Friday Detention

Sticking with school-themed stories, here is an F/F tale about some innocent newbies who run afoul of some mean girls (girls can be quite mean, can’t they?), and are tricked into a form of detention they never envisioned. Well, as we all know, what goes around comes around. From  The Schoolgirl Collection  here is “Friday Detention.”



“If you’re going to skip at lunch period,” said Melanie, grinning at her new friends, “do it on Thursday. That way you’ll get detention on Friday-if you get caught, that is.” Melanie’s friends, Lisa and Katy, seconded Melissa’s suggestion. “Detention usually lasts three whole hours and you just write these lines of work that they just throw away,” said Lisa, making a face. Melanie had explained that all the girls skipped sometimes. It was a game. Who would get caught and who would sneak back in? If you didn’t try at least once a semester you were chicken. “You’re not chicken are you?” asked Katy.

Abby Prescott and Michele Napier were confused.  As new students at St Clair’s they were just learning the ropes. Melanie, Lisa and Katy seemed like nice girls-and helpful too. “Who wants detention on Friday? It’s the weekend. Time to party,” said Abby with an enthusiastic laugh and doing a little dance for emphasis.

“Precisely. That’s the point,” Melanie explained. “It’s Miss Andrews who gets stuck with detention duties that day and she hates doing it. You’ll be out of there in 20 minutes. Guaranteed.”

That sounded odd to Abby and Michele. St Claire’s was a pretty strict private school, and the idea of a teacher brushing off a three hour detention seemed oddly out of character. Still, they wanted to skip out on lunch hour with the other girls, be part of the crowd. It’s tough when you’re new. Abby and Michele were cousins. Their mothers, who were sisters, had a business that they had moved out of the city to Twin Forks, a smaller town. One of the reasons for the move had been St. Claire’s, a private Catholic school with a reputation for excellence—and strictness. Their moms had been in agreement that at 16 years old, perhaps the girls needed a bit more discipline than a big city public school was willing to provide. Hence the move.

So they took the chance, and on Thursday they slipped out during lunch and study hall to hit the mall. They figured to get back by Biology class at 2 pm. They were unlucky. Sister Agnes caught them trying to slip past the office. Why did they have to go past the office? Melanie and her friends had promised to prop open a side door for all those who wanted to skip, but when they got there it was closed and locked. And the other funny thing was that no one else had skipped. They hadn’t seen anyone they recognized at the mall. No one at all. Where was everybody?

So, after a scolding in the office of the dean of discipline, they were issued the fateful detention slips. “Girls, you left campus,” said Sister Veronica, the dean of discipline. “This is a serious issue of safety and it cannot be allowed. I should issue a suspension, but… hmm it would be Friday detention,” she said reflectively. She pursed her lips, thinking. Then with a thin smile she said, “I’m going to let you off easy this time. Still, you’ll have to serve the detention.” Then she handed them the detention slips. “Report to Room 2D at 3:00pm Oct 13,” it said.  Abby and Michele looked at the slips. Although they had been caught and that was a bummer, they were okay about it. Right after school they would be headed over to Melanie’s house to help decorate for the party that night. So big deal, they’d be done with detention in 20 minutes. Whew! They’d dodged a suspension.

They came to school the next day wearing their school uniforms, their party clothes in a back pack. St. Clair’s had a fairly strict dress code that called for knee length pleated skirts, white blouses and knee socks. Even underwear was specified—it amounted to requiring full cut “granny panties”. Most girls hated this, preferring French cut sheer or lacy panties-or even better, thongs. So what they had done this particular day was to pack party clothing, but wear the underclothing that went with it. Abby was going to wear a short flared skirt, so she wanted some lacy Victoria’s secret creation, while Michele, with her exceptionally cute rear end, had opted for a thong to go under her form fitting Capri pants. She hated visible panty lines.

Neither Michelle nor Abby had told their parents about the detention, figuring that since they’d be excused after about 20 minutes there was no need. No one would ever know. Perfect, they thought. As far as both sets of parents knew, they were headed straight for Melanie’s house and the party right after school.

Barbara Andrews was well known to the girls at St. Clair’s, especially the athletic ones. “Babs” as she was called behind her back, coached volleyball and field hockey and taught European History. In her late 30’s now, she had been at St. Clair’s for nearly 10 years. Barbara was a take charge type of woman. Although she pushed her girls hard, they always knew where they stood with her. She did not brook a lot of nonsense, and most girls were just a bit fearful of her. She could be warm and encouraging, but she was also strict and demanding and did not hesitate to discipline when necessary. A formidable woman, she had short but stylish dark hair, and stood about 5′ 10″. Her body was all lean and well toned. She kept herself in trim shape and appeared to the girls as an awe inspiring paragon of female athleticism. But there was another thing. She hated keeping Friday detention, and became upset when students were given detentions for that day. Thus students quickly learned to avoid getting into trouble that might result in a Friday detention.12345466_1088518471158975_4727793799378943282_n

The final bell rang at 3:00 pm that Friday. “Well, let’s go get this over with,” said Abby, as they met by their lockers in the hall. “Where do you suppose room 2D is?” asked Michele. A smiling Melanie Harris told them.

“It’s in the basement. At the end of the hallway, way down there. We call it ‘The Dungeon’. It’s where all the detentions are. See you soon, girls,” she added with a giggle. Katy and Lisa were there, trying to suppress laughter with their hands covering their mouths.

Abby frowned at Michele. “What do you suppose that was all about?”

“I dunno,” said Michele. “Weird. We’d better go. Probably be in more trouble for being late.”

They found their way to the basement and Room 2D. Inside were a few desks facing a teacher’s desk in front. At that desk sat Ms. Andrews. With her was the school nurse, Mrs. Hopkins. She scowled at Abby and Michele as they entered.

“Take a seat,” she said. For a moment she did not even look at them. She just studied two open files on her desk. Then she looked up. “You girls are new.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Abby and Michele, almost in unison. What was the school nurse doing here?

“Most girls avoid having detention on Friday. But it looks like you two walked right into it.” She paused a moment. “I don’t like having detention duty, girls. It’s Friday and like you, I like to get out of here. So does Mrs. Hopkins. But I have to deal with you two because you skipped out and actually left the campus on Thursday at lunch. We take absences very seriously here at St. Clair’s. Leaving the campus is a serious offense, girls.” She regarded the girls with pursed lips and a frown.

Oh, no thought both girls. She was going to keep them here until six. Their parents would find out about the detention. That would not be good.

Ms. Andrews relaxed and gave out a big sigh. “Well, let’s get to it,” she said and she slid open a drawer. “Mrs. Hopkins is here as witness.” What did that mean, they both wondered? Witness to what?

She perused the files again. “I see both of your parents signed the permissions for corporal punishment. Good.  I don’t do detentions the usual way; I have better things to do on Fridays.”

Corporal what? Then Michele and Abby watched as Ms. Andrews pulled two long objects from the drawer. One was an 18″ ruler. The other was a paddle. Abby and Michele looked at each other in astonishment. What was this? A cold knot of fear formed in the pit of each girl’s stomach.

She looked from Abby to Michele. “Who’s first, then? Paddle or ruler?”


What? All at once Abby and Michele started to babble. “Ms. Andrews, what do you mean?” asked a panicked Abby.

“What I mean, Miss Prescott, is that I choose to administer corporal punishment when I have detention duty on Fridays. The sisters are at Vespers and I get stuck with it. I don’t like hanging around here so I administer licks instead of sitting here while you girls do lines or busy work. Now which will it be, paddle or ruler?”

“B-but you can’t, I mean my parents would never allow….” Michele protested.

“Do you want to see your file? It’s right here. They signed the consent forms, Miss Napier. So did yours, Miss Prescott.”

With a sinking feeling Abby knew that they probably had. They’d been in a hurry to go somewhere the day the packet came home and they’d blown though the information sheets, signing everything. They probably had no idea what they’d signed. Not that they might have signed anyway. Abby recalled her mother making some statement recently about “lack of discipline” and Abby being “too big for her britches….should have them taken down–and soon.”

With a quaver in her voice Michele said, “W-what is the difference, what do you mean, paddle or ruler?”

“Don’t you girls know anything? Unauthorized absences where you leave the campus can get you five with the paddle or twenty with the ruler. You really do need to read your student handbooks.”

“Are you sure that my parents, you know, signed that thing? I-I’ve never been hit on my hands with a ruler or a paddle.”

Barbara Andrews looked at Mrs. Hopkins who shook her head in disbelief. Then she snorted. “Your hands? Oh, no. We’d never paddle on the hands, girls. Here at St. Clair’s we do it the old fashioned way,” she said with a meaningful smile and cocking her head. Mrs. Hopkins just smiled to herself and shook her head again.

Abby and Michele just sat in stunned silence as the awful implication became fully realized. Spanked! They were going to be spanked! A humiliating and painful child’s punishment that both had studiously avoided for years.

“Girls, I need answers,” she said waiting. Realizing that the girls were dumbstruck, she continued. “If you choose the ruler it’s twenty licks. The ruler stings but the effect doesn’t last long. The paddle is fewer licks, but it stays with you longer. Now what will it be?”

Abby spoke. “I-I don’t know, I’ve never been paddled before. Oh this is awful. I had no idea…” She could not believe this was happening

“Well, you have to choose one. I’m waiting.”

There was a long silence while both girls contemplated their fate. “Oh…oh, I guess I’ll be p-paddled then,” wailed Abby, wringing her hands. It’s only five she thought. But that paddle looked serious.

Ms. Andrews rose from behind the desk and picked up the paddle. She tapped it in her palm. “Ok, get up and come up here, Miss Prescott.”5200332_orig

With an agonized look on her face, Abby rose and approached the desk with mincing steps. Not knowing what to do she just stood there waiting, her hands fluttering nervously. She could not help but plead. “Please, I, I’ve never…please no.”

Barbara Andrews grimaced and took up the paddle. “Let’s have no whining, Miss Prescott.” She thumped the desk with the edge of the paddle for emphasis. “Bend over and place your forearms flat on the desk. Legs about a foot apart.” Abby bent to comply. The posture thrust her buttocks out lewdly. Barbara Andrews nodded to Mrs. Hopkins who came around the desk and reached for the hem of Abby’s skirt.

Abby half rose in alarm. “W-what are you doing?” she squeaked as she felt her skirt being lifted.

“Miss Prescott, all corporal punishment at St. Claire’s is administered to the buttocks with one layer of underclothing permitted. It is in your handbook. Now please cooperate or extras will be added.”13434745_1040169112728204_3994203649747249501_n


“Oh my God!” said Abby as she felt her skirt raised above her hips.

“That’s another thing. No swearing or profanity. It will earn you extras.” Ms. Andrews patted the paddle in her hand and stepped to the side of the desk, taking up a stance to administer the paddling. Then she looked down.

“What’s this?” she said. “What kind of panties are these, Miss Prescott?”

Michele looked on in horror at her friend, bent over at the waist, bottom bulging out and clad in filmy black lacy panties. Her generously rounded nether globes were not contained by the flimsy panties which fully exposed the lower half of her bottom cheeks.

“I-I didn’t know,” bleated Abby, embarrassed beyond belief. She felt positively nude below her waist.

“We have a dress code here that includes undergarments. You’d have had more protection had you worn regulation panties. I suppose it’s poetic justice, Miss Prescott. Your flouting the rules just made it bit more painful for you, I’m afraid. Are you ready?”

Abby gritted her teeth. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Hold still. Don’t move out of position,” said Ms. Andrews as she tapped Abby’s nude lower bottom cheeks with the paddle. “Moving will cost you extra.”

Michele winced for her friend as she saw Ms. Andrews draw back the paddle to shoulder height. She whipped her arm forward in a smooth athletic motion. The paddle landed with a loud crack! in the closed room. Abby yelled, “Oh….owww!” A red band appeared on her bottom. Ms. Andrews lined up again, tap, tap,…crack! Again Abby let out a screech.

Whap! The paddle swatted Abby’s bottom again and Abby let out a wail. “Ow….oh…ahh.” She was blubbering. Michele was transfixed. This was horrible.


Whack! Abby couldn’t believe how painful this was. Each swat was like a bonfire burning her bottom ferociously. She could only cry and try to hang on. She surely didn’t want extras, but it was so hard to stay still while being spanked so hard with that awful paddle.

Whap! Number four was too much. Abby’s bottom flattened at impact. She screeched and jumped up, clutching her burning bottom cheeks and hopping from foot to foot.

Ms. Andrews waited for her to stop hopping. “That will cost you one extra, Miss Prescott. Now back over. Mrs Hopkins, will you hold her hands?”

Abby was blubbering. Michele thought this was the worst thing she’d ever seen. And she was next! Mrs. Hopkins went around the desk to hold Abby’s hands. Ms. Andrews lined up for another swat. Whap! Abby endured number five with a wail. Her legs shook.

“One more, Miss Prescott.” Barbara Andrews lined the paddle up and with a practiced fluid motion delivered a searing sixth crack to the teenager’s enflamed bottom. Abby wailed in distress. “Oww….ahhhh,” she yelled in agony. Her whole body shook.

“Ok, you can get up now,” she said. Then she turned to Michele as Abby stood up, vigorously rubbing her swollen rear. “Your turn, Miss Napier.”

“Uh…” said Michele, “I-I don’t want that paddle.” She was pointing at it as if it were a snake about to bite.

“So you’ll take the ruler, Miss Napier?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said. Anything but that paddle.

“All right then.” Barbara Andrews pulled her chair out from behind the desk and put it in front of the desk. She sat down and took up the ruler in her hand. It was an 18 inch ruler, wide and sturdy. “Come on Miss Napier, up here.”

Michele got up slowly not understanding. Why was she sitting?

“You are going across my knee, Miss Napier. That’s how I do the ruler. Girls have trouble holding still, so I hold them over my knee. It’s a spanking, just like when you were a kid. Let’s go,” she added impatiently.

“A-a spanking?” said Michele. She hadn’t had one of those since she was ten years old.


“What they call an old fashioned country-style licking, Miss Napier. Come on,” she said motioning with the ruler. “Across my knee.”

With a sickening sense of doom approaching, Michele gingerly lowered herself over the sturdy lap of Ms. Andrews. She blushed bright red at the shame and humiliation of it. Imagine! A grown up lady of 16 being put across a teacher’s knee to be spanked. She wanted the earth to swallow her up.

When she thought it couldn’t be worse, she felt her skirt being raised. Oh no! She’d forgotten. The thong! It was all she had on. She felt cool air on her bare bottom cheeks and heard an exclamation of surprise.

“Miss Napier! What is this you are wearing? You came to school like this? Oh, this is too much.” There was a rustle while Ms. Andrews shifted to position Michele further over her lap to put her bottom well up. She felt her toes leave the floor, and felt an arm encircle her waist.

“Twenty licks, Miss Napier,” she intoned tapping Michel’s bottom with the ruler. “Mrs. Hopkins will you keep count?”
Michele was absolutely mortified. Her bottom was bare. The thong was nothing. She was slowly kicking her feet, waiting. Then whack! The first lick landed.


“Yeoww!” she yelled

Then Splatt! Whack! Crack! Three more hard ruler swats spanked her pert bottom. She yelped in pain at the sudden sharp painful sensation. She bucked on Ms. Andrews lap and flutter kicked her lower legs.

“Ow! Yow! Ah!” God, that stung!

Ms. Andrews settled into a more deliberate rhythm to administer the ruler spanking. A swat fell about every 3-4 seconds.  She laid the strokes across the full expanse of Michele’s squirming seat, smacking both cheeks across their sinuous divide.

Abby looked on in sympathy. As the ruler smacked down, Michele’s bottom cheeks rippled then sprang back assuming their rounded contours. Michele wailed in distress but the ruler continued to smack down on the pretty teenager’s bottom. Individual bands of pink stripes gradually merged into a red mass as the relentless licking continued. As the sharp sting mounted in her bottom, Michele wriggled helplessly. Nothing alleviated the burning sensation in her practically bare behind which grew in intensity with each crisp smack.

At one point Ms. Andrews stopped and said, “Stop this squirming, Miss Napier. You only have yourself to blame for getting it on the bare bottom. I know it hurts more. Five more to come.” Whack!

“Ahhh.oww!” cried Michele as Ms. Andrews proceeded to whip her arm down cracking the ruler on Michel’s tender bottom with a little wrist flick at the end. Those last four whacks with that stinging ruler were the worst, and Michele couldn’t contain her tears.

When it was over she was permitted to rise. But then both girls had to bend back over the desk while Mrs. Hopkins rubbed cream into their bare bottoms. “To prevent inflammation” she said. It did nothing for the burning pain. Then they had to “sign the book” indicating that they had received the licks. After that they were on their way. It was 3:20.

“Surprise!” yelled Melanie when the two girls arrived at her house. Lisa and Katy were laughing too. “Welcome to St. Claire’s. How did you like Friday detention?”

So it was all a big joke. Pull a prank on the new fish. Both Abby and Michele were steamed, but they put up a good front, playing the good sports. Still they had to display their well paddled bottoms to the rest of the girls. “Ooh, Babs was in fine form today, girls,” said Melanie as she viewed two well reddened fannies. The others agreed. It had been a classic Barbara Andrews licking.

It should have ended right there. It did not.


The notice came in the mail later the next week. “What’s this, Abby?” asked her mother. It was a notice, to Abby’s mortification, that corporal punishment had been administered on Friday in accordance with the school’s discipline policy etc., etc. Thus confronted, Abby couldn’t lie. The whole story came out. To Abby’s relief, her mom was sympathetic.

“It was terrible what those girls did, leading you on like that.”

“Yes, mom. They talked us into skipping and then made sure we’d get caught.”

“Why, that’s just another form of bullying. How cruel. And you say you got paddled?”

“Yes, mom, and it hurt something awful.”

“Well,” she said, “let’s see.” She led her daughter into the bathroom.

Abby let her mother inspect her bottom in the bathroom. “I don’t think it left any marks.” She said inspecting her daughter’s seat with panties slipped down. “You can’t tell now that you’d even been paddled. And you say none of them skipped out— and they let you and Michele get punished.”

“Mom, then they laughed at us like it was a big joke. It was humiliating.”

“Was this at Melanie’s party?” Jen Prescott arched her brows.

“Yes,” said Abby. She didn’t like the look on mom’s face.

“When were you going to tell me about this, hmmm?”

“Well, I….I mean, soon I guess, mom…” said Abby hopefully.

“You didn’t know this notice was coming, did you? You weren’t going to tell me, were you?” Now her mom was looking more serious.

“Mom, please. It was just a detention. No big deal.” Abby tried to play it down.

“Well it is a big deal Abby. You left the school grounds.” Her mom folded her arms.

“But mom, they talked us into it, they said we’d be chicken if we didn’t, they…”

“So you caved in to pressure, and you blame these other girls?” Her eyes bored into Abby’s. “Don’t get me wrong, Abby, I’m very sympathetic to your plight and I think what those girls did was catty and cruel…”

Thank God, thought Abby. She’s more mad at them.

“…but,” she held up her hand, palm out. “Do you remember our family rule?”

“What rule, mom?” But Abby was afraid she knew.

“The one we’ve always had. Get punished at school, you get an equivalent punishment at home. That’s how it’s always been. You know that.” Jen Prescott regarded her daughter with a meaningful look.

“No, mom, no. Please.” Abby wrung her hands. This couldn’t be happening.

“I hate to do it,” she sighed. “But I’m going to— and before your father gets home. Lord knows how upset he’ll be. You should actually thank me. Now go upstairs and wait for me.”

And that was how Abby found herself across her mother’s knee, clad only in her underwear, panties down, and crying her heart out as Jen Prescott spanked her daughter’s bare bottom with the family strap. The family strap or “whacker” as they called it had been in the Prescott household for years, although it was rarely used. It was a foot long length of thin pliable leather that had a stinging bite. Jen held Abby down over her lap while seated on the bed and whipped the little strap down repeatedly, punishing her errant offspring’s quivering buttocks with sharp cracks that loudly resounded in the closed bedroom.

Whack! “Will you ever leave school again?”

“Yeow!….no mom.”

Whack! “Are you going to obey school rules?”

“Oww…ahhh…yes, mom.”

Whack! “No more detentions, Abby.”

“Oww…mommy please no more.” Abby squirmed and drummed her toes on the bed.

After a suitable number of licks, Abby’s bottom was beet red and she was in tears. When her wails and promises to behave became frantic, Jen relented. It was enough. After all, the paddling at school had been painful, of that she was sure. At the same time, a house rule was a rule. Her father would have given her worse.

The same drama had played out in Bev Napier’s household, only this time Michele Napier found herself down in the rec room bending over the back of a stuffed chair and counting out fifteen good hard swats with the ping-pong paddle applied by her father to the seat of her panties as her mother looked on approvingly.

Crack! “I don’t ever want to hear of you leaving school again.”

“Oww…daddy, yes.”

Smack! “Do you understand me?”

“Ow! Ow! Dad, yes!” squealed Michele.

Smack! The echo bounced off the walls.

“Daddy please stop!”

He didn’t. She had six more coming and each smack was a scorcher. When it was done Michele rose, tearfully rubbed her bottom cheeks and vowed never again to be lured into such foolish activity.

It should have ended there but it didn’t.

Both sets of parents had a long talk with Sister Veronica about pranks, bullying and other subjects. And that is how three girls— Melanie, Lisa and Katy all found themselves called into Sister Veronica’s office to account for their less than charitable behavior.

“It seems to me that this was bullying, or hazing, pure and simple,” said Sister Veronica, lecturing with a pointed finger. “You encouraged those girls to leave campus during a school day.”

“But we didn’t go out, sister,” protested Melanie.

“True,” she said, “and that’s why I’m not going to suspend you for aiding and abetting.”

The girls relaxed with sighs of relief.

“You’re only getting a detention. Let’s see,” she said, looking at her schedule, “you’ll do detention… on the 20th. That’s it. This Friday, 3pm.”

The girls froze, their faces suddenly ashen. Sister Veronica noted the panicked expressions.

“What’s wrong, girls? Detention will be conducted by Ms. Andrews.” Sister Veronica smiled broadly. “According to the rumors I hear, you’ll be out of there in twenty minutes, guaranteed. After all, it’s Friday detention.”

After School–on F/M Sunday

We hear about “cougars” all the time, those older women with an erotic fixation on younger, malleable men. On that note,  I’ve noticed female schoolteachers have also been in the news. It seems like almost weekly there is some sex scandal involving a schoolteacher and a student. These accounts are usually light on the facts. We know the older woman is alleged to have seduced her student, but we don’t know how it came about or what they actually did. I know what I imagine went down. It might have been something like this.


After School Instruction
By Suzanne

The bell rang, and the class rose as one, gathering books, papers and pens
together, shuffling out of the room.
Mrs. Delvecchio pushed a strand of dark hair away from her brow, raising her
chin slightly, and gestured toward one of the young men preparing to leave her
“Yes, Ma’am?” Tim raised his eyebrows in a question.
Mrs. Delvecchio paused, smiling a little in spite of her resolve to maintain a
severe demeanor with the boy. He was a charming and attractive young man, and ordinarily one of her best students. Lately, however, she couldn’t deny he’d
been neglecting his tasks, and his attention in class seemed to be everywhere
but on the assignments in front of him.
“Has something been bothering you lately, Tim,” she asked sympathetically.
He shuffled his feet a bit, and Mrs. Delvecchio’s gaze traveled approvingly up
and down his medium frame, taking in the slim hips, trim waist, nicely defined,
compact musculature, dark hair and pleasant features. She couldn’t deny the
attraction she felt for young Tim, although, being a woman of principle, she
would never allow her tender feelings for him get in the way of her duties as
his teacher.
“Tim,” she prodded. “You’ve been paying less and less attention in class over
the past several weeks. Your assignments, when you bother to turn them in, are
late or incomplete. And your score on the examination we took yesterday is not
very good. When a student with your obvious intelligence performs class work far below his capacity, there has to be some reason for it. Please feel free to tell
me if anything is troubling you, young man. I’d like to help if I can.”


Tim looked up at Mrs. Delvecchio – she was an inch or two taller than he –
feeling deeply ashamed and guilty. Everything she’d said was the truth – he knew
he had been slacking off lately, and that he was capable of much better work.
But how could he possibly tell her that the newness, the excitement of college
life had gotten to him, to such extent that instead of studying as he should
have been, he was out partying with his friends every evening?
As he looked at his teacher, stammering out excuses and promises to improve in
the future, he thought he saw a knowing look pass through her dark eyes. Tim
felt his face grow warm as he noticed, seemingly for the first time, that Mrs.
Delvecchio was actually rather young – probably in her mid-thirties, certainly
no older than forty – and that, in spite of the fact that she was perhaps a few
pounds heavier than she should have been, she was really very appealing.
Her eyes were large, framed by long black lashes that swept her
classically-boned face each time she lowered them, a long, straight, patrician
nose, and full, generous mouth set above a rounded chin. Right now, her jaw was
set in a stern line, her wide lips drawn together tightly, her ebony eyes
flashing at him. It seemed as though Mrs. Delvecchio had heard every excuse Tim could possibly think up, and then some.12341574_158887837800172_2773119534643632437_n

Finally, he dropped his eyes, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry, Mrs. Delvecchio.
I guess I just haven’t applied myself like I should have been.”
“Is that the best you can do, young man?” She flashed a quick smile letting him
know she wasn’t really angry, just disappointed and exasperated by her failure
to get through to him, to motivate him.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he repeated.
Mrs. Delvecchio sighed deeply, her proud bosom rising and falling beneath one of the high-necked blouses she always wore on the job.
“I’m afraid that just isn’t enough, Tim,” she said, nailing him with her
penetrating gaze. “You’re in danger of failing my class, did you know that?”
The young man hung his head. “No, I didn’t,” he said softly. “Please, Ma’am – I
know it’s all my fault. I know I haven’t been working as hard as I could have
and should have, but please, can’t you give me another chance?”
“I don’t know.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, never taking her eyes
from his face. “Why should I believe that you’ll settle down and apply yourself
now, when you haven’t do so yet?”
“I don’t know,” he said miserably, twisting his hands together. “But I really do
mean it! I’m sorry, Ma’am, I really am. Isn’t there any way that I can convince
“Perhaps.” A slight twinkle came into Mrs. Delvecchio’s eyes, her lips turning
up at the corners, just a little. “First, tell me something. Would you agree
with my assessment, that you’ve been behaving more like a spoiled five-year-old,
than a mature young man in his first year of college?”
“Yes,” Tim said simply. He had no retort; his teacher was completely correct.
“In that case, I think we may be able to work something out. Why don’t you come
over to my house this evening, say around seven o’clock? I have an idea about
how to help you improve your study habits, and I’d like to talk it over with
MS gave Tim directions to her house, and he left the classroom, wondering what
she had in store for him that evening.
* * * * *

“Hello, young man,” Mrs. Delvecchio greeted him, opening the door to her
attractive split-level home to him.
Tim stood rooted in place, gaping at her. Instead of the severe, businesslike
outfits she wore to school, Mrs. Delvecchio had dressed in a low-cut dress of
some soft, clingy material, a shade of blue that reminded him of the Colorado
“Mrs. Delvecchio,” he blurted before he could stop himself, “You look – you look
Mrs. Delvecchio frowned, but her eyes danced with amusement. “That’s very nice, young man, but as you know, we are not here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about you. Please be seated.”


Time settled himself on her long, lushly upholstered sofa, mentally kicking
himself for being so stupid. She’d probably thing he was trying to butter her up
to get a better grade, and then she’d be even more angry than she already was!
But Mrs. Delvecchio didn’t seem overly upset. She settled herself on the couch
next to him, smoothing her billowy skirt under herself. Time flushed more
brightly, unable to stop himself from sneaking a peek at her legs. They were
shapely and curvaceous, covered by a pair of hose the color of midnight mist.
Her calves were firm, her knees delightfully dimpled, and the glimpse of thigh
he caught before she smoothed the skirt back over her knees was plush and
“Now, Tim,” she said firmly. “As I told you earlier, as of this moment, you’re
carrying a failing grade in my class. You probably feel that you have plenty of
time before graduation time, time to make up any classes that you don’t pass.
But if you want to graduate on time, and with a good GPA, it is definitely not
too early to begin thinking of the future of your education. There is one plan,
and one plan only, that I’ve come up with that would enable you to pass my class
and get back on track.”
“Anything, Mrs. Delvecchio!” he interrupted. “I’ll do anything you say!”
She held up a hand and chuckled, a deep, rich, womanly sound. “Just a moment,
young man. I’d suggest you hear me out. When you hear what I have in mind, you may just decide you’d rather flunk out.”
Tim leaned forward attentively. What could she possibly mean?
She smiled slightly, then drew her face into a severe mask, effectively covering
the amusement and affection she felt for the boy. “Young man, earlier today you
agreed with me that you’d been acting like a naughty child instead of the mature
and intelligent lad you are. I have some experience with naughty boys. So first there is the little matter of appropriate punishment for your past behavior. Once we take care of that we can proceed to fix these grades.”

Punishment? Tim didn’t know what she was talking about. Okay, he was a class cut-up, but why bring this up now?

She smiled more broadly, then continued, “And it’s been my experience that nothing
on this earth curbs a little boy’s naughtiness than a good, sound, old-fashioned
She stopped speaking, and Tim waited for her to continue, but she just sat,
looking at him. Slowly it dawned on him that she might be suggesting…but no,
no, she couldn’t possibly mean that! SPANKING? REALLY? That hadn’t happened

since he ten years old and sassed Aunt Alice.11204445_138520656506492_4896323047377792685_n


Apparently that was exactly what she meant. “In other words, Tim, I think a
good, hard spanking might help get you back on track. And I think that future
spankings may be warranted. If you agree to allow me to chastise you as I see
fit, I think we may be able to work something out as far as your grade goes. I
also think spankings will serve to remind you to keep your mind on your studies,
where it should be. Of course, I can’t force you to bend over my lap so I can
spank your bare bottom. But you said a few minutes ago that you were willing to
do anything to prove your desire to mend your ways. I’d be interested to see if
you really meant it.”

Tim’s mouth dropped open and he snapped it shut with an audible click. He drew a deep breath in through his nose and slowly released it. His heart hammered a staccato beat. Strangely, although the teacher’s threat to spank him filled him with nervousness, he was also more than a little aroused by it. Drop his pants and go over Mrs. Delvecchio’s ample lap for a spanking? He blushed furiously.
“Mrs. Delvecchio,” he said timidly, “You must be kidding, right?”
A look oat her face told him she wasn’t. “But I’m too old to be spanked! I’m a
teenager! I’m a grown man!”
“In the eyes of the law, you may be an adult,” Mrs. Delvecchio retorted, her
wide, dark eyes sparkling. “But when you act like a little boy, it’s only fair
that you be treated like one, don’t you agree?
“I guess so, but –”
“Well, it’s settled then.” She smiled widely. The smile touched her eyes,
lighting up her whole face, making her look like a young girl, rather than a
capable and authoritative teacher. “I’ll take your willingness to be spanked
good and hard as evidence of your sincerity, and change your failing grade to a
D for the semester. Of course, I know that no matter how sincere a boy is about
mending his ways, sometimes backsliding occurs. If this should be the case with
you, young man, you can expect to be taken over my knee again, as many times as is necessary. But for now, why don’t we begin?”
She took hold of the hem of her skirt, raising it high on her thighs so that Tim
would not wrinkle it with his squirming and wiggling. The boy gaped at her
strong, rounded thighs, the dark welts of her stocking tops clearly visible,
held in place by the tabs of her lace garter belt.
Tim gulped, his eyes fixed on her legs, the delicate lace garters, the smoky


“Well?” Mrs. Delvecchio raised her eyebrows, smiling slightly to let him know
she wasn’t really angry. “Lower your trousers, young man. I’ve always believed a
spanking isn’t effective unless it’s given on the bare bottom.”
Tim’s face grew warm. He stood on shaky legs, unfastened his belt, and pulled
the zipper of his pants down with trembling fingers. He turned this way and
that, embarrassed at the prospect of lowering his pants in front of Mrs.
Delvecchio. Finally, he turned toward the side, yanked his pants down quickly,
and took hold of the waistband of his briefs.
He hesitated, and Mrs. Delvecchio nodded slightly. He drew in a deep breath,
then lowered his briefs, folding his hands modestly in front of his crotch.
“Come on, Tim,” the teacher instructed. “Over my knees this instant.”
He stood not a foot away from where she waited, but the two shuffling steps
toward her waiting lap seemed to take an eternity. Finally, with a long,
shuddering sigh, Tim draped himself awkwardly across her thighs. A tingle like
an electric shock coursed through him as his bare flesh came into contact with
the bare tops of her thighs, the lacy garters tickling him. To his
embarrassment, he felt himself stir and harden, hoping desperately that she
wouldn’t notice.
If she did, she gave no indication. She took hold of his upper arm and tugged
gently, positioning him more to her liking. His legs stretched out behind him on
the couch, he folded his arms and rested his head on them, his bare and
vulnerable bottom poking up in the center of his teacher’s lap.
“This is for your own good, young man,” she murmured. She wrapped her left arm around his waist, and patted his backside gently with her right. “Are you
Tim nodded, tight with humiliation, feeling exquisitely vulnerable and

Mrs. Delvecchio made a small noise of amusement, patting his slim, taut cheeks
with her hand. “I’m afraid when we’re finished here, you’ll be a little less
than comfortable. But I hope you’ll also be wiser and more mature. Now, then.”
Tim sensed her arm rising, and tightened his buttocks in anxious anticipation. A
second later, Mrs. Delvecchio lowered her arm, her palm connecting smartly with his bare right cheek.
Tim jumped a little, as much from surprise as from pain, although it did sting,
more than he’d expected.
Before he’d had time to completely react to that first smack, Mrs. Delvecchio
added a second to his left cheek, then she raised and lowered her arm several
times in rapid succession, sending a flurry of sharp whacks raining down on his
smooth, unprotected bottom.1520643_544203429030849_5121748749379995136_n
Tim gave an exclamation of alarm and reached back, trying to protect his bottom
from her insistent palm.
“None of that,” Mrs. Delvecchio scolded. She seized his wrist and held it at his
side, out of the way. She whacked him again, harder than she had previously, and Tim cried out.
“Yowtch! Please Mrs. Delvecchio, not so hard!”
“Nonsense,” she sniffed. “You’re being punished for you lack of care and
attention to your studies. It’s supposed to be hard.”
She smacked again, using short, sharp strokes, covering Tim’s cheeks with tongues of fire.
She maintained a brisk, steady pace, each smack falling right upon the last,
reddening his backside quickly. Tim gasped. He squirmed over her lap, shifting
his hips from side to side in an effort to avoid her strong, capable palm.
Mrs. Delvecchio spanked away, landing blow after burning blow expertly. Tim felt his taut flesh flatten under her insistent hand, then spring back into slightly
rounded firmness, only to be smacked flat once again. He began to struggle, but
his teacher’s strong arm held him easily in place.


“Naughty boy!” she scolded, whaling away without pause. “Maybe a red hot bottom
is what you need to encourage you to keep your mind on your studies.”
Again and again, Mrs. Delvecchio smacked fire into Tim’s wiggling cheeks. He
tossed his bottom, bucking over her thighs. Her timing was perfect, and she
managed to catch his squirming buttocks as they rose to meet her punishing palm.
Smack after smack after stinging smack landed. Time and again Tim emitted loud
“Ouch!s” and louder, “Pleases!” Mrs. Delveccio ignored him, lecturing all the while.
“A boy as bright as you are should have no trouble passing all his exams.”
“All you have to do is concentrate a little. Just a little, Tim!”
“When I’m done with you, young man, I certainly hope you’ll have learned
“I have, I have learned something,” Tim cried, clenching and unclenching his
buttocks in time with his teacher’s crisp swats.

“I certainly hope so,” she replied. Tim couldn’t see, but he was sure his rear
end must have been bright red by now. Still, his teacher spanked on, deepening
the shade from pink to red, to darker red, to almost maroon.
He felt as if he’d backed up against a hot stove and decided to stay a while. He
felt as if a swarm of killer bees had attacked his behind all at once, dozens of
stingers implanting themselves into his tender, sore backside. He felt as if he
would die from the shame. He wanted her to stop; he wanted her to continue. He
was in agony; he was in ecstasy.
Strangely, the knowledge that no matter how he squirmed and wiggled, kicked and bucked, begged and promised, Mrs. Delvecchio would simply continue spanking his cringing bottom flesh until she decided he’d been punished sufficiently for his transgressions, rather than filling him with dread, seemed to have the opposite effect on him.tumblr_nsbjytngad1ubl9p1o5_400

Oddly, Tim found himself welcoming the blows. It was almost cathartic. He knew he had behaved badly, and agreed
that he deserved every sharp whack he was getting. Also…although the
realization embarrassed him full measure…he had to admit that the spanking,
the closeness of her body, the intimacy as she punished his bare bottom, was
strangely pleasing. Comforting. And, okay, he had to be honest…rather
Finally, when Tim had been reduced to a wailing, chastened, sorry little boy,
Mrs. Delvecchio stopped spanking him. She began to rub her hands in circles over
his scorched bottom, soothing some of the sting away. Tim sighed, relaxing over
her lap. The touch of her hand comforted him, letting him know he had paid the
penalty for his carelessness and been forgiven–and something more. As Mrs.
Delvecchio continued to stroke his reddened flesh, Tim felt himself hardening,
his penis growing to greater proportions than he’d have thought possible. He
cringed, shamed in the midst of his arousal, knowing that if he’d been able to
hide his excitement from her before, there was no possible way he could do so
now. She had to know how he felt. She had to!
Finally, the teacher withdrew her hands from his bottom cheeks, and stood Tim on
his feet. He turned this way and that, awash with humiliation. If he turned his
back to her, he displayed his reddened, well-spanked bottom. If he faced her,
the evidence of his arousal was clear.
Mrs. Delvecchio chuckled, drawing him into and embrace.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, young man,” she said, stroking his back, patting his
shoulder, smoothing the hair from his damp, tear-streaked face. “It only means
that you’ve got a nice submissive streak. Nothing wrong with that. It ensures me
that you ought to have no trouble following my directions from now on.”
Tim relaxed, luxuriating in the teacher’s comforting touch. She kissed him
gently on the forehead, gave his reddened bottom a last, fond pat, then said in
a business-like voice, “Now, Tim. I feel that you’ve been well and thoroughly
punished for your naughtiness. But if you should forget the lesson I taught you
today at some point in the future–rest assured that I’ll have no hesitation in
repeating it, at any time I deem appropriate. For your own good, of course,” she
added with a wry smile.
Tim nodded, gulping. He really meant to do his best, to make Mrs. Delvecchio
proud of him. But, knowing himself, he did have a rather careless, even
mischievous streak in him. He imagined what he wished she’d do right now. 12733481_148006108916168_4407889188776629099_n
He had a feeling that the evening’s events might be repeated, perhaps sooner
than either he or Mrs. Delvecchio expected.
To his surprise, he found himself rather looking forward to it.
Mrs. Delvecchio patted his shoulder one last time, as Tim stooped, gingerly
pulling his shorts and trousers back into place.
After all, he didn’t have to be bad to earn himself another trip over her knees,
did he? She’d mentioned something about ‘reminder spankings .’
Tim pulled his pants up, wincing a little as the fabric came into contact with
his tenderized backside. He had a feeling he’d need to be ‘reminded’
again…real soon.

Passionate Punishment

This week “Passionate Punishment,” my 6 novelette collection, has made it into the top 5 of Blushing Books Top 50 Best Sellers. Currently, it’s No.4. Go to and check it out.

In the interest of promoting my book AND the Blushing Books store, here are a few tasty excerpts aided by Paula Russell’s oh so tasty illustrations.


From The Ladies of Heatherton Hall

Josh strode back to the main house, paddle in hand, Gwyneth following in his wake. A definite itchy excitement was forming in her lower regions at the prospect of what was coming. In the main foyer they were greeted by the butler. “Griggs, will you inform the misses Amanda and Felicity that I’d like to see them in the library?”

“At once, sir. Shall I inform Lady Heatherton as well?”

“Absolutely. She will want to be present. And Griggs … ,” he added.

“Yes, sir.”

“We are not to be disturbed.”

Griggs eyed the paddle in Josh’s hand. “Quite right, sir.”

Lydia entered first. She nodded to Josh and sat in a high-backed chair that Josh thought resembled a throne. Amanda and Felicity came in next. “Shut the door behind you,” said Josh.

They both wore fashionable knee-length dresses, as if about to go shopping, but by now Josh understood that dressing up was part of the culture at the hall. They dressed for meals, for tea — and now for punishment, it seemed.

“Amanda and Felicity,” began Lydia Heatherton, “we invoked tradition on your behalf to keep you from being hauled off to jail and to what would have been, no doubt, a painful and humiliating interlude that would have brought shame and scandal upon the family. But, as with most things in life, ladies, such intercession comes at a price. There is a compact on this island, and that is that Heatherton Hall imposes its own discipline when our rank and privilege are invoked. 34 Mr. Fairchild is now the earl, as you both know. You will obey him, and you will accept whatever correction he chooses to mete out with as much grace and fortitude as you can muster. If not, the constable can be summoned. Do I make myself clear?”


Both girls murmured an affirmative of sorts and shuffled their feet. They avoided eye contact with anyone, least of all Josh. It was a different pair of young women who stood now before the earl and the Heatherton’s. Gone was the sassy devil-may-care attitude. In its place was embarrassment and remorse.

Josh picked up the paddle and tapped it in his palm. “This is an American school paddle, girls. I expect you’ve not seen one of these over here. But I’m pretty familiar with it, so I know what it feels like. This won’t be easy, but, as I understand it, we are all honor-bound to go through with this. So here’s what will happen. Both of you will come up here to the desk,” Josh tapped the paddle on a broad, flat desk that stood in the center of the room, “and bend over, resting your forearms flat on the desk. You will reach back and lift your skirts above your waist. You will hold that position. I’m going to do this in threes. You will each get three swats at a time, alternating. I’ll do this four times, so you are each getting twelve. I understand that twelve is what they would have given you at the police station, so that’s what you get here. When it’s done, you can get up and rub or whatever, but not before. If you do, we’ll have to repeat. Understand?”


Both girls just nodded nervously.

“Okay, let’s get started.” Josh pointed to the desk with the paddle. “As we say back home, assume the position.”

Amanda and Felicity minced forward and bent over the desk, side by side.

“Spread out a little,” said Josh. “I need to stand between you two.” They shuffled sideways. “Okay, ladies, skirts up.” Josh watched with interest as each girl reached back and gingerly tugged her skirt up.  Both wore fashionable lace panties under garter belt and hose combinations. Amanda’s panties were like silky step-ins, while Felicity’s were a patterned nylon type with lace borders. Amanda’s bottom was heart-shaped, high set, and prominent; Felicity, who was shorter and more voluptuous boasted a bubble-shaped derriere, a pair of pertly rounded globes that appeared quite capable of absorbing a good paddling.

Josh stepped to Felicity’s side first. He tapped her buttocks with the paddle as if assessing their resiliency. “First three, Felicity. Do not move.” He drew back his arm.


The arm descended with a blur. A loud crack resounded throughout the room. Felicity squealed and rose halfway up, the sting from the paddle being unexpectedly intense.

Crack! “Yow…   ahh!” Felicity stamped her feet as the second swat struck.

Crack! “Ah…   ah…   yah! Shit!” Felicity bobbed up and down.

Gwyneth watched in amazement. The three swats had been delivered rapidly, one after another. The paddle had sounded like a gunshot. Felicity’s bottom cheeks had quivered with the impact.

“I’ll not have swearing, Felicity,” said Lydia. “One more outburst, young lady, and you’ll repeat that stroke. Do I make myself clear?”

“Owww! Y-yes, ma’am,” wailed Felicity.

Josh moved over to Amanda, who looked at him over her shoulder, eyes wide, a fearful expression on her face. “Best to look straight ahead, Amanda. I don’t want you to move. Do it—   spot on the wall. Look there.” Amanda turned her head and tensed up. Josh stepped back.

Crack! Whack! Smack! The paddle spanked Amanda’s clenched bottom cheeks three times in swift succession. She howled at each swat, the cries steadily increasing in volume.

“My God! That hurts!” she wailed. It was practically a shout.

“I’ll warn you too, Amanda,” said Lydia. “No swearing.”

Amanda writhed over the desk while Felicity tensed up. Josh was coming back to her side with the paddle. “Three more, Felicity. Hold still.” She gripped the far edge of the desk so hard her knuckles were white.

Josh reared back and delivered three more crisp swats, one right after another.

Felicity flinched and howled at each smack. She stamped her feet and bobbed up and down, making her nether globes jiggle lewdly.

Back over to Amanda. The next three had her humping up and down, too, her feet flying up off the floor. The sound of the paddle smacking flesh echoed off the library walls. Gwyneth winced each time the paddle struck. Watching her cousins get it was satisfying, but still, it looked like it stung like blazes.

Both girls stood up, rubbing. They turned around. Tears were flowing.

“It hurts too much,” wailed Amanda.

“You can’t expect us to hold still for that,” said Felicity. She flexed her knees as she rubbed her bottom. “No more.”

“Me either,” said Amanda.

Josh stood there, grimly tapping the paddle in his palm. He looked at Lydia. She said nothing. Gwyneth was silent as well. They are waiting for me to take charge and finish this, he thought. All right, we’ll do this the old fashioned way.

There was an armless chair to the side of the desk. It looked sturdy. Josh put the paddle down and dragged the chair over in front of the desk. He sat down and folded his arms.

“Okay, who’s first?” he said.

The two girls stared at him, not comprehending.

“We are going to finish this. You are both getting twelve swats, and since you won’t hold still and take it, you are going over my knee where I will hold you in place. Now who’s first?”



From Falls Creek Women’s Prison

Later, after the meeting had broken up, Ned took Connie home.

“Just what did you think you were doing today,” He said hotly, as they stood in her apartment. “You spilled coffee all over the table on purpose because no one was listening to you? I let you in on that meeting to take notes, Connie, not to run this investigation.”

“It’s a good idea and you know it, Ned,” she said trying to cool him off. Then she tossed her head and sniffed, “Besides you were all ignoring me. I had to get your attention. Plus, they agreed with me.”

Ned looked at her hard for a moment. Inwardly Connie squirmed. He had a glare in his eye that she did not like. “Well, that sure got everyone’s attention, Connie. Reminded me of a child throwing a tantrum. And so…” he said, rolling up his sleeves. Connie became alarmed.

“What are you doing Ned, darling?” she quavered. Ned had a look of steely determination.

“Well,” said Ned coolly, “I don’t like temper tantrums in a six year old and I like them even less in my employees. And, it seems my girlfriend has thrown a big one and behaved rather childishly. That won’t happen again, will it Connie?”

“Uh, no Ned….look I’m sorry about the coffee,” she said nervously.

“Well that’s good,” said Ned, advancing, “but, I guess it is up to me to insure that it does not happen again.” Before Connie could react Ned grasped Connie’s wrist and tugged her toward the couch. Seating himself, he pulled Connie face down across his lap, unmindful of her sputtering protests and frantic wriggling. She shrieked, “No, Ned! Don’t you dare!” But he ignored her protests and pulled up her skirt to reveal a very shapely bottom clad in black silk panties and framed by a black garter belt and stockings. She realized with a shock that her boyfriend and boss meant to give her a spanking!


“Connie, we are going to have new understanding,” he said, and raised his palm. Connie felt a hard splat! as Ned’s hand connected with her vulnerable fanny. Then he smacked her cute behind a few more times. It stung!

“Yeow! No!” Smack! Slap! Splat! Ned began to lay spank after spank on Connie’s well upholstered seat.

Connie squealed, “Ow! Ow! Ned! Stop!” She kicked frantically but Ned had her in a tight grip. The spanks continued to rain down methodically causing her ripe bottom cheeks to bounce. Then Ned paused. Connie thought he had stopped, and tried to rise, but Ned said, “Oh, no, Connie. We’re not done just yet.” He slipped his fingers into the waistband of her panties.

“Don’t you dare, Ned Baines!” she shrieked, but it was too late. Ned pulled the panties down to her knees, baring her bottom. He stopped for a moment to admire the shapely globes, now bearing what looked like red handprints. Then he resumed the humiliating smacking. This time the crack of his palm was sharper and the spanks stung more. Connie tried to squirm out of his grip, but he had her pinned across his knee. Ned spanked steadily, and for the next several minutes the apartment rang out with the percussive sounds of his hard palm smacking Connie’s soft girlish bottom and Connie’s resulting cries. Connie’s delectable bottom cheeks danced and wobbled as Ned’s hard hand struck time after time. She wriggled and squirmed under the volley of brisk spanks laid on by Ned, and he observed that her bottom was taking on a red glow. She was now yelping with every sharp smack.

“Ned! Ow! Please darling! Yow!” yelled Connie. But Ned just continued to pepper his girlfriend’s wriggling backside with brisk spanks. When she finally pleaded for forgiveness, Ned figured she had readjusted her attitude and he stopped.

“Now,” he said. “No more childish outbursts at work—or anywhere else, understand?” Then he let her up.

Connie stood up and tried to rub the sting out of her bottom. She tearfully nodded. She should have been mad. Ned had spanked her bare bottom like she was a ten year old. The problem was that by the end of it she was terribly sexually aroused. The spanking had done it. She did not know how or why, but Ned’s treatment of her had turned into a wildcat. She took Ned to her bedroom and shoved him back onto the bed. He watched in amazement as she stripped off her clothes for him, leaving only her garter belt and stockings. Those would not get in the way, anyway, she thought, as she mounted him. He lay on his back as his girlfriend lowered herself onto what had become a sizeable erection. They made love repeatedly until the wee hours.


From Tumalo Bend 1895

They set it up in on the second floor of the courthouse in an empty room. Someone went to the stables and got a trestle, and thoughtfully, a blanket. Alice Hennigan was enlisted as witness and scribe to insure that a proper record was made of the proceedings. Helga Swenson and Ilsa Kruger procured birch rods. There were no birch trees, as in Sweden, but there were bushy shrubs outside along the river that had long thin whippy green shoots that could be cut, peeled, and made into suitable rods of eight or ten switches bound together with twine at one end. Each one was about two and a half feet long and very swishy.

The women who had agreed to plead guilty waited nervously in the jail.

Abby and Lucy were nervous and fearful. “Miss Fitzhugh, will this hurt terribly?” asked Lucy.

“Were you ever punished this way in England?” asked a wild-eyed Abby.

“We must have courage, girls. It will hurt for a time, yes, but then we will be free to go. Just think on that. But we must accept our lot with fortitude.”

“Yes,” said Abby ruefully, “in time for father to take us out to the woodshed.”

“It is my fault girls, for letting you go, and I blame myself. I would take your punishment too, if I could, but for now we must gather ourselves.”

“Oh, Miss Fitzhugh, we talked you into it, didn’t we Lucy? It’s our fault too.” Lucy nodded.

The sound that all had dreaded was the sound of heavy boots approaching and the jangling of keys. “All right ladies, they are ready for you upstairs,” said a deputy as he unlocked the cells. “This way. Follow me.”

They were ushered into a large mostly vacant room with high windows. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating a lone trestle in the center of the room. There was a table to the side and on it lay several bundles of switches— birch rods prepared by Helga Swenson and Ilsa Kruger. The three women stood staring grimly at the women as they filed in. The husbands and fathers had been inside waiting for them.

The sheriff said, “Well let’s get started then. I’ll let you run this, Mrs. Swenson. The judge said to let you do this your way.”

The first thing Helga said was, “All men must leave the room.”

The sheriff scratched his head. “Why is that Mrs. Swenson?”

“Because it would be indecent for them to stay. A good Swedish birching is given with the drawers down and that’s how I do it, and that’s how it will be.” She said adamantly.


Many of the women gasped audibly.

The sheriff looked around. “All right, boys. You heard the lady. We’ll wait outside.” There was no argument there. If skirts were to be raised and drawers lowered, no man wanted the other men to see his daughter or wife in that state.

Alice Hennigan cleared her throat. “Ahm, we should begin ladies. It makes sense to me to go in the order in the list the judge gave me. The first would be,” and she checked a list, “Faith Adams.” The rest of you wait outside in the hall. I will call you when it is your turn.

The blood seemed to drain from the face of a youngish woman in her early twenties with chestnut hair. She approached the sawhorse on shaky legs and stopped in front of it awaiting an order. Many of the women were unknown to the Carson girls. The rally had drawn folks from all over and several of the defendants were unknown to them. Faith Adams was one.

After everyone had trooped out and the doors had been shut, Helga Swenson assumed control. “Lift up your skirts, Mrs. Adams, if you please.” Helga Swenson gestured with her hands moving up. With a sigh she gathered her skirts and raised them to reveal her legs and bottom clad in long bloomers. “Place yourself over the trestle now,” said Ilsa. Steadying her self, Faith laid herself face down. The posture placed her bottoms up over the trestle, prominently positioned to receive the birch. Then Helga said, “Now lift up a little.” Faith did as she asked but gasped in alarm as she felt Helga Swenson’s hands jerk her bloomers down to her knees.

“Oh, no please. This is shameful! Let us keep our drawers up, please!”

Helga just shook her head. “The bare buttocks must feel the birch, yah, else it is not a real birching like in my old country. You are getting a real birching today.”

Faith Adams’ very prominent and very nude bottom was now exposed. She felt she was dying of shame. It was a spectacle. Faith Adams was naked from waist to knees and her pleasantly shaped derriere flexed and clenched as she waited for her whipping.

Helga picked up a birch rod and swished through the air. It made a whine and Faith Adams looked over her shoulder nervously. “Hold onto the lower bar, Mrs. Adams. I start now.” Said Helga.

She stood to the side and drew back the birch. The rod made a whining sound as it descended. It landed with a sharp “whick!” Faith Adams yelped and nearly jumped up. She had to be reminded to stay down. After that, Helga applied the strokes to Faith’s bottom cheeks at a leisurely pace, allowing Faith to settle down after each one and brace herself for the next. The birch rod’s licks caused her to wriggle over the sawhorse and Helga had to wait before applying the next one. Her bottom took on a red hue as Helga whipped it with the swishy rod.

The women waited in the hallway with baited breath. No one spoke as they strained to hear the proceedings inside. But all they could hear was a muffled “thwick!” as the switches found their target and sometimes a mewling cry of pain.


After the twelve strokes had been dealt, Faith Adams was told to rise and readjust her clothing. Alice Hennigan opened the door and Faith emerged, her face scrunched up in a grimace. Her hands were rubbing her bottom through her skirts. The girls and Diana waited nervously outside the door. One by one, the names were called and each young woman entered the room for her painful appointment. From time to time the others still waiting would hear the whine made by the swishing birch, a muffled thwack! and a yelp. Each time the door opened and Alice Hennigan reemerged with that list, hearts jumped into throats.






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Mrs Mundinger’s Rose Bushes — Part 2

This is an excerpt of a work in progress. It will be featured in an upcoming short story collection, most likely titled “Ladies Who Spank, Vol. 2.”

Mrs. Mundinger’s Rose Bushes

Part 2


The day dawned bright and hot. This would not be pleasant. Chad was obligated to replant Mrs. Mundinger’s rose bushes after he had trashed them with his car, driving drunk and plowing them down in an attempt to park in his own driveway, which he had missed by a country mile.

He shivered as he recalled his last shameful, and extremely painful, visit to Mrs. Mundinger’s. The woman had spanked him! Spanked! At his age. Put him over her knee like a 9-year-old and smacked the daylights out of his bare bottom for driving drunk and destroying her bushes. Then she had forced him to bend over and take six strokes across his already throbbing buttocks with a whippy rattan cane. tumblr_n2fydewo8r1r7thdeo1_500 Nothing in his memory had ever hurt so bad. It had felt like a red hot wire laid across his backside. Would she do it again? No, that was done. He’d do this chore and that would be it.

He was surprised, therefore, that when he knocked on her door, she wasn’t home. Anna, her daughter greeted him instead.

“Mama is not here today, Chad. She left me to supervise you. She said I must make you do a good job or else….”


Or else what? She didn’t say. She merely smiled that sly smile, more like a smirk, actually. The thought gave him goosebumps. What did she mean? The thing was, Anna was hot. The thought of getting physical with Anna made a woody begin to rise. She had been there last week, quietly watching as her mom had stripped then punished him. Why then was the thought of Anna in charge giving him a hard on?


He got to work, but it did not go well.

“It is not right,” said Anna, frowning. “You are doing it all wrong.”

Chad had been at it all morning. Anna stood in the shade of the doorway, watching, instructing, but still Chad wasn’t doing the replanting correctly. He couldn’t get them to stand up straight. Not for lack of trying though. He was hot, tired, sweaty and dirty. The thorns had stuck him as he tried to plant the bushes, and he was generally miserable.

“Look, I’ve been doing the best I can, but I’m no gardener,” he whined.

“You do not do what I tell you. That is the reason.” She had tried to direct him but he was all thumbs.

Chad’s anger flared up. “Then you get down here and do it, if you know so much.” He immediately regretted the outburst. Anna frowned and folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes shot daggers his way. It had been the wrong thing to say.

“Look, okay, I’m sorry,” said Chad. “It’s just, well, I’m hot and dirty and these thorns are sticking me all over.”

Anna crooked her finger at Chad. “Come up here. Let me see.”

Chad got up. He was filthy and he had cuts a scratches all over his hands and arms. “Damn thorns,” he mumbled as he tried to brush himself off.

“You must finish the job, Chad. Dig the holes deeper. These you must do over,” she said, pointing to the ones that were leaning sideways.

Chad grunted and sweated, but it was clear he didn’t know what he was doing.

“Momma will not be pleased,” said Anna. “I could help you and show you what to do.”

Chad looked up. “You could? That would really help because, whew, I’m having trouble here.”

There was that smirk again. “There is a price, you know. For my help.”

Warning bells went off in Chad’s head, but at this point he was ready to try anything.

“Okay – what?”

“I’ll plant them but … you are my slave for the rest of the day.”

Chad sighed. “Your slave?”

“Yes. I’ve always wanted a little boy slave. Don’t worry. I take good care of you just like you were my little boy.”


Chad had to think. This sounded bizarre, but, really, how bad could it be? He had no idea what she wanted, but the excitement in her eyes and the hungry way she looked at him led him to believe this was something sexual she was proposing. That prospect was even alluring. Be a slave for a day to this big Nordic blonde beauty? Did she want to fuck him? Holy crap. That had to be it.

“All right. I’ll do it.”

Anna clapped her hands. “Wonderful. Now I’ll show you how to plant roses.”


Anna knew exactly what she was doing, and in no time the old crushed plants were out and the new ones were in.

“There,” she said, looking up at Chad who looked on, hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do with himself.

“It looks easy when you do it,” he said, thinking how lame that sounded.

“Well,” she said, standing up and dusting herself off. “It’s done. Now I get you, little boy.”

She was six inches taller than he was, and looked down at him with a wide grin on her face. Chad gulped. It was intimidating. She exuded power and control. He hadn’t met girls her age who were so confident, so sure of themselves, and the way she studied him up and down, it was like a cat sizing up her mouse.

“You come inside now.” She crooked her finger and Chad followed as she opened the front door and ushered him in. He now felt apprehensive, but really he had no choice. He’d made a deal and besides she’d tell her mom if he didn’t cooperate. “This way,” she said, leading him up a flight of stairs. She wore tight play shorts and the sight of her buttocks flexing and swaying as she led the way up the stairs was nothing short of mesmerizing. He had an instant woody. “In here,” she said, leading him into a bathroom. She made straight for the bathtub and turned on the water. “Now strip. Everything.”


“What?” said Chad. “What are you going to do?”

“Bathe you, of course. You are dirty and gross. I want my slave boy all nice and clean.” She ran the water in the tub, getting it ready.

Strip naked? He had to go along with this. No choice. Chad blushed as he shucked out of his clothing, which admittedly was dusty and grimy from his attempts to plant the bushes. Still, he’d be naked. She was clothed. It was just a little weird. When he took his pants down, his woody popped out. She smiled and arched her eyebrows.


“Well, well, my little man is excited, I see. We’ll see about that soon.” She turned off the water. “Into the tub with you,” she said, giving him a smack on the rear.

Chad flinched. He felt that smack. It gave his penis a jolt, and it bobbed up and down as he slid into the tub. Anna picked up a washcloth to wash him with and started scrubbing.

“Hey,” said Chad. “I can do it myself.”

Chad had made a weak attempt to fend off her hands which annoyed her.

“You be still. I wash you, just like a small boy. Like your babysitter did when you were younger. Put your hands down.” She reached down and grabbed his scrotum. Chad’s stiff penis bobbed to the surface and she squeezed it as she scrubbed around his crotch.

“I don’t need any help. Hey!”

She ignored him and ran the washcloth all over his body, sometimes grabbing his ear or his hair to make him hold still. She was none too gentle about it. “Stop squirming around. I am trying to clean you. I see you need discipline, just like a little boy who is naughty. After this bath you will get it, I promise you.”

“Okay, okay.” That settled Chad down for a minute and he let her finish until she stood him up and started washing the crack between his rear cheeks.

This was too much. “Okay, now stop,” said Chad.

“I need you clean everywhere. Stand still.” She grabbed his stiff penis to hold him still and ran the cloth roughly up his crack. The pleasure of her hand gripping his cock vied with the rough way she cleaned his anal crack.

“Ow, ow!” Chad stomped his feet in the tub splashing water all over Anna.

“Stop that splashing! You are acting like a child. Get out,” she said, pulling on his ear, forcing him to step out. She slipped a towel off a nearby rack and wiped him down with it. “I see I need to teach you to behave.”


Chad had a bad feeling. Why was she sitting down?

Anna sat on the commode next to the tub. She stood Chad in front her between her legs, clamping his knees with her thighs to hold him fast. She shook her finger in his face. “You are mine for today, little boy. I ask for obedience and you act up like a naughty child. Now I show you what happens to misbehaving boys.”


Chad felt her pulling him off balance. She flipped him down across her lap and circled his back with her arm, pinning him. She did it so fast it took his breath away. He never had time to react and now his bottom was elevated over her right knee, jacknifed into a most vulnerable posture. He felt horribly exposed. His feet flew up and he squirmed across her broad lap, sputtering in protest.


“Hey stop! Okay! I’m sorry!”

“You will be,” said a determined Anna.

Smack! Smack! Smack!


She commenced a noisy spanking of Chad’s bare bottom, slapping one cheek then the other, her arm flashing up and down like a trip hammer. The sharp sound of the smacks was deafening in the close confines of the bathroom.

The stinging sensation from Anna’s hand landing on his bare bottom was an immediate shock to his system. It was like a fiery torch applied to his seat that got hotter and hotter with each meaty smack. Chad tried to shift and avoid the spanks that rained down relentlessly, but she had him in an iron grip. He fluttered his feet and bucked all over Anna’s knee. Nothing worked. The stinging heat intensified as spank after spank impacted his nude fanny. Sweat broke out all over. This was unbearable. It hurt like crazy. He didn’t want to cry but he could feel the tears coming.


“Yes, now you understand I bet. Are you learning a good lesson, boy?”

He was. She had a hand like a paddle, burning his behind like a hot iron. The spanking continued at a steady tempo, each impact generating more heat in his already sizzling bare flesh. He squirmed. His fanny wobbled, set in undulating motion by the relentless smack-smack-smack of her palm. Snot poured from his nose, tears filled his eyes.He’d do anything to make it stop. But now there was something else. The underside of his stiff penis slid against her bare thigh as he wriggled in his crazy lap dance, sending pleasurable jolts of sensation down to the pit of his stomach even as his rear end burned. His cock felt swollen, his balls heavy. Was he going to shoot? What would she do then?

She must have felt his hardness because she immediately redoubled her efforts, spanking harder and faster. “We won’t have that. Not yet.” Nothing teaches a boy a good lesson like a bright red fanny,” said Anna, raising her arm and bringing it down again.


Her palm cracked like a whip with a wristy snap at the end of her stroke that put a little extra into each brisk spank. The hot pain obliterated the pleasure and he wailed. Chad’s bottom soon resembled a pair of red stoplights against a white background.

Anna’s efforts had the effect of cooling Chad’s growing excitement. “Ow! Ow! Okay! Please stop! I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Yes, they all say that when their bottoms are stinging. A few more good hard spanks should finish your lesson.”

Anna delivered a last flurry of brisk spanks then stopped, resting her hand on his bright red bottom. She rubbed his flesh in circles then patted it, as if reminding him that the gentle pats could just as easily turn to sharp spanks.

“So, you will be my obedient boy?”

“Yes! Yes! Anything.”

“Good,” she said. “Get up. Follow me.”


Chad hissed between his teeth and rubbed his tortured sit spot as he obediently followed her down the hall. She led him to her bedroom. “Stand there,” she said. Chad stood, completely nude, trying to rub some sting out of his reddened behind. Anna rummaged through a drawer for a minute before pulling out some clothes. She held them up. “I will dress you like a proper maid,” she said smiling wickedly. It was a black silky ruffled miniskirt and a matching top along with black stockings, a garter belt and panties.

“This will fit you I think,” she said.

“You expect me to wear that?”

“Of course. You are going to clean our house.”

Chad was about to protest when she reached back into the drawer and pulled out a long riding switch with a large leather popper flap at its business end. She threw the outfit on the bed and tapped her leg meaningfully with the riding switch.

“I imagine this will be quite painful on your swollen hiney, so get into your maid’s costume.”

Gingerly he put on the humiliating garments under Anna’s direction. When he was done Anna said, “Very cute. Maybe I call my girlfriends and they come see you, too.”


It looks like a long afternoon for Chad.


Here is a gem of a story found on my hard drive under “miscellaneous.” It was text with nothing to identify the author, so I’m a blank on this one. All I know is it comes from some very early efforts of mine to find good stories on the internet so we’re talking 20 years here. First thing is– this is a switch story. It starts as F/M, switches to M/F. The context is revenge and blackmail, always good vehicles for spanking erotica.




Newport 1870

He knew her the instant he saw her, despite her widow’s garb, despite the eleven years which had passed since their last meeting. She was more beautiful than Edward remembered, though he would never have guessed that possible.

“Would you like an introduction?” asked the elderly lady at his side.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sherborne,” he murmured politely, “But I think not yet.

She seems to be engaged at the moment.” He glanced again across the manicured lawn.

“Well, you just send me the wink, I’ll I see what I can do,” his hostess whispered conspiratorially. At twenty-four, wealthy, handsome Edward Holst was the catch of Society. It was a coup to simply have him attend her house party this weekend, but if Mrs. Sherborne could also claim to have made his match, she would be the toast among New York matrons. “Miss Thomsett is a lovely girl,” she added with a sly nod before turning her attention to another guest.

Mr. Holst smirked at his hostess’s mistake. Yes, Patsy Thomsett was pretty but she was young and a no more than a pale little buttercup compared to the full blown blossom of womanhood to whom she was speaking.

Edward’s eyes drifted to the female who’d haunted his memories and fantasies for over a decade.

When Madeline Guernsey (nee Vale) tucked a stray curl back into the dark twist of hair at the nape of her neck, Edward’s breathing deepened. The lady’s white hand was quick and deft in its movement, a hot little fact, he well remembered as he did almost every detail from that one summer she lived with his family.

She’d been twenty-three years old, at least that was what she’d claimed, though the Cook scoffed that Miss Vale was not a day over eighteen, if that. At the time, it hadn’t been Madeline Vale’s age which concerned Edward, but his own. Thirteen year old boys, in his estimation, were too old to need governesses and really, Miss Vale was there to oversee his younger sister, Emily. He was corrected on that point almost immediately.

“Help me pack up your trunks, Teddy,” the governess commanded. “We leave for Saratoga in the morning.”

“I don’t pack my things, the maids do it,” he disdained while on his way out of the nursery with a ball in hand.

She intercepted him at the door, grabbed him by an ear and spoke in a low, threatening hiss. “Take that tone with me again, young man, and you will find your train ride tomorrow exceedingly uncomfortable.”

“You can’t punish me!” the boy shouted, while struggling to free himself.

“Oh no?” Her green eyes glittered with the amusement of a cat. “Your father is of a different opinion. He suggested I take a hickory stick to your bare bottom if you do not mind me. Shall we take the matter to him now for clarification?”


Edward stared at her in stunned, horrified silence. Miss Vale tightened her pinch on his ear. “No?”

“N-no,” he finally managed.

“Then understand this, little Master Holst. You are my charge, as is your sister. If you give me the slightest aggravation, you will be a very sorry boy with a very sore bottom. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Miss.” Was all he could say as his cheeks burned in angry humiliation. He could not even meet her eyes, he was so diminished by the encounter. Which wasn’t to say that Edward hated Miss Vale. Oh no, in fact, standing so close to his vexed governess made him aware for the first time, that her skin gave off a warm, buttery scent. That evening in bed, young Edward fondled his small cock and imagined being taken over her lap for the promised spanking. It caused an interesting mix of sensations to smoke through his lean body, flaming desire chased by hot shame. The boy brought himself off with a moaning gasp just as his door opened and the object of his fantasies glided in.



As he lay desperately still, Miss Vale stroked his cheek and wished him a good night. As an afterthought she added, “You feel flushed. Are you all right?”

Edward assured her that he was and, the moment the door closed behind her, he off on a second trip to ecstasy by imagining her cool hand sliding across his entire body the way it had his face.

It wasn’t until weeks later he actually discovered what that lovely white hand was capable of. He’d been smart with her once too often and very much on purpose. That night she walked into his bedroom, without knocking, and showed him a switch his father had given her permission to use. Madeline explained in a glacial voice that either Edward accepted his punishment on her terms or his father’s.


“What are your terms?” he asked sullenly, though his blood churned like the sea.

In answer, Madeline set the whippy green branch aside and pulled a chair into the center of the room. “Since this is the first time I have to punish you, Teddy, I will not be severe.” She held out her hand and like a sleepwalker Edward came to her. With a quick yank, she drew his night shirt up and over his head — before the boy had time to realize what she was about. He stood before her utterly naked, appalled and furious! When he curled back his lips to protest, Madeline jerked him by a wrist and sent him sprawling over her knees. She pinned him with her strong left arm and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“Fight me, Master Holst, and I will whip you with that hickory stick until your bottom bleeds.”

Edward froze in position. Not because of her threatening words, but because he was suddenly aware that her full breasts pressed into the center of his back while she bent forward. His shocked pleasure only lasted a second for soon she straightened and set about positioning him so that his ripe young bottom was a perfect target for her warm hand. Miss Vale was in no hurry, for she took her time lecturing him about every small misdeed he’d committed since her arrival. The list was long and it was accompanied by pinches and pats to his squirming buttocks.

When his new governess assured him he would be receiving a good spanking this evening, the first jolt of lust coursed into Edward’s cock, his balls tightened and his buttocks clenched. Whether Miss Vale noticed, he could not guess and he was close to not caring. He grasped her left calf, partly for balance and mostly because the opportunity presented itself.

It was a good thing Edward did, for when her palm swung down on his small boyish bottom, he nearly shot off her lap from pained surprise. Who would have guessed such pretty hand could pack such a wallop! Of course, Edward had been spanked before, but always in an impersonal way. Either his father laid him across the bed for a thorough belting, or his tutor bent him over a desk and applied a wooden ruler to his backside.

Edward had never found anything delightful about those episodes. But here was a woman, who was also bent on correction but encouraging exactly the opposite from the boy over her knee. Her warm lap, her breathy grunts of exertion, her hot, stinging palm, her smell all made for a thrilling experience for young Master Holst. But soon his delight began to wear.


If the spanking had stopped just as his buttocks reached searing point, Edward would have waddled into bed, savoring the memory.

But Madeline was intent on punishment and her flashing palm did not stop when the naughty boy began to cry. She continued her thorough whacking until Edward’s entire seat was attended to, from the base of his spine all the way down to mid-thigh on each leg, including the area inside each buttock. For this last indignity, Madeline pried open the howling boy’s thighs with her left hand and spanked with the right between his bottom cheeks. Soon, she finished the smacking but not her discomfiting treatment of him.

“While I have you in this position, young man, I’m going to see if you are clean all over,” she pronounced just before sucking one long index finger and sliding it into his tight bumhole. Edward raged at this affront, kicking and hollering and she stroked her finger in and out. Her pumping encouraged a rhythm he could not resist, and although at that moment he despised her and her utter power over him, Edward came into the folds of her skirt with a shuddering cry.


It was the first episode of many that summer. Each of Miss Vale’s punishments humiliated and infuriated the boy, mostly because he came for her like a trained puppy every time she set him over her knee, though, he didn’t think she was aware of it. Edward was very careful to disguise his lusty cries as sobs of distress and his gyrations as attempts to avoid her blows. And if Miss Vale ever noticed the wet patches on her skirt, she never mentioned them. But now Edward was an adult and his thoughts on this were very different. He was convinced that the lovely woman who’d left the Holst family after only one summer of employment well knew what she was about when she took her young charge over her knee.

The garden was beautiful, the weather perfection, and the party was proving to be great fun, even if she knew next to no one, Madeline Guernsey acknowledged. Her friends, the Sherbornes, had been right to insist she travel north and join them for the summer. When and if she was ever ready, it would take her no time to find a second husband here. Even at this moment, she had the distinct sense of being stared at.

Madeline did not find this disconcerting because she was used to it, however, it was a bit odd considering how she was dressed. Gentlemen usually conducted themselves with the utmost propriety around widows still in black. Had she moved on to lavender, she might have been viewed as approachable, but certainly not yet. Perhaps the interested party knew that she’d clung to her widow’s black long past the usual mourning period.

Madeline Guernsey was not in the market for a new husband just yet; she rather liked the freedom widowhood afforded her, both financially and socially. She chose to ignore the prickles dancing down her spine and pinned her green eyed gaze on the innocent girl before her.

“Where are you staying?” she asked Patsy in a sweetly husky voice, however she did not listen to the debutante’s answer. Someone was circling her. She could almost see him as he moved into her peripheral vision. Once again, she chose to ignore him but it didn’t work. The young whip positioned himself not thirty paces behind Miss Thomsett, right over her left shoulder where Madeline had no choice but to notice him as he blazed an overly familiar look in her direction.

“I love Newport,” she told Miss Thomsett as she twirled a violet between her fingers. “But my favorite summer spot is Saratoga Springs though I’ve only been there once.”

He looked like the devil himself, with that black hair and those lean features. Handsome, yes, quite… no wonder he was so forward in action and manner. But he was definitely her junior by several years and that, if nothing else, ought to prevent the cad from studying her with such insolence.

“Oh dear, I believe my mother is waving at me.” Miss Thomsett shot a worried glance toward the large house.

“You better see what she wants.”

“Yes, it was lovely talking with you, Mrs. Guernsey.” As the girl stepped aside, the blasted fellow wasted no time. He sauntered forward with an ease and grace that only comes from life long privilege, Madeline thought uncharitably.

She turned to follow Miss Thomsett toward the other guests, but a warm hand on her elbow prevented it. The young widow glanced in surprise at the long, strong fingers which held her. This sort of boldness was inexcusable and she was just about to say so when he spoke.

“Hello, Madeline.” His voice was exactly what she’d expected, the devil’s own aural caress.

“Have we been introduced?”

A shadow of a smile passed over his lips. “Not lately.”

“Then I have no desire to speak with you, sir,” Madeline admonished, though she had to tip her head up to meet his look. “Your behavior is a scandal.”

“And you are still a scold.”

Her rosebud mouth spilled open in surprise.

“And yes,” Edward continued, “I would have guessed you had no ‘desire’ to speak to me, dear. After all, I am no longer a helpless schoolboy.”

If he had not still been holding her by the elbow, Madeline Guernsey might have collapsed on the ground from sheer bone-jarring horror. She had never even heard of a person being so insulting. Gasping, she blurted, “How dare– Teddy!” Realization hit like a two-by-four plank across her solar plexus.

It was a glorious thing to see, Edward thought with a grin.

“My, how you’ve grown,” Madeline finally managed to stutter, trying desperately for some semblance of normal conversation. The man before her was not feeling quite so civil.

“Yes, sweet Nanny, I’ve grown,” he purred with all the pleasure of a beast on the hunt. “In ways that I think we ought to discuss.” He turned to lead her away from the garden but Madeline refused to move.

“You have not grown into a gentleman, that is for certain,” she snapped.

“If you are thinking to seduce me, you better–”

“Tsk. Dear, what a vulgar thought. But then, I shouldn’t be surprised, should I?” That elicited another gasp from her and Edward suppressed the urge to laugh. Never had he such license to pique a beautiful woman.

“What do you mean by that offensive statement,” she demanded.

“I think you know, Madeline,” Edward said, infuriating her further with the use of her given name. “I merely thought you’d like to discuss this away from curious and uncharitable ears. I’ve heard you are scouting out a second husband; I’m quite certain you would not want any of these eligible bachelors to know about your winning ways with young boys, now would you?”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You can not prove anything.” Not realizing she’d just handed him her guilt gift wrapped.

“No, I can’t,” he said blandly down to her enraged countenance.

“However, completely unfounded gossip has been known to ruin many a match.

And imagine how your choices would diminish simply from having your past status as a governess bandied about. A lusty, inappropriate governess, notwithstanding.”

“What do you want?” she asked between clenched teeth. “You can’t need money.”

“An hour of your time, beauty.” Edward propelled her toward the lake where he knew there to be a small, private boathouse. The lady went forward unprotesting, if furious and bewildered.

The moment the door closed behind them he said “Take off your clothes” in a voice so polite and amused he could have been asking her to pass a box of chocolates.

“I won’t.”

“You will and you know it, so let’s drop this show of pretty resistance.”

Madeline stood stubbornly in the center of the room, hands clenched to fists at her side. Since her engagement to a wealthy man eleven years ago, she had mastered every situation she had ever found herself in. Now this archfiend of a young man was ripping that from her and she hated him for it. There was a lantern on a shelf nearby. Perhaps if she could circle round to it, she could bring it crashing down– “Don’t even consider it, Madam.” His amusement gone. Edward moved in close, never taking his eyes from hers. “Let us talk plainly, shall we?”

He continued despite her pressed lips. “Many years ago you humiliated me, aroused me and molested me. I intend to repay the favor this afternoon.

Now if you allow this little settling of old scores to take place, I give you my solemn word that I shall never approach you again. I also assure you, I will take our past adventures to the grave. But if you don’t do as I say–”

“Slowly or quickly?” she interrupted.


“How would you like me to strip?” Already, Madeline was unbuttoning her gown. A smile curled over Edward’s mouth.

“Why quickly, of course. If I wanted a bawdy performance I would have stayed in New York for the weekend.”

“I despise you,” she announced as she roughly pushed the bodice of her dress down.

His eyes appraised her full bosom with warm appreciation. “No more than I did you eleven years ago,” he murmured.

“You hated me?” she asked in surprise as her gown shushed to the floor.

Madeline had been so young and so selfish that summer, she’d never really considered him as more than an exquisite young body at her disposal.

“Only when you made me come.” His white teeth gleamed in the shadows.

“Then?” she gasped. “Not when I spanked you?”

“Others punished me, school teachers, my parents. Only you made your control of me absolute. The chemise.” He tipped his head toward her underclothing and she continued to disrobe.

“Have you thought about it a great deal over the years?” She wanted to know as she pulled loose the ribbon on her slip.

“Every time I took some lovely girl over my knee and made her kick and squeal.”



Madeline’s eyes lit up like stars; her full mouth broke into a lusty grin. “You’ve spanked someone? Who? A maid? Prostitutes?” As if in bargain for his stories, she ripped open the chemise to expose her perfect breasts, pink tipped and tight with excitement.

“You are a naive chit.” Edward stepped forward and tweaked one of her stiff little nipples.

A jolt of pleasure seared through her belly to her cunt and the lady tipped her head back and stared into his lazy golden eyes.

“And no doubt a faithful wife,” Edward smirked while continuing his rough handling of her right breast.

“I was,” she said without offense. “My husband was old and rich. He had me watched.”

“And what will your next husband be, Nanny Vale?”

“Young, poor, virile and obedient.”

Edward laughed with wolfish amusement. “You are a rare woman, Madeline.”

“What is it you want, Mr. Holst?”

“Your ass,” he replied bluntly, as he dropped his hand to the waistband of her pantalets and tore them open. She did not flinch when the thin material fell to her ankles and she stood before him, wearing no more than her gartered black stockings. His eyes feasted on her nakedness and still she said nothing, did nothing. It was outrageous that a gentleman should behave this way with a lady, but Madeline knew that all convention between them had been put aside. For the next hour, she was his slave and there was a freedom in that; she could give over to her base instincts, those that she’d hidden for so long, and this man would not be shocked or appalled. He’d already known her at her passionate worst.


She did not recoil when he unfastened his belt buckle, though when he pulled it from his waist, her pupils dilated.

“Are you going to whip me?”tumblr_md1izjskxz1qii8jto1_500

“You know that I am.” Was his casual reply as he tossed his jacket aside and rolled his shirt sleeves.

“I shall hate it dreadfully.”

“Yes, most likely,” he agreed and then dragged forward a small chair.

“Bend over and hold onto the seat.”

“Oh, can’t you take me over your knee?” Madeline suddenly pleaded, dropping her indifferent manner. “It’s much more intimate that way. It’s how I always spanked you.”

Edward smiled at the memory but repeated, “Bend over the chair.”



“No.” Madeline said crossly. “I want to go over your knee.” She would have stamped her foot for good measure if he hadn’t slipped a hand up her spine and tangled his fingers in her hair. With a nimble movement he found the large silver hairpin and pulled it out and her curls down in a tumble. Edward dropped the hairpin on the floor and gave a small push to the center of her back. Madeline stumbled forward.

“Hold onto the chair, Madam, or we will continue this outside,” he warned. She tossed him an evil look and he raised a dark brow. “You don’t think you deserve to be punished?”

“You can hardly blame me for something I did at eighteen.”

“Can’t I?” he asked softly. When his stare became too intense to bear, she dropped her eyes in guilty admission, remembering all the occasions she’d forced “medical attention” on him with prying fingers and excited curiosity. She’d also demanded he bathe in front of her just so she could grow exasperated and knock the soap from his hands, insisting upon doing the job herself. The angry flush of his cheeks thrilled her almost as much as his quick-to-respond cock which she brushed against many times that summer — accidentally-on-purpose.

“I can blame you and do, Madam. And I will enjoy applying this belt to your white ass which, I assure you, will be a far kinder revenge than spreading tales of your misplaced sensuality.” Madeline said not another word but took up the position he insisted upon.

Her hands gripping the edge of the wooden seat, her hair spilling about her face like dark silk. Edward pressed a palm to the small of her back, forcing her to drop her belly and lift her bottom. She kept her chin up, however, giving her the look of a thoroughbred race horse, haunches high, skin sleek. The young man stepped back, his belt wound once round his palm.

“My dear, this will hurt me more than it will you,” he mocked as he lifted his arm.


The smooth, rounded buttocks before him twitched only once before his belt descended with wicked speed. The woman rocked to her toes on impact, hissed, shuddered and resumed position, all without a backward glance. He smiled at her pride and swung his arm again, savoring the meaty thwack which echoed through the small boathouse. This time she groaned softly as she did for the next several blows until finally, the belt forced a yelp from her luscious mouth and then a husky cry.

Edward kept up his pace without ever breaking a sweat. The same could not be said of Madeline whose body gleamed with a wet sheen that caught the afternoon light as she twisted and writhed under every crack.

“No more, Teddy! Please, no more!”

He ignored her, just as she had ignored him years ago. The polished leather made quick work of her soft skin, mottling it with scarlet stripes until her shuddering twin mounds were one entire throbbing shade of crimson. The lady’s bottom did not remain still for all this, though she did not rise from her bent position; she shook her hips with a sob after each smack as if trying to release the pain. And when Edward’s whacking increased in speed, making reaction to individual strokes impossible, Madeline tossed her head, her eyes wild, and while yelling shrilly, she rocked forward as if trying to outrun the blows. Her fanny quivered and wobbled, as did her breasts which swung freely between her arms.

Then the lady’s head drooped, her tears puddling on the seat of the chair, and finally, after one particularly vicious smack, she shot upward, grabbing her bottom. It was the reaction Edward had been waiting for.

“Get back in position, Madeline,” he commanded.

She twisted back to look at him, her eyes large and wet, her hands still pressed to her tormented flesh. “Please, Edward,” she cried. “I can’t– no more. Please.”

He took a menacing step toward her and she quickly turned and bent forward again, grasping the chair. When she heard his belt hit the floor her body heaved in relief.


“Stay in position, Madeline, but take hold of your bottom again.” She did as he instructed.

“Now, spread your cheeks for me, wench, and let me see that pink slit of yours.”

She did not move. “I-I can’t do that, Edward.”

He stepped forward and kicked her feet apart. She nearly fell flat on her nose from the loss of balance, however, he grabbed her hips and held tightly. As he leaned over her body, the front of his trousers pressed to her hot ass. “Do as I tell you, woman, or I will fuck you in a way that I promise you will hate.”

Tears stopped up her nose and blurred her vision and yet, Madeline never felt more alive. Her cunt was wetter than she’d ever known it to get, and that she could tell simply from what was smearing down the inside of her thighs. It was as it had been that summer in Saratoga and never since.

She pulled her ass cheeks wide apart, just as he ordered, and he stepped back to admire the view.

“Can you imagine what I see, Madam?”

She shook her head.

“What was that?”

“No, I can’t imagine it.” She spoke aloud.

Edward nudged her feet even wider apart and, with his hand pointed to the floor, he slapped up between her thighs, smacking her swollen pussy lips, once, twice, three times. Madeline let go of her buttocks and cried out in excited pain. Bracing the chair again, she lifted her hips, arching her back like a cat in heat. Now Edward dug four fingers into her sopping quim and shoved them in and out as if fucking her. Finally, he could wait no longer and he fumbled with the buttons on his trousers.

Once Madeline realized what he was doing, she stood with a cry. “No!”

“What?” He was truly surprised. This woman was drenched to her kneecaps with her own juice and she wanted him to stop? “You can not take me until you’ve kissed me.” She turned clutching her hair to her breasts, eyes bright with annoyance, looking like some pagan goddess. Edward fell in love at that very moment. As his heart lurched in his chest, he grabbed her, dragging her to him, and kissed her as though he would suffocate her with it. Once he started, he could not stop, his lips were as sensitized as his cock and her mouth was so wet and sweet that he lost himself in it.

It was she that forced her hands between their crushed bodies and unfastened his trousers. And it was she that backed him against the wall and slid down his hard stomach to catch her lips on his engorged organ, sucking it down the back of her throat with an abandon of a whore. “Ah God!” he cried as she pulled it in and out of her mouth only to stop short an instant before he came.

“I thought you were going to take me.” Her eyes glittered up at him with a satisfaction he well recognized.

“I’m going to murder you,” he choked as he took her from beneath the arms and dragged her to her feet. “That was a pretty trick, minx.”

“One that the wife of an old man has to know.” She referred to her oral pleasuring of him not its abrupt halt.

Edward spun her to the wall and she threw up her hands to brace herself against it as he grabbed her by the waist and thrust himself into her.

Now it was her turn to cry out to the heavens. His large cock felt so intense, so good; she was faint with the sensations but he continued to pound into her from behind and she to push backward, meeting him with every stroke. He slid one hand around to grab her mound of curls and grind his fingers into her clit. Her nipples brushed the rough wood of the boathouse wall when she swayed forward as they both began to climax.


He, loud and triumphant, her, low and guttural.

When Edward came to a shuddering finish, he pressed her forward, biting the nape of her neck and now sinking the fingers of both hands into her wet, pulsating pussy. She rubbed her forehead into the wall and marveled at the muscular chest crushed to her back.

“Shall we marry this week or the next?”

Madeline would never forget the moment or his tone which tickled the hair on her neck. She struggled to turn in his arms but he would not allow it.

“Not until you answer me,” he said as he nuzzled her shoulder.



“I’m older than you,” she finally managed while studying a knot hole in front of her nose.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But that won’t keep you from my knee.” His cock slipped from between her legs and pressed a last wet kiss to her scorched ass.

“But I don’t want to spend my life over my husband’s lap!” she cried.

“I will not be subservient to anyone ever again!”

“Tsk. We can take turns, my bossy girl.” With that, he released her.

She spun quickly and so caught the flash of vulnerability in his eyes.

Madeline smiled then, a slow, wicked, triumphant smile and crossed her arms over her chest. “I want four days of the upper hand and you may have three.”

He slipped his fingers under her arms and jerked her to him. “I will be most happy to give you four days of my upraised hand, pet.”

“That isn’t what I meant, you–”

He silenced her with a kiss and mentally tipped his hat to the fates which had put his beloved governess back in his path.



Seducing Randy — on F/M Sunday

Here is a very early “Randy,” aka Sarah 3333, story, this one found in a Yahoo group in 1997. Talk about stone age internet. Anyway, for an F/M story it is somewhat unique because the POV is female. Our heroine, Sarah, tells the story of how she seduced Randy with erotic spankings. Lots of guys would like to trade places with Randy to get treatment like this.



How I First Spanked Randy in 1978


My experiences with Randy could be useful in helping a no nonsense woman get a quiet, younger man across her knee for the first time. (I suppose it could also work for dominant men and shy women.) It helped greatly in my case that Randy was a shy, completely inexperienced freshman when we first met and that I was an experienced graduating senior. He was (and still is) extremely youthful and looked no more than fifteen when he came to the party at my sorority house and had too much to drink. The more beer he had, the more juvenile he became. As we chatted on, it was soon clear to me that Randy was also smart, funny, and sensitive in addition to being so cute. I was also intrigued because he was obviously interested in me from the start. What woman wouldn’t enjoy such attention, especially from a younger man who looked at her with puppy dog eyes?

I invited him back to a smaller party the next weekend and again he had lots to drink (like everyone else) and got very silly and giggly. At the start of the party, he came right over to my side of the room and hung around without actually talking to me. He later told me he was too shy and scared and also in awe that a senior would spend any time with a freshman. I gave him my biggest smile and welcomed him and we spent the rest of the party talking with each other off to the side. The more beer he had, the more immature he got and the easier it was to tease him.

At one point around midnight, I asked if he was really a freshman because he seemed more like a ninth grader who was out past his curfew without his mother’s permission. When he blushed and laughed at the same time, I knew he didn’t mind jokes about his youthful appearance. Sometime around one AM when the dancing was in full swing in the next room, he went off for yet another beer. I was pretty tipsy myself at that point and starting to let down my hair. When he came back with his beer, I asked, “Does your mother know you are having that beer, young man?” “Haven’t you reached your limit, young man?” and “What would your mother do if she caught you this drunk, Randy?” The last question sent him into another round of giggling especially since I asked it with a sly, knowing smile.

The week after the second party, I started having at least one or two meals a day with Randy in the school cafeteria. I got to know his more serious side, his straight A record, his humor, and his wide knowledge of books, music, and art. It seemed he knew a lot about many things except women. By the end of the third week, he had told me what I already guessed: that he had never dated anyone or even kissed anyone, that he had been a bookworm all through high school to scared to go to the school dances. And he had never been any good in sports – practically a capital offense in any high school in Texas. No wonder he had no confidence with women and no experience. The more innocent he became, the more I was drawn to him. I suppose I enjoyed being his “big sister” and the object of a “teen” crush. He later told me he used to get secret crushes on older girls in high school, especially the prettiest cheerleaders, and that he fell for me that way at the second party.

Within three weeks after our first meeting, Randy and I were getting together every day for a few hours or more of meals, study time, and long talks. I started wearing clothes designed to excite him without doing anything obvious. He was so easy to mesmerize. Even the simplest things like crossing and uncrossing my legs in short skirts got him all hot and bothered while I pretended not to notice.

About a month later, at another dance party, it was clear after a few hours of dancing that Randy was dying to kiss me but absolutely terrified of doing something he had never done. Since I didn’t want any of my sorority sisters to start gossiping, I took Randy out for a walk in the little park behind my dorm and took his face in my hands and kissed him with a kiss that went on forever. Once the poor dear got started, he was a fast learner and eager to make up for lost time. We found a little bench hidden by a grove of trees where we sat down in the night and I continued Randy’s kissing education.

Eventually, he tried to go beyond kissing but I slapped his hand down and said, “Young man, watch your hands or I’ll put you over my knee and teach you to behave like a proper gentleman.” Instead of reacting to the playful spanking threat, he immediately apologized and went back to kissing. Of course, my passionate response soon encouraged him and after another twenty minutes of necking, he again tried to pet me. Once again I playfully slapped his hand down and said something like, “Young man, don’t make me warn you again. If don’t behave yourself, I’ll give you a good spanking right out here on this bench. I’ve spanked naughty boys before as a baby sitter so believe me I know how.”


Once again he apologized for trying to go too far. And instead of rebuffing my playful threat, he asked me a whole series of detailed questions about the spankings I had given, their duration, the boy’s misbehavior, and whether I had spanked on the bare. I pretended I was just answering his questions while giving him the most detailed descriptions possible to feed his imagination. After that, we used to go walking a lot at night and always in the direction of that little park knowing we would end up necking on the bench. Since he was slender and weighed only about140 at that time, I convinced him to sit on my lap while we necked. Not that he needed convincing. It was a very arousing position for him because he got to sit right on my thighs and snuggle against my breasts which he was otherwise not allowed to touch. In retrospect, the poor dear was too excited either to notice or to care he was being held in a rather childish position.

Without really planning it, I ended up infusing a childish dependency into Randy’s first experiences with a woman. The soft feel of my thighs, breasts, and mouth were inseparable from the feeling of being held and stroked and comforted on my lap. In contrast to what his hands could do (very little), my hands were free to roam and had gone everywhere except one place.

Whenever possible, I paid particular attention to his cute bottom, stroking and gently smacking it especially just before we sat down and I let him into my lap. When we had kissed to the point where he was beside himself with pent up desire, I would whisper things like, “Young man, you’re getting me so hot, I don’t whether to take you back to my room and make love to you or take down your pants and underpants and turn you over my knee and spank you on your cute bottom for being so fresh.” I would then sigh and go back to kissing him passionately. After a week of nightly walks to “the bench” as we called it, I began making regular playful threats in private like “You ought to be spanked for saying that, young man” and “You look more like an eighth grader than a college freshman … why I ought to put you over my knee for being this late” and so forth. And I often smacked him on his clothed bottom when no one was around.


When he annoyed me in public places, even student parties and school receptions, I would take him discreetly aside in public and quietly whisper things like, “Young man, if you give me any more trouble, I’m going to bare your bottom in front of all these people and give you a sound spanking right here, do you understand me?” It was the time he whispered back, “You wouldn’t dare” and stuck his tongue out impishly at me that I realized it was time to take things further lest he gain the upper hand. That night at “the bench”, I let him fondle my breasts for the first time pretending that I was too aroused to resist. In fact, that was pretty close to the truth but I was determined to enjoy this latest escalation AND make Randy pay a price.

After a few minutes, when my blouse had come unbuttoned, I make a show of discovering this and quickly put a stop to things by slapping Randy’s hand, rebuttoning my blouse, and standing him up. He thought I was ending our little session but I had other plans. Before he knew what had happened, I had yanked on his hand and he had fallen, tipsily, over my knee. (It was a Friday night and the usual partying had loosened things up considerably.) Before he could do anything, I began spanking him right through his clothes while telling him he would be turned over my knee and handled this way from now on whenever he got too fresh with me and opened my blouse. I was very careful not to blame him for fondling me as if that was now acceptable. My plan was to set a very clear line which he could only cross knowing it would earn another spanking. That was my way of testing him, of putting a little bait in a mousetrap to see if my little mouse was interested. It wasn’t a hard spanking or one he would ever have regretted. In fact, I spanked him in a way guaranteed to bring him back by interspersing smacks with lots of fanny rubbing and compliments on his bottom and how I should have done this weeks before and so on.

It was clear from what I could feel pressing into my thigh that Randy was not unhappy to be there despite his feeble verbal protests. He was only over my knee for about four minutes and I quickly let him up and took him back on my lap to ask him if he was going to behave himself in the future. When he said yes, I tipped his face up and began kissing him again as if we had never been interrupted while reminding him what would happen if he ever unbuttoned my blouse again. The sensations of being spanked, however playfully, with passionate necking before and after and more breast fondling allowed for desert must have made him a nervous wreck.


Randy didn’t cross the line on the next two nights of walking to “the bench”. To make it harder for him, I wore on the third night a sweater blouse which was a little too tight with only a few buttons creating quite a few gaps through which one could catch glimpses of my lacey brassiere and cleavage. And I made sure he got an eyeful in my dorm room before we headed out. That was apparently all it took to tip him over the edge of the precipice. After a half hour of passionate kissing and fondling, he eventually unbuttoned my sweater – it didn’t take much with the small number of buttons – and I encouraged him by sighing and moaning as he fondled my breasts through the specially chosen low cut brassiere. At the same time, I managed to intersperse into my sighs little comments about how naughty he was being and how I had warned him what would happen and so on. When he reached into my bra, I gave a little cry of alarm, slapped his hands down and quickly stood him on his feet. Before he could do anything, I yanked him over my knee and spanked him harder through his clothes, telling him what he really needed was a bare bottomed spanking for being no naughty and disobeying my instructions.

After about four minutes of this, I soothed his bottom with slow, circling caresses and asked him I he was going to behave himself better in the future or whether he was going to need more spankings. When he said, “I’ll try, Saree” (his nickname for me), I knew he was mine. I then sat him back up on my lap and kissed him and told him he could expect more spankings when he misbehaved if he wanted to continue dating me. Instead of disputing my conditions, he went back to kissing me passionately. When we finally went back to the dorm, I warned him he would get a spanking with his pants down the next time he misbehaved.


Not more than four days later, Randy got drunk at a fraternity party on a weeknight and came over to my dorm. I had already told him to save his partying for the weekend and study hard on weeknights. As soon as I saw his condition, I was determined to teach him a lesson that very night especially with his resistance lowered. I took him into my room and sat him on my lap and kissed up a storm before telling him how naughty he was while he giggled drunkenly and fondled me. After a half hour, he managed to undo my blouse and I pretended suddenly to notice. Standing him up, I walked over to my door, locked it, turned on my stereo, and came back to my bed where I sat down. Since he was wearing sweatpants, it was an easy matter to yank them down and pull him over my lap all at once while shushing and scolding him and warning him to be quiet unless he wanted someone in the next room to hear. The rock music was loud enough to cover the spanking noises as my hand fell again and again on Randy’s squirming bottom protected only by a thin layer of white cotton underpants. This time he got something closer to a real spanking. It lasted about five minutes and left his bottom with a rosy glow which showed at the edges of his underpants. Even so, I’m sure it didn’t hurt much at all and his erection never quite disappeared.

Though I wanted more than anything else to take down those underpants, I also wanted to build things up slowly to make sure my little fly was completely stuck on the fly paper before he realized what had happened. So I just pulled his sweat pants back up, stood him on his feet, and told him to return to his dorm, have some coffee, and get to work. I kissed him at the door to my room, spanked him three or four times through his clothes, and told him “the next time it will be on your bare fanny, young man so watch how you behave around me.” Since I said this with a mischievous twinkle in my eyes, a smile on my face, and a warm good night kiss, I knew he would be back for more.

And he was. When Randy managed to unhook my bra and bare my breasts for the first time that weekend at “the bench”, I took him back to my dorm room, locked the door, turned up the music once again and put him back on my lap for more kissing and fondling. I wanted to keep him in a fever pitch of arousal and excitement to lower any resistance to what he knew was coming. To build the excitement, I kept telling him how naughty he had been to undo my bra and how he needed a good lesson all the while he was kissing and fondling me and unhooking me all over again. Finally, when he was little more than putty in my hands, I told him something like, “I think it’s time to show you what happens to bad little boys who can’t keep their hands away from their girlfriends and act their age.” And with that, I stood him up, loosened his belt and unzipped him (brushing aside his drunken resistance) and quickly pulled him over my knee, making sure his feet left the ground so he was completely off balance. I started out spanking him on his clothes to make him think he was getting off easy and to lower any remaining resistance. And then I tugged down his pants and continued on his briefs. After a few minutes of that, I finally yanked his briefs down to his knees where his pants were tangled inside out and found myself face to face with his beautiful, boyish bottom for the first time. I had spanked a few boys as a babysitter but Randy was the first grown up man to go over my knee for a spanking. I started out slowly which was probably a mistake since Randy was so excited that he erupted all over my skirt after about two minutes. I scolded him for making such a mess but kept on spanking, delighted at the way his bottom bounced back and forth with each spank and the way his legs kicked. I ignored his protests since it was quite clear he was aroused beyond anything he had ever experienced and continued spanking while telling him once again how he had needed this for weeks and how he would now be getting spanked on his bare bottom whenever I felt his behavior merited such treatment. I guess I got carried away that first time myself because I blurted out all sorts of threats about spanking him because he was a little boy who couldn’t be trusted to handle things for himself, and how I would now be inspecting his school work and turning him over my knee if he got behind and all sorts of things.


It was a cathartic experience for both us of in letting all sorts of pent up feelings come out. (It didn’t hurt that I had had four glasses of wine earlier myself at one of the dorm parties.) After that, it was surprisingly easy to find other excuses to turn Randy over my knee, especially since these spankings were directly associated with new sexual experiences for him. He turned into a little puppy, following me around. Since he was completely inexperienced, it was all new and wonderful to him. What college freshman wouldn’t allow himself to be spanked by the older woman he worshipped when she used an extra pair of panties in her left hand to take care of him underneath at the beginning of his spankings “so you don’t make a mess like you did the first time” and so on. I also started lifting my skirts to make sure they didn’t get wrinkled or “soiled” which added greatly to his excitement both before when I was scolding him as he stood before me with pants and underpants at half mast, and during when he wriggled around all over my thighs adding to his own pleasure.

The more I initiated him, the more he loved me and the more I came to love him too. It didn’t take me long to figure out it was the spankings as much as anything else which had helped him fall in love with me, and me with him (even though he always protested verbally at that stage). The first time we made love, about four months after we met, I spanked him first and allowed him to seduce me afterwards in the making up part, my skirt still raised high on my hips so it “wouldn’t get wrinkled”. And when he entered me for the first time and rode his way to a very quick climax before moving on more slowly afterwards over the next hour to a second climax, I reached behind him with my hand and spanked him to encourage him and help him, get hard again. By making spanking a major part of Randy’s first sexual experiences, I never gave the poor dear much of a chance. By the end of the semester he told me he loved me . And three and a half years later, when he graduated, he proposed. He’s been a very happy, well spanked “little boy” husband ever since.

A Gift from Great Aunt Kate

This story actually won some kind of award once. I forget where. It’s a ghost story and I like ghost stories. In ghost stories your characters can do just about anything and it still makes wacky sense … if you believe in ghosts. I’ve posted this around Halloween before but I think today is good day for it, so here goes.


                         A Gift from Great Aunt Kate

Today was her day to visit Great Aunt Kate. She rotated the responsibility with her sisters Abby and Claire, but today it was her turn. It wasn’t so bad really. Great Aunt Kate was the family historian and told such interesting stories that went back generations, a visit was both entertaining and enlightening. A visit would help in another way, really. With Tom recently having been ordered to the Middle East, she was alone. No husband to talk to, no one to share the day with; hell, no one to share the night with either. He’d only been gone three weeks and it was starting to get to her. It had been awhile since she had been this horny, and when she was she could always count on Tom to come through. Not now, though, she sighed. The fate of an Army wife.
Great Aunt Kate must have sensed her mood. “Is anything wrong, dear? You seem out of sorts,” she commented as she laid out the tea service. Aunt Kate was traditional. You served guests tea, day or night, when they came to visit. Always very proper, things prepared just so.
“It’s Tom,” confessed Missy. “He’s been deployed overseas and I miss him so. He’ll be gone for months. It’s only been three weeks and already I’m lonely.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you miss him. You’ve been married only what, two years?”
“Yes, that’s all.”
“Well, you are practically newlyweds, then. I imagine,” she said. Then with a wicked gleam in her eye, “I bet that you miss that man in more ways than one. Am I right?”
It hadn’t taken her long to guess that. Aunt Kate may have been past her prime, but she no doubt remembered what it was like having a man about. She blushed. “Of course, Aunt Kate.” Actually she felt like climbing the walls, but she wasn’t going to share that with her great aunt.
Aunt Kate digested this for a moment. “A problem that young women have faced since time began, my dear. Men going off to war.”
They chatted for a time about the family, each relating what they knew about things that had happened recently. From time to time Missy couldn’t help but voice her frustration about Tom’s absence. Kate replied sympathetically. Before Missy knew it, nearly three hours had passed.
“For goodness sake,” said Missy, “look at the time. Aunt Kate, I’ve got to get going soon. I had no idea we’d been talking so long.”
“That’s quite all right” she said. “I have things to do as well.” Then she paused. “But, you know, come to think of it, I have something for you. Wait here, it will take me just a moment.” Kate bustled out of the room.
Missy wondered what it could be. Aunt Kate returned with a flat bundle. “I’ve had this for some time and I certainly don’t need it any more. I’d like for you to have it.”
Aunt Kate held up a painting. It was a still life of a room. It showed a chair, a table, a fireplace with a cast iron stove, a couch in a corner and the portraits of a man and woman over the fireplace. It looked like a room that might have existed in the late 19thcentury by the appearance of the décor.
“It’s very nice, but what is it?” asked Missy.
“Well,” she began, “if you have a few more moments, it has some family history to it.”
Missy looked up expectantly. “Yes, of course. Tell me.” Missy could not resist one more of Aunt Kate’s stories.
“It was a present. Your great, great grandfather Charles Rockman gave it to his wife Madeline before he was posted to London as military attaché during the Great War. Actually Charles’ mother had commissioned it, and she gave it to Charles for Madeline. She had it done on special commission by an artist who, I fear to say, is unknown. Charles’ mother was quite a character, you know. She was a spiritualist. That movement was quite popular in its day, and she knew many of its devotees and practitioners—mediums, magicians, hypnotists—she knew them all it seems.”
Missy perused the painting. It was nice enough but nothing special. “It’s a still life of a room. It seems an unusual thing for a husband to give to a wife.”
“Yes, indeed. Considering that Charles and Madeline had a marriage which was by all accounts, stormy. Even more unusual for Charles’ mother to have had it made, but then she had always been critical of Madeline.”
“How do you mean?”
“It was the early nineteen hundreds when they married. As a young woman Madeline fancied herself as modern. She was hardly the model subservient wife. She was a suffragette. Charles, of course was scandalized. He forbade her to attend rallies, go to meetings and such, but she defied him. She was into one scrape after another. Still they loved each other deeply. Eventually they had seven children and nineteen grandchildren. It’s all in her diary.”
“But a picture of a room. Why? And what kind of room is it?”
“Well, if I’m not mistaken, it’s a drawing room. In those days a man had his retreat, to smoke cigars, have a brandy, read the paper. The children and the wife would be forbidden to enter without invitation.” Aunt Kate then gave a dry chuckle. “If you were invited inside it might not be so pleasant. Perhaps invited is not the word. Summoned, you were more likely summoned.”
“What do you mean?”
“A father’s study or drawing room would be where family justice was meted out. I have experience in this area.” She admitted ruefully. “You would enter fearfully and exit tearfully, often vigorously rubbing your bottom.”
“Seriously?” Missy had heard about such things, but had never experienced as much as a spanking from her father. Well, not counting a firm pat or two to the seat of her shorts when she’d been a young child.
“In matters of familial discipline it was a different era. The father was the disciplinarian of the family and he would get to the seat of the problem, if you know what I mean. I know mine did. The only omission that I see in this painting is the absence of a strap hanging on the wall or a birch rod in a bucket.”
Missy looked at Aunt Kate wide-eyed. “What on earth is a birch rod?”
“In our house it was five or six whippy switches tied at one end with ribbon to form a handle. The miscreant would be ordered by father to bend over and bare their bottom for a dozen or more well applied strokes.”
“Wow! Did something like that hurt?”
“Oh, my yes. Not all at once at first, but with repeated strokes it would sting very intensely. A child would know she’d been punished. I never left my father’s study without a face full of salty tears and a flaming behind. Pardon my language, but that’s how it was.”
Both women stared silently at the painting, Missy trying to imagine and Aunt Kate remembering.
“So your mother might have been in this very room,” said Missy.
“To her dismay, I believe she was from time to time.”
Both women laughed, breaking the spell. Missy thanked Kate again for the painting, but couldn’t help but think it was an odd gift.
At the door Aunt Kate called to her. “I do hope it gives you some pleasure, dear. Put it in a place where you can look at it while you relax with a glass of wine at the end of the day.”
Missy did not think about the painting very much for several days but then remembered it. There was a vacant spot over the fireplace in the den, just opposite the couch. She hung it there. It seemed appropriate. In the den there was now a picture of a den.
At the end of a particularly trying day, she took Great Aunt Kate’s advice, and armed with a glass of wine, she sat on the leather couch facing the painting. It was odd, she thought. The painting was so warm, it seemed to draw you in. She felt sleepy and caught herself nodding off. Finally she decided not to fight it. A quick cat-nap then she’d fix dinner.
She awoke, feeling light headed. The room was dimmer now. And different. She was seated, not on her couch but in a chair. The walls were different somehow…and the fireplace. There was an iron stove. She was trying to process this information when she heard approaching footsteps and a voice.
“Madeline, where have you been?”
Missy turned her head. A young, handsome man of about 35 years was standing before her, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. He wore odd clothing, the type she’d seen in old turn of the century photographs. And, he looked familiar. The man in the portrait—could it be? Missy realized that she too was wearing clothing that did not fit her own era. A long gown with ruffled sleeves, a choker collar—it all felt so strange yet so familiar.
“You were at a suffragette rally. You were seen there. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Missy couldn’t even think straight. “I….I…” she stammered.
“Stand up, Madeline. It’s time you were taken in hand, wife. I’ll not have you bring shame upon this family by engaging in these silly shenanigans with your suffragette friends.”
Missy stamped her foot. “Women shall get the vote, Charles, and you shall not stop it. I’ll go where I please.” Had she said that? Who was talking?
“I think not. And in the meantime, chastisement is in order.” His scowl darkened. “Come here.”
“What do you think you are going to do?” Missy and Madeline, it seems, both spoke with one voice this time.
“It is clear to me that the time for talk is over.” Charles grasped Madeline/Missy by the wrist and pulled her toward the chair. He sat on the footstool in front of the chair and pulled his wife across his knees face down. Gathering her skirts he raised them past her hips exposing her buttocks which were encased in knee length silk bloomers. Missy felt shamefully denuded. The realization struck that he intended to spank her like a child!
“Stop this, Charles. Stop it at once and release me!”
“I’ll release you after the lesson, dear, which commences now.” Missy felt a hard smack right across the center of her bottom delivered by a hard masculine palm. It stung! Then ‘smack!’another. Then another.
“Owww!” she yelped, kicking her legs up in distress.
But Charles maintained an iron grip on his errant wife, and proceeded to apply a volley of hard spanks to her tender bottom, alternating right and left cheeks, sometimes smacking her right across the center.
The noisy smacks rang out in the cozy room. Missy kicked and struggled. Her bottom burned under the relentless spanking, the sting building to an unbearable level. This certainly felt like no dream she’d ever had. Then to her horror she felt Charles fingers inserted into the waistband of her bloomers. He was going to pull her bloomers down and bare her bottom. She renewed her struggles in a panic at this new indignity, but it was futile. Charles was too strong. She felt her bloomers being lowered baring her rounded bottom globes to Charles’ gaze. She blushed with shame, but strangely at the same time, felt an erotic thrill. Her husband was stripping her.
“I’ll have your lovely seat bare, Madeline, like a naughty child,” he said grimly. Then he resumed the slapping of his wife’s gorgeously rounded bottom, cracking his hand against the resilient globes as she wailed at the pain and indignity of it. The pain was even more intense on her bare bottom. Charles continued to spank his pretty wife with vigor bringing his palm down with some force again and again as she wriggled helplessly over his strong thighs. Missy could not believe this was happening. The spanks landed at a steady tempo, building a bonfire in her bottom. For an eternity, it seemed, her world contracted to the crack of a masculine palm on her flaming derriere and the atrocious sting that each one imparted. But at some point another sensation began to take hold. She was becoming aroused sexually. The fire in her fanny had spread to her sex. It was involuntary but she could feel herself actually raising her hips in time to meet her man’s descending hand.
“There! There! And there!” Charles exclaimed delivering the final spanks with gusto.
“Yeow! Yeow! Oww!” wailed Madeline, for now Missy understood that she was Madeline, sucked into some strange dream. For it had to be a dream, right?
Charles pulled her to her feet. She stared at him in disbelief that he had just put her across his knee and spanked her hard. For a moment neither of them moved. Then impulsively Madeline threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. Missy knew she was no longer in control. This was Madeline now, but she also felt Madeline’s sexual arousal which had started during the spanking. Fueled by the stripping of her of bloomers and the furious spanking of her naked bottom she was like a woman possessed by lust for her husband. And he had her, right there on the settee in the drawing room. Charles stripped her of her gown and the rest of her lingerie. He tore off his clothes and together they coupled for what seemed like an eternity until they both erupted in climax. Finally satiated, Madeline relaxed her grip on Charles and fell back….and Missy awoke.
She was wet with perspiration and felt exhausted. Yes, it was her den. There was the picture. She was here, not there. But she felt a strange lassitude, a fulfillment. Then she jumped up out of her seat, cognizant of an odd physical condition. Her bottom was burning like she’d sat on a hot stove. What had happened? She went upstairs and lowered her pants, looking over her shoulder into the mirror. Her bottom cheeks were a bright red. Had she done this to herself? And the strange sense of sexual fulfillment. Had she tossed herself off in her sleep?
It was all too strange and over the next week she kept coming back to the dream. What exactly had happened? It wasn’t as though she minded—the sex had been just what she needed, and the spanking beforehand had made it even more intense. But she put it down, finally, to a weird daydream. It was the only thing that made sense.
She went about her normal routine, her job, the business of living. She went to the gym, saw some of her friends. A few of her friends were in fact in the same boat. Tom was in the local national guard and she had met several of them. Now with their men gone, they tended to commiserate with each other and socialize more than before.
She hadn’t repeated her “nap” in front of the painting, but it was never far from her mind. She’d glance at it from time to time as she bustled about the house. It was then that she noticed a curious thing. The painting seemed to have changed. There was something new. The new thing was sitting on the hearth. She was nearly certain that it hadn’t been there before. It was a basket and sticking out of the basket was what appeared to be a bundle of switches tied together with a ribbon at one end. As she looked closer she realized that it was what Aunt Kate had described, a birch rod.
At about the same time, her feelings of sexual deprivation were returning. The “dream” of several weeks previously had whetted her appetite, it seemed. Dare she try this again? After telling herself how silly it was she nevertheless found herself on a Friday night sitting in the den contemplating the painting again. The warm tones of the work drew her in and she fell once again into a dream-like state. Her eyes were drawn to the portrait on the right—Charles with his stern demeanor and flashing eyes. She closed her eyes for just a moment. Ok, she thought, this was silly. She stood, thinking to refill her glass, but she was stopped by the figure of Charles blocking her path.
Before she could react, he spoke. “I thought that the last time, you might have learned your lesson, Madeline. Regrettably, though, you continue to disobey. This unfortunately calls for sterner measures.”
“I am not your chattel Charles, I’m your wife.” Madeline spoke back, defiant.
“And as my wife you will not subject this family to ridicule. My God woman, do you realize? This time you were arrested. The only way that I could secure your release was to assure the magistrate that this would not happen again. And you, I recall, agreed–if I could only bring you home. Well I did, and here we are. And what did the magistrate say? Surely you haven’t forgotten so soon. ‘I’ll release her if you can assure me that she will receive a good thrashing at your hand, Mr. Rockman. She deserves no less.’ I agreed and you, tearfully at the time, also agreed. Well now we are home and it’s time to give the devil his due.”
Missy held her breath as she watched Charles reach into the basket and withdraw the rod. There were five lean switches, about three feet long, bound together. Her eyes widened as he swished it through the air.
“You will now disrobe, Madeline. Take off everything.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Charles, no, please. It’s too shameful.”
“Take your clothes off, Madeline. I want you bare as the day you were born.”
With a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, Madeline slowly doffed her dress and petticoats with trembling fingers. She was clad now in stockings, a chemise and bloomers.
“The rest of it, Madeline. Remove your chemise and take your bloomers right down.”
Madeline tearfully stripped. Charles allowed her to retain her stockings held up by ruffled garters.
Missy stood there powerless to prevent Madeline from taking the punishment which was now imminent, having been ordained by the magistrate. Charles commanded her to place her hands on the mantle of the fireplace and bend forward, thrusting her buttocks out to receive the rod. She shivered as Charles tapped her bottom then she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. There was a swoosh sound and a thwack! followed by a searing heat. Then she felt another, and another. The switches imparted a sharp sting to Madeline’s bottom. It was all she could do to maintain her position. Charles fell into a lazy rhythm, striping her with the birch every few seconds, then pausing while she composed herself to resume her position. Swishh….thwack! Each swipe felt like hornets stinging. She wriggled shamelessly, wagging her bottom back and forth. She must be a sight. Naked, her bottom globes jiggling with each smarting stroke. Charles just commanded her to be still.
“Assume the position, Madeline. We are not done.”
“Oh, Charles, please! Ouch! Oh! It stings so.”
“You should have thought of that before you got yourself arrested,” said Charles as he struck her delectable rear with another firm swish of the birch.
“Ow! Ow!” It was all Madeline could do but yelp in pain. Charles made her count off another dozen strokes which she did, sobbing all the while, before he dropped the rod.
 But soon it was a rod of a different sort that he applied to Madeline as she knelt on the ottoman, bottoms up. Missy was soon swooning with pleasure as Charles entered her from behind and made vigorous love to the wife that he had so thoroughly chastised with the whippy birch not minutes before. The same thing had happened again. Madeline had become thoroughly aroused under the birch. Charles vigorously rode her to a shattering climax. She slumped across the ottoman, spent completely…and Missy awoke.
Snapping out of her reverie, Missy was astonished to find that once again she had, in fact, been soundly whipped. The picture was as it had been originally—no objects in the room. No birch rod, just the furniture, the fireplace and the portraits. Her bottom was wealed with stripes, but sexually she was aglow with satisfaction.
In the days that followed she began to come to grips with this conundrum. When she started to get horny, the picture would change. Always it showed something different. Missy knew that the object that appeared would soon be used on Madeline, if she invoked the painting. For that is what she felt she did when she relaxed gazing at it, and fell into a meditative trance. So the question was, was she willing to suffer Charles punishments meted out to his disobedient headstrong wife and take a whipping in order to receive the lusty lovemaking that came after? The answer was, yes.
In the months that followed she endured lashes with a strap, a spanking with a small paddle and a dozen strokes with a whippy cane. The power of the painting was alluring, but it seemed each time that it demanded an acceptance of punishments of increasing severity in exchange for the release that followed. But now she was coming to the end of her time alone. Tom was returning soon. And, more alarming, the new object in the painting was a painful looking dressage whip. She decided that it was time to have another talk with Great Aunt Kate.
“You wish to return the painting, dear?” But Kate had asked the question with a knowing smile.
“Did you know?” asked Missy.
Kate chuckled. “I found out. My sister gave it to me when my Harold left for Korea .I found it strangely compelling, like all the Rockman women do. It’s in our genes I suppose. But I can’t take it back now, dear. It should be used or passed on. A family tradition, you understand.”
So Missy had to think, but just before Tom’s joyful return she decided to give the painting to her sister Abby whose husband had been temporarily assigned to handle a bank closing in Topeka. He’d be gone for six to eight weeks at least.
 “It’s very nice, but what is it?” asked Abby, when Missy brought it over.
“Just an old heirloom. Great Aunt Kate gave it to me, but I really don’t have a good spot for it. See how warm the tones are? It just sort of draws you in. Put it somewhere where you can look at it and relax. You know, have a glass of wine at the end of the day.” Having foisted off the painting on Abby, Missy beat a hasty and guilty retreat. She’d have to remember to supply a pillow for Abby to sit on if she came for supper any time soon.
But what had begun cannot be undone as Missy soon came to realize. Still, she had to be thankful that when he returned Tom took to the new regime like a duck to water, she thought. Tonight she had donned her sexiest baby doll nighty, getting ready for bed. Earlier he had threatened to put her right across his knee and paddle her bare bottom very soundly, for “general wifely naughtiness” as he put it. So she felt a thrill, a delicious tingle at the base of her spine as she heard his footsteps coming up the stairs. He had told her to get ready for him.
 “Missy, have you been naughty again?” She turned at the sound of his voice to face him. He had a wide smile on his face as he absently tapped his palm with that little leather paddle she’d given him. “Well, have you?”
The real thing, she decided later, snuggling up to her husband in a warm bed and sporting a well warmed bottom, was better than Aunt Kate’s gift, but would not have happened without it. So she mentally thanked Great Aunt Kate. I wonder how Abby is doing, was her last thought before drifting off to sleep.

The Dommes of NU-WEST Part 2

Anne Bowman tumblr_n90i8anxl91tgkhzdo1_250

As Nu-West moved from the 8mm film era into VHS, it greatly expanded its F/M offerings. I think Ed Lee was one of the first to see that F/M video that featured domestic discipline and spanking was going to be popular. It wasn’t because there was such a large constituency for it, it was because there was a void in the market that no one was rushing to fill. The femdom offerings of the day ignored domestic/school spanking scenarios for leather clad dominatrices with whips which wasn’t what the typical male switch or spankophile wanted.

First point of fact: Lee’s customers were men and most men are switches at heart. This is certainly borne out by my experiences, meager though they are. This is why Will Henry’s books which were all domestic spanking sagas were mixed orientation — M/F, F/F, and F/M. Lee did not mix orientations much, but he jumped into VHS video with a number of F/M offerings.

Anne Bowman in action:


Humiliation and petticoat punishment, a frequent feature in some Nu-West videos.

Witnesses: When women are the spankers there are frequently several of them which plays into the male CFNM male fantasy.

Of course there is plenty of room for one-on-one discipline sessions with powerful women and subservient males. Here are Julia Jameson and Chelsea, two of Nu-West’s most popular dommes.

Both a witnessed punishment in a school setting and a petticoat fetish shot — the “girl” facing the wall is a guy.


An iconic classic photo. Not an “action” shot but it speaks volumes — the box, the straps, the correctional uniform and the paddle. There is fodder here for a whole story that unfolds in the imagination.What did he do? How did he get here? Where is “here” anyway?


A shot from the famous “surfer dude” movie, “Spanking Spectacular.”


Screen grabs from one of the famous “Woman Next Door” videos. Lee made at least 8 or 9 of these, all of them the same. Guy sneaks into woman’s room and rummages through panty drawer. Is caught in the act. In exchange for no police he accepts punishment from the woman who toys with him by making him wear panties and come across her knee for a series of spankings. She plays with his erection, keeping him constantly on the boil as she administers the spankings.


A later video in the series with Tanya Foxx.


Chelsea and David again.

A sequence in another Woman Next Door video. Not sure who the domme is.

How dare you sprout an erection! Get across my knee right now!


Next in part 3–the move into digital disk and more BDSM content.


Nominated as Best Historical Western: The Marshal’s Woman

My latest release, “The Marshal’s Woman,” has been nominated as the best spanking romance of 2016 in the historical Western category. This is my only entry but there are many other categories with books and authors to vote for. I’m grateful to have been nominated for this honor and I urge everyone to vote for their favorite HERE.

jordan-nominee[Graphic courtesy of the lovely Amelia Smarts]

When US deputy marshal Virgil Cotton is given the task of escorting a material witness to a remote Oregon ranch in 1892, little does he know what he is in for. The witness, one Tansy Fletcher, who happens to be the governor’s niece, is a bratty, headstrong young woman heedless to the dangers of her situation. But, she has vital information regarding a murder committed by a San Francisco crime lord nicknamed King Kull who will do anything to find and silence her. To keep her safe, Virgil insists on strict obedience to his rules of conduct on the trail. Unfortunately, Tansy is too free-spirited to bow to Vergil’s edits and flaunts them repeatedly. Governor’s niece or not, Virgil decides that for her own sake what this young woman needs is the flat of his hand applied soundly to her bared backside. But such treatment has an unsettling effect on Tansy, for despite their clashes, a smoldering attraction grows between the two, tinder for the spark that will turn their mutual longings into a raging wildfire.

As the couple forge their way toward their ultimate destination, the story of the B-bar-B ranch itself unfolds as seen through the eyes of Hannah Cantrell and her daughter Lori. In 1867 the pair undertake the difficult and perilous trip along the Oregon Trail by wagon train to claim the land bequeathed to them by a distant relative. Their fellow travelers are members of a sect that believes strongly in the practice of domestic discipline for wives. The challenges of the trail are formidable, but the hardships are tempered by the romantic attentions of a pair of very special men who exhibit genuine feelings for Hannah and Lori. The question is, can Hannah and Lori accept the sect’s practices or will they choose to go their own way?

As Virgil discovers when they reach the ranch, trouble is brewing. A shadowy gang of night riders has intimidated neighboring ranches into selling out. Based upon rumors of a lost gold mine, the gang now has its sights set on the B-bar-B. Can Virgil thwart this ruthless band of outlaws and keep Tansy out of harm’s way despite her impetuous nature? Can he protect the ranch and its people? What will become of Tansy and Virgil when he must heed the call of duty, even as their passion for each other spins out of control?


Here is another excerpt:

“Tansy. Slow down. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Tansy’s response was to speed up.

Virgil followed at a good clip. He hoped he could catch her before her horse tripped on something, and both she and the horse got hurt. He was closing on her when a low branch caught her and knocked her out of the saddle. She hit the ground with a thud.

Virgil reined in his horse and jumped off. He hurried to Tansy’s side. “Are you hurt?”

Tansy looked around, dazed. She shook her head to clear the fog that resulted from the fall. Her horse had stopped running and now munched grass in a nearby clearing.

“No. I’m fine, I think.”

Virgil fetched his canteen from his saddle. “Here, drink this,” he said, offering her the canteen.

Tansy barked at him and shoved it away. “Don’t need it. I’m fine.”

Virgil glowered at her. “What did you think you were doing?”

Tansy hauled herself up and brushed off her skirt. “I’ll go wherever I please, when I please. You are not my father.”

“Perhaps your father should have taught you better.”

“He let me do whatever I wanted, so there.”

“And that appears to be the problem,” said Virgil. “One I intend to remedy right now.”

Tansy backed up as Virgil advanced on her, ominously rolling up his right sleeve.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, her hands up, warding him off.

Virgil’s arm shot out and grasped her wrist. His grip was like a steel band, and she staggered as he yanked her along. He found a fallen log and sat, then in one smooth motion pulled Tansy face down across his knees. She landed with a whump, expelling air from her lungs, her face inches from a forest floor covered with decomposing ferns and pine needles, her feet slightly off the ground in back. He shifted her body so it was jackknifed over his knee with her derriere well up and prominently positioned. She had been dressed for supper in a long skirt and blouse, and had not had time to change to riding trousers when she’d seen the deputy coming. She cursed when she felt the skirt being lifted. Underneath she wore thin cotton drawers, which would not protect her at all.

“Let’s say I’m doing what your father should have done with such a headstrong, stubborn, bratty girl.”

“Let me go!” screeched Tansy. She felt his palm on her bottom and gasped at the sparks that flared at her core. Part of her wanted to melt, and part of her wanted to fight.

“Not until you learn a good lesson.”

He yanked down her drawers and raised his right arm above his shoulder.

“Yow! No!” squealed Tansy as her last bit of covering vanished. A momentary cool breeze fanned across her naked posterior.

Splat! Smack! Crack! Virgil spanked Tansy’s lush rear curves with gusto, spreading the spanks around. Tansy tried to squirm out of his grasp but could only pound her fists on the ground. The sharp staccato cracks sounded like gunshots, prompting birds and small mammals to scatter.

“I said don’t leave the ranch!” scolded Virgil, as he continued to apply brisk smacks to Tansy’s wobbling bottom. “You don’t know who might have seen you in town. These people are serious.” He punctuated his words with a flurry of stinging spanks.


* * *


“Yow! Ow! All right. Stop!” Tansy squirmed. The spanks landing on her nude bottom were having an effect on her. They stung to be sure, but she also felt desire building. Her body burned for his and she wanted him. She could feel something else, too. A big male erection? Something was digging into her belly. She wanted to writhe on it, to have it impale her. What she wanted was to tear off her clothes and his, then ride his hard shaft. She ground her pelvis into his knee and rocked, pushing her bottom up, as if lewdly offering herself. Unconsciously she timed the lifting of her behind with the downward stroke of his arm. Each impact of Virgil’s palm sent a shockwave that rippled all the way through her. At the same time, she pleasured herself, creating a delicious friction between her pelvic mound and the deputy’s knee. If it didn’t sting so much she’d want it to continue. But then he stopped and let her up.

“Now can you behave?”

“Never,” she said, slipping to her knees between his legs. She popped the buttons on his trousers. “Lift up,” she said. A surprised Virgil obliged, and she yanked them down. Yes, he does have a monster erection.

Tansy stood, her faced flushed and breathing heavily. She kicked off her drawers, lifted her skirt, and straddled Virgil’s lap. Lowering herself onto the upright shaft was sheer heaven. Virgil wrapped his arms around her and the pair rocked back and forth, perilously perched on the fallen log. His cock filled her, making her swoon with pleasure. His arms were nothing but hard muscle wrapped around her. His scent was intoxicating, a male smell, all sweat and manly musk. He kissed the nape of her neck as he plunged her depths again and again.

When her climax came, it came as a wave building height and strength until it crashed. She shook like a leaf in a gale until the storm subsided.

Afterwards they lay side by side on a bed of ferns. “I want you to promise me you won’t go off on your own any more, Tansy. Woman, you do something to me and I can’t imagine losing you.”

“What do I do to you?” she teased.

“You give me thoughts of settling down, for one thing. Something I’d not considered before.”

“Well, I might not be ready to settle down just yet, mister deputy marshal. You ever think about that?”

“I’m a rough old hard-working lawman. Maybe you want a banker in San Francisco.”

“Don’t be telling me what I want, Virgil Cotton. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll be a good girl and you stick close by—but I want to see you quite regular from now on. And,” she added, “I better not hear about any saloon girls or such.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We better go. I guess there may be some supper left if we hurry.”


* * *