She mused. I am about to get my behind whipped and I think of this as home now.

“Right you two,” Dhenry broke into her reverie, “Get your tails up here and face this wall.”

God, I hope we don’t get visitors, Sammie groaned inwardly as she put her bare bottom next to Kathy’s so that it faced outwards towards the drive.

*

Kathy had no idea how long they had stood there. At some point the porch lights had come on, which banished the shadows and made her feel even more exposed. The only sound apart from the occasional passing car and creak of floors as Sammie shifted a little where she stood was when Dhenry stood up to open another bottle of beer.

That was always the worst moment as Kathy was sure it was about to begin, but then she heard the click of a bottle top and the heightened tension was dashed.

So when Dhenry finally spoke it was a shock.

“I’ve selected the best switch for each of you, come and take one and return to the wall with it held under your bare bottoms,” he said sharply.

Kathy’s heart lurched, but again the imminent threat receded. She knew this stance and it was usually one that Dhenry employed at the outset of corner time before a switching. So God alone knew how long this was going to take, she groaned inwardly.

Both of them dutifully turned and grabbed a switch from the rail. Kathy swallowed and immediately turned back with the switch pressed exactly to the under curves of her bottom.

For Sammie it was harder and she didn’t know the drill. So watching Kathy with wide eyes she blushed at the intimate gesture before copying it.

“Feel that,” he said once they had both obeyed him.

“Yes Sir,” Kathy said in a thick voice; echoed by Sammie a beat behind.

“Feel where it caresses your bare behinds and imagine what it will feel like with some force behind it,” he rasped.

Sammie gulped and a pulse in her head began to beat.

Kathy wondered how long he was going to draw it out.

“Have you any idea how damaging to everyone concerned your actions might have been?” Dhenry growled.

“Yes Sir,” they both breathed in unison, as if a louder voice would shatter the world.

“Do you?” Dhenry raised his voice so that they both started.

“I’m sorry,” Kathy wailed, “We’re both sorry.”

Sammie nodded frantically, desperately fixing her eyes on a spot on the wall as if to break her gaze with the one she had chosen was to die.

“Let us see how sorry,” Dhenry sighed. “Sammie turn around and bend over the rail.”

Sammie moved hesitantly, but the exposure of her front side encouraged her to obey quickly. As she did so Dhenry took the switch and then waited until Sammie got into position with her bare bottom jutting out towards him.

At that moment another car went by and Sammie wondered if anyone could see her and her shame, just as the preacher’s secrets were exposed by her snooping. In that moment it seemed only fair somehow.

“Bottom back a little more,” Dhenry instructed.

The indignity irked her as much as anything, but Sammie had no option but to obey. Then she again felt the switch as Dhenry tapped her bottom with it to line up for a stroke.

The sound began as a whisper and long way off, followed by zip that landed across both cheeks of her tail at once. For the longest moment Sammie could barely connect the sound with the sudden needle thin line of pain she felt in her bottom. Then the connection filled her mind and she grunted with surprise.

She tumbled forward but her fall was arrested by the rail that pressed to her lower belly and she bounced back in time to meet the next stroke.

The whisk-whip of the switch came thin and fast then and as the pain grew exponentially she went form a wail to a series of shouted yelps.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she strained to scream.

Forever after she would look fondly on a mere spanking.

As the switching progressed Sammie dipped at the knees as she bobbed and bounced at the rail in time to the slices of pain handed out by Dhenry.

Kathy had not seen a switching close up for years and with Dhenry focused on Sammie she risked a peek over her shoulder at Sammie’s punishment.

The girl’s bottom looked huge as it was displayed; two red rounds lined with purple scores that raked her bottom in ever greater rills. Each mark would be hell to touch for days to come and the thought of panties against them was just a hint of the terror that sitting down would promise for a week or more. Kathy knew this from long bitter experience.

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good,” Sammie wailed, “Please, oh please, I’ll never be bad again.”

Cured then, Kathy thought ruefully, just like I will be for about a month. Then I’ll forget. I always forget and Dhenry will remind me.

Sammie was a sobbing wreck by the time Dhenry let her stand to face the wall again. Now it’s my turn, Kathy quailed.

The cold wood of the rail came lower down atop of Kathy’s thighs compared to Sammie. This gave her a greater sense that she might fall over forward. But the Dhenry had her edge backwards and push her bottom out behind so that she was fully exposed and had a good purchase on the porch crosspiece.

“I am so mad with you,” Dhenry whispered.

“I know,” Kathy said the tears welling, “I’m so sorry honey.”

Then she had to brace herself with a teeth-creaking grimace as the switch burned a track across her flesh. As ever, the pain went from bad to impossible within five or six swipes and Kathy quickly went form rapid breathing to a continuous wail.

“Oh shit, shit, shit… aieee,” she screamed through her teeth.

No doubt her banshee wail could have been heard from town.

*

I don’t suppose either of you wants to sit down,” Dhenry said mischievously.

“No Sir,” they both said quickly.

“Then you had better stay in your respective corners while I order some pizza,” he chuckled.

Kathy was grateful to be cornered inside and was under no illusions that she would escape before bed time. And although Sammie was still gently crying, Kathy could tell from Dhenry’s tone that they had both been forgiven.

Pizza did sound like a threat though and given the serious of her crime, it was not above Dhenry to invite the boy in when he came while he pretended to search for some money. Not that it had happened since she had been in college, but still… she just melted to a blush just considering it.

“You okay kid?” Kathy whispered to Sammie.

She hadn’t stopped crying and it had been a hard gig.

“Yes ma’am,” Sammie said sorrowfully.

“I think ma’aming me now is kind of redundant,” Kathy laughed.

Sammie glanced over and saw just how welted Kathy’s bottom was. It looked as sore as Sammie’s felt.

“I guess so,” Sammie smiled through her tears. “But I feel so sorry right now that I’ll be all Sir and ma’am for a month I wouldn’t wonder.”

“Oh yes,” Kathy said in a clipped voice, “I know exactly how you feel.”

“If you two don’t stop yattering I have a paddle with both your names on,” Dhenry growled a warning.

“Yes Sir,” they both squeaked.

As Sammie got her bearings and began to mind being in the corner she started to look forward to bed and a cold flannel where it would do the most good. She might even re-read the Warrior Within, I might as well use my experience creatively, she decided.

Meanwhile Kathy contemplated other diversions, albeit ones that could only be enjoyed face down on her knees and only then very carefully. But then making up was the best part of a marriage like hers.

The doorbell startled them both and promised just one more sting in the tail.

Please, please, please don’t let him come in both Kathy and Sammie prayed together. I have seen enough of this lifestyle for one day, the younger of the two thought ruefully. One more witness was now surplus to requirements.

The End

Some of you can never get enough ‘never too old stories’ so here are a few allegedly true accounts from the EP.

Anon wrote:

I received my last spanking from my mother when I was 19. I got a speeding ticket in a school zone and didn’t have the money to pay it as a I was a poor college kid and had no choice but to ask my mother for help. She was furious about my irresponsible driving and told me that she was going to spank me. I argued and told her that I was too old to be spanked but she insisted that as long I was under her roof that I would be disciplined the way she saw fit. She took me by the arm and led me upstairs to her bedroom where she sat down in the high back chair that she always sat in to spank me as a child. Then she reached for my arm and pulled me over her lap. She then proceeded to lift my skirt and pull down my panties. She spanked my bare bottom with her hand and then picked up her hairbrush from the table beside her. I squalled like a little kid but I never sped again! My mother and I are very close and I have recently moved back in with her as I am now going through a divorce. I am certain that she would not hesitate to turn me over her knee and spank my bare bottom even today if she felt it necessary.

Another anon wrote

I have a daughter from my first husband. She is now married. I have helped care for and support a few of my nieces, including helping them in college.  Currently I am supporting a niece who is 18 years old.  She does not live with us, but does live here in town by me in an apartment our whole family (extended family) has had for years for kids going to school to be able to use.

I do think that spankings are a valid and useful discipline option for girls these ages.  My experience with my daughter, stepdaughter, and nieces, and my own experiences growing up, has convinced me that girls do not suddenly, magically become adults because of a birthday.  I hope not to offend anyone around the ages of 18-22 or so reading this, but I don’t think someone really starts to be an adult until around 25 or so.  And girls in the 18-22 range, especially 18-19, can be surprisingly immature and make poor choices.  Even pretty responsible girls can have this problem sometimes.  My niece and stepdaughter are still subject to the same kind of over the knee, bare butt spankings I used with my daughter until she was 22, and that I sometimes got until I was 19 by the stepmom and aunt who helped raise me.

It is not always aunts and mothers who do the spanking

SS wrote:

I can’t believe I’m writing this.

As you can see from my photo, I’m a girl in my 20′s. I was married to a lovely guy who was always away on business. I was bored and basically, I started cheating on him. And my father-in-law found out.

While my husband was away on business, my father-in-law came around to the house. He confronted me with the evidence ie photos. He said he was going to tell my husband and the marriage would be over. I was petrified of losing my nice home with the swimming pool, boat, etc. I begged him not to. I pleaded with him. Finally, he agreed not to. But on the condition that he treats me as though I was his daughter. And give me a severe spanking.

I won’t go into detail here. You can message me and I’ll tell you. But basically he put me across his knee and spanked me really hard. He pulled my dress up. And my panties down. As you can imagine, it was extremely humiliating.

But he kept his word.

Anon3 wrote

I’m 19, I’m in college , I live at home, and I still get spanked. A lot.

It started my freshman year of college. I had been home schooled growing up and even though I had a lot of friends I never had a whole lot of freedom. So going to college was a big deal, especially because I joined a sorority right away and got to live on campus. It was the most fun I had ever had.

The problems started with a boy. I won’t say his name but he was a couple years older than me and really dreamy. I think I would have done anything for him.

It’s a long story but I ended up going with him to New York over thanksgiving break after I told my parents it was a sorority trip. And I stopped going to class. And I was on birth control because we started sleeping together after just a few months. And I was drinking a whole, whole lot.

Anyway, I got caught drunk and underage with him at a party I wasn’t supposed to be at. When my parents came to pick me up, they found everything out. It was awful. They found my birth control prescription and pictures from New York and a bunch of other stuff. I have never seen them so mad. After I got home daddy announced that he was going to pull me out of college and take away my car and computer and phone. I begged and begged him but he wouldn’t budge.

I asked Daddy to just start spanking me again instead of pulling me out of college. I’ll never forget the look on his face; he told me he would think about it and left the room.

It seemed like hours before he came back, even though it was probably only a few minutes. He said that he’d made his decision. That I would receive a whipping that night no matter what and that I would be moving back home with them, but that the next thing was up to me. I still remember the options so clearly.

“If you want, this spanking will be the only one you get. We will pull you out of college tomorrow.

“Your next option is to get spanked tonight and once a week for the next month. You can stay in school but you will lose your car and computer and phone for a month. We will continue to spank you any time we feel it is necessary as long as you live in our home.

“Your final option is to receive a spanking every night this week. You can stay in school, and you will get your phone and computer and car back at the end of this week. You will continue to be spanked whenever necessary as long as you live here.”

Then he told me to change into pyjamas and get ready for my spanking that night. He said I could make my choice the next morning.

That’s when it started again.

This another account by a Christian Girl

My parents are very strict. I was raised in a Christian household where the rod was never spared, and my parents made it clear to me when I returned home at 22 (I just turned 23) that I would still be spanked for misbehaviour. At the time, I didn’t worry about it — I’m an adult now and much less likely to do stupid things that would get me spanked, plus I couldn’t imagine it would be as scary as my spankings when I was younger. Boy was I wrong. The spankings I have had, both from Mom and Dad, since I moved home last year have been way worse than anything I got when I was younger. Since they expect more from me, I’m punished more severely when I mess up. And for a repeat mess up, like missing curfew or drinking, it is way worse. Also, since my siblings no longer live at home and it’s just me, Mom and Dad, I often get spanked in the living room in front of both of them, which is embarrassing.

Tonight, I missed curfew and had a bit to drink. I hadn’t even closed the door behind me when Dad took off his belt and told me to get my pants down. He put me over the back of the couch and whipped my bare bottom until I was yowling with pain. Mom just sat there in her chair, arms crossed, looking smug, like I was getting just what I deserved and like she enjoyed watching me get punished. I wanted to slap the satisfied look off of her face and now I’m going to struggle with being respectful to her, which is another reason I get spanked. When it was over, I couldn’t even get my pants back up over my swollen bottom. I had to take them all the way off just so I could get to my room, sobbing and sniffling. It hurts so bad right now, and tomorrow is church which means sitting on hard pews and my dad will probably mention what I did to my pastor. I’m ashamed to get called in to see pastor, especially since he’ll know that I was drinking and that I was spanked.

I’m laying here feeling sorry for myself and really and truly hating the fact that I still get spanked. Most of the time it seems a small price to pay to live here and have my parents support me through school, but right after a spanking, I would agree to be homeless in order to avoid another one. It hurts so bad I can’t sleep. I’m on my tummy, using my laptop.

Marie1986 wrote:

I disagree with Clive, I know I was occasionally spanked until well into college, so big girls are spanked. But what I want to know has anyone ever been spanked by someone other than a family member or boyfriend?

After college my best friend Kate and I moved to the Big Apple after securing jobs at the same company. Neither of us were prepared for how expensive rents were, even when we planned to share a room if necessary. Luckily, Kate’s older sister already had an apartment with two spare rooms, so all we needed was contribution.

Now Kate like me had been spanked at home and I soon found out that big sister Kristen had sometimes had a hand in this. After two drunken-lates, an overfilled washer-drier incident and a blocked sink, Kristen lost patience with little sister and Kate went across her knee right there in the living room with me watching.

This was a bare butt affair complete with hairbrush as my mother used to handle me. The only difference was that Kristen made Kate spend a good chunk of the evening facing the wall with her panties and sweats still around her ankles.

I couldn’t help laughing, that is until Kristen said that it was no worse than I had gotten at home. Well I couldn’t deny that, “Except for corner time, pretty much,” I admitted.

Kristen told me that corner time was the most effective part and that both she and Kate had spent many embarrassing hours facing the wall right through college. Later I found out how embarrassing that was for Kristen who was nine years older.

I told her I was glad that I hadn’t gone through it then. Then she dropped the bombshell and told me that given my behavior was not much better than Kate’s “it was never too late.”

I think if I had told her no way or something that would have been the end of it, but I became all tongue-tied and blushed. So about three weeks later I came home and found Kristen waiting with a refused check in one hand and hairbrush in the other. It was my rent check.

Kristen bawled me out for ages and then told me she was going to spank me. I sort of protested but it happened anyway. And I had to go over her knee with my pants and panties down while she really put that brush to me. It was far worse than anything I got at home and I cried for the first time since I was a teen.

Kristen was also right about the corner time. I was still facing the wall with my panties down when Kate came home.

Since then I have been spanked often, sometimes right along with Kate. I don’t know how weird this is, but weirder still is that Kate is planning to move out and get her own place and Kirsten wants me to stay where she can keep an eye on me. I totally hate getting spanked at 25 and corner time is a real bitch, but I think I am going to stick around for a bit.

“You are going to pay for that young lady,” he growled as she stood trembling in the middle of the room.

“What do you mean?” she gulped.

“You know perfectly well what I mean, I am going to bare your prissy little bottom and give you the spanking of your life. And if I don’t think you are sufficiently penitent, then you’ll feel the cane or birch or anything else I deem necessary do you understand?” His eyes smouldered just like her college mentor’s used to when he was dressing her down. Marcus even had the same strong jaw and broad shoulders.

“You can’t possibly… I’m over… 30-years-old… it’s outrageous…” she spluttered.

It was true. She was a big shot City lawyer, or so most people thought. Today she was even still dressed in her cool sharp charcoal pin-stripe skirt-suit. Her hair was still piled up in a sophisticated bun in an attempt to make her look older and with more gravitas.

Only that morning she had sat down with two company chairmen and a senior partner. That was her world not this. She blanched.

“As long as you are under this roof you will do as you are told and there are consequences for your actions. Do you hear me?” he growled.

“But…” she blushed and looked uneasily at the door. Was it still too late to flee? Not a serious question if she was honest, but still it bothered her that someone on the other side might have heard his words. The thought did nothing for her blush which grew like a forest fire on her face.

“You may well be embarrassed young lady, but you have a serious spanking coming. By the time I am done with you will know the meaning of being embarrassed. You are going to be one sorry girl,” he said sternly.

Marcus didn’t wait for her to argue further. He took two strides towards her and took her by the arm. Then leading to the couch he sat down and tumbled her easily across his lap.

“Please Marcus, I’m sorry,” she felt 18 again as she sprawled helplessly face down on his knees, her bottom feeling too large now as it domed up across his thighs.

She felt his hand on the zip of her skirt and draw it down with a zizz. The button gave him some difficulty and was wild with the thought that he might set her on her feet again and make her take her own clothes off. Then he managed and the skirt was free.

In a moment she was exposed above the tops of her stay-up stockings. Her knickers were brief and high-cut and lacy almost like a thong. She hoped he liked them, she thought incongruously.

Her pated her bottom lightly but didn’t linger. Instead he helped her off with her jacket until she was left in just her blouse and underwear. The hem of her work shirt barely covered her bottom, but even this comfort was quickly removed.

“Now young lady don’t tell me you don’t deserve this,” he said sharply as he tugged gently on her briefs, teasing her in a will-he-won’t-he way.

“You can’t do this,” she protested, “I’m over 21… you have no right.”

That might have made up his mind, for in a trice her knickers were down and sliding down her legs.

She gasped at the exposure and hugged into his thighs in a forlorn bid to hide herself.

“I am going to start with my hand and then move on to the hairbrush,” he told her.

“Please Marcus, you can’t…” she wailed.

It was to no avail. His hand smacked her sharply and she yelped. The sting and tingle on her bottom now exactly the shape and size of his hand. It hurt and the way she had bucked to perhaps reveal herself was mortifying, but part of her savoured it. He was going to put her firmly in her place and there was not a damn thing she could do about it.

The next spank hurt a little more and was quickly followed by several more so that she bucked and squirmed on his knee. The crisp impacts of his hand were loud and there was no way someone beyond the room couldn’t hear. What did they think about a 30-something brat getting her comeuppance? What if the girls in the office found out?

The spanking went on and on, burning her tail and setting her jaw to a clench as she struggled not to cry out or give him any satisfaction at all.

“Did you think you would get away with it? What were you thinking?” he scolded her in an exasperated tone.

“I’m sorry,” she wailed, her face screwed up and struggling with the blaze in her tail.

He could tell she was close to the edge by the way she was breathing like an Olympic runner.

“Let’s see if you are,” he said sternly as he took up the hairbrush on the coffee table.

She licked her lips and began to struggle frantically. His grip on her was formidable and way beyond her small frame to resist.

“Please Marcus I said I’m sorry, can’t we talk about this?” her voice was on the edge of tears now.

“I prefer to let this do the talking,” he barked.

At ‘this’ was an impossibly sharp impact of the flat side of the brush.

“Ahh,” she groaned.

It was the least of her expletives as the spanking began in earnest.

“By the time I am done with you, you won’t sit down for a week,” he promised.

The relentless spanks were untenable now and she snatched frantically at the seat and his legs finally chuckling to open sobs.

“That’s it, let it all out girl,” he soothed.

His words belied the weight of his arm which was merciless in its assault on her bottom. By the time he finally let up she was a bawling mess and ready to crawl into his arms.

“We are not done yet,” he whispered even as he stroked her hair.

“Please Marcus, not the cane I really couldn’t…” she began to babble and beg, it was liberating in a way no decision was required. She would beg her heart out and he would do whatever he wanted with her.

“I’ll think about it. I have another girl to see, so you can go and stand in the corner,” he told her.

“Please Marcus… don’t let her… it’s too…” she was babbling again.

“Be a good girl now or I will fetch that cane,” he warned.

She was thoroughly cowed and nodding meekly, she made her way to the corner where she stood facing it and unmoving. Her bottom felt like two hot stones behind her and if she could but touch them, she would have felt a hard leathery heat. She knew her bottom was more than a little red.

Marcus left her there for an age. Occasionally she could hear him talking; on the phone perhaps? Or was someone really there? Could they see? Her face glowed red to rival her bottom. God, if people at work knew about this, she thought, scarcely able to breath.

A good while later Marcus returned and released her.

“Was that okay?” he said.

She nodded.

“I didn’t go to the cane today… I mean I thought…” he said seriously.

“No, you did right I think… but don’t be so easy on me next time,” she told him as she reached for her clothes. “Is cash alright again?”

“Fine,” he said casually, “Do you want a drink or something?”

“No thanks, I have a client to see in an hour,” she sighed.

“Yes me too,” he said.

ends

Now this short article, whilst hopefully being informative, is not intended to be exhaustive and can better be viewed as a bit of fun.

Many of you will either be in a spanking or DD relationship or will have had one at some point. If not then no doubt your turn will come.

As you will know the reality of such experiences differ markedly from spanking fiction. The main reason for this is that on one hand Tops and Doms and on the other Bottoms and Subs have the inconvenient status of being real people.

These terms (Tops, Doms, Bottoms and Subs – not ‘real people’) are used advisably as none quite satisfy true definition, but given the on-going debate here they are a useful shorthand.

But as real people they tend not to behave or respond as you want them too.

This is as real an issue for the submissive half of the relationship as for Mr Dom Top, but we will come back to that. Let us first address the other side for the uninitiated.

Ladies and Gentlemen please pardon the language in advance but it is a dead cert that at this point there is a small selection of readers who are saying “the bitch had better do what I want her to or…” well you know the type of thing. Therefore we must take a moment to remind ourselves of the term relationship. Do you see where we are going with this?

A relationship is and can only be between equal partners built on trust and mutual respect. The rules in DD you see are no different from any other relationship. If you are 20 and into This Thing That We Do (another irritating little phrase that we will employ as a shorthand), then you may be forgiven for struggling with this; if you are over 40 then not so much.

Okay so she has agreed to and wants to get taken in hand, brought into line and to cut a long story short get spanked (in some form or other actual practices differ so see small-print for details). But she isn’t going to make it easy for you. Come on get a life.

She has a job and is probably the manager of two dozen people on a salary that may well exceed yours. Imaginative intelligent women are often much more likely to be submissive than otherwise. And here again for clarity the reverse is not also true – in other words not all intelligent imaginative women want you to take her in hand in any shape of form. So do be aware.

In other words, unless you are just playing at it or having a scene, then an argument is an argument and she is going to give you static until you can get on her wavelength and calmly and psychologically sort her out so to speak.

After all the women who are serious about this want help to be better than they are and not give into certain behaviours. If this was easy then you my dominant friend would be surplus to requirements.

Also it has to be said that she may want you to win but that doesn’t mean she is going to roll over without a fight.

All of this is before her parents just happen to drop in, her boss phones up or infallible you (or sometimes her) have seriously screwed up and it is all hands to the pump in the grown-up world.

On the other hand she has just as many problems with you.

In books the masterful hero always reads the bratty heroine right, always knows what to do and can probably pick her up and throw her into the next county for good measure. I don’t know about you but even though I can still (almost) bench-press my own weight I gave up wench-throwing along with rugby when I turned 40.

It is a challenge always being in charge and manfully being the answer to a maiden’s prayers. Try it sometime. Seriously, it is hard work spanking a wench whenever and wherever she needs it. Shakes head. But somebody has to do it.

Look in the mirror sometime. How do you stack up against Wolverine or James Bond?

Okay let us say that you have trust and mutual respect and that you are both compatible. What next?

Spanking

How long and how hard do you spank?

This can only be deduced from experience and varies from woman to woman.

Start off slow and soft and build up. Even die-hard roughtie-toughtie girls can get in the wrong head space if you start off too hard and fast.

Spanking on the bare bottom is always desirable for more reasons than one. It is as well to monitor ‘damage’ as you go.

Spanking implements

What do you use to spank a woman with?

For beginners and experts alike you cannot beat the hand. It is always there at the end of your arm (well usually – sorry if it is not) and it can only take so much punishment itself so being overzealous is much less likely.

Even after you graduate to other implements the hand is a classic and the intimacy of it cannot be underestimated.

Then we have the trusty hairbrush, clothes brush or bath brush. Apart from the weight and therefore severity, they are all variations of the same things as far as spanking is concerned. The advantage of these common household items is that they are also easily come by and are in no way incriminating when her parents come to call.

If you want something harsher but discretion is important then a man’s belt is a good staple. It is also a good psyche tool as some girls turn to jelly at the sound of leather pulled through trouser hoops.

Specialist items like leather paddles are often preferable as they sting as much but often do not bruise. But do be careful where you leave them. Also do be careful when using wooden or other unyielding paddles or she really won’t sit down for a week and medical help may be required.

Other equipment like canes, crops and the like require some skill and practice and are only for the truly committed. But they are obtainable and can be hung at the back of the wardrobe or secreted in a hat-stand.

One person even bought a Charlie Chaplin outfit ‘for a fancy dress party’ which just happened to come with a cane. See, you can hide things in plain sight. Same goes for riding crops. They can be wall ornaments or a legacy from a horsey youth.

But we are veering into areas that are not strictly spanking.

Canes, crops and birches are whole other level.

Spanking techniques and positions

These are too many and varied but here are few things to keep in mind.

Over the knee (OTK) is a good standard start. Obviously for use of the cane and such this will not work so the girl might need to stand up and bend over.

If bending, beginners should have her use a chair or bed to bend over. You cannot expect most girls to hold position if you mean it.

The other aspect of spanking that cannot be stressed enough is cause and effect.

She has to know why she is being spanked and ideally should agree that she deserves it. Then in a non-confrontational way, she should be scolded and put in the correct submissive frame of mind.

Failure to do this can make the whole experience unpleasant for both parties and instead of clearing the air, it can cause resentment.

As with above, it is a good idea to always begin with a gentle hand-spanking and build up. At the same time one should reiterate the offence and continue with an appropriate level of scolding.

Some women cry. This is usually good. It is an emotional response and it usually means that the spanking is working. A woman who is growling angrily through gritted teeth is probably not in the right head space.

But do not worry if there are no tears. These are a rare gift. Listen for gentle whimpering and laboured breathing as both can mean she is struggling but not resentful. It is a good indicating of how she is doing.

Also don’t be afraid to stop. Use the pauses for scolding and maybe a time out in the corner if you are really making a point.

Corner time

Corner time is the ultimate bondage position. However much she complains, if she goes to the corner she has to contend with the fact that she is submitting and is a under discipline.

You can leave a woman alone in the corner, but unless you are confident she won’t challenge you in absentia, you might consider light bindings around thumbs that can be removed but not replaced coupled with having her press a coin to the wall with her forehead or nose.

Talcum powder on the floor, small objects that can’t easily be put back if disturbed can also be of use. In sororities, they used a trick involving empty bottles crossed with pencils set behind the ankles.

Some women can handle corner time better than others.

For some 20 minutes is hard and others can handle two or three hours, but note this is extreme and presents health issues without practice and know-how.

Start off with short periods, after all 5 minutes is a long time for a girl in the corner.

Also corner time with anticipation is effective beforehand and although it is satisfying for a top to see his handiwork set in the corner, many women want to be forgiven after a spanking and do not respond well to after spanking corner time.

Also it is wise to be aware of any issues such as back pain and the like. A 20-year-old will ruefully pout after an hour in the corner (on the whole) but the more mature miss might struggle both physically and mentally so start off slowly as with spanking.

Figging and other invasives

This is a delicate subject and one that can be left entirely out of the equation if it squicks either partner.

This is effective both as a supplement to a spanking or if for some reason (such as noise) spanking is difficult it can be a substitute in its own right.

Proceed with care.

At one end of the spectrum (so to speak) there is the simple mouth soaping for lying or swearing. It is a juvenile punishment and not for everyone.

More usually we address ourselves to the other end. Here we are in the territory of anal plugs of various sizes. Small ones can be worn as day wear for added submissive discomfort, but more usually the woman will be lying down with the largest she can handle inserted in her bottom.

Figging is a variant of this that involves ginger or some other mild abrasive to really get a girl’s attention. Beware of women with allergies and also of those who do not get much sensation from it.

At the extreme end we have enemas, which is a subject in its own right.

Spanking Regimes

This is an interesting area. Most couples have a spanking regime even if they do not think of it as such. For instance, some couples start the day off with a spanking or if not they will have some spoken or unspoken rules as to when a spanking will be due.

In a more formal setting more elaborate rituals may be temporary punishment sets that can be employed.

At the moderate end we are talking about maintenance spanking. This is where a girl is spanked at regular set intervals for no particular reason other than to let her know her place and to remind her what will happen if she truly steps out of line.

A classic spanking regime may be also be imposed as an elaborate punishment.

For instance for some serious offence a girl may be told that she will be spanked every morning and again every evening for a set number of days. These spankings maybe varied with canes and such or in extreme cases before witnesses for added (spice) humiliation.

These are options not obligations and will be applied according to the nature of the relationship and what has been agreed.

Ultimately the spanking regime is the overarching arrangement that forms the basis of the relationship.

Any one of the headings above could be a book let alone an article in its own right so if you want to know more, proceed with care and research more wildly. But above all be safe and have fun.

The housekeeper looked at Sophie with a mix of pity and incredulity. Then her employer’s wife caught her eye and they both blushed.

“It is quite alright Mrs Blanchester;” Sophie whispered meekly, “My husband is well within his rights.”

Mrs Blanchester, as far as anyone knew had never been married, but it was the custom to address housekeepers as Mrs, it gave them more authority. Not that Caroline Blanchester needed any help, as a young woman in her mid-30s, she was much older than both the maids and 10 years the senior of Sophie Grainger.

At first glance they might have been taken for sisters. Both women had a similar look, neither being above five feet four and both having long thick chestnut hair piled upon their heads as was the fashion that year. But where Mrs Blanchester’s grey dress fell elegantly from her hips in one smooth descending sweep in a narrow bell-shape, Sophie was not wearing a dress at all.

In fact she was currently wearing little more than her shift and bloomers. The former of these was cut short and stylishly to her waist so that it blended at the curve of her hips with the knee-length leg coverings that ended in lace at her knees.

Seeing the fall of the housekeeper’s gaze Sophie again blushed and tried to make light of it.

“At least I am wearing bloomers. As a girl we wore those dreadful draws that opened at the back,” she said with a faux brightness.

Caroline Blanchester blushed peony as she remembered the type of garment. She had not been much younger than Sophie when she too had worn them under similar circumstances. That is, drawn apart as she faced the wall to await the rod.

“Do you think I should…?” Sophie pointed at the drawing room wall to her left.

“I was told to wait with you, nothing else,” Caroline said uncomfortably, “What did Mr Grainger… suggest Madam?”

Mr Grainger rarely suggested anything, Sophie thought ruefully, he just gave orders; but then that was how she liked it, if she were honest. She ran through what he had told her.

“You will spend no little time in the corner by the time I am done with you,” he had chided her.

But he had not said to actually… she shrugged, she would anticipate his wishes. After all she was in error and thoroughly deserved her punishment. So with a sigh and another blush she turned to the face the wall as she might have done under the direction of a governess and placed her hands upon her head.

It crossed Caroline’s mind that accepting a spanking from one’s lawful husband was one thing, but to be embarrassed so before one’s own servants was a little rich. But who was she deceiving, at least the woman had a husband and when it came to Mr Grainger, Caroline would have done anything she was told.

The housekeeper had sent the younger maid on a long errand out of the house and given Kathy, the older girl, extensive duties in the scullery and lower house so neither would venture here even by chance. But both knew what was afoot. Caroline only hoped they wouldn’t gossip in the village.

With Sophie facing the wall all conversation ceased and both women stood in an uncomfortable silence. This is awkward, Caroline thought and wondered if she should sit down. She was still deliberating when the door opened and Mr Grainger entered.

He was a tall man, a little above 40. But he had none of the portliness of men of his age and to further the youthful look, wore an elegant dark suit that was currently the vogue.

As he came into the room he glanced at his pocket watch and then at his wife. He nodded in satisfaction, she was a good girl. Then he turned to Mrs Blanchester.

“Did my wife fetch her hairbrush from her room?” he asked her.

Caroline swallowed and then stepped forward and took the brush from the arm of the padded chair under the window.

William Grainger took it and hefted it in his hand.

“Not as stout as the hall brush, but less oppressive I suppose,” he said sharply.

Caroline’s eyes widened a little, as Sophie’s must have. The hall brush was near a foot long and made of mahogany. It hung on a hook in the hall for the purposes of dusting down street wear. It would have been a formidable spanking tool and the housekeeper’s bottom clenched in future anticipation of such an event.

As these thoughts ran through her mind Mr Grainger took hold of the Windsor chair against the other wall and set it down in the middle of the room.

“You may leave us,” he told his housekeeper.

Caroline felt both relieved and disappointed all at once. But his will in this was entirely appropriate.

“Yes Sir,” she agreed with a tilt of the head.

She tended to avoid full curtsies on account of her position, but heaven help the maids if they slacked on this account.

William waited until his housekeeper had left before he summoned Sophie from the wall.

“You know why you must suffer this?” he said sternly.

“Yes Sir,” Sophie said meekly.

Her husband waited.

“I made the misjudgement of spending my allowance of fripperies Sir,” she said at last.

She hoped that by parroting back his earlier words he would be pleased.

“Misjudgement implies that you have any judgement to miss in the first place,” he scolded her.

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir,” she said quickly. “I only meant…”

“Tell me, when you took the five pound note from my dresser,” he stressed the word ‘my,’ “Did you know it was wrong?”

Sophie blushed to her ears and looked down with a nod.

“How did you expect to contrive to get away with such a thing?” he sighed.

She shrugged. She genuinely had no idea, it had been an impulse.

“You are a foolish girl aren’t you?” he sighed again, “Perhaps I should strip you for the rod.”

“Yes Sir,” she whispered, but her heart began to race and she had to bite her lip to prevent a protest.

“Your attitude is sound anyway,” he growled, “Sounder than your judgement. Come here.”

Sophie skipped across the room like a mountain goat or ballerina and flopped into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry William,” she whispered. “Please give me the spanking I deserve.”

It was not a mantra he demanded, but it felt right.

He wasted no more time and pulled her down across his lap so that her head was dipped towards the floor and her cotton-clad bottom was elevated on his knee.

“I mean to spank you harshly and then you will return to the corner for the remainder of the afternoon,” he chided her.

“Yes Sir,” she trilled.

“And don’t think I will have the maids skulk away below stairs just to suit your dignity,” he snapped.

“No Sir,” she blushed.

This last passive act on her part was as much because of his hand working her bloomers down as the revelation that her shame would be displayed to the household.

Once her full round bottom was bare to his gaze he patted it with the flat side of the brush and watched snow white patches melt against the smooth ivory of her skin. Blanche à la Blanche, he thought wistfully, knowing that rouge en rouge would soon be her shade. He brought the brush down with a pistol crack and marvelled at the shock of white that quickly flooded with pink.

“Eiee,” she squealed and kicked her bloomer-bound ankles.

He spanked her again harder and then thrice more.

She yelped gracefully at each impact rocking her bottom back and forth on his lap as she squirmed. She tried to anchor herself with her elbows under his thighs but four spanks in she swept the left arm back to hug at his waist.

“I will stop your allowance for a month for your folly and if you ever do such a thing…” he barked as he spanked her hard, “…again, then you will feel the rod, if not the strap as well.”

“Yes Sir,” she gasped.

“Do you… do you… do you hear what I say?” he rasped, the brush spanking down with real bite at each repetition.

“Yes Sir,” she screeched, her voice now strained.

By now her bottom was a bright poppy red across its whole surface and little mottles of mauve raggedly stained her right curve. Satisfied with the aesthetics, he let the brush fall on the under curves of her bottom right where she sat, an action that extracted earnest soulful wails from his lady wife as she kicked her legs ever more frantically.

Tears pooled at her red-rimmed eyes and her moist protests were accompanied by laboured breathing at the rise and fall of his arm.

“Please Sir, oh Sir…” and then with a shriek, “William… I am so sorry,” she wailed.

“Are you? Are you indeed?” he said in a scolding voice, but not letting up one jot with his arm.

In fact the spanking lasted a good five minutes more before William was satisfied. By then Sophie was a tearful mess hugging into her husband in true contrition.

“Now madam, you can retire to the corner and think on your wilful behaviour,” he said gently after taking a moment to hug her back.

“Yes Sir,” she sobbed.

And then reluctantly she limped to the wall and took up position facing it with her hands on her head and her bloomers still wrapped firmly at her ankles like hobbles.

“You may put your hands in the small of your back,” he said kindly, “But leave your bloomers down. You are going to be there for quite some considerable time.”

“Yes Sir,” she said miserably.

Without the least display of surprise William suddenly went to the door and opened it on Caroline who was standing there suddenly flustered.

“You may see to in here now and Mrs Blanchester… do leave this door open, both the room and Mrs Grainger would benefit from an airing.”

“Yes Sir,” Caroline said with a nervous blush.

“I will take my tea here,” he chuckled as he shot a glance back at his wife’s sore and exposed bottom.

“Yes Sir,” Caroline said breathily, following his gaze.

She would bring some herself directly.

Ends.

Our story began here.

It was a few days later when Gerald was finally due home. Sylvia had been on the edge of her seat all that morning in anticipation, eager to begin what she was increasingly thinking of as her new life. She had had much to think about since her recent adventures and she had rapidly come to the conclusion that she had slept through much of her adult life chasing after material trappings that bored her as soon as she got them.

Like so many people she had pursued a life and an attitude to life that she thought she should rather than what was good for her. More than that, she had gone after what she wanted, or thought she wanted rather than what she needed. Strains of the Rolling Stones went through her mind and she rifled through Gerald’s record collection to find the song she was think of.

It was all vinyl, so old fashioned, like Gerald, but he didn’t have the song. He’s not that old I suppose, she realised. After all he had come of age in the 1980s not the swinging sixties, which was a million years ago now. Sylvia didn’t care, Gerald was coming home and she couldn’t wait. So to pass the time Sylvia had ambled into the hall on the way to her room to read.

Mary was still in the corner by the door where Drake had left her. She wore no skirt or undies, but in all other regards she was dressed as if she were going away on business with a neat business jacket and stockings up to mid-thigh. Her exposed bottom held ample evidence of Drake’s wrath and the rounds of her behind had that purple grazing and swelling that would make sitting down a trial for days to come.

By her side against the wall a bag had been packed for her and she even had on a good pair of shoes. The reason for these unusual arrangements was that Drake had arranged for Mary to be retrained at a place he knew and her shameful attire was to make sure she was in the right frame of mind.

As Sylvia understood it, Mary was in for a difficult month and her bottom was on its way for a small ration of its own personal hell. A pang of excitement clawed at Sylvia’s tummy and she wondered if Gerald would ever give her such a holiday. God it would be horrible and thrilling at the same time.

“Looking forward to it?” Sylvia teased.

Mary worked her throat and coloured a little. It so embarrassing, but that was an important part of it. Drake meant it for her own good.

“You have forgotten the basics,” he had told Mary only that morning. She knew it was true but she didn’t need Sylvia to rub it in.

“What time does the transport come?” Sylvia tried again.

“I-I don’t know… Ma’am,” Mary said uncomfortably, wishing Sylvia would go away.

“No rush eh… I was thinking of asking some of the hunt people over to lunch,” Sylvia teased. “Do you think you will still be here then?”

Mary shifted uneasily and blinked hard at the wall.

“I really couldn’t say Ma’am,” Mary sighed.

Just then there was the crunch of gravel outside and the sound of a car. Both women’s heart’s leapt in unison, both certain their individual moments had come.

When Gerald came through the door Mary didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relived.

Sylvia did. She ran at the man and wrapped her arms around her.

“Have you been good?” he asked once their long kiss was over.

Sylvia shrugged. It wasn’t for her to say. But her blush promised definitely possibilities for him to uncover on that front.

“I see Mary is still here,” Gerald chuckled, “Had an interesting time too by the looks of it.”

Sylvia grinned. “Do you know where she is going?” she asked.

“I have a pretty good idea. Somewhere she has been before,” he said in good humour, “Haven’t you Mary?”

“Yes Sir,” Mary said sullenly.

Gerald nodded and then took off his coat. He didn’t bother to hang it, Tatiana would see it to it and he would leave it to her to see that it needed a dry clean. Instinctively Sylvia went to take it, but he took her hand and led to into the open lounge.

He was careful to leave the door open where he could still see Mary, although it was more important that she could hear what was said.

“You have a decision to make don’t you?” Gerald asked Sylvia seriously.

His wife frowned.

“Do you want to be part of this life, this very strange life, or shall we set-up another house. Something more vanilla?” he poured himself a drink and fixed his eyes patiently on the glass.

Sylvia’s eyes darted back and forth in her head and her face took on the expression of one who had been slapped.

“Why do you think I went away? You needed time to think,” he told her.

Sylvia opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. It wasn’t fair to ask her. She didn’t want choices, not anymore; she wanted to be swept off her feet.

“I want you,” she said. It was one thing she would admit to. Then to help him she added, “And all that you are.”

“A life of spanked bottoms, yours and other women’s,” he said seriously, “That is who I am, or at least who I have been.”

“I want to learn the ways of Spankmanship,” she said picking up on something Drake had said.

“It will mean discipline and a tough life for your bottom. I want to train you to take over Mary’s role here at the house and take responsibility for that life and all that it entails.” Gerald took another sip of scotch and raised his eyes to watch her response.

“Oh yes, yes,” Sylvia gushed and rushed into his arms.

But then she held back, her mouth forming an O-shape.

“But what about Mary?” she asked.

“Oh Mary,” Gerald smiled and glanced at his housekeeper at her place facing the wall, “When she comes back from her little vacation she will marry Drake and set-up a house of her own. No doubt he has in mind taking her into the business.”

Mary wanted to jump for joy. But another thought crossed her mind. That bastard, he hasn’t even asked me, but her glee was not contained and part of her knew that Drake would never ask her permission to do anything. She risked a glance over her shoulder at Gerald and her eyes seemed to say ‘is it true?’ There were tears pooled at her eyes.

Gerald smiled back at her and nodded and then made a turn back gesture with his finger. Mary obeyed.

Outside wheels on gravel announced that the minibus to take Mary off to training had arrived.

“Can I say goodbye to Mr Drake?” the housekeeper asked excitedly.

“He will come and see you settled in in a day or two,” Gerald said as he put down his glass. “Now cut along.”

Mary suddenly felt exposed again and stood awkwardly by the door. Her hand strayed to cover her front.

“Submission is as submission does,” he said archly, giving her a sympathetic look.

It was a fundamental of the creed of spankmanship and she was ashamed that he should have to remind her. She needed this training, Drake was right.

“Come on, I’ll bring your bag.” Gerald told her as he moved towards it.

Mary felt like a shy teenager as she took hesitant steps outside. The driver was already out of the car and despite his detachment; she knew he was studying her nakedness. To make matters worse there were several other women in the bus all looking at her.

Then she seemed to recover some of her dignity and drew herself erect and began to walk to the car. The driver winked at her and opened the door.

Only one of the women appeared fully clothed. The exposed thigh of the woman sitting nearest the door suggested she was similarly attired as Mary. The girl kneeling on the floor wither back to Mary was completely nude with her bare bottom facing outwards. Mary was in good company she thought grimly.

*

“Now what you need is a good sound spanking,” Gerald said suddenly as he poured himself another scotch.

“Wh-why, what have I done?” Sylvia blustered, her face suddenly red.

“Oh I am sure I can think of something and besides you need putting in your place, you enjoyed Mary’s predicament far too much,” he chuckled. Then he called “Tatiana.”

Sylvia felt a tingle of excitement admixed with fear until Tatiana entered and then she flushed.

“Tatiana, your mistress here needs a jolly good spanking. Run along and fetch her hairbrush from her room.”

“Very good Sir,” the maid said, her accent thick, but she cast a smirk at Sylvia and went away with an expression like the cat that had all the cream.

Gerald watched her go in equal amusement and then turned back to his wife.

“Well?” he said, “Knickers down and turn and face the wall. You know the drill.”

Gerald was really home, she thought ruefully. Still it was better than being spanked by Mary, even if the maid was around to enjoy her shame.

By the time Tatiana returned five minutes later Sylvia was already naked below the waist and standing to face the wall.

“You may leave us,” he said to the girl as he took the brush. “My wife will be in the corner for a while before I will begin.

*

“Now young lady, come here,” Gerald beckoned at last.

Sylvia turned a regarded him for a moment with apprehensive eyes as she bit her lip. This would be her life now, no this was her life, she decided and the fear, embarrassment and excitement were all bundled up together.

“Here now and get over my knee,” he said impatiently.

Sylvia pouted and then reluctantly crossed the room. She was over his knee almost at once.

“Now where were we?” he said gently, as he patted her bare bottom with the brush.

“Gerald I…” she began, but he wasn’t listening and brought the flat surface of the hairbrush sharply down on her bottom.

“Ooh…wch,” she squeaked.

Gerald spanked her again harder.

“God I have missed you,” he said with a sigh.

And I have missed this, she decided silently.

The brush landed again and Sylvia cried out with pain. Somehow she knew he was in no hurry and this was going to take quite some time.

“Yah,” she gasped, her breathing now becoming laboured as he let fly with another quick round of swats.

Yep, she was definitely in for it, she thought ruefully.

The doorbell ringing took them both by surprise, Gerald frowned.

“Were we expecting anyone?” he asked.

Sylvia was about to say no when she remembered the hunt people she had invited in a moment of mischief.

Seeing her face he said in a sharp voice, “Who is it?”

“I… eh… might have accidentally invited one or two people to lunch,” she squeaked.

“On my first day home… Jesus Sylvia,” he groaned, “You are in so much trouble.”

“Yes Sir,” she admitted ruefully.

And then to her surprise he continued to spank her even as she heard Tatiana answering the door. He wouldn’t, she thought in panic. But she knew that he very well might.

To be continued..

Had some very brief snippets on file for some time, but didn’t think they were worth running out. Then a sideways search for something else threw-up some relationship stuff. Most of this is off EP or FemFirst, the rest weren’t recorded.

Carrie wrote:

I bet my boyfriend a spanking that the girls would be beat the boys at darts in our local pub match. When I lost I put on a pair of target knickers so I could laugh it off. But I was such a bitch about it that he paid me out for real. It hurt and I was really shook up about it and he apologised. But I couldn’t get it out of my mind for weeks afterwards. When I told a girlfriend about it we realised that I kind of wanted him to do it again so she drew a target on my bare bottom. He got the message and now it is kind of a regular thing with us.

Another bet had a similar result. Terri wrote:

I bet my sister’s boyfriend that if he could beat me at table tennis he could spank me. I knew I wouldn’t lose and I wasn’t surprised when he ducked out of letting me do it afterwards. But also I think I was disappointed because I think I wanted to lose sometime and as he chickened out I couldn’t very well surrender at some future game.

But then this guy Steve, a mate of his, came around and I told him how sister’s BF had chickened out. Then I made the same bet with him. The trouble was he was about 10 years older than me and instead of going along with it he just called me a cheeky brat and gave me a spanking on the seat of my jeans for being lippy.

Then he says “If you really want to take a chance I’ll play you and if I lose I won’t take your knickers down and spank your bare bottom with the paddle like you deserve.”

I think he was teasing me but I was quite worked up and I agreed. Actually I thought I would beat him, I pretty much had an incentive. It was close, but I lost. It was so embarrassing and he didn’t go easy on me the second time so I was pretty red at both ends. Lol.

Not a bet this time but a college dare gone wrong. This girl seems to have an interesting domestic set-up which isn’t fully explained so one’s imagination tends to fill in the blanks. I like this one, even if it is a little suspect as it runs like one of my stories.

Claire wrote:

At college my friend Jan was always doing crazy things, which got her into trouble with her housemates. I have no idea what the deal was with them, but she lived with this 20-something couple in their spare room near campus, but they treated her like she was their little sister or something. I know she got nervous when she was out late if she didn’t phone them and once she admitted that she had been ‘kept in’ for a week for staying out overnight without telling them.

I thought she was exaggerating or something but then Jan did this crazy dare stunt. Some of the girls in her gym club went topless and had a roller skate race from the sports centre to the Union bar. Jan said she would go back the again only bottomless. It was just a laugh, but the girl she lived with was in the bar that night and came out while Jan was whirling around the quad. The next thing I know, Jan was over this girl’s knee getting a spanking on her bare bottom all while still wearing the skates. It was fairly full on and people were laughing but her housemate said she obviously didn’t care about going nude in public so why should she.

I was embarrassed for her, but not as embarrassed as Jan was. But by a few days later she just thought it was funny. It was just another crazy stunt to her I think.

This next one seems to be a scene anecdote and is the one I found that made me think it was worth running these. You would think that there were more such stories.

Jenni88 wrote:

After a couple of years lurking on spanking blogs I finally got up the courage to go to a munchie in west London. I should say at this point that I am a straight woman and I was looking for an older man who was into spanking and topping.

My first couple of experiences were disappointing and although the people there were very friendly, it all seemed fairly vanilla as the chat went, except for these BDSM types who seemed too wild for my needs.

Then about the third time I went I got talking to a woman in her 30s, a bit older than me, and she said that she had seen me there before and asked what I was looking for. I was very shy when it came to it and quite scared, but when I finally told her, well mostly anyway, she guessed. She said she might help.

I got to know her a bit and she took me to some clubs and even introduced me to a couple of guys. But nothing really worked out. Then one night at her flat she asked me if I had ever actually been spanked. So of course I said no.

Then she says that the next time I came around if I hadn’t got ‘any action,’ as she called it, she “would take my knickers down and spank my bare bottom.”

I told her I was straight, but she said she didn’t care and that if I didn’t want a good spanking I had better pull my finger out.

All this went through my head for days after and I didn’t know what to think. I suppose I decided that I didn’t believe her, but I know now that I did so I have to admit with hindsight that I wanted something to happen even if it was with a girl.

Anyway, I left it about two weeks to give her time to forget what she said and then I went around there. Nothing was said and we went to a club. I don’t remember a thing about it now, but we decided to come back early with a bottle of rum and just hang out at her flat.

The she says, “You didn’t even talk to anyone tonight,” had I even met anyone yet?

She didn’t wait for my answer but told me to take my skirt off and come across her knee.

Of course I refused and argued with her, while all the time that we talked I was blushing my head off and didn’t know what to say. But I couldn’t look her in the eye so when she came and took my hand and somehow I just went over her lap. It was so weird having my knickers taken down while over a girl’s knee, but I didn’t have long to think about it. She gave me a proper spanking and didn’t stop for a long time.

It really, really hurt, but when I didn’t cry she said I wasn’t really sorry and sent me into her room to fetch a hairbrush. I don’t know why, I was in a daze really, I just went and got like I was told. The spanking she gave me then had me shouting a bawling like a kid, I couldn’t believe it. She gave me a hug and said she knew that she was a bitch, but next time she would do worse and make me stand in the corner.

She said “did you enjoy it?”

When I said of courses not, she says “Good, that makes it more fun for me. See I told you I am bitch.”

The red marks and bruises on my bum were totally fascinating and for about a week I just stood in front of the mirror looking at them before I went to bed and relived the whole thing in my head, if you know what I mean.

I was drawn to go back to her like a moth to a flame and this time she spanked me really hard and did what she said and put me in the corner. I was spanked many times after that, she even took me to parties and had friends round to show me off. Not only was I her little project but for a while I was her slave of sorts.

She didn’t do anything overtly sexual with me, but I was caned, tied up and all kinds of quite strict stuff. We both loved it when I cried, but for different reasons I think. For me it was sort of a release and very cleansing.

Eventually I met my boyfriend and became his sub, but I am glad I had the experience. Sorry if that was a bit long, but you did ask how I got started in this.

If these little snippets are not enough for you, you can find more over at Sometimes a Girl. I did once publish a story from there and thought about doing it again by editing together the disparate strands of comments into a single narrative, but last time it caused some offence and not a little confusion, so maybe I’ll hold off.

Meanwhile if I find anything else I’ll post them here.

As regular readers will know, from time to time this blog runs anecdotes of supposed real spanking adventures. These are often random snippets dug up from an old back-up drive of stories culled from the Internet over the last 20 years (has the Interweb really been with us that long?) or recent discoveries from various sources like the Experience Project, Life Forum, FemFirst and such like.

It is fascinating but readers tend to fall into two camps with regards to their response to these snippets. The first group ‘doubt’ that they are true (as well they might – many are quite farfetched) and the second swallow them whole and (sometimes) expect one to introduce them to the actors in the anecdotes on a social basis. Well this last is an exaggeration, but you would be surprised.

On the whole I do not care if the stories are true or not. They are published in much the same way that Will Henry published his case studies back in the 1960s and 70s, but I know others have higher standards. Nevertheless, these little snippets are among the more popular features of this blog and people actually comment and email asking for more. But since the factory just outside Newport Pagnell that used to manufacture these tales has closed down, we are a hostage to what can be found.

My point is it is evident that everyone should keep a large pot of salt handy when dealing with anything one finds on the Internet and so it should be with this blog when it comes to anecdotes. As ever you pay your money and you takes a chance and for entertainment purposes only here is the first of two stories found online. They have both been edited and ‘spruced up’ a bit for public consumption and for a change they were both long enough for a post each. One I have had for a while and originally came off Collarme and the first one (I think) was found on FemFirst.

Cassie wrote:

On the subject of lesbian spanking, a subject close to my heart (grins), one of my early adventures in this game was not a scene deal. Back in the early 70s I worked as nurse for a couple in Surrey. The gentleman had various medical issues I won’t bore you with and I had to be on hand and live in pretty much 24/7.

They had a 20-year-old daughter Elisabeth who had dropped out of university and was also living with them. She was cute and I suspected at once that she was onside, but as she was such an unpleasant brat and because I was rather dubious of mixing pleasure with business, I decided to back off.

This was particular tough as my own girlfriend of the time was making tracks, and living in a small town as I was in those days was not the best recipe for getting any action. So I think I became a bit of an officious bitch with a stick up my arse as only a 23-year-old cynic can be.

Elisabeth and I clashed over everything, a situation made worse because originally I had been assigned her room and on her return from college I had been relegate to a pokey box room above the garage. This was not only uncomfortable but made by job more difficult. But she didn’t care about that because as I say she was a total brat.

One day while her parents were out, he rarely went anywhere I recall so I think it must have been a hospital visit, well anyway I caught Elisabeth around her father’s meds. I have no idea what she was doing, maybe trying to score something or just trying to make me look bad, I didn’t know or care.

All I knew was that she was bending over my medicine table in her father’s room with those long legs of hers and showing me her little white panties as I came in. I wore midis by then but she still wore hot pants or as on this occasion, a little short A-Line floral dress.

I was furious and shouted at her and she turned on me and said I was a maid or servant, something like that and couldn’t talk to her like that. I said she had no business messing with her father’s medicine and told her to get out.

All hell broke loose and we had something of a cat-fight for a moment. In my defence she totally started it but I soon got the better of her. As we thrashed about on the bed I manoeuvred her over my lap and got a swat in on her bottom.

Her attitude changed at once and although she was obviously still mad at me she started acting more like a kid and saying childish things. I think she actually said ‘I’ll tell my dad.’

I spanked her again and then after a minute of struggling with her, really set to it. At some point I got her little panties down and was spanking her bare bottom. Although she made a lot of noise she didn’t really try all that hard to break free so I was able to give her a long hard spanking until her little bottom was really quite red.

When I finally did let her up she burst into tears and ran off to her room.

I thought I had gone too far and totally expected her to tell her father and get me the sack or even bring assault charges or at least tell the agency. But the next day it was as if nothing had happened.

A day or two after that there was a knock on my door one evening and I opened it to find a rather mousey little Elisabeth standing there. She said she was sorry and that she hoped I wasn’t still mad at her.

I found myself giving her a maternal lecture about the danger of drugs and the risks to her father if she had mixed the meds up. Bear in mind that I was all of three years older than Elisabeth. Then at some point she shyly admitted that she deserved a ‘smacked bottom’ and I said that she hadn’t had half enough in my view. I might have said more but she just became very embarrassed and quickly left.

For a few minutes I thought I had overplayed my hand but then there was another knock and Elisabeth had returned. She had with her a hairbrush with the kind of flat side that can be useful sometimes.

I told her that if I spanked her again this time it would be really hard and done properly. She couldn’t look at me and just went redder in the face.

I still didn’t particularly like her and decided to make a point rather than make it playful. So I sat down in a hard chair and took her over my knees in a business-like fashion and made her bare her bottom her again.

It was hard to hold her in place as I spanked her but I really hit her hard over and over until my arm ached and I could not carry on. Her bum was really well marked with bruises and she was crying for all she was worth. But the funny thing was that Elisabeth made no attempt to get up. So after I had rested for a bit I started spanking her some more and she took it.

I went slower this time although just as hard and really made a night of it. Then after a really long time and quite a few tears I made her lay face down on the bed while I put something on her bottom. One thing led to another and she stayed the night with me.

We were careful but the next day she could hardly move and watching her try to sit down was totally funny. Her bottom was purple for about a week, I should know because I had full and thorough encounters with it.

She still had some yellow marking when I spanked her again. I don’t remember the pretext but I spanked harder and longer if anything and so it went on for months. I don’t think her bottom was white again until after I left.

Spankville II here tomorrow.

Somehow she knew before she did it that she shouldn’t. But it had ever been a battle between them. He would say ‘you can’t,’ ‘you mustn’t,’ and ‘don’t.’ And she would say, “I know” while thinking ‘only if you catch me.’ Well he had caught her red handed and it had happened again.

Now her world was all pins and needles and nervous nausea churning in her tummy. Almost worse was the zing of the bee-sting fire he had lit in her now exposed bottom. It was so hard not to rub and dance around the room while bawling like a kid. Well she had done enough of that today already with worse to come once the visitors had gone home.

Visitors, the worst word in any language, they would be here at any minute and why today?

“Please Sir, please, please, please, I’ll be good,” she had pleaded once she had got her breath back. “Spank me again, anything but that.”

“Oh I will,” he said in his stern baritone, “Later. But right now you get that cherry red behind of yours in that corner and stay there.”

“But… Kathy, Mark… don’t let them see me like this… please,” she begged.

This was another contest for them; ding-ding round three. She had lost the first two rounds already. Sometimes if she cried, if she promised, then he would relent, but only if she conceived of a very imaginative alternative and begged him for it. It was a funny sort of victory, but right now she would have taken it.

“Cane me, cane me hard. Make me do a thousand lines and cane me for every mistake, give me two thousand,” she wheedled, “Make me do it every week for a month and, and… ground me. Ground me with… with two hours corner time every night.”

This last promise could rebound too. What if they had visitors again? It was hard to imagine that they wouldn’t, not for a whole month. But that was her all over, she never thought ahead.

“Get your bottom in that corner where I can see it and don’t move until I tell you to,” he barked at her, “Or I will accept your suggestions and more on top.”

So round three had been dud too, she miserably thought – three falls and a submission. Now she was out for the count; red hair, red bottom and in the red corner.

A car pulled up outside and she jerked back to the present. Oh God, please, please, please let it not be them, please let them cancel. It was a long two minutes, but no doorbell rang.

Perhaps if they were late he would relent.

She thought about round two. The spanking had been bad, that is to say good. Well he would say so. “A good sound spanking,” he would say, but what was so good about it, she thought ruefully.

The evidence from round one had been irrefutable. There on the table had been exhibits one, two and three. The coat, the hat and the credit card statement: busted.

Ding-ding round two; “you wouldn’t dare.”

What a dumb thing to say, she could almost admit she deserved the spanking that followed.

He had given her that ‘look,’ the one that said, “Really?”

In return, and this was good, like she wasn’t in enough trouble, she rolled her eyes at him.

“Would you be so kind as to fetch your hairbrush?” Only it wasn’t a question.

“Oh come on,” she wailed, “Kathy and Mark will be here soon.”

“Better hurry then.” He had folded his arms.

She had refused. She had stamped her foot and refused. Well after she was out of earshot, she did.

“I won’t do it,” she said and repeated it all the way back before handing him the hairbrush.

“What was that?” he said sharply.

“Nothing,” she muttered, her eyes downcast, but then she quickly added, “Nothing Sir.”

Then it was over his knee and with her trousers and little cotton pants down. “Look I’m sorry,” she had said.

He let the hairbrush make his reply, loudly and fast so that the spanks sang back at her in an echo even as he spanked her again.

The gritting of the teeth stage was quickly overtaken by the ankle crossing and panting like a Labrador on a beach stage. Dogs didn’t sweat, was the idle thought that crossed her mind as she realised that she was. Then it was on to the barking stage. This was accompanied by the bucking and clawing at the crosspiece of the seat stage as the barking became more of a howl.

“I’ll be good, so good, please Sir, please,” the begging stage already, he must be pissed off with her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she honked, her tears had real moisture in them, a veritable cascade of great rolling rivulets of water that ran with make-up down her face.

The prospect of the corner had seemed like a good thing then. Corner time and a good old rub and I’ll never be a naughty girl again. And so it went on, the same old same old.

But the corner wasn’t a good thing, especially when he hadn’t let her rub. She sniffed and risked a tiny probe around her backside with her fingers. But if he were to see… her hands were quickly snapped away.

The car outside seemed louder than the one before and she felt a fresh wave of tummy tingles. Maybe it wasn’t them, maybe… long minutes passed and she tried to let go of the apprehension, there was still time. Then the doorbell rang.

Ding-ding, round four was going to be hellish.

End

A reckless youth strand on Life Forum led to couple of interesting snippets: more on the others at a later date. This one was kind of fun but by the sounds of it this project didn’t get very far which is a perhaps not surprising.

Chloe wrote:

I was at college back in the 1990s and majored in psychology. A whole group of us used to hang out and think up crazy projects for extra credits and try and outdo each other. One of the group, Jools, was asked to come up with something that was contemporary, American and focused on unusual aspects of crime and punishment.

I had once told Jools that I had been spanked at home and theoretically at least still might be even though I was 19. Jools thought that spanked over 18’s was ‘unusual’ enough, although I wasn’t so sure. So we hatched the great idea that I should be spanked in a domestic setting for a real crime and that it should be recorded, either videoed or recorded with stills.

Remember this was back before camera phones, so it had to be set-up. But I said I would think about it. Yeah, I was that dumb, but I had mixed up feelings about spanking back then and was exploring it all.

Despite what I said there was no way I was going to tell my folks about it, but I was feeling kinda guilty about some stuff I had done. A got a ticket for one thing and my grades were bad after goofing off. So I worked out that I could talk to my aunt about it. She had threatened spank me more than once and unlike a spanking from my parents it sort of interested me.

In the end I winked out on it and couldn’t pluck up the nerve. But I did manage to bring up the subject of spanking at her house when her friend April was there. Aunt K wasn’t listening, I don’t think, but April was and suggested I called on her.

I must have been busting to talk because when my aunt went out I went over and I told April about the whole thing. She thought I was crazy and asked why I couldn’t spank or be spanked by one of the group and film that if we must.

I told her that the idea was it had to be real. We had to document a domestic spanking situation as it happened to young women in modern America. When she said it wouldn’t be real anyway since I hadn’t done anything, I told her about some of the issues I had been feeling guilty about.

She got a little mad and said that she should tell my aunt or my folks, but since I was over 18 that I should count myself lucky. Also she said that if I was her daughter she would spank me, even at nearly 20 as I was.

So dummy says, “why don’t you spank me then and then we can make it work?”

The next thing I know she agrees and tells me to take my pants off while she goes out of the room. At home I got spanked over pants usually but I didn’t argue about that. But I tried to tell her that we had to get a tape and some pictures to document it.

She just yelled at me and said that my silly project was another matter, then she pulled me over her knee and pulled down my pants (which had stayed up while I argued) and then my panties. I didn’t realized until then that she had gotten a hairbrush and man did she let me have it.

At first I was too embarrassed about my panties being down but I soon forgot that. A spanking had never hurt as much before.

Afterwards she had me stand in the corner with my panties still down as this was the way that ‘she’ did it. My folks never did that, I was so embarrassed. But I felt totally punished and like a kid, but with that same forgiven feeling I knew then that I had been missing. There was also a sexy part to it which was one of the things I had fantasized about.

I had to stand there for a long time, maybe 40 minutes, I didn’t time it. Then we had a long talk about stuff. She said she would spank me anytime I needed it and I agreed, although we never did even talk about it again.

In fact I never told anyone and in the end me and Jools settled for interviews of students about spanking experiences and attitudes. But ironically my grades did get better.

The big fat F was written in red and Cassie felt sick. Her last paper had been a D, her third that semester, and she had been sure that even in the worst case scenario she would have scraped an E minus at minimum. Okay that wasn’t exactly great, but her grade average was still above a B, or had been before this damn F and she still had time to raise her game, didn’t she?

The problem with an F is that it automatically generated a letter home to her folks and she would have to contend with concern and even a berating from that quarter.

“Darn it,” she sighed dropping onto her bed and blowing her wayward copper fringe out of her eyes.

The girl in the make-up mirror wore an expression she hadn’t seen since her teens. It was a look Cassie had developed for herself after years of practice. Now that bygone face stared back at her for a moment; the almost metallic green eyes lapsing into a stare of practiced hard-done-by injustice, which was complimented by that old sullen pout. Then Cassie shook her head and focussed on the fact that she was now near 22 and a woman.

Back in her first year in college an F had gotten her a resurrection of some old family customs and she actually felt oddly queasy as her buttocks clenched. Getting a spanking at home during Thanksgiving had been a shock. The bottom blistering she had gotten in her dorm room had been downright mortifying.

Finally her folks had engaged the services of Mark Tillman, an old friend from mom’s home town who worked as a professional educationalist and mentor. He had been more used to delinquents and Bible Belt brats gone off the rails, but for the French family he had made an exception.

An early rebellion from Cassie had triggered a spanking from him that had set the agenda for the rest of her freshman year. Even now she blushed at the embarrassment and intensity of some of their encounters. Thank God she was too old for all that now and it had been a year since she had needed him and more than two since he had last spanked her. Well, she guessed she had deserved it; after all she had only been a kid back then.

Cassie picked up the letter and began to rehearse excuses in her mind. Maybe if she got a B minus on her next paper she could… then she saw the date on the letter. It was over a week old.

“Shit,” she exclaimed aloud.

She had been off partying during the long weekend and must have forgotten to check her mail before she set-off. So why hadn’t her mom or dad phoned?

“Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered as she frantically gathered up some books and prepared to hit the library.

Then she remembered she had to meet Jones and the others down at Fandangos and sighed. It took her almost 10 seconds to decide that tomorrow would be soon enough for study.

“Why did you have to be an F?” she cursed the note that now lay discarded on her bed.

*

The next morning her head didn’t hurt much at all and she worked her mouth as her eyes stole a look from her slumber at a blurred bedside clock. Despite the lack of pain something was drumming in her head and she sat up. No, not her head, it was the door to her room.

“Hold up,” she called and swung her legs from under the duvet.

Looking down she saw that she had one sock on and one half off, neither matching, and although she had gotten as far as putting on a short sleep-shirt, the lower half was still in a tangle on the floor and she was still wearing her panties.

The door hammered again firmly and Cassie yawned.

“Wait can’t you? I’m coming,” she growled at the unwelcome visitor.

She could see now that it was almost 11 and for a moment she wondered if she had missed something. But a glance at the calendar showed a reading day or as she and her fellow student’s called it, a free.

The shirt just covered her panties so with another yawn she staggered to the door and opened it.

The man outside was a head taller than she was and wore a medium dark brown leather jacket, like one a pilot might wear. Under that he wore a check shirt that reminded Cassie of her rural home and for some reason she first checked out the shoes to see if work boots completed the picture. They didn’t.

Instead she saw strangely familiar academic brogues under dark green denim pants. So when she looked up she wasn’t surprised to see a tinning mop of well-cropped curly salt-n-pepper hair and steel grey eyes regarding her with a look positioned somewhere between disappointment and disdain.

“Mr Tillman,” Cassie said in nervous surprise.

“Your folks called me,” Mark Tillman said in a stern baritone voice.

“Oh… eh… yah, I meant to call them,” she replied, belatedly raking her hair with her fingers and tugging at the hem of her shirt in front.

“Is that a fact?” Tillman drawled easing his way passed his former charge and taking in the room behind her.

“I haven’t had a chance to… ah… clear up,” she muttered, her voice trailing away as his eyes fell upon an empty vodka bottle.

Then as she watched he crossed the room and ran a finger along her unopened laptop and inspected the dust he had collected on his fingertip.

“I was… eh… away for the weekend…” she explained.

“It’s Wednesday,” he replied bluntly.

“Yeah, I… eh sort of got back yesterday afternoon,” Cassie told him with a growing sense of unease.

“I dropped off at the faculty building on my way over,” Tillman said casually. “I still have that letter from your parents countersigned by you, remember?”

Cassie nodded dumbly. She did and blushed as she remembered the circumstance in which she had signed it.

“So how are your grades going would you say?” Tillman asked suddenly rounding on her with that old-fashioned demeanour of his.

“Not too bad I guess. I have a B average…” she said more brightly than she felt.

“Try D plus,” he shot back, “As for the rest…”

“Well it’s nice of you to look in on me but…” Cassie began.

“You firing me?” Tillman growled, “Is that what I have to call your folks to say?”

Cassie gulped.

“No I… that is…” she felt the heat rise as the floor seemed to sag.

It was embarrassing to be back where she was last year then she saw that Tillman was staring at the hairbrush on her make-up table.

“I think it is time I reacquainted you with the basics again, don’t you?” he drawled.

*

The moment she had seen Mark Tillman Cassie had expected a scolding and even a crackdown on her behaviour. After all, even she knew things were out of hand and that she was in veritable freefall. The realisation was embarrassment enough. But the moment Tillman picked up the hairbrush and patted against his hand she knew what ‘reacquainted with the basics’ meant.

“Come on,” she wailed as she took a step backwards. “You can’t possibly… I mean…”

Tillman ignored Cassie’s peony gaping and said, “No roommate these days I see, that makes things rather easier doesn’t it?”

“But you can’t… I’m… I’m over 21,” she said miserably, her thoughts a cascade of denial.

“Then it is time you started behaving like it, isn’t it?” Tillman said sharply. “Do you remember what I told you last time?”

Cassie’s eyes dashed back and forth in her head as if her mind were racing ahead for an answer to her fate.

“I was just a kid back then, 19 and… and…” Cassie protested.

“You were 20 I think and I seem to remember a certain promise, in writing yet,” Tillman said calmly as he reached out for her to take his hand.

Cassie gulped as her head dizzied with hot blood that throbbed at her cheeks until it reached her ears. She remembered what ‘in writing yet’ meant. She had written out 500 times the convoluted legend, ‘reckless lazy brats are never too old to be spanked, is a sentiment I share.’

She had signed off on every page and the thick bundle had spent the rest of the semester pinned to her peg board. It had been a bitch to obscure with other notes and a dried flower, but she had dared not remove it on pain of a spanking. She was damn sure her then roomie Marlene had seen and read it. She had prayed for months that no one else had.

“Were you lying when you thanked me for my efforts and signed off on that rather tedious exercise?” Tillman asked.

“No Sir,” Cassie said quickly, “But…”

Tillman was still extending an arm out to her and this time she meekly took a step towards him and allowed him to tumble her across his knee. With the curve of her pantie-clad bottom in his lap she suddenly remembered something.

“The door, please, I didn’t lock it,” she gasped.

“Who would be so rude as to burst in unannounced?” he told her sternly, “Not everyone is as badly behaved as you are.”

With these words he drew her panties down her thighs and lined up the flat of the brush.

Oh my God, she thought, as wild thoughts whirled through her mind. This is…

“I do hope you still have that paddle I bought you.” His words broke into her thoughts.

She had once been required to hang it on the wall in plain sight.

“It is just an old sorority paddle,” she had had to say more often than she cared to, before praying that no one asked which sorority she belonged to. Only her roommate studiously ignored it. A sure sign that she knew exactly what it was for.

Her mind raced now as she struggled to remember where she had put it. But she hadn’t forgotten what he had said he would do if she lost it. Luckily, in her position her nose was just inches from the carpet and she spied the beastly thing under the bed and hastily told him.

“It goes back on the wall as soon as we’re done and next time you’ll feel it,” he told her sharply.

“Yes Sir,” she agreed, her voice edged in panic.

The hairbrush swept down and landed squarely on her sit-spots. It was far worse than she remembered, but she was still more concerned about the embarrassment just then. The harsh crack rang back off the cheap thin walls and as the next landed it was a cert that her neighbours either side would be in no doubt as to the origins of the sound. She only prayed that they were out.

“Oh-yah,” she gasped at the third and thereafter she had to bark out in distress at each spank as the shame of it quickly made way for the burn.

The spanking quickly became a continuous blast of heat and sound until Cassie was kicking and bawling as much as she ever had.

“Mommy he spanked me,” she had told her mother over the phone after the first time, “Right on my bare bottom.”

“Good,” had come the reply, “I don’t care if he spanked you in front of all your friends or in that nasty diner of yours. You’ve been far too big for your boots young lady.”

It had been foolish to complain, she knew that even before she had. After all as her mom went on to point out, she had agreed to in writing when Mark Tillman had become her mentor. Originally it had been preferable to the hot homecoming alternative and besides, until it had happened she had never believed that it really would.

At least with Mark, there had been decidedly less public embarrassment than at home and the worst he had even threatened her with was corner time outside her room in the corridor. After a while, and as she saw and embraced the improvement in her grades and life in general, she had come to prefer Tillman’s guidance to the old-fashioned welcome she had to contend with at the end of each semester.

All this ran through her mind as she bawled, bucked and danced across Tillman’s knee until she was thoroughly sorry. Even so the hairbrush blazed its painful tracks across her bare bottom for a good 10 minutes before he finally let up. By which time she was lost in hearty sobs and felt as if her tail end was fit to melt.

“You know I’ll give you more than this don’t you?” Tillman drawled.

“Yes Sir,” she wailed.

She had dropped to a crouch at his feet now and was claw-rubbing at her bottom as pulling off fire-wasps. Even from the corners of her eyes, which she dared not take from Tillman, she could see her bottom curves were a deep strawberry red as if she had sat in gloss finish paint.

“Next time I come around and you’re in this state. Next time I hear you dropped a grade to anything less than a B, and if you’re not a B plus grade average at the end of the semester, there will be hell to pay. Frankly you are a straight A student, and I won’t be off your case until you show me that.” Tillman was speaking low and tight, with a velvet-glove menace.

“Yes Sir,” she sniffed.

“Now since you don’t want to work, you can go stand in the corner for an hour or two while I assess the damage and make certain arrangements to have your last three essays re-submitted,” he told her, nodding at the only relatively clear space in her room. “Then in your spare time you can write 1,000 times: I am a lazy reckless brat and I am not too old to have my bare bottom spanked. Now tell me the rest.”

Cassie had already got halfway to the wall when she stopped and gaped at him. Then seeing he wasn’t joking she swallowed and reluctantly whispered, “I have to sign every page and put it on my peg board.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“And hang the paddle back up,” she murmured.

He nodded and half smiled, saying, “Good girl. I’ll be phoning you every night to make sure you aren’t out. And I’ll be back on Saturday to check on all your progress.”

Cassie sighed and turned back to the wall and felt her heart sag. It was so embarrassing, she thought miserably, and the door still isn’t locked. But the chance to re-write her last few essays would put her on track and suddenly she wasn’t in freefall anymore.

“I don’t expect you’re off the hook with your folks yet,” he added as she clasped her hands in the small of her back just above her exposed red bottom. “They are desperately worried that you are returning to the bad old days.”

Cassie rolled her eyes where he couldn’t see them. It would take a year at least to get Mark Tillman off her… backside and she wouldn’t be surprised if he was called upon him to see her through her masters.

“I bet they are,” she said ruefully, “I just bet they are.”