The Best Senior Prank Ever

It’s that time of year again. Seniors are graduating and some traditions are invoked, most notably the senior prank. Classes try to outdo one another and sometimes it works, but sometimes there are disastrous consequences. In this story things are complicated by the close relationship between the assistant dean and the perpetrator of the “crime.” 

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The Best Senior Prank Ever

Wendy carefully rolled each scroll and tied them both with a purple ribbon. There. The legend LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT was clearly visible on the outside. Usually the seniors just wrote their “last will and testament” and published it in the yearbook. But Wendy had a special bequest for Carly and Heather and it wasn’t for general publication. She would deliver these personally.

*********************************************************
One month earlier…..

Wendy and Helen were in animated conversation as they walked down the long hallway. Helen was taller, a bit older, and moved with a confident athletic stride. Wendy, the younger one, was short and cute. She looked eager to impress the older woman, who seemed to be in agreement.

“It was the best senior prank ever, Wendy,” she laughed. It was a hearty laugh, filled with genuine mirth. “I’d have given anything to see old Dr. Wingate when he opened his office door.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine? He opens the door and he sees—-what? Goats!” She threw her head back and laughed out loud. “Goats! All over his office! I heard one was up on his desk eating papers out of his in box.”

Wendy beamed with pride. “Aunt Helen, we set out to play the best prank ever played by the senior class at Hargrove Academy and we succeeded.”

“Boy, did you ever, Wendy. Did you ever. My own class prank back in ’84 was so lame by comparison. I have to hand it to you. I’m envious,” and, she said conspiratorially, “I’m proud to be your aunt. To know we’ve got someone with some spine in the family. To plan and pull this off.”

“We planned it for weeks,” said Wendy proudly. “And to get the goats in there required split second timing.” She was clearly very pleased with herself.

“An amazing feat, Wendy. That will show that stuffy boys school, won’t it. Let’s see them top this.” She smiled broadly at Wendy and arched her eyebrows. “Wherever did you get the goats?”

“We rented them,” said Wendy smugly.

Helen chuckled. Rented goats yet. Every year it seemed, there were competing senior pranks between the girl’s school, Hargrove and the next door boys’ school, Waterford. Bragging rights went to the senior class who came up with the most elaborate prank. And this year the girls had blown them out of the water.

But now they were approaching the door at the end of the hallway. Wendy gulped.

“Nervous?” asked Helen.

“A little,” said Wendy. “No. A lot.” Her knees were shaking.

“It’s still up to you, you know. You have to decide what is the right thing,” said Helen. She stopped and eyed her niece. The look on her face was one of sympathetic compassion. “Whatever it is, you are still my favorite niece.”

“It’s really not fair,” said Wendy, looking into Aunt Helen’s face. “You’d think that with such a great prank, we’d get an award or something instead of….” she didn’t want to say it…”this.”
“But I guess I’m glad it’s you.”

“Yes,” said Helen wistfully. “I know, dear. This falls to me.”

“It’s ok, Aunt Helen.”

“And I agree with you. It’s a shame. No harm was done. It was a great joke. But, you know….” She looked at Wendy with a rueful smile and didn’t finish her thought.

The sign on the door said “Storeroom.”

Helen shook her head. Her sister’s daughter was her favorite niece. Wendy was a great kid—-a bubbly, energetic, and at times, mischievous girl. She had a sharp mind and a quick wit. Let’s see what kind of stuff she’s made of then, thought Helen. She opened the door and they went in.

*********************************************************
Three hours earlier….

Everyone else was already there. Wendy reported as she was told. There was the Headmistress, Mrs. Findlay, the secretary Jean Clooney, her Aunt Helen the Assistant Dean, and old Dr Wingate himself. He glowered at Wendy. She tried to ignore him by not looking him in the eye, but the intensity of his gaze was unnerving.

Mrs. Findlay addressed them all. “Well, we are all here.”
Then she spoke to Wendy. “Miss Hodges, would you stand here please, and face Dr Wingate?”

Wendy turned and faced the boys’ school headmaster. “Just for the record, Dr. Wingate, is this the girl you saw peering in the window at your office?”

Wendy realized that hadn’t been the smartest thing, hanging around to see old “Windbag’s” reaction when he confronted an office full of goats. She had laughed out loud and Wingate had turned and had seen her face. Her friends had been luckier. They had run away before they could be seen. Only Wendy knew who had been in on it.

“Yes, that’s her,” he said.

“Miss Hodges, do you have anything to say?” asked Mrs. Findlay.

Wendy swallowed. Her mouth was dry and her heart beat wildly. “Just that I’m sorry,” she said.

“Sorry?” said Wingate. “Sorry? Goat dung all over my office and you’re just sorry?” Wingate’s face was red. “I want all of the perpetrators brought to justice and punished severely!”

“Who were the others, girl?” demanded Wingate.

Mrs. Findlay made a motion with her hand, imploring him to calm down. “We will find out, Dr. Wingate. She will tell us. Otherwise, as she knows, there are consequences.” Mrs. Findlay looked Wendy in the eye as she said it, leaving no doubt as to her intentions. That look sent a chill down Wendy’s spine.

Mrs. Findlay cleared her throat. In a very formal tone she asked, “Miss Hodges, who were the others who assisted you?”

For a moment there was silence. “I…I can’t say,” said Wendy.

Mrs. Findlay stiffened. “You can’t or you won’t?”

“Does it make a difference?” said Wendy.

“I see,” huffed Mrs. Findlay. She sat at her desk and drummed her fingers on the desktop. She looked at Dr. Wingate. “Dr. Wingate, thank you for coming to confirm Miss Hodges as one of the perpetrators. We will take it from here. When we identify the others, we will let you know, but rest assured we will deal with them appropriately.”

They waited while Dr. Wingate rose and took his leave.

“So is that the way it is, Miss Hodges? You will not tell on your friends?”

“I can’t tell you who they were,” said Wendy.

“I see,” said Mrs. Findlay renewing the finger drumming. She looked up sharply at Wendy. “You know what this means?”

Wendy squared her shoulders but she didn’t feel all that brave. “I think so.”

“You think so.” Mrs. Findlay paused. “The penalty for pranks that result in damage here is and always has been a solid month of detention, plus….” She paused, “ten swats of the ruler paddle. Bare.” She let that sink in. “We rarely use corporal punishment, but for vandalism of this sort it has been the traditional penalty. I assume you knew that.”

Wendy visibly winced. She sort of knew. It was whispered about, it was the risk you took. In a way that’s what made it exciting, the possibility of an embarrassing and childish punishment if you were caught. It was worse for the boys, she’d heard. She’d heard about the ruler paddle, too, a thin slat of wood about eighteen inches long, just like a wooden ruler but with rounded edges for safety and a handle to grip.

“Moreover,” she continued, “we know there were three of you. Dr. Wingate saw three. So that is thirty swats, Wendy.” Her eyes bored into Wendy’s. “And under our tradition you get them all unless you name the others.”

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Wendy’s legs shook. Thirty Swats! She had known it would be bad. But thirty swats—and on the bare! The bare part was tradition too, its origin lost in the mists of time, but still followed to this day.

“One last time. Who are the others?” demanded Mrs. Findlay.

This time Wendy stammered, but said, “I can’t say, ma’am.”

Mrs. Findlay sighed. “Very well. Wendy Hodges, you will report for detention every day for the next month and attend Saturdays as well.”
She turned to Helen Brauner. “Mrs. Brauner, at four o’clock today you will escort  Miss Hodges to the storeroom. Jean will go with you as witness and I’ll inform our nurse, Miss Greene. I will meet you all there at the appointed time.”

“Until four then. Miss Hodges, you are dismissed. You have until then to change your mind.”

*********************************************************

They stopped outside the door.

“What should I do, Aunt Helen?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Wendy.”

Wendy looked around, as if someone might magically ride to her rescue. Her pals were not about to come clean. Why should she protect them? The code, that was why. All for one, one for all. Nobody rats. Nobody talks. They’d all agreed on that.

“Aunt Helen, can’t you go easy on me? Aren’t we friends?”

Helen fixed her with a serious look. “We are friends, Wendy. But we are other things too. On the other side of that door, I am the Dean of Discipline and you are a student who broke the rules. You have taken responsibility and have accepted the consequences. I must do my duty.” She put her hand on Wendy’s cheek in a gentle gesture. “Buck up. It’s only a spanking. And,” she added sardonically, “nowhere near as bad as your grandmother’s hairbrush. I should know.”

She opened the door and escorted Wendy in. It was a large room. Boxes of supplies were stacked against the walls. An ancient desk sat in the middle of the room. There were some old chairs and filing cabinets. The light came from flickering fluorescent lights in metal fixtures hanging from the ceiling. It was dead still. The room was tucked away in the basement where no one ever went—except for this, it seemed. Mrs. Findlay was there with the school secretary who carried the book. The nurse was there too, as required by school policy.

“Well, Miss Hodges? Are you prepared to name your accomplices in this matter?”

Wendy took a deep breath. “I can’t, Mrs. Findlay.” She had agonized about it all day, but in the end she wasn’t going to be the rat. That would not be her legacy, one of the crew who pulled the greatest prank of all time and then squealed to save her butt.

“Well then. You give us no alternative.” She turned to Helen. “Mrs. Brauner, do your duty.”

Helen nodded. She shot Wendy an apologetic glance that Mrs. Findlay could not see and went over to the old desk. Wendy watched, her heart hammering, as a drawer slid out with a grating sound. Her aunt pulled out the ruler paddle. Wendy eyed it with growing alarm. It was scary looking, a long narrow blade on a handle, all rounded edges. It looked thin and whippy.

Helen moved to the side of the desk and tapped it absentmindedly against her leg. “Wendy, step up to the desk,” she commanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Wendy and stood, legs pressed against the front of the desk.

“Now lift your skirt and bend over the desk, resting on your elbows, hands flat. Grip the far edge.”

Wendy gathered her skirt and lifted it. She bent over, resting her palms on the bare wood as ordered. Underneath her skirt she had on white nylon panties. She had a chubby bottom and she knew her lower cheeks peeked out the fabric stretched taut and pulled up as she bent. This was so embarrassing! Her butt was sticking out for all to see. It was just other women, but still….

“Miss Greene, her panties please,” said Helen.

The nurse nodded and approached Wendy’s rear. “Move back just a little,” she whispered. Wendy did, shuffling her feet a few inches. That enabled Miss Greene to slip her fingers in the elastic of the panties and peel them down. The fully rounded moons of Wendy’s bottom were exposed as the panties slid down to puddle at her ankles. Miss Greene briefly inspected the bare flesh poised to receive punishment.

“No bruises or cuts or abrasions,” she reported to Mrs. Findlay.

“Noted,” said Mrs. Findlay. “Mrs. Brauner, you may proceed.”

Helen took up a stance next to Wendy and rested her left hand in the small of Wendy’s back. “Push down,” she said. “Arch your back.”

Wendy did. The effect was to make her bottom stick out, presenting it for the ruler’s attentions. She blushed beet red. It was mortifying.

“Wendy, it’s thirty whacks. I’ll stop after each ten and you can rub, but then it’s back over for the next ten. There will be no swearing or cussing, no jumping up, no putting your hands back. You must stay in position or we’ll have to repeat. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Au…er, Mrs Brauner.” She huffed, blowing in and out nervously. This was it. It was going to sting bad, she just knew it.
She felt the ruler tapping her seat. Her aunt was lining it up, getting ready. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

Whack! The blade cracked down across the crowns of her buttocks. Wendy felt a sudden rush of intense sting. Ow! It hurt!

Whack! Another crack fell just below the first. paddled-sorority-girl-800x560a

Crack! A third smack applied hot pain to her exposed sit spot.

Wendy held on as the ruler smacked her bared bottom, creating wave after wave of sharp sting that made her want to cry out for mercy. But she gripped tighter and managed to endure those first ten swats.

“All right Wendy, you may rise and rub now.”

Wendy stood up and her hands flew to her inflamed seat. She rubbed vigorously, her mouth wide open in an “O”, her knees flexing as she bobbed up and down.

Mrs. Findlay watched for a minute. “All right, Miss Hodges, that’s enough. Care to name your accomplices now?”

Wendy just shook her head.

“Very well, then. Back over,” she said pointing at the desk.

Wendy assumed the ignoble position once again, thrusting her bottom out to receive the second ten cracks from that awful stingy ruler.

At least, thought Helen, we now use this ruler. A regular 18 inch ruler rounded and sanded with a carved out handle. Stings like fire ants but no deep bruising like with a standard paddle. She sighed. The kid was plucky, she had to give her that. Would not rat her friends out, even with twenty more stingers coming up. She wondered if Wendy’s friends would be so stalwart if they were in her shoes. She lined up to deliver the next ten licks. Hold, on Wendy she thought. Here it comes.

Crack!…..Crack!…..Crack! The swats fell at timed intervals. Helen observed that each swat made Wendy’s bottom cheeks ripple and the red stripes began to overlap more. She knew how much a spanking stung and she felt for Wendy, but she knew the pain was fleeting, especially with this ruler. It was really more to make a point than to cause serious pain. Wrapping it all in such grim ceremony made it memorable, like a scary story for the punished to tell the others lest they take that long walk to the storeroom. But the sting was real. Wendy’s cute bottom cheeks clenched and she rose on her toes slightly with each smack.

Ow! Yow! It was really stinging now, the intensity of the burning sensation threatening to overwhelm her. Her fanny felt tender and ultra sensitive and that’s why it stung so much. Each swat was worse than the last. At the tenth swat in this set she lost her grip and stood halfway up.

“That’s ten. You may rise, Miss Hodges. But get out of position again and we will repeat the stroke.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Wendy, once again rubbing for all she was worth. Her bottom must be swollen, she thought, and it was hot to the touch too. Ow! She was on fire back there. For the first time, she had to think about telling Mrs. Findlay what she wanted to know.

“Last chance, Miss Hodges,” said Mrs. Findlay after a minute of observing Wendy’s frantic efforts to mitigate the sting.

Wendy closed her eyes for just a minute. Should she? There would be ten more just like the last. Aunt Helen wasn’t cutting her any slack. She was doing her job quite well.

“No, ma’am,” she said. “I can’t tell.”

Mrs. Findlay shook her head and sighed. “Mrs Brauner, please resume. Last ten. Make them good ones.”

Aunt Helen said, “Bend over Wendy.”

Wendy assumed the position, arching her back and thrusting her bare fanny out as if to invite Aunt Helen to do her worst.

She must have tried. How she made it through those last stinging licks Wendy did not know. Each swat sent a new hot wave of unmitigated sting that began on the surface of her bottom and spread through her entire being, it seemed. At each crack of the ruler, tears welled up. Her grip on the table loosened. She fought the urge to stand, to shield her bottom with her hands, anything to make it stop.
Then it did.

The ordeal was over. Helen escorted Wendy out after the nurse had pronounced her ok. “Rub some aloe on it at home. The sting will subside in an hour or so,” said Miss Greene.

***************************************************************
“If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone else? And to do something for me? It’s about justice and your duty as Dean of Discipline.”

It was a conversation between Wendy and her Aunt Helen a few days later.

“Is it about your friends?”

“Yes. If they are really my friends they will accept this.”

“As long as it’s of their own free will.” Helen had an idea of what Wendy had in mind.

********************************************************

Wendy handed the scrolls to Carly and Heather and watched as each unrolled the document and read it. It said:

“To my very best friends Carly and Heather I bequeath warm memories of having played the best senior prank ever. I have other warm memories too, and those should be shared among friends. Therefore, as my Last Will and Testament I bequeath to each of you a meeting with Mrs Brauner, the Dean of Discipline in the Storeroom at four o’ clock on Saturday. Remember we did this ‘all for one and one for all’. Don’t be late and don’t chicken out. I didn’t.”

And so at four o’clock on the appointed day the two girls took the long walk down the hallway of a deserted school and nervously opened the door to the Storeroom. Wendy stood there waiting. Beside her was her favorite aunt holding the ruler paddle, tapping it against her leg—- and smiling.

Mrs. Hansen’s Boarding House — Part 1

For the next several Sundays I’m featuring my own stories and today I’ll start with this one. Set in 1962 it features a young man who goes away to college. Hopeful that he has escaped the control of his domineering mother, he finds he may have jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

Available at Amazon and other fine bookstores. Get it HERE

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College Junction, Minnesota, 1962.

 

The first thing that struck James about Mrs. Greta Hansen was the fact that she seemed so formidable. Tall and solid with blonde hair in a bun, a round face and hard grey eyes, she looked like some Midwest farmer’s wife  capable of  everything from plowing fields to hauling water to chopping wood. With her imposing bust, wide hips and stout legs, James could also imagine her as a Valkyrie warrior in some German opera wearing one of those horned helmets.

Then there was her cousin, Mrs. Ida Reed, who also lived at the house and did most of the cooking. James viewed Mrs. Reed as a bit younger, thinner, and so voluptuous that the challenge for James was to avoid staring at her rather prominent and upstanding breasts. Like an aging movie star in her 40’s, she had the look of a woman who must have been a knockout in her day, but age had diminished that ingénue look somewhat. A dark haired woman with a thin face, she was still attractive. Her build was tall and rangy, as if there were some power coiled there like a spring. Together the pair exuded a no nonsense air of total feminine authority. James found them both intimidating.

James had been directed to Mrs. Hansen’s boarding house by his mother, who had arranged for him to live there while at college. James’ mother had insisted on the Hansen house, and in James’ household, mother’s word was law. What James had really wanted was to be out from under his mother’s thumb, finally. He thought that leaving home for college would do that, and he had wanted to live in a dormitory with other boys his own age. His mother would not hear of it.

“In one of those filthy dormitories? I won’t permit it. It’s all arranged, James. I have spoken to Mrs. Hansen and I must say I am impressed. She runs a tight ship.” Then she had put her arm around her son’s shoulders. “It won’t be so bad, James. Why, I know that a former classmate of yours, Fran Blackman will be living there too. Mrs. Hansen takes in both boys and girls.”

James knew Fran Blackman, a cute girl from his high school. He hadn’t known her well. Enough to say hello in the hall, but that was about it. He had, from somewhere, heard that her parents were strict. Just like his own parents. That maybe explained why she had ended up at this Mrs. Hansen’s house. So James was resigned. But after a quarter of community college and having to stay at home, James was ready to leave. He’d been accepted at State University and would arrive for the start of the second quarter.

 

So on the appointed day he had packed his things for the drive to the quaint college town in which State University was located. He and his mother had an appointment with Mrs. Greta Hansen.

She sat across from James and his mother in her parlor, sitting stiffly upright in an old chair. Mrs. Reed sat next to the pair who were relegated to an uncomfortable looking loveseat. Between them was a tea set. She had insisted that they have tea. So he sipped tea politely while she alternately grilled him and dictated the rules of her house. They included no drinking, be in by curfew (which SHE would establish), no guests in rooms, no smoking, no swearing, and absolutely no going into the girls’ quarters. The girls and boys rooms were separated—the girls were upstairs on the second floor and the two boys’ rooms were on the third floor. Then there were chores. These would be distributed fairly but everyone would be required to share. Rooms tidy at all times.

James’ mother nodded with approval at all of this. “I think you will find, Mrs. Hansen, that James is a very obedient and well behaved boy. I’m sure he will study hard and be no trouble. Isn’t that right James?”

James blushed. They were talking about him as if he were some little kid, but he knew the consequences of rude behavior so he merely said, “Yes, ma’am,” and averted his eyes from Mrs. Hansen’s penetrating gaze.

“And one more thing, young man” she said.

He’d been about to stand up and leave, thankful that she was finally winding down. How much more? He’d been asking himself if it was going to be worth it.  

“On Sunday evenings there will be Sunday supper at 6 O’clock sharp followed by the weekly reckoning. Everyone must attend. No exceptions.”

James was puzzled. “A reckoning?”

“To go over the week and see how everyone behaved. I keep very close tabs on my boarders, James, and every week we must settle accounts.”

James could not fathom what she was talking about, so he shrugged and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“What do you think, Mrs. Reed?” she asked, turning to her cousin.

Ida Reed narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “He seems like a nice boy. If he can obey the rules, we should all be fine.”

That look gave James the chills. Like cat sizing up a mouse. Who was this Mrs. Reed? A relative, really? An old friend? The relationship between the two was odd. They never called each other by their first names, but there seemed to be some unspoken bond between them, some shared secret. He was dismissed while his mother and Mrs. Hansen continued to chat.

Outside the parlor he ran into Fran Blackman who had returned from class. James explained that he was starting late and would make up the first quarter in the Summer if his credits did not all transfer.

Fran liked the idea of having James in the house. First, he was cute and that was nice. Second, she figured a boy might take some of the heat of Mrs. Hansen’ scrutiny off of the rest of them. Fran and the others had been appalled to discover how Mrs. Hansen enforced her edicts. It had been an extension of  Fran’s own strict Christian household. She’d thought she’d outgrown the need for such childish discipline, but her parents had insisted she live here. She later discovered that Mrs. Hansen was of the same fundamental denomination as her parents, and they shared with each other their views on the appropriate discipline of children. It was on this basis that the Blackman’s had placed Fran in Mrs. Hansen’s house. But it galled her that they still thought of her as a child. She consoled herself with the knowledge that the sorority houses on campus used some of the same methods.

Her own experience throughout childhood had been that her parents did, on occasion, spank. She recalled with embarrassment the trips upstairs to her mother’s bedroom. The humiliation of being put across her mother’s knee for a painful spanking with her sturdy palm or later, the back of her flat-backed wooden hairbrush. The feeling of being so helpless while her mother had spanked a painful tattoo on her bare bottom. The wriggling. The crying. The admonishments to stay in place while hand or brush imparted its painful lesson. And even worse were those incidents, thankfully rare, in which she had endured a strapping with her father’s belt while bent over the end of her bed.

But she downplayed this aspect of the house in her conversation with James. “She tends to mother her student boarders. But she is really old fashioned, and strict.” Then she added, “which is ok if you follow her rules. You have to pitch in with chores and you also have to keep your grades up. She’s a bit odd that way. She monitors your report cards. And there are her rules—she’s very strict about that.” James noticed she shook her head with a slight grimace at that last part. He thought maybe Fran was holding something back, something she didn’t want to share, but he dismissed it.

James asked, “How many students stay here now?”

Five, she had told him. Four girls and now you.

James’ mother, having finished with Mrs. Hansen, said her goodbyes to James and drove away. James moved his things into the third floor room. That evening he was introduced to the others around the supper table. There was Molly, Betty and Lisa, all attractive girls. James’ mood improved. This could be interesting, he thought, sharing living quarters with four other pretty girls.

He registered and classes began. The first week was uneventful.

Sunday afternoon at the library James by chance happened upon Molly and Lisa engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation. He thought he heard Lisa say ‘I saw it on the board. You did have four. She knew you missed curfew.’ And Molly said, ‘how could she know? Her lights were off. I went out to meet Doug after she’d gone to bed.’ Lisa shrugged. Molly took a deep breath, a worried look on her face.

“What’s up, girls?” said James. The girls’ faces brightened. James was nice to have in the house. He was a good looking guy, even if Fran had said hands off. But Lisa was thinking all’s fair in love and war, girl.

“I couldn’t help but hear—four what? Did you sneak out?” He was laughing.

“Molly did, and now she’s in trouble with Mrs. Hansen. I think Betty has demerits too. Her room is a mess. It could be a hot time after supper tonight,” said Lisa with a knowing smile.

“Hot time? What are you talking about?”

Lisa stared at James, her jaw dropped wide open. “You mean Fran didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“The way Mrs. Hansen and Mrs. Reed enforce the rules.”

“No. What does she do?”

Lisa’s face turned pale. She licked her lips. “Did you know that she was at one time a bible school teacher?”

James shook his head.

“She was. And thinks that we should be treated just like her bible school kids back then. So she has this paddle and when you get demerits, it’s over you go. Grab your knees, hold still– and then you get it.” Then she added, “ask poor Betty who’s in for it tonight.”

James stared in stunned silence. What? Impossible!

“I see you don’t believe me. But you will. Wait and see. Her and that Mrs. Reed. Tonight. She calls everyone into the library and if you have demerits it’s licks with her paddle. If you don’t like it, you can move out. And that’s not all,” Lisa said.

James leaned in to hear better. Lisa blushed. “If you do something she considers sinful, like sneaking out or smoking or swearing, she’s threatened to punish that person in a special way—in private. And that’s why Molly is so worried,” she said, casting an eye at Molly who blushed.

 

***************************

 

James could not believe it. Paddled? That’s what happened if you misbehaved? But he was practically an adult. But he was stuck. Mother and father paying his way to college meant living by rules they set and living at Mrs. Hansen’s was one of them. The thought was unnerving, not only because she was a complete stranger but because of the authoritarian demeanor she and her friend carried about. And both were well built women, ‘stacked’ as his friends always said when referring to women with large breasts and curvy hips. The idea of being disciplined in that way by those women gave him a woody. It shouldn’t have, but it did, and that was strangely disturbing.

Like many of his generation, he’d been subject to spankings even through his teen years. His mom’s hairbrush, his dad’s belt. They had come out for sass, for poor grades and of course for downright disobedience. Although to his relief his mom had not spanked him since he was twelve. It had been his dad who had meted out the discipline. So the thought that once again a woman would have to power to punish him in that childish way was frightening and embarrassing.

*******************

So James was on high alert at the formal sit down supper on Sunday at 5:30. Molly toyed with her food. Betty, a pretty honey haired blonde, looked nervous and said little. Mrs. Reed served the food then sat down next to Greta Hansen at the head of the table.

 

“It is so nice to have a young man in the house, isn’t Mrs. Reed?” said Mrs. Hansen, trying to make conversation.

“Yes, it is. And such a handsome one, too,” said Mrs. Reed with a smile that seemed to James as almost predatory.

The girls said little as supper progressed, and James assumed that their nervousness was related to the ‘reckoning,’ as Mrs. Hansen had put it.

At supper’s end Mrs. Hansen announced that they would all retire to the library. The girls shoved back their chairs and without a word took their plates into the kitchen then headed for the library.

“You too, James. The library, please,” said Mrs. Hansen pointing.

“Yes, ma’am.” James followed the girls. This was it. Now he would see the infamous Sunday night reckoning.

They had seated themselves on either the loveseat or the straight backed uncomfortable chairs placed along the rear wall. The room was large. Books lined shelves that went all the way to the ceiling and all around the room. It was dead still. The books seemed to muffle any sound. No one said anything. The air was electric. Mrs. Hansen came in, followed by Mrs. Reed. James sucked in a breath. Mrs. Reed carried a paddle. It was oval, about a foot long, four inches wide and maybe a little short of an inch thick.

Mrs. Hansen stood in front of the hearth. “Now girls. We begin. This week, Betty, your room was not well kept. As I have told you before, cleanliness is next to Godliness. This will not do. Four demerits, I’m afraid.”

Betty bit her lower lip.

“Stand up and come here, Betty.”

Betty stood and approached Mrs. Hansen. She was a pretty girl, medium height, short blonde hair in a pageboy style.

“Lift your skirt, turn around and bend over, Betty. Hands on your knees.”

Betty fidgeted. “But, ma’am, Mrs. Hansen, please. James is here. He’ll see my panties.”

“And you will no doubt see his when he is to be punished. Now lift your skirt and bend over. Everyone must witness the consequences of not following the rules.”

There was a collective gasp as the other three realized that James would be witness to this humiliation. James tried not to stare as Betty lifted her skirt, revealing an attractive bottom clad in white cotton panties. She gathered her skirt and bent over, gripping her knees, her flared skirt held at the small of her back. Now that pretty bottom bulged out like a pair of ripe melons.

Mrs. Reed proffered the paddle to Mrs. Hansen who took it and stood to Betty’s right. She tapped Betty’s bottom a time or two and Betty flinched.

“Remember to hold your position, Betty,” said Mrs. Hansen. “If you get up, that one won’t count.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Betty in a choked voice. Her knees were knocking.

Mrs. Hansen drew back the paddle and brought it down in a flat arc. There was a sharp crack! as it struck the crowns of Betty’s buttocks.

“Oww!” wailed Betty. Her body jerked with the impact.

Three more times the paddle smacked Betty’s bottom, eliciting cries of “ouch!” and the shuffling of feet. Mrs. Hansen took her time, allowing ten seconds or so between swats so that a trembling Betty could reposition herself.

“Thrust your bottom out, Betty,” said Mrs. Hansen at one time. “Let’s have that naughty girl seat prominently positioned for my paddle.” James thought she said it almost gleefully. Mrs. Reed watched with rapt attention, her eyes excited, her chest heaving. Betty groaned and stuck her bottom back out to await another painful swat.

James took it all in, the whoosh and crack of the paddle, Betty’s jerk at impact, the way her flesh seemed to flatten then spring back. He realized that he was hard and his penis was poking through his pants like a tent pole. He fervently hoped no one noticed.

When the four swats had been doled out Betty was allowed to stand.

“Now let that be a lesson to you, Betty,” she said, handing the paddle back to Mrs. Reed. “You are all now dismissed.” They started to leave—“except for you, Molly.”

Molly stood stock still. Mrs. Hansen fixed her with a steely gaze. “Molly, you will come with me. We have something to discuss.”

Molly looked stricken, but after casting a worried look at her friends she followed Mrs. Hansen out the door and down the hallway toward her quarters.

“What is that all about?” asked James to no one in particular.

Lisa spoke up. “It’s what she warned us about, I’m afraid.”

“What?”

“Molly stayed out after curfew and Mrs. Hansen caught her. She warned us that certain offenses would be dealt with more harshly, as she put it.” She looked down the hall. “I’m afraid for Molly. She’s the first one of us to be caught doing something like that.”

 

They stood there in silence straining to hear. From down the hall came the faint sound of slapping, at a measured cadence. It went on for quite some time, at least a full two minutes. From behind the door they could hear muffled crying.

********************************

“It was awful,” sobbed Molly, snuffling. She lay on the bed, head in her hands. She was in PJ’s which were, at the time, pulled down to her thighs. Lisa rubbed cold cream into the flesh of a very red and very swollen bottom.

It was a big house with meandering corridors. The girls lived in rooms on the second floor in a wing apart from the quarters of Mrs. Hansen and Mrs. Reed. That is why James took the chance. He wanted to hear what had happened. So he carefully snuck downstairs from his third floor room and positioned himself outside Molly’s door.

“I had to follow her to her room,” said Molly. “She sat on this flat bench at the foot of her bed and made me stand in front of her while she lectured me all about sin and how I could get into trouble and such. She caught me coming in late and made be confess that it was to see a boy. I don’t know what’s so wrong with that, but she thinks it’s terrible. After that she gave me this horrible scolding. Then—oh it was so awful– she told me to take off everything but my underwear.”

“Oh my gosh!” said Lisa. “Did you?”

“What could I do?” said Molly. “If she kicks me out I’d be disgraced. My mom, my dad—they’d be mortified.”

“So what happened next?” said Fran.

“I stripped down with her and Mrs. Reed watching. That woman gives me the creeps. I was standing there in my bra and panties and that’s all. Then Mrs. Hansen picked up this big hairbrush and waved it at me. She said that there was a sure cure for a delinquent girl who would disobey her rules, and that cure was a sound spanking. And I just froze. A spanking! For me. I’m nineteen years old. I mean the paddlings are bad enough, but at least they do that in the sororities, so we are no worse off than those girls. But a spanking!

“Anyway, she made me get over her lap like I was ten years old. It was so humiliating. Then, worst of all—she slid down my panties to my knees. She said I was going to get it on the bare. And there I was, over her knees, my bare bottom sticking up, ready to get it.”

James could not believe his ears. A spanking! And on her bare bottom. He resisted the urge to stroke himself even though his penis was hard from imagining Molly across Mrs. Hansen’s lap, bottom bare, poised to take her spanking.

“Then did I ever get it! She started to spank with that big hairbrush and believe me, that thing stung like crazy. Each smack felt like a hot iron pressed onto my bottom. She paddled my poor fanny up one side and down the other until I was bawling—well you probably heard. It was like a fire lit on my backside. She spanked from side to side and all over. I thought I was being skinned alive. At one point she stopped and told me to stop wriggling so much, but I was in tears and couldn’t help it. It was the most awful thing– it just went on and on. Finally, she made me count ten slow stingers for her and say I was sorry after each one. I broke down completely. It was the most humiliating thing ever.”

“Gosh Molly, that’s awful,” said Fran. But she could sympathize. She’d got the same treatment as a teenager at home sometimes.

 

James figured he’d stayed long enough. He turned to slip back upstairs to his own room. He turned the corner at the end of the hall—and ran straight into Ida Reed.

Three’s Company (fanfic by CJ West)

You remember this show, don’t you? Chrissy and Janet and Jack? Here’s a different take on it from the always excellent CJ West. More CJ West can be found at cfpub.com

Three’s Company – A Tough
Week For Chrissy and Janet
By C.J. West

The noise was distracting to Reverend Snow and his wife as their dinner was
being placed on the table. A minister from Illinois, he was in Los Angeles with
his wife for a week and had planned, as a surprise, to spend a great deal of the
time with his 23 year old daughter, Chrissy.

Chrissy was the Snow’s only daughter (they had a 28 year old son who was a
practicing attorney in Baltimore) and they were a little concerned when Chrissy
left the University of Illinois after five semesters to move to L.A.. But this
was the 1980’s and, after much discussion, they agreed to let her go.

While Chrissy was over 21 when she expressed the desire to move to the west
coast, she had been brought up under strict supervision and probably would not
have gone if her parents had objected strongly. The fact that they still
contributed almost half of her monthly rent also was a big factor.

Now, almost two years after her move, the Snows were visiting her for the first
time. She had been home twice, once for a week with her L.A. roommate, Janet
Wood.

But the surprise had been delayed a few hours since there had been no answer at
Chrissy’s apartment when the Snows stopped by. So they checked into their hotel
and headed to Booker’s, the bar and restaurant about a block away for dinner.

As Rev. Snow took a sip of his coffee the laughing, yelling and rowdy behavior
from the adjoining room interrupted him. There was the sound of crashing glass
and even louder laughing. Twice he had asked his waiter if he could do something
about it. The waiter explained that one of the young men at the table was the
owner’s son and, basically, he could do just about anything he wanted in the
establishment.

“I can’t believe they don’t do something about that noise,” Rev. Snow said to
his wife, “even if it is the owner’s son. Can’t they see how much it is
disturbing their other customers?”

Finally, after a few more hoots and hollers that included a couple of
obscenities shouted by a male voice, Rev. Snow had enough. Setting his fork down
and lifting the napkin from his lap and placing it on the table, he rose to his
feet. “Let them take care of it,” his wife pleaded with him as he got up.

“How many times do I have to ask them,” Rev. Snow replied. He walked toward the
opening that led to the other room.

The sight that Rev. Snow encountered upon entering the smaller room caused him
to freeze in his tracks. Seated at the table – the table that had been the
source of all the noise – were two young men. And seated in between them,
laughing and drinking, were Chrissy and Janet.

Chrissy’s back was toward her father, though he had no doubt it was her. But
Janet saw him right away. At first she didn’t recognize him. When he kept
staring at the table, however, she looked closer and realized that it was
Chrissy’s father.

Janet’s face became solemn and her mouth dropped open slightly. Chrissy noticed
this change in her friend’s behavior. “What’s wrong, Janet,” she asked with a
laugh, taking a swig of beer.

Janet nodded slightly toward Rev. Snow. Puzzled, Chrissy turned around to see
the stern, angry face of her father. Instantly her faced turned bright red and
her hand flew up to her mouth.

“Daddy,” she said, “what are you doing here? I didn’t know…”

As if he had just come out of a coma, Rev. Snow sprung to life. He interrupted
his daughter in mid-sentence. “Chrissy, I can’t believe what I see and what I’ve
been hearing. We brought you up to behave better than that.”

“But, Daddy,” Chrissy replied. “Janet and I weren’t disturbing anybody. We were
just here having a few drinks with two guys we had met a couple of weeks ago.”

“You sat there with them while they continued to act like that, didn’t you” he
asked. “You didn’t get up and leave. You didn’t prevail upon them to stop.”

Chrissy dropped her eyes, realizing that her father was right. And, by the tone
of his voice, she was afraid she might be in real trouble. Suddenly she felt
like a naughty teenager again.

“We’d all better go to your apartment so we can straighten this out,” he finally
decided. He had gently taken his daughter’s elbow and was helping her to her
feet. “Janet,” he instructed, “You come with us.”

Janet, also blushing and avoiding eye contact with Rev. Snow, also stood up,
causing one of the guys they were sitting with to rise to his feet.

“What the hell is going on,” he said. “Why is everybody leaving just because the
old guy showed up?”

“Shut up, Bob,” Chrissy said. Her father was glaring at the young man. He sat
down and, following her advice, said nothing.

Rev. Snow walked from the smaller room with his beautiful daughter in hand,
Janet shuffling right behind. His wife was pleasantly surprised to see her
daughter but she also noticed the angry expression on her husband’s face.
“Mary,” he said to her, “we’re going up to Chrissy’s apartment. We’ll have to
get something to eat later.” With that he grabbed some money from his pocket and
put it on the table.

Instantly, Mrs. Snow knew that Chrissy was in trouble. So many times when she
was living at home she had seen her husband take this attitude with their
daughter. She hated it when Chrissy was in trouble. But the girl had a knack for
doing something foolish or thoughtless every once in a while. And her husband
was very fair about his treatment of her. Still, if Mrs. Snow’s feeling were
correct, her 23 year old daughter was about to get a good spanking.

Very little was said during the one block walk back to the apartment. When they
climbed one floor of steps to the door, Janet stepped forward with the key and
unlocked it. They all stepped inside.

Whack!!!

No sooner did the door close than Rev. Snow’s hand landed on the right cheek of
his daughter’s bottom. She jumped, turned toward him and reached back to grab
the spot of attack with her hands.

“How can you behave like that in public,” her father said, not expecting an
answer. “We send you out here with out blessing and expect you to conduct
yourself like the young woman we raised. I can’t believe the way you were all
carrying on in that bar. No daughter of mine will ever behave like that in my
presence and not be soundly disciplined.”

Chrissy, already embarrassed by the sound smack she had received, could now feel
her heart pounding in her throat. “Soundly disciplined” was a phrase her father
used only when he was very upset. And it always meant one thing.

Rev. Snow was taking off his jacket and placing it on a table. He walked across
the room to the little desk by the window and pulled the chair away, turning it
toward the middle of the room.

“Russell, please,” his wife begged, realizing what he had intended to do. “Let’s
talk a little more about this.”

“There will be plenty to talk about tomorrow,” he said, “But first I need to
give a couple of reminders on how a young lady behaves.”

The phrase ‘couple of reminders’ did not sink in with Janet who was feeling very
embarrassed for her roommate. Chrissy had told her she was spanked all of her
life when she misbehaved and Janet, who had been across her father’s knee until
her mid-teens, knew that was what was coming.

Having positioned the chair to his liking, Rev. Snow walked toward his daughter.
Though she was petrified about what was to come, Chrissy did not offer much
resistance.

Chrissy Snow, who worked occasionally as a model and actress, was a beautiful
young woman. She stood 5-foot-8 with wavy, blonde hair that fell over her
shoulders. She had an incredible body with large, firm breasts, a slim waist and
full, round buttocks.

Depending on what she wore, it was not unusual for everything to stop when she
entered a room. She was a little self-conscious about her breasts, frequently
wearing loose, flowing tops. But she seemed proud of her round bottom, favoring
tight shorts, slacks and skirts.

This evening she wore tight cut-off jeans, sneakers with no socks, and a large,
white football jersey.

“Daddy, please,” she begged, tears now forming in her eyes as he guided her
toward the chair. “I know I deserve to be punished, but can’t we do it in
private?”

Her father seated himself and pulled his daughter around to his right side. “It
is appropriate for you to be punished together,” he said, reaching for the waist
of his daughter’s jeans.

“Together,” Janet thought to herself. “You don’t think he intends to…. No. He
wouldn’t.”

Meanwhile, Rev. Snow had unbuttoned Chrissy’s jeans and lowered the zipper.
Reaching across his body with his left arm, he took hold of her arm and pulled
her face down in the classic position.

“It may be extra embarrassing for a 23 year old to have her bare bottom
spanked,” he said, lowering her shorts to her knees, “but it is extra
embarrassing for me to see my 23 year old daughter behave like a spoiled
teenager in public.”

He lowered her panties to her knees, baring her beautifully sculptured buttocks
that were twitching in anticipation.

Then the spanking began.

For the first time in almost three years, Chrissy Snow was getting her bare
bottom spanked.

Whack! She squirmed. Whack! She twisted. Whack! She bounced over his knee.

Rev. Snow knew how to warm his daughter’s behind. His hand slapped first one
cheek, then the other. He gave special attention to causing every inch of her
round bottom to burn and become very red.

“Please, Daddy. Ouch! I’m sorry. Owwww! I don’t normally act like that. Ouch! My
bottom’s on fire. Please. Ouch! That’s enough!”

Rev. Snow’s hand continued to fall on Chrissy’s bouncing fanny until it was
uniformly red. He had said nothing once the spanking had begun. Finally, he
turned her loose.

“Pull your pants up and stand over there,” he ordered, pointing toward the
kitchen door. Chrissy, tears rolling down her cheeks, scrambled to her feet and
pulled her panties and shorts over her burning bottom. She quickly moved to the
spot her father had indicated.

While Chrissy was replacing her clothing and rubbing her throbbing behind, her
father was on his feet and headed toward Janet.

“We told you when you came to visit us last year that you’ve become part of the
family,” he said to Janet, “and you’re about to experience what happens to young
women in our family when they act the way you did tonight.”

Rev. Snow had taken Janet by the arm and was marching her toward the chair. She
was mortified. Though she had a great deal of respect for him – even looked at
him like a second father – and she felt badly about the way they’d all behaved
in the bar, Janet couldn’t believe she was about to receive a spanking in front
of an audience.

Janet Wood was almost 27 years old. She was barely 5-foot-2 with black curly
hair that was cut stylishly short. Janet was nicely proportioned with a slim but
nicely rounded figure. She didn’t have the glamorous body of her roommate but
her body got her plenty of attention.

Janet hadn’t been spanked in nearly 12 years, though both her mother and father
had slapped her bottom many times before her 16th birthday. The day after her
birthday they sat down with Janet and told her they would no longer use
spankings as a regular part of her discipline unless she forced them to. She was
relieved and never got so far out of line again that her parents went back to
spanking her.

But now, 12 years later, a man she had met only once for one week was about to
spank her. Strangely enough, she seemed to feel that he had the right.

With all of these feelings running through her mind, Janet felt herself being
pushed toward the floor and across the knees of her roommate’s father. She was
wearing a modest skirt with a colorful floral pattern that reached to mid-calf.
But her modesty was about to go out the window.

Rev. Snow grabbed the hem of Janet’s skirt and pulled it up onto her back,
exposing her white, cotton panties. She moaned as her skirt was raised and
squealed as she felt his hands at her waist. He lowered her panties to her
knees, baring her slim, but cheeky bottom.

“Janet, I’m sorry this is necessary,” he said, “but you obviously need a
reminder on how to behave. And it has been my experience that this is the most
effective reminder.”

Whack!!

“Ouch,” Janet yelped, twisting her bare bottom on his lap,

Rev. Snow applied his right palm to her squirming cheeks with the same force he
had to Chrissy’s bottom. Since Janet’s buttocks were smaller, they reddened more
quickly. And, judging by the way she bounced and twisted on his lap after each
smack, her fanny was very sensitive.

Chrissy, tears still swelling in her eyes, continued to rub her sore bottom as
she watched Janet get her bare bottom spanked over her father’s knees. She
remembered one other time, when Chrissy was 17, that her father had spanked one
of her friends.

It was Saturday night. chrissy and one of her best friends, Shelley, had gone to
a party and returned home before her father’s 12 midnight curfew. But the party
was still going on and, at Shelley’s urging, the two snuck out again and
returned to the party.

Well, Rev. Snow caught them sneaking back in at 1:45 and wasted no time. He
snatched Chrissy over his knee, quickly bared her bottom and spanked her with
his hand until her behind glowed red. She was sobbing both from the burning in
her seat and the embarrassment of a public spanking.

After releasing his daughter, Rev. Snow grabbed Shelley and pulled her across
his lap. She resisted and screamed in protest but he proceeded. After raising
her skirt, he reached for her panties. Chrissy stopped her sobbing for a few
seconds as her father uncovered her friend’s bottom.

Shelley squirmed and kicked, telling Rev. Snow he had no right to treat her like
this. But, when his hand started spanking Shelley’s bare bottom, she forgot
about demands and started begging and pleading.

Before he finished, Rev. Snow had turned Shelley’s rounded cheeks a bright red
and brought waves of tears to her eyes. To add to her humiliation, Chrissy’s
brother, then 22 and home from college, had been awakened by the noise and stood
in the doorway of his room, watching the curvy teenage bottom bounce and jiggle
under the attack.

Shelley brought forth a new stream of tears when she first noticed him watching.

All this flashed through Chrissy’s mind as she watched her 27 year old roommate
kick and cry in the final stages of her spanking. Her cute little bottom was
bright red and her sobs and pleas were very sincere.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

Rev. Snow’s hand fell four more times on Janet’s squirming bare bottom. She
squealed and yelled with each smack.

“Get up, Janet,” he finally said, with very little emotion.

Janet fell to her knees and frantically pushed her skirt down over her blazing
behind. She stood up, crouched down and pulled her panties up to her waist.

“Girls, I have made a decision,” Rev. Snow announced. “Mrs. Snow and I will be
here for a week and we are going to use that week to restore discipline to your
lives. I’m sure your bottoms are very sore right now and you are very
embarrassed, but you need more than one lesson to correct your bad habits.

“Effective immediately, you are both grounded. You will spend every moment of
the next week in this apartment and in your pajamas, except when you go to work.
I will come by on a regular basis to make sure you are completing your chores
and to give you some assignments that will help straighten out your thinking.

“You will receive at least two more spankings across my knees as part of this
punishment. And, if you do not fulfill your other chores, you may receive even
more. Is that clear?”

“Daddy, I…”, Chrissy started to say.

“This is not up for discussion,” he interrupted. “I’ve been paying half of the
rent for this apartment for more than two years. That, plus the fact that I’m
you father, gives me the right to set down any rules I think are necessary.

“Now, do you understand what the next week will be like?”

Chrissy dropped her eyes for a second. “Yes, Daddy,” she said, the bright red
blush returning to her face.

“Janet?” he asked, turning toward his daughter’s roommate.

With her eyes still filled with tears and her bottom on fire, Janet wasn’t about
to do anything to upset Chrissy’s dad. “Yes, sir,” she said, barely loud enough
to be heard.

“Very well,” Rev. Snow said, walking to the table to get his jacket. “I’ll be
here tomorrow morning at 11. You are to have cleaned the kitchen thoroughly
before I arrive. Mary, let’s go get some dinner.”

Mrs. Snow, somewhat taken aback from watching her husband spank two mature young
adults on their bare bottoms, walked toward the door with her husband. As they
shut the door behind them, Chrissy and Janet hugged each other and started
crying all over again.

“Janet, I’m so sorry,” Chrissy said.

“You got it just as hard as I did,” Janet said, tears continuing to flow. “I
just can’t believe we’re going to get it again….TWICE!”

“My father can be tough,” Chrissy said. “We’ll have to make sure we don’t do
anything else to upset him or he’ll make it even worse.”

“But there is one good thing,” Chrissy added.

“What?” Janet shot back.

“At least Jack isn’t here.”

Jack Tripper was their roommate. He slept in one bedroom while the two girls
shared the other. But Jack, a budding chef, was away for a week attending a
cooking seminar in San Diego.

“Surely he wouldn’t do this with Jack here,” Janet said.

“Not only would he spank us with Jack here,” Chrissy said, “He’d spank us right
in front of him. I’ve had my bare bottom smacked in front of my brother, aunts,
uncles, cousins, girlfriends and once in front of a male teacher.”

“Oh, Chrissy, this is terrible,” Janet said as the two headed for the bedroom.

Both girls examined their bare bottoms as they got ready for bed and were amazed
at their redness. They squirmed around in bed to find a comfortable position and
then went off to sleep, resting before the beginning of a very difficult week.

It was 11:05 the next morning when Rev. Snow rang the bell. Chrissy and Janet
had been up since eight and had the kitchen, which was already pretty clean, in
spotless condition.

Chrissy ran from the kitchen and opened the front door. “Hi, Daddy,” she said,
giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Good morning, Chrissy,” he said, again showing little emotion. “Good morning,
Janet.”

Janet had emerged from the kitchen. She nodded silently to Rev. Snow, the
embarrassment of her bare bottom spanking coming back to her as she saw him
again.

“Ladies, Mrs. Snow and I are going to spend the rest of the day sightseeing,” he
explained. “I will be back here tomorrow morning at 10. When I get here you will
have thoroughly cleaned your bedroom. And you will each compose a 1,000 word
essay describing how badly you behaved last night, and how soundly you were
punished for it. If it is not well done you will be spanked again tomorrow
morning.”

The two girls blushed thinking about how childishly they were being treated.

“Now,” Rev. Snow said, heading for the kitchen, “let me see if your kitchen is
as clean as it should be or if you’re each in for a session across my knee this
morning.”

Both girls could feel their hearts pounding as Rev. Snow examined the kitchen.

“It’s fine,” he said, heading toward the front door. “Keep up the good work.
I’ll see you both tomorrow morning.”

And he was gone.

The girls worked all day on their essays, struggling with the embarrassment of
putting on paper a description of their spankings. But they finished the essays
and cleaned up their bedroom before heading for be that night.

The next morning Rev. Snow was late. He didn’t arrive until 10:45. He checked
the bedroom immediately upon entering and pronounced it satisfactory.

“Do you have your essays finished?” he asked. The girls each handed him their
papers.
“I’ll read these tonight,” he said. “Tomorrow you will receive a second spanking
but it won’t be until about 4 in the afternoon. I’ll see you then.”

The girls couldn’t believe how quickly he had left. He was in the apartment
maybe 90 seconds, dropped a bomb like ‘you’ll bet a spanking tomorrow’ and left.

As he undoubtedly anticipated, Chrissy and Janet spent most of the next 29 hours
thinking about what was ahead for them. Both felt they had long become too big
to spank. Now they were forced to face the fact that there was another
over-the-knee session coming up the next day.

For most of the next 29 hours it seemed like the torture of waiting for 4
o’clock to arrive would never end. Then, when 4 o’clock did arrive, it seemed
too soon.

The doorbell rang at 4:11. Chrissy looked at Janet. They shared a knowing
glance, the type of exchange that takes place between two people who know they
are about to experience something together over which they have no control.

Chrissy walked to the front door and let her father in. Without a word, he
immediately removed his jacket and set it on the sofa. Janet was sitting there
and she rose. He pulled the chair from the desk and placed it once again in the
middle of the room.

Both girls were blushing now.

“Remove your robes,” he ordered, seating himself in the chair. Both girls wore
thing, cotton pajamas underneath.

“Chrissy, get over here,” he said, “and lower your pajamas.”

His 23 year old daughter, feeling every bit like she did when she was 12, walked
to her father’s side and lowered her pajama pants to her ankles.

He pulled her quickly across his lap, slip her panties down to her knees and
began to spank her bare bottom. Chrissy immediately began to wiggle, trying in
vain, as she had all of her life, to get her exposed buttocks out from under his
punishing hand.

Once again her father did not scold. His complete concentration was on spanking
the bouncing behind in front of him as thoroughly as possible.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

His palm slapped the firm, reddening flesh. Each spank brought a squeal or yelp
from Chrissy.

Janet watched all this, unable to believe the twitching in her bottom. It was as
though her rear end had a mind of its own, knew what was about to happen to it
and was already protesting.

This time, unlike the previous experience, Janet knew she was next.

Rev. Snow’s hand continued to fall on Chrissy’s squirming bare bottom and, after
the seventieth or seventy-first spank, she grabbed the leg of the chair and just
squeezed. Her bottom had never felt hotter.

The spanking continued until her butt had absorbed almost ninety smacks. “Get
over in that corner, young lady,” her father ordered. Chrissy, with tears
flowing, hopped to her feet and, holding her panties and pajama pants with her
left hand, hobbled to the corner. Once there, she let her clothes fall. Reaching
behind her, she lifted her pajama top onto her back and twisted it so it would
stay. She knew being in the corner meant displaying her bare red bottom.

“Let’s go, Janet,” Rev. Snow said to the older girl. Janet slowly moved to his
side.

“Get them down,” he said with some impatience.

Janet lowered her pajama pants to her knees.

Rev. Snow yanked her across his lap, grabbed the waistband of her panties with
his right hand and, after pulling them down to her knees, raised the hand and
began the spanking.

Smack! “Ouch, Rev. Snow!” Smack! “Please, it hurts so much!” Smack! “Oh,
please!”

This time Janet, not taken by surprise as much, was reacting the way she had
reacted when she was 15 years old and across the lap of her parents. She kicked,
wiggled, yelped, begged and pleaded as her 27 year old bare bottom received slap
after slap from his powerful palm.

Rev. Snow had applied nearly 40 spanks on Janet’s bare bottom when suddenly
there was a quick knock on the front door and it opened.

There stood the Ropers, Stanley and Helen, who owned the apartment building.

“What’s wrong in here?” Helen Roper yelled as the door opened. “We heard
screaming.”

They both froze in their tracks. They saw Janet across the knees of a strange
man with her pajamas down and her cute little bare bottom a deep pink. Then they
noticed Chrissy standing in the corner with her pants down and her full, round
bare bottom a brilliant red.

Stanley was struck speechless by all of the feminine charms on display, but
Helen wanted an explanation.

“What is going on,” she said in a tone demanding an answer.

Rev. Snow had stopped spanking Janet, though he still held her over his lap.
Chrissy answered.

“Please, Mrs. Roper,” she said. “This is my father and he’s punishing us. Please
go. It’s so embarrassing.”

Mrs. Roper backed toward the open door. “I’m sorry, Rev. Snow,” she said. Though
she hadn’t met Chrissy’s father, she knew he was a minister. She grabbed her
husband’s arm and dragged him with her. His eyes were darting back and forth
from Janet’s adorable little rump to Chrissy’s beautiful round bottom.

“Come on, Stanley,” his wife said.

Just before the door closed, Rev. Snow resumed spanking Janet and Stanley saw a
stinging smack land on her bare right cheek, causing it to jiggle.

A few minutes later, Janet’s spanking ended. Her bottom was now bright red and
she was sobbing from the burning sensation.

“In the corner,” he said. And Janet stood in the opposite corner of the living
room, her bare bottom on display.

“I’m sorry your landlords had to see that,” Rev. Snow told the girls, “but as
long as they know I’ll have a talk with them before I leave. Maybe they can keep
an eye on your behavior when I’m not here and let me know if you earn any more
discipline.”

Both girls cringed.

Ladies,” he continued, “my wife and I are going to San Francisco for the next
three days. I will be back on Saturday night and will be here Sunday at noon to
give you the final spanking of the week. You are to have the living room
spotless when I get here. And do not leave this apartment, except to go to
work.”

He headed toward the kitchen. “I’m going to get something to drink,” he said.
“You stand in the corner until I tell you to move.”

The two girls stood in their living room bare-bottomed, feeling every bit like
naughty little girls, for almost five more minutes until Rev. Snow returned.

He said a quick goodbye and left. Slowly the girls pulled up their pajamas and
left their respective corners.

“How will we ever face the Ropers again,” Janet said, a few new tears dripping
down her face. “This is so awful.”

“It’s almost over,” Chrissy said, rubbing her butt as she walked toward the
bathroom. Within minutes the two young women had cold, wet towels soothing their
burning behinds.

The next three days were tense. Though they did manage to avoid the Ropers, the
girls couldn’t stop thinking about their first two humiliating spankings and the
one that was still ahead.

Once again, when the time arrived it seemed to come too quickly.

Rev. Snow arrived at noon on Sunday. This time he didn’t wait for the girls to
open the door. He knocked and entered, finding both of them sitting on the sofa.

“OK, girls,” he said, “take off your robes and your pajama pants.”

With hesitation, they both stood, placed their robes on the sofa and their
pajama pants on top.

Rev. Snow took Chrissy by the arm and marched her to the corner. When she was in
position he lowered her panties and slapped her bare bottom about a dozen times.
She squirmed, jumped and shifted from foot to foot as he spanked her.

Then he turned, took Janet by the arm and marched her to the other corner. Down
came her panties and her bottom jiggled as he gave her a dozen slaps.

“You are young women,” he said, addressing the two girls as they stood with
their noses in the corner, “but you were acting like wild, undisciplined brats
the other night. Right now, and for most of the last week, you have probably
felt like naughty little girls. That was my purpose.

“I don’t object to you having fun. I understand things are changing with the
younger generation. But there is never a reason to conduct yourself in public in
a way that disturbs others. I love you both, but I expect you to act in a manner
that will make me proud of you. Is that understood?”

Both girls replied with a sharp, “Yes, sir,” hoping that would mark the end of
their punishment. But it didn’t.

“Just to make sure you remember,” he said, “I’ll leave you with another
reminder.”

He led Chrissy to the sofa, bent her across his lap and began to spank her bare
bottom once again with his hand. She started to kick and yell immediately.

“Owwww! Daddy! Please! We’ve been punished enough! Ouch!”

His hand fell on her squirming behind about 40 or 50 times. Then he pulled her
to her feet and marched her back to the corner.

Janet was next. She went over his knee on the sofa and yelled from the very
first smack, though she muffled them a little by burying her face in the
pillows. She didn’t want to put on another show for the Ropers.

Rev. Snow spanked Janet’s bare bottom until it was universally pink and then
guided her back to the corner. His spanking duties completed, he went to the
phone and called his wife. They were going to have lunch at the hotel and catch
an evening flight home.

“You can call them tonight,” he said into the phone, “or even come see them. But
I want them to stay in the corner right now for a few more minutes.”

He ended the phone conversation and turned toward the girls.

“I’m going back to the hotel now,” he said. “We may come back to see you before
we leave.”

He opened the door, the two girls still facing their respective corners. As Rev.
Snow turned to leave, however, he bumped into Jack Tripper.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said.

“You must be Jack, he said, shaking his hand. “I’m Chrissy’s father.”

“Oh, Reverend Snow,” Jack said, returning the firm handshake. “How are you?”

The girls heard Jack’s voice and their hearts stopped. But the spankings had so
conditioned them to obey that they were afraid to move.

Eventually, Jack turned toward the living room. His eyes tried to move in two
directions at once. There was Chrissy’s round, shapely bare bottom on display to
his left and Janet’s slim, firm behind, also naked, to his right. Both were very
pink.

“See you later, Jack,” Rev. Snow said as he left, closing the door behind him.

When they heard the door close, both Chrissy and Janet couldn’t pull their pants
up fast enough.

“Looks like I picked the wrong week to go away,” said Jack with a smile.

“Jack,” said Chrissy, “If you ever tell a soul about this we’ll kill you in your
sleep.”

“Forget everything you saw,” Janet ordered as they both backed jack toward his
bedroom door.

He shook his head in agreement. “OK,” he said, but as he entered his bedroom his
expression said otherwise. That was a sight Jack Tripper would never forget.

And both Chrissy Snow and Janet Wood, two very attractive young women in their
twenties, would never forget what they had learned the hard way – that immature
behavior can lead to immature and very embarrassing discipline.

There was a lot of blushing that night when everyone got together for a farewell
meal before Rev. Snow and his wife headed home.

< Three’s Company – a Tough Week for Chrissy and Janet > Copywrite CF
Publications 1999

Bobbi Jo –The Tax Advisor

Tax time is almost upon us. So here is a tax expert with an unusual method of insuring compliance with her advice. It works especially well with arrogant scions of rich families who have run the family business into the ground. I guess it would have paid to peruse the service contract a bit more carefully.

The author is the always excellent C. Flint who wrote for a few boards and publications some time ago, most notably CF Publications, where you can still find some of his work.

Bobbi Jo
By C. Flint

The sales clerk smiled at Bobby Jo McAllister as she handed her the hairbrush
and watched Bobby Jo turn it in hands, admiring the wood and the natural
bristles.

“This is one of the finest brushes that we carry — that anyone carries,” the
sales clerk said. One look at Bobby Jo convinced her that no sales pitch was
necessary.

“May I try it out?” Bobby Jo asked.

The sales clerk looked dubious. “We usually don’t let people . . . . . It’s a
sanitary thing.”

Bobby Jo smiled grimly and pointed to Barry. “It’s not for me,” she said, “It’s
for him. And it’s not for his hair. It’s for his bottom.

The sales clerk looked at Bobby Jo trying to determine if she had been joking.
Barry followed Bobby Jo’s beckoning finger and, stood by her side.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m ready.”

When she saw the red blush spreading over his face the sales clerk realized that
Bobby Jo had not been making a joke. He mouth gaped open in surprise and wonder.
She had always wondered how many of the hairbrushes that she sold were used on
bare bottoms. Now she was about to witness the impact of the back of one of her
hairbrushes on a man’s backside.

She giggled.

***

“Thank you, Sarah,” Barry Bernard told his secretary as she ushered the woman
into his office. He cast a lingering glance at his secretary’s shapely legs and
wiggling backside, wishing for a moment that his secretary would accept his
advances, then turned his attention to his visitor.

Barry stared in surprise at her. She was about his age but seemed older. Her
dark hair was drawn into tight bun on the back of her head and there was no
make-up on her face. She wore a dark tailored suit. The jacket and starched
blouse hid whatever bust she had and the tight sheath of the skirt masked her
legs. Barry did not move until she stuck out her hand.

“Mr. Bernard,” she said, “I’m Bobby McAllister. You contacted me about some tax
problems you’re having?” There was a pronounced southern drawl to her speech.

Barry looked at her again. “I’m sorry for my surprise,” he said, “I was
expecting . . . .”

“A man.” she finished for him. “I’m Roberta Josephine McAllister. My friends
call me Bobby Jo. And I wish to assure you that I am the best at what I do. You
won’t find a better tax lawyer anywhere.”

Barry shook her hand and then sank back into his desk chair. “I’m sure that you
are,” he said. “It’s just that it’s going to take a miracle to get the IRS off
my back. They want about a quarter mill and they want it now. I just don’t have
that kind of cash; it’s our slow season.”

Bobby Jo looked at him. “I have looked over your books, Sir.” Her words were
precise and her drawl pronounced. “I cannot promise you anything, but I do
believe that I sense an opening.”

Barry felt like wiping the sweat from his forehead. “If you get me out of this,
I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” she shot back. There was an arch to her eyebrows. “Do you really
mean ‘anything?'”

Barry stopped to look at her again. The frankly sexual connotation of her words
sounded as out of place coming from her colorless lips as a loud sports jacket
at a black tie dinner. Barry thought of himself as a playboy. If giving Bobby Jo
his work resulted in another notch on his gun, he would be happy. Maybe, he
thought, there’s a body hidden under that armor. “What did you have in mind?” he
asked.

Bobby Jo cleared her throat. “In addition to my work I occasionally manage the
private affairs of some of my clients. I teach them better habits, both in
business and in life. I have an opening right now. I think you might benefit
from my services.”

Barry agreed quickly. “If you get the IRS out my hair, you have it. You can have
anything you want.”

Bobby Jo pulled a contract from her attaché case. “Here is my standard contract
for such services. I want you to read it thoroughly for I expect you to sign it
on the day the tax matter is resolved.”

Barry dropped the papers on his desk. “I said I’ll sign it,” he told her.

Bobby Jo frowned at him. “You are to read the contract first, Sir. It is exactly
that kind of poor business practice that has landed you in a situation with the
tax people. You inherited a fine firm from your father. You have run it poorly;
it is time that you ran it correctly. Now read the contract, Sir, and ask me any
questions you have.”

Barry next saw Bobby Jo two weeks later when, towards the end of the business
day Sarah Madison once more ushered her into his office. She was dressed the
same as she had been on her prior visit. As far a Barry could tell, it was the
same tailored suit and the same starched white blouse. Bobby Jo smiled as she
put an envelop on his desk.

“A letter from the IRS, Sir.” she told him. “They apologize for the delay in
approving your refund for the overpayment you made. You will find a check
attached to that letter. And, Mr. Bernard, should you decide to retain your
current accountant, I suggest that you ask him to learn the proper methods for
deducting computer equipment.”

Barry stared at her. “You did it,” he said. “You really did it. You’re this
firm’s tax lawyer from now on.” he paused for a second. “And the contract,” he
continued. “The contract for personal management . . . .”

“Have you read it, Sir?” was Bobby Jo’s answer. “Do you understand the terms?”

“Yap,” Barry said. He was lying; he had only glanced over the long legal
document.

“Then you understand, Sir, that you are promising to obey my every order for a
period of six months . . . . ”

“Yup.” he interrupted and reached for a pen to scrawl his signature on the
contract.

Bobby Jo went on as though he had not spoken. “. . . . and that if your fail to
do so you will be punished as I see fit? And that those punishments might be
quite harsh?”

Barry was about to agree when the meaning of her words became clear. “Punished?”
he asked. “How?”

Bobby Jo smiled at him. “I have some rather old fashioned ideas, Sir — a
standard of traditional maternal discipline, corporal in nature. I also have
adopted some modern techniques. I find them quite effective.”

Barry stared at her. “You mean that you . . . .” his words trailed off into
silence.

“I mean, Sir, that I will take you for a trip to the woodshed whenever I find
you disobedient. Should you wish for me to more specific, Sir, once in the
woodshed I shall take your pants down just as though you were a bad little boy
and tan your bare hide until you are crying like a baby. Now do you understand
what I am saying?”

Barry rubbed his chin. He really didn’t believe that this slender woman could
really control him if he wanted to break loose. He decided, as well, that the
kinky games she suggested might be fun. He finished putting his signature on the
contract. “O.K. Here it is.” He said as he handed it to her. “When do we start?”

Bobby Jo carefully folded the contract and placed it in her attach_ case. Slowly
she rose from her chair and turned the small knob that locked the door to
Barry’s office. She rattled the door to make sure that it was locked. “We shall
start right now,” she told him. “Right here. You will start with a lesson in
manners, Barry. You will hereafter address me as ‘ma’am.'”

Barry was taken aback by the sudden reversal of roles. Seconds before Bobby Jo
had been calling him “Sir” and acting like the hired help she was. Now he was
“Barry” and Bobby Jo was demanding the title of respect. Conscious of how their
roles had changed and not sure that she could maintain her pose, Barry smiled at
her and played along with her game.

“Yes, ma’am.” he said.

Bobby Jo smiled back at him. “Very good,” she said. “You seem to be a quick
learner. Now we will progress to the next step. Take off your pants and your
underwear.”

Barry just stared at her.

“Take off your pants and your underwear,” she repeated. “Do it now.”

“I can’t.” he said. “Not here in the office.”

Bobby Jo stared at him. “You are defying me, young man. If you don’t take those
pants down immediately, I will come over there and do it for you.”

Barry sneered at her. “You and who else?” he spat.

“I shall do so alone,” she told him. Her voice was steady and level. “You will
not lift a hand to stop me. I need only tear my dress and raise a fuss. Who do
you think will be believed? Now shall you take off your pants or shall come over
there and do it?” Her words hit Barry like a slap in the face.

Barry slowly rose to his feet, his hands fumbling at his belt. He turned his
back to Bobby Jo and let his trousers fall to his feet. He turned around to face
her.

“Now the underpants,” she told him.

Reluctantly he pushed his jockey shorts down to his feet and stepped out of
them. Even though the tails of his shirt covered both his backside and his
manhood, Barry was embarrassed to stand like this in front of Bobby Jo.

“Come here,” she said. As Barry silently complied she took out several safety
pins and began to work on his shirt-tails. “Good,” she remarked as the tails
were pinned in position leaving Barry naked from his waist to his heels. “But
you are a very forgetful young man. I told you how I am to be addressed and you
have consistently failed to do so. And you defied me by failing to obey my
orders. I think, young man, that you have earned the first taste of my
discipline.” Bobby Jo reached into her attaché case and handed a black mass of
fabric to Barry. “You may put this on,” she said. “It is what you will be
wearing under your clothes until further notice.”

“What the hell . . . . .” Barry yelled.

Bobby Jo took his reaction in stride. “Young man, the next time you use foul
language in my presence, I will wash your mouth out with soap. Now this is a
good tight girdle. You will wear a woman’s girdle until I allow you other
underclothes. In a month or two, if you are a good boy, we will go shopping for
some nice, frilly panties to cover you. In the meantime you shall wear this.”

“But . . . . but” Barry stuttered, “it’s . . . it’s for a woman.”

“And now,” Bobby Jo told him, “it’s for you. It will teach you a valuable
lesson. It is a model with long legs and a high waist. Your days of playing
macho man in front of a urinal in the executive washroom are over, young man.
The only way that you will urinate is to wiggle your girdle down and sit on a
commode. You will wear this until your behavior improves. If it does not your
situation will just get worse.”

“Worse,” Barry said, his voice was loud, almost a yell. “How could it get worse?
I won’t do it.”

“It could get much worse,” Bobby Jo told him. “but you should not worry about
that now. The faster you learn to obey my orders, the less likely it will be
that you need to find out. Now are you going to abide by the contract you signed
and put this on?”

“You can take your contract and tear it up,” Barry spat out. “Consider it
breached.” He was so mad that he barely noticed that he was nude in front of
Bobby Jo.

“I certainly will do so if that is what you want.” Bobby Jo told him. “As you
will have noted there is a liquidated damage clause in the contract calling for
one million dollars should one party breach the contract. It is, I assure you,
entirely legal and enforceable. And you will note that the damages are doubled
if you breach the contract during your first week under my discipline. That, I
am told, is enforceable as well.” Bobby Jo held out the girdle to Barry. “Now
shall you put these on or shall we consider the contract breached?”

Barry took the girdle reluctantly from her hand and held it up in front of him.
It was black and lacy with designs in black satin on its surface; garters for
old-fashioned stocking hung down from it. He dropped it on the floor, sticking
his feet into the leg holes. Slowly he squeezed into the garment. It was so
tight that he could move it up his legs only a fraction of an inch at a time and
had to suck in his stomach to get the high, tight waistband in position. The
girdle squeezed against his abdomen and buttocks compressing them, into a hard
mass. The smooth crotch was cut for a woman. It compressed his testicles into
his body and the lycra front panel smashed his manhood against his belly. Barry
tried to take a step. His genitals ached from the movement of his legs.

“How could this get worse?” he moaned.

Bobby Jo gave a laugh. “You will get used to it,” she told him. “and it can get
much worse. Have you any idea how it would feel with a handful of sand placed
inside . . . . or if you were wearing a butt plug? Now that you are properly
attired, it is time to start your discipline.”

“But if I’m on a date . . .” Barry started.

Bobby Jo laughed. “What makes you think, young man, that you will be going out
on dates where a young lady would expect to see your underwear . . . . . unless,
of course, she was about to take you on a trip to the woodshed? I will control
such matters during the duration of our contract and you can be assured that any
young woman you escort will be instructed in the proper methods for correcting
any misbehavior. Just as I am about to do now.”

“What?” Barry cried out.

“You will not learn, young man,” she said. “You just will not learn. I have told
you more than once to address me as ‘ma’am.’ You have not. You will be spanked
for that. You have defied me by refusing to obey my orders. You will be spanked
for that as well. Now stand up and pull your girdle to your knees. Any spanking
I give you shall be on your bare bottom.”

“But you just had me put it on . . .” Barry started to speak.

“That was so that you could experience the indignity of taking it down for a
spanking,” Bobby Jo informed him. “Now stand up and pull your girdle down. And
if you forget to address me correctly one more time, I shall deal with you again
when I take you home tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barry said carefully. “But why are you taking me home tonight?”

The woman laughed. “Because I intend to inspect the place where you live. You
will also be punished if it does not meet my standards. Now let me see you pull
your girdle down to your knees.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barry said again. Barry was not sure the repetition was necessary
but as he saw Bobby Jo pick up a metal ruler from his desk, he decided to be on
the safe side.

The girdle came down as slowly as it had gone up. Barry pushed and pulled but
could only move it a fraction of an inch at a time. Finally he worked the tight
elastic garment down to his knees as he had been instructed. The stiff elastic
wrapped around the lower part of his thighs and the upper part of his calves
compressing his knees together. Barry breathed a sigh of relief as he worked the
rigid material past his genitals freeing them from the strict confinement of the
girdle. Bobby Jo gave Barry no chance to savor this release.

“Now over to your desk,” Bobby Jo told him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he told her. Barry was beginning to answer automatically.

“Very good,” Bobby Jo told him. “Perhaps you will be a faster learner than most
of my young men.”

With the unyielding roll of material around his knees Barry could barely walk.
His feet could move only inches at a time. It felt like an eternity before he
was able to cross the ten feet to his desk. He stood there and looked back at
Bobby Jo.

“Now you shall bend over your desk, young man,” Bobby Jo ordered.

As Barry answered “Yes, ma’am,” Bobby Jo nodded her head and, as if that was a
signal, bent at his waist and laid his body on his desk. His legs were long
enough to put his feet flat on the floor with his knees slightly flexed; his
fingers wrapped around the edge of the desk.

Bobby Jo tapped him lightly with the ruler. “Keep those legs straight, young
man.”

“Why?” Barry asked.

“I do not understand,” Bobby Jo told him in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “why
you young men consider an order an invitation to a debate. I asked you to
straighten your legs and stick your posterior out for a good spanking. I expect
you to say ‘Yes ma’am’ and do as you are told. I do not expect to discuss the
matter further. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barry told her. As he flexed his legs against the floor, he could
feel his backside rise off the desk presenting Bobby Jo with a tempting target.

“Now before I proceed to punish you,” Bobby Jo said, “I think we should come to
another understanding. I will instruct you further in how to behave during a
trip to the woodshed a bit later. Just now I want to warn you that the sounds of
a good bottom warming are quite distinctive. There is nothing that duplicates
the sound of a bottom being spanked. I want you to remember that there is a
lovely young lady sitting right outside your door.”

“Oh God,” Barry interjected. “You mean Sarah will hear . . .”

Bobby Jo spoke before Barry had a chance to finish. “You will call that lady Ms.
Madison in the future. While you are under my instruction, you will accord all
women that bit of respect. I am sure that Ms. Madison will be quite suspicious
about the sounds that will emanate from here when I use this ruler on your bare
bottom. I am equally sure that if you stifle any caterwauling you feel inclined
to do, that her suspicions will be allayed. I do not think she is posed outside
your door with her ear pressed against the keyhole. Your silence should avoid
any embarrassing questions.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Barry agreed. “I’ll keep quiet. I will.”

“The, young man,” it is time for your bottom to receive the attention of this
ruler. As you will be spanked again later, this will be a mild punishment for
your failure to address me correctly.”

Bobby Jo stood beside Barry and raised the metal ruler from his desk high over
his backside. There was a swish and then a meaty crack of thunder echoed around
the room. As he suppressed his natural desire to cry out, Barry thought that the
noise could be heard in the farthest reaches of his office. He was so upset at
the thought that he barely noticed the stinging in his bottom.

Bobby Jo made sure that the ruler brought him back to reality. It smacked again
against his backside just below where the first blow hand landed. “Ughn,” Barry
grunted and rose high on his tiptoes.

Bobby Jo didn’t even seem to notice. She stood calmly beside him and every time
he managed to put his feet flat on the floor, she smacked his bottom again with
the ruler. before long Barry’s entire bottom was pink and he was dancing on his
toes at every smack of the ruler. He did, however, manage to control the howls
that he would naturally have made. The frustration of holding back had a another
effect on Barry; Bobby Jo could see tears glisten on his cheeks.

Bobby Jo did not want to prolong the spanking. She intended to spank Barry long
and hard and often. She had at least two more spankings planned for that day.
Bobby Jo stopped spanking him as suddenly as she started. She watched as Barry’s
back rippled in anticipation; he did not know that she was finished for now.

“The proper way to treat a little boy after a spanking,” she said to him, “is to
place him in the corner with his spanked bottom on display for all who care to
see.” Bobby Jo pointed across the room to the corner most distant from his desk.
“I have decided that corner over there shall be yours. Go to it at once.”

“Yes ma’am.” Barry grunted. The words came out as a strained whisper as his
effort to control his voice was obvious. Barry started to walk to his corner.
The girdle still fettered his legs and he could barely shuffle across the broad
open space of the carpet in front of his desk.

“I declare,” Bobby Jo said, as she watched his slow progress. “You are a slow
poke. I wonder if we should put you in high heels as well.”

“No ma’am. Please ma’am,” Barry almost shouted at the thought of this new
indignity. “I’ll move faster, ma’am.”

Bobby Jo smiled as Barry shuffled his feet much more quickly and, almost like a
cartoon character banged into his corner.

“Now one rule when you are standing in the corner, is that you are not to talk
and you are not to rub your bottom. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now what time does your staff leave the office?”

“At five, ma’am.”

“All of them.”

Barry thought for a moment. “All except Sarah . . . . Ms. Madison. She does not
leave until I tell her to.”

“Very good,” Bobby Jo told him. It is not twenty minutes to 5:00. I shall spank
you again at 5:30 when all of your staff will be gone. I will also inform Ms.
Madison that she can leave. Now until your spanking you will remain in that
corner. And please do not try to rub your bottom. I shall be very angry if you
do.”

Barry cringed as the thought of another spanking. His buttocks still stung from
the ruler and Bobby Jo had intimated that he had just received a mild spanking.
Barry wanted to rub his buttocks, hoping that the soft touch of his hands would
reduce the sting. He tried to focus on a picture just above his head as the
tingling in his backside began to fade but Barry could not forget the
humiliation of being bent over his desk like a schoolboy being paddled by a
strict teacher. He could not see a clock and his term in the corner seemed to go
on and on and on. He thought it must be about 5:00 when he heard Bobby Jo open
the door to his office. Even though he knew he could not be seen, he pressed his
shoulders against the walls, trying to hide himself in the dark wood of the
paneling.

“Ms. Madison,” he heard Bobby Jo say in her sweet southern drawl, “you may go
now. Mr. Bernard and I have some business yet to complete. And I should inform
you that I will be handling the accounts here in the future. We shall discuss
some new duties for you in the near future.”

Then Barry went back to waiting in a silence that seemed to drag on forever. He
squirmed from foot to foot. As much as Barry hated standing in the corner, he
anticipated with trepidation what would happen when he was summoned by Bobby Jo.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she called to him.

“You may pull your girdle up, young man, and come over here. You are about to
get your first real tanning.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Barry responded automatically. It was getting easier to use the
phrase that epitomized his submission to Bobby Jo each time he used it. He
wondered how it would feel after six months of total obedience to her commands.
He vowed that he would fight it as hard as he could. “Why?” he continued, “you
told me that you . . . .”

“Silence,” was the sharp reply. “If I hear another word I will have to consider
methods to make you understand I mean what I say. I want you to experience the
shame of having to wiggle your undergarments to your knees for a tanning. I want
you to feel disgraced and dishonored like a naughty little boy each time I give
you a thrashing. Now do as you have been told.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Barry replied. This time he added nothing to his reply. Instead he
grasped the top of the girdle and began to tug it up. The stiff elastic scraped
over his bottom reawakening the stinging that had faded while he stood in the
corner. When the firm band of lycra was tight around his waist and the
reinforced panel on front was pressing against his tummy, Barry turned around to
see Bobby Jo sitting in his chair at his desk.

“Come here,” she ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,” came Barry’s reply. He noticed that his reply was so automatic
that it was out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying.

Barry took a step in her direction. A painful step. The crotch of the girdle was
stiff and unyielding and not designed for male anatomy. Barry stopped with a
pained look on his face.

“You will have to learn, young man, that you must arrange your . . . . .
equipment properly when you don your girdle.” Bobby Jo told him. Barry noticed
that her southern drawl became more pronounced whenever she taunted him. “Now
move along. We have a lot to do tonight besides giving you a good trip to the
woodshed.”

Barry closed his eyes and minced over to Bobby Jo wincing every time he took a
step.

“Well, you finally here,” she said. “Let us continue by watching you wiggle that
corset down to your knees again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Barry told her and began the difficult task of lowering the
garment for his spanking. As he finished the task he turned around preparing to
bend over his desk again.

“And just where are you going?” Bobby Jo asked.

“Over the desk, ma’am,” Barry told her. “I thought. . . . ”

“It is not your job to think, young man.” Bobby Jo announced. “That is my job.
When I spank a young man it is over my lap. That is where you place a child for
a spanking and it is where you will be placed. Now place yourself over my lap. .
. . .and do be careful.”

Barry thought for a moment after he gave the required response of “Yes, ma’am.”
He looked down at the lap formed by Bobby Jo’s slender legs. He was not sure
that it would hold his bulk and lowered himself carefully onto her lap. His arms
braced him on one side of Bobby Jo’s lap and his feet on the other. Her legs
seemed to dig into his hips and chest.

“That is not how I want you,” Bobby Jo told him. “Your rear is too low. I want
it sticking up. And your head cannot be level.” As she spoke she shifted him
forward, pushing his nose almost to the carpet. As his body moved forward,
Barry’s feet left the ground. Suddenly he did feel like a little boy about to
punished by an angry parent. “Now that is better,” Bobby Jo said. “In the future
when you are ordered over my lap, I want to see that rear end high in the air
and that nose close to the ground.”

Barry felt strong fingers hold him in place and suddenly saw a short strap
dangle in front of his face. It was only a foot and a half long but it was
almost two inches wide. One end was shaped into a handle and the other cut into
three strips for a third of its length. The leather was so supple that Barry
could see it curl in the air as Bobby Jo waved it in front of his eyes.

“The real symbol of a woman administering discipline,” Bobby Jo told him, “is
the hairbrush. We shall make sure that you are provided with one this evening
for use on your bottom. In the meantime this should provide a sufficient measure
of correction.”

Barry glanced up at the clock — noting that it was exactly 5:35 — when he
heard a loud crack and felt a sudden pain in his rear end as the strap lashed
his backside. He felt the supple leather curl around his backside leaving a
burning strip across his bottom. Barry was not prepared for how much the hard
stroke with the strap would hurt. He started to crt out, almost as a natural
reaction, then choked his response back.

Bobby Jo rested the strap on his bottom. The leather seemed cool against the
warmth it had created with just a single stroke.

“I do not want you to think that I admire stoic men who pretend they are not in
pain. I take it as a form of lying and you should be aware that I do not approve
of lying.” Bobby Jo told him. “I am correcting you and I want to know my efforts
are making an impression upon your rear end. Any caterwauling you do will allow
me to judge how your correction is progressing. If you hold back your natural
response it will just make me spank you harder. And, oh yes, you should be
warned that I am a very good judge of which howls are sincere and which are just
crocodile tears.”

Barry didn’t answer. He didn’t have a chance. As she spoke, Bobby Jo had lifted
the strap high in the air. As she finished speaking the strap swished through
the air. The loud crack as hit Barry’s backside was an emphatic punctuation mark
to her statement.

Barry had opened his mouth to say something when the strap coiled around his
buttocks and he had no control over what he said. He howled “Oh-ooo,” almost as
if in direct answer to Bobby Jo’s command.

“Now that’s better, young man,” Bobby Jo said. “That’s how a little boy reacts
when his mother takes him to the woodshed.”

Again Bobby Jo emphasized her statement with a stroke of the leather strap.
Again Barry howled in distress and felt his legs kick up. Again the strap
lingered on his backside for an instant, warming itself from the glowing heat of
his bottom. Again it rose from the stinging surface of his bottom.

“You may kick as much as you like, young man. I find that as effective an
indication of how your correction is progressing as your wailing. But you should
be warned that if you try to roll off my lap, serious penalties will ensue.”
Crack said the strap.

“Ow-ooo,” Barry wailed again.

Bobby Jo paused for what seemed a long time before she used the strap on his
backside again. As he laid over Bobby Jo’s lap, Barry could feel two stripes of
fire on his backside and wondered what he would feel like by the time she had
finished. He cried out again as the strap wrapped around his bottom.

SPLAT! “Oh! Ow!” Barry knew that he could have stifled the cries but he knew that
Bobby Jo would not be satisfied unless he did.

Bobby Jo let Barry wait again before she strapped his backside. The pain from
the most recent lash seemed to grow insistently. Whenever the strap landed there
was an immediate sharp pain. But that was not the end of it. After the initial
shock was gone the stinging continued to grow until the spot where Bobby Jo had
spanked him burned with a fire that would not go out. Just as it started to
fade, Bobby Jo struck again.

SPLAT “Aw-ooo!”

By the time Bobby Jo had whipped him a dozen times at this slow deliberate pace
his whole bottom felt like it was alive with flames. Barry could feel his cheeks
clench and unclench as he waited for Bobby Jo’s next stroke. He was starting to
wonder how long it would be before his cries of distress were real. He wanted
the spanking to end. He wanted to jump from Bobby Jo’s lap and hide on the other
side of the room with his back to the wall where that awful strap could not
reach it.

Bobby Jo spoke again, almost if she had read his mind. “I am sure that you are
starting to appreciate the kiss of the strap. It shall get worse. I would advise
you not to even consider rolling off my lap.” she said in her slow southern
drawl. “I would be quite unhappy if you did not remain in place for the rest of
this spanking. I would so unhappy that I would return tomorrow and repeat your
strapping. If I did, I would not let that nice young woman outside your door
leave during your performance. I am sure that she would recognize what is
happening.”

Barry thought about the prospect of Sarah Madison hearing him being spanked. He
did not like the idea at all. His mind raced as Barry frantically tried to thin
of a way to escape Bobby Jo’s spanking. She did not leave his backside alone for
long.

SPLAT! The strap landed four times in quick succession. Barry
cried out each time his backside was jolted by the strap. Now his outcries were
real. He could feel his feet kick like a swimmer’s. With the girdle around his
knees Barry could do no more. He tried to fold his legs up but the stiff
material prevented that. Barry could do no more that flop like a fish out of
water.

SPLAT! Bobby Jo ignored his cries completely. The strap
continued to crimson his backside as quickly and with as much strength as Bobby
Jo could muster.

SPLAT! As the spanking continued Barry lost complete control of
his vocal chords. His cries were not just in reaction to the strap curling
around his bottom; they were continuous moans of pain. The he noticed that
strange words were coming from his mouth. He begged and pleaded for Bobby Jo to
stop strapping him.

Bobby Jo paid as little attention to his pleas as she
had to his outcries. Barry felt her wrap an arm around his waist to hold him in
place. Suddenly he thought that his hands could be put to better use than
gripping the base of his desk chair. He reached back with one hand and tried to
cover his bottom.

That did not work either. “You are not to do that,” Bobby Jo told him. “You are
to keep your hands away from that part of your body. How much your bottom will
be tanned is up to me; you have nothing to say about it.”

Barry ignored her. He gritted his teeth and left his hand on his bottom.

SPLAT! Denied her chosen target Bobby Jo turned her attention
to the back of his thighs. Barry suddenly discovered that there was a worse
place to receive a spanking than his backside. He tried to reach down to the
backs of his legs but his hand could not reach. Defeated he twisted his arm and
grabbed onto the base of his chair once more.

SPLAT! Bobby Jo turned the strap back to Barry’s buttocks. His
bottom seemed alive with a fire he could not stop or extinguish. As the strap
continued to lash his backside, Barry could feel tears of pain and frustration
flowing from his eyes. He felt as powerless and as juvenile as any small boy
turned over his mother’s knee for correction.

“Please! Please! Please! Please! Please!” he said over and over again as the
strap punished his rear end.

Even his open acknowledgement of the impact of the
spanking, did not seem to effect Bobby Jo. The strap continued to land until
Barry stopped even these protests and lay over her lap accepting each lash. His
backside hurt so much that he did not even notice the tears coursing down his
face. It was only then that Bobby Jo stopped strapping him.

Barry knew that she had stopped. He knew that the strap was no longer smacking
into his backside. Still he was afraid to move or to say anything. He knew that
with a flick of Bobby Jo’s wrist, the strap could curl around his buttocks once
more.

“That’s better,” Bobby Jo told him. “I thin you are finally understanding how I
want you to behave when you are being spanked. You must remember that you are
nothing more than a little boy in a man’s body. You may rise now.”

Barry rolled off Bobby Jo’s lap and tried to rise to his feet. The girdle
prevented him from using his legs and his hands had been clapped on his behind.
He rolled on the floor kneading his buttocks in a futile effort to stop the
stinging.

“You are to stop that at once,” he heard Bobby Jo announce. “We are not done for
this evening yet.”

Barry thought that Bobby Jo intended to continue the spanking. He continued to
roll on the floor in a random, jerky manner as he rubbed at his behind. “No,” he
cried out. “Don’t spank me any more!”

Bobby Jo looked down on him. There was almost a smile on her face at this
further admission of her power. “If you do not arise at once, I certainly will.
We have other things to do tonight than just beating your rear end.”

Barry’s gyrations ceased. He stared up at Bobby Jo as if waiting for
confirmation that she would not span him again if he obeyed. When he noted the
stern set of her mouth, Barry tried to rise again. The girdle defeated him; he
still could not move his legs enough to get his feet under him. Defeated, Barry
removed his hands from his backside and took hold of the edge of his desk.
Slowly he managed to pull himself to his feet. Bobby Jo waited until he stood
erect, his hands wiping the tears from his face, before she spoke again.

“Stop that,” she ordered. “A sound spanking produces tears. Let them alone.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Barry wiped one last tear from his cheek and placed his hands at
his sides.”

“A proper spanking ends with you being sent to the corner with your red bottom
on display. There you will learn to appreciate the stinging in your backside and
meditate on the reason for your chastisement. But I am short of time. We shall
continue this when we reach your home. Pull up your girdle and put on your
pants.”

Barry grabbed the waistband of the girdle and tugged. It barely moved. He
gritted his teeth and pulled even harder on the stiff garment drawing it slowly
up his legs. His eyes found the clock and, in passing Barry noted that it was
not even 6:00. It had seemed like Barry had been turned over Bobby Jo’s lap
forever. He was sure that the strapping had gone on for hours rather than
minutes. He moaned when he realized that it had taken less than half an hour to
reduce his to the level of a child cowering at the thought of the further
spanking that Bobby Jo had promised.

Barry cried out again as the girdle scraped over his sore bottom. This time he
was careful to push his testicles up into his groin. Even with this precaution
the girdle pressed against his crotch like a hard wedgie. The tough lycra not
only squeezed his buttocks together but held in the heat that emanated from his
glowing bottom. Barry was not sure, as the girdle pressed against him, whether
it would not be better to be standing in a corner. Even the disgrace of having
the evidence of the juvenile manner in which he had been punished on display was
better than wearing a girdle. Barry wondered how long Bobby Jo would force him
to wear it.

Bobby Jo interrupted his stream of thoughts as he zipped up his pants. “Now give
me your credit cards,” she ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said automatically. As he did so, Barry realized what she had
said. “Why, ma’am?” he continued. “Why do you need my credit cards?”

Bobby Jo laughed. “For the same reason I will take control of your checkbook and
your ATM card,” she said. “You cannot have thought that you would be allowed the
freedom of your credit cards when you are under my tutelage or spend your money
on any frivolous whim. Besides, we have some shopping to do.”

“Shopping? For what?” Barry asked, and a Barry Jo’s eyes narrowed he added
“Ma’am.”

Bobby Jo picked up her purse. “First for a hairbrush.” she said. “You need one
for use on your bottom. Second, for some more girdles. Since you will be wearing
the girdle every day until your behavior improves, you will need more than one.
We might also buy you a few pairs of nice, lacy panties as well in the hope that
your behavior does improve.”

Bobby Jo took his hand and, like a mother leading a child, led Barry out of his
private office.

***

“Bend over,” Bobby Jo commanded.

The sales girl gaped as Barry stiffly bent at the waist and put his hands on his
knees. He waited silently for the attention Bobby Jo was about pay to his
backside. The sales girl’s mouth opened in surprise as Bobby Jo spanked Barry’s
rear end.

Bobby Jo put one hand on the small of Barry’s back. She drew the hairbrush back
and smacked his backside as hard as she could. The meaty sound of wood on flesh
echoed around the small shop. Barry howled as the hairbrush collided with his
sore bottom. Bobby Jo paid no attention. She spanked him three more times before
turning back to the sales clerk. Barry stayed in position.

“This will do,” she told the girl as she handed her one of Barry’s credit cards.
“Give us two. One for his office and one for his home.”

The sales girl slowly closed her mouth. She looked over at Barry and giggled
again.

“You may rise, young man, and we can proceed to the next store we must visit.”
Bobby Jo said. As she spoke she turned to the sales girl writing up the order.
“Our next stop is Victoria’s Secret,” she confided, “this young man needs some
basic supplies. Girdles, panties, a garter belt and stockings. You know what I
mean.”

The sale clerk looked at Barry again. She imagined what he would look like
dressed in feminine lingerie. She giggled again.

“Yes, ma’am,” Barry said.

The Company Ruler by Al Purvis

Here is a story by Al Purvis. The only place I saw Al’s works was in conjunction with cfpub.com. He wrote mostly M/F adult scenarios. A very competent writer. This one is a short gem.

The Company Ruler
By AL Purvis

It was nearly nine o’clock and Anthony thought he was the only employee still
working, at least the only person left on the executive floor. He was flipping
through the administrative reports on his computer screen when he suddenly
realized someone was standing on the other side of his desk. It gave him a
start.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Anne said, “perhaps I should have called before I just walked
in.”

“Oh, no, that’s alright,” he assured her as he switched off his monitor to
afford her his undivided attention.

His door was always open to any of the six vice presidents who reported to him.
Five of them were women. He preferred to work with women. When he was twelve his  father died suddenly and his mother had to work at two jobs to support him and his four younger sisters. He had done what he could to help his mother, by supervising his siblings to keep the house clean, the meals cooked and homework all done. Tony thought females were more difficult to manage than males, but capable of greater creativity when handled properly.

“I have a problem,” the attractive thirty-three year old Vice President began.
“Can I bounce it off you for moment?”

“Sure,” her Senior Vice President replied, “Go ahead.”

Anne cleared her throat nervously. “I have learned that one of my managers,
motivated purely by spite, intentionally caused the three week delay in the
roll-out of my division’s last project.”

“Aha,” Tony nodded his understanding. Everyone had been disappointed by the
costly delay and it was not typical of Anne or her division to miss deadlines.

“My problem is: her skills are very valuable to the company, but her vindictive
behavior has cost us considerable money.”

“Who is she,” Tony asked, wondering which of Anne’s female managers was the
culprit.

“I’d rather not tell you,” Anne said, shifting around anxious, “just yet.”

“Okay, go on.” She certainly had his full attention.

“I presented a hypothetical problem to her,” Anne went on. “I made up a set of
similar facts …” Anne paused for a few seconds trying to figure out how to put
it. “… and she suggested a rather bizarre solution.”

“Oh?” Tony asked, trying to figure out which of Anne’s female managers would be the most likely to come up with a weird answer to a personnel problem. “What did she recommend?”

“She suggested I give the bitch a choice of being spanked or fired.”

“Huh?” Tony wasn’t sure he heard that right.

“I know it’s illegal to hit employees,” Anne hurried on, “but she advised that
course of action and assured me that any insubordinate brat would take the
spanking.”

Tony looked skeptical. “She deserves to be spanked,” Anne continued, “She knows her immature behavior is inexcusable, and our company benefits far exceeded any other employer around here.”

Tony swallowed audibly. He found this discussion of a grown woman being spanked surprisingly erotic. Anne looked down at her shoes as she forged ahead. “I think I agree with this course of action. A spanking will straighten her out.” Anne looked up and added, “Of course she didn’t know I was talking about her or that she was prescribing a spanking for herself.”

Tony nodded thoughtfully, not knowing just what to say. “I know it’s
inappropriate,” Anne said, “but in this case, since she suggested it, I would
like your permission to paddle her panties.”

“If her behavior has been that bad, why don’t we just let her go?” he asked.

“I wasn’t exaggerating her importance to our overall mission,” Anne insisted,
“or the recent disaster caused by this manipulative little minx.”

Tony found himself both shocked and aroused by the idea, but he tried to hide
his excitement. He pretended to think for a moment, actually asking himself
which of Anne’s managers Anne might call a “manipulative little minx.” That only excited him more, so he turned his full attention to trying to control his
ragged breathing as he pontificated: “Well, she didn’t know you were talking
about her, when she suggested you spank some other woman …”

Anne interrupted, “What if, when I tell her she is fired, she requests a
spanking instead?” Anne had anticipated her boss’s concern.

Tony thought again, then asked, “You said something about her ‘panties,’ was
that just a figure of speech?”

Anne shook her head “no” and said, “She would hardly feel anything on her outer
garments.” “You expect her to suggest being partially disrobed for her
punishment?” Tony asked, amazed.

“Yes, I do,” Anne insisted. “In fact, I expect I can get her to request a
spanking with the ruler,” she said, picking up the eighteen inch ruler from his
desk. Each executive desk set had an exact duplicate of this flexible thin metal
ruler with the company logo on it. She whacked the ruler on her open palm and
the sharp “crack!” filled Tony’s office.

His eyes bulge. “Sounds serious.”

“I am serious. She needs serious discipline. And I bet I can even get her to ask
me to spank her bottom bare.”

He swallowed hard. “You realize that any noise she makes about this could get us
both fired?”

Anne was pleased to hear he was willing to go down with her if her plan blew up
in their faces. “Don’t worry. I’ll do it in private. I’ll lock my door.”

Tony nodded his assent.

“It will just be her word against mine,” Anne continued, “And she will be too
embarrassed to ever tell anyone she got her bratty bottom spanked, like the
naughty girl she’s been lately.”

“Well, okay,” he said, wishing he could watch and wondering which attractive
female managers was about to get her bare bottom blistered with the company
ruler. “And good luck.”

Anne thought to herself, “good luck indeed,” then she said aloud, “I have to
tell you something else about this.”

“Yes?” Tony asked cautiously.

Anne cleared her throat again and then just blurted it out, “I have to admit
that the spoiled saboteur was me.”

“What!” Tony was shocked.

Anne rationalized rapidly, “I got my feelings hurt when Larry was promoted to
Senior Vice President and I wasn’t. I know now that if I had been promoted and
he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have sabotaged a critical project just because his
feeling were hurt.”

Tony was furious. “You did what!” he demanded.

Anne spoke quickly, hoping to save her job. “You have every right to fire me,
and perhaps you should, but I hope my many contributions to this company merit my getting another chance …” She was sobbing when she stopped. She trembled all over, waiting for his response.

Tony snorted his breath through his nose. Perhaps he should have told her she wasn’t promoted because the Board of
Directors had recommended her for a better position, which would be available
next week. Now he wondered if he should demote her, or fire her, or …

With shaking hands, Anne presented him with the ruler, and in a quivering voice, said, “I deserve to be punished.”

Tony took the ruler, looked at it and asked, “What makes you think I won’t spank
you to my heart’s content, and your bottom’s dreadful discontent, and then fire
you anyway?”

“I know I deserve to be doubled crossed, but I trust you,” Anne said, in a
frightened little girl voice. “A moment ago you were willing to get fired right
along with me if my effort to spank some sense into my own hypothetical
subordinate failed.”

“I won’t promise you anything, except a stinging bottom and crying eyes,” he
said as he climbed out of his chair and came around the desk, slapping the ruler
on his palm.

The sharp “crack!” of each whack on his hand made her jump and twitch in fear.

Anne reminded herself that the whole spanking scenario was intended to show him she was truly contrite and deserving of another chance. She hadn’t really
expected him to authorize her to spank a fully grown woman. She had only
improvised the bare bottom and the metal ruler parts of her request for dramatic
effect. She never anticipated that Tony might be willing to spank HER! And
certainly not on he bare bottom! Or with the ruler!

“Perhaps you should lock the door,” he suggested.

She gulped and sheepishly confessed, “I did that on my way in.” In the back of
her brain she always knew he might go for the deal, and perhaps she hoped he
would, because she knew she deserved to be spanked for her childish behavior and she hoped a spanking would relieved the load of guilt she had been carrying
around, but now she had to face up, or rather bottom up, for the horrifying
reality of her own contrivance. She flushed wet and warm all over and quaked so
hard he had to see that she was shuddering.

He took her forearm and guided her across his lap as he sat down on a straight
backed armless chair. He reached over her back and pulled her right wrist to the
center of her back and anchored it there.

The terrifying thought that Tony seemed to know just what he was doing back
there frightened Anne to tears.

He did. From time to time every one of his four younger sisters had needed to be
spanked and he had been the one to spank them. Spanking his kid sisters had not been sexy events, but putting an attractive adult female across his lap was a
rush. Particularly since it was Anne. Just as kissing his kid sisters had never
been romantic, but kissing a girl their age who wasn’t a relative was something
entirely different, kissing Anne would be wonderful, but now was not the time to
think about that again.

“Do I understand correctly that you have already suggested I lift your skirt,
lower your panties and spank your butt bare?” he asked, trying to keep his own
voice from quivering from erotic excitement.

Anne nodded “yes” and whimpered miserably, trying unsuccessfully to say
something, while wishing with all her heart she was anywhere else in the world
just then.

“Why you manipulative little minx,” he mocked her has he lifted her shirt and
tugged her panties down to the tops of her thigh high hose.

The air-conditioned air felt frigid on Anne’s moist exposed skin, vividly
reminding her she was half naked across her angry boss’s lap. Humiliating! He
was about to spank her sensitive seat with the metal ruler, which was sure to
hurt more than she could stand. Frightening! It was all her fault, and indeed it
was all her idea! Ridiculous!

“CRACK!” the ruler hit her hips a lot harder than it had struck her palm
earlier.

She immediately began to squirm and plead for mercy. “Please, please, don’t
spank me,” she whined in a baby voice.

“I think you had an excellent idea,” he said, punctuating his remark with
another “CRACK!” of the ruler.

“Oh! No! No!” she begged.

“This certainly makes me feel better …” he said.

“CRACK!”

“OUCH!”

“And it seems to be working …”

“CRACK!”

“OWE! OWE! WOW!”

“I think you will be a much better subordinate after I’m through with you …”

“Yes! Yes! Ye..”

“CRACK!”

“YEOW! WOW! WOW!” For the next ten minutes the office was filled with the sharp
“CRACK!” of the metal ruler, followed instantly by Anne’s sharp squeal of pain,
interspersed by Tony’s stern statements about her misconduct, answered by her
wailed pleas for leniency and pitiful promises of perpetual perfect performance.

Involuntarily, she waved her hair, her legs and her left arm around uselessly in
the air as the metal ruler branded her blushing bare bottom with the company
logo over and over. She struggled with all her might, but it was futile. All she
could really do was bawl and bear it. No. She couldn’t bear it, but she could
certainly bawl.

For lasting effect, Tony smacked the company logo on every square inch of flesh
Anne could possibly sit on, all across her backside from the top of her hips to
the top of her hose, all along the outer edges and all over her inner thighs as
well. She would be reminded to behave herself every time she sat down for days.

Finally, he stopped spanking her and tossed the ruler on the desk where it
clattered, clanged and fell silent.

Anne hung over his lap panting and blubbering.

Tony inspected her shapely crimson hips and couldn’t resist stroking them, even
though it made her wiggle and whimper.

When Anne finally got her crying under control, Tony helped her up. Her face was as ruby red as her rear end.

He was still seated, so she had to lean over to give him a very warm kiss. It
was better than he had always imagined it might be. Then she straightened up,
said, “Thank you,” in a voice full of contrition although hoarse from crying.
She stumbled out of his office rubbing the seat of her skirt with both her
hands.

Tony watched her waddle away, with her panties still around her knees, knowing
she would be his equal next week when Carl’s retirement and her promotion would both be announced. Tony hoped his exercise of this paternal prerogative would not prevent Anne from feeling she was his equal when her title changed to
“Senior Vice President.” Since she would no longer be his subordinate, Tony
hoped to pursue the romantic relationship he had always wanted to have with
Anne. Although, if she ever exhibited such spoiled misbehavior again, he
wouldn’t hesitate to measure her mischief with the company ruler.

The Martinet by Robert

I’m still laid up, but I’ll keep trying to bring the best in erotic spanking fiction. Here’s another guest story for your Sunday.

The Martinet
By Robert
Collins Concise Dictionary says a “martinet is a person who maintains strict discipline, esp. in a military force” and goes on to attribute the word to 17th century French.  There is, however, another meaning which Collins is, apparently, too prim to mention!  The martinet is an elegant French implement of correction comprising a handle and a dozen or so leather thongs.  It is best applied to the tender curves of a bare bottom. Our tale concerns both definitions.

Greendale Academy for Young Ladies was situated in a fine Victorian house just outside the village of Greendale.  Additional modern buildings provided dormitory accommodation for 500 or so ‘young ladies’ and the entire estate was enclosed by an 8 foot brick wall giving, it was believed, total security for the damsels and keeping them safe from the rude village folk!  The school was welcomed by the grocer, butcher and other village tradesmen but resented by those whose total annual income fell somewhat short of the fees paid for one term’s tuition at the school.  The school had a well-earned reputation for strict discipline rigorously enforced by the Head Mistress, Miss Millicent Maltravers, and her staff.  Corporal punishment was the norm and was applied upon the seat of the school knickers or, more usually, the deliciously bare bottoms of malefactors!

The Academy and its student body were a matter of much testosterone-fuelled speculation on the part of the young bloods of the village. Senior girls, those of 16, 17 or 18 years, were permitted to visit the village unchaperoned but always in groups or pairs.  Haughty and aloof but utterly desirable, they could be seen strolling down the hill to the village, taking afternoon tea in the Copper Kettle and visiting the one or two shops of which Miss Maltravers approved.  The schoolgirls’ outfits they were required to wear could not conceal the burgeoning womanhood of these glorious proud creatures.  Their progress through the village was watched with considerable interest by more than one pair of hungry male eyes! Rumours of the strict regime had filtered out and the thought of these young ladies bending over to receive the cane on their pretty bottoms or lying across Miss Maltravers lap for an old style spanking was more than somewhat stimulating.  A well founded rumour was especially thrilling to the lads.  It concerned two girls who were said to have been caught smoking by a member of staff and marched back to the school to face Miss Maltravers. They had, of course, been expelled forthwith.  Their parents were phoned and asked to come at once to take their disgraced offspring home.  While waiting for the parents to arrive Miss Maltravers made good use of the time available to her.  She had caned them both most soundly!  The girls, one after the other, had been made to bend over and clasp their ankles, the Head had then lifted their skirts and pulled down their knickers and, quite unmoved by the weeping girls’ pleas, given each twelve strokes of the cane across the bare bottom.  Yes, twelve!  After their beatings the culprits had, it was said, been made to stand in the corner of the Head’s study with their hands on their heads and their skirts pinned up clear of their bruised bottoms.  Yes, dear reader, it was indeed a strict regime.

All young men are quite properly fascinated by pretty girls and long may they continue so to be.  Some young men are especially interested by the thought of these pretty girls having their bottoms smacked for being naughty.  Two residents of Greendale, Tommie Smith and Harry Hudson were particularly keen on the idea and were wont to wonder, as they watched the girls go by, which, if any, shapely young bottom bore the marks of the cane or the flush of a spanking.  (In fact it was unlikely any bore fresh weals as canings and spankings were invariably accompanied by loss of privileges and confinement to the Academy grounds)  Harry and Tommie developed a not entirely healthy interest in the topic of girls under such punishment.  That interest centred upon bottoms and knickers!  The foolish lads devised a plan:  a plan to steal a pair or two of the head girl’s knickers.  That plan would lead to their downfall and a painful and shaming first hand experience of Miss Maltravers and her coterie of 6th formers.

Polly Perkins, the waitress at the Copper Kettle, had a foot in both camps.  As a village girl she had been born and raised with our two lads and quite enjoyed their company.  In the tea room she waited on the girls from the academy and found them entirely friendly and not at all ‘snooty’.  Polly was an amiable girl who found it easy to make friends and to gain the confidence of others. She had learned from chat with the girls a great deal about the layout and the routines of the school.  This intelligence she passed on to the boys who had taken her into their confidence concerning their scheme.  She learned from them full details of the date, time and method of entry onto school premises.  The boys had obviously overdosed on stories of SAS derring-do!  They planned a nighttime raid accessing the school grounds by scaling the wall at a point where they would be hidden from view by a small copse of trees adjacent to the wall. Once inside the grounds it would be a simple matter to make their way to the dormitory block and, based on the plan drawn up in conversation with Polly, find their way to the study-bedroom of the head girl, Miss Persephone Prendergast.  They would enter the room as she slept, locate her dressing table, access the knickers drawer and lay their trembling hands upon the confections found therein! They would leave the school by the same route by which they had entered clutching their trophies. Flushed with success beneath the camouflage paint on their faces they would then withdraw to the safety of the village pub!  Such was the plan!

Polly was on the horns of a dilemma.  She was torn between her loyalty to the lads as a village girl and to her new found friends from the school. In the end it was clear to her where her duty lay.  Duty to her sex!  Sisters under the skin and all that. She could not come to terms with the idea that she had been of assistance to the lads.  She knew how her friends would suffer embarrassment at the thought of those two lads fumbling with their knickers!  No, it would not do, not do at all, she would tell all she knew.  So Polly let her contacts from the academy into the details of the plot and felt much happier having done so.  She was a mischievous lass and could not help getting a kick out of playing a part in bringing Harry and Tommie to their nemesis.

The day arrived for the boys to put into action their hair-brained scheme.  Little did they know that they had been comprehensively betrayed!  Their plan was now doomed to failure and they to a most shaming and painful punishment ‘in front of the girls’.  Tom and Harry set off at about 10 o’clock on a warm and dark summer’s evening.  Scaling the perimeter wall was as easy as Polly had suggested it would be and they dropped silently into the copse.  Getting their bearings they set off across the deserted park to the dormitory block happily unaware that their every move was being observed and reported upon.  Forewarned by the devious Polly the girls had devised their own plan and, as the first line of defense, had posted three members of the 1st eleven in the copse.  Penny, Prue and Pamela, according to the plan, had waited for the boys to arrive and, after letting them pass unhindered on their way, had sent to Persephone, the head girl, a text message “Tally ho” – ‘enemy in sight’!  Persephone at once set off round the dorms alerting her ‘troops’ who were fully briefed on the drill.  They were to hop into bed, fully clothed, and lie low.  Three dozen healthy young women ready and willing to impose their will upon two silly young men.  No contest!

As the boys tiptoed out of the cover of the trees and crept off towards the dormitory house Penny led her team after them keeping them in sight at all times but taking care not to be seen themselves.  Part of the ruse devised by Persephone and her comrades concerned access to the house.  The side door was to be left ajar; the boys were to be told that this was to allow girls out after hours to get safely back.  This intelligence was passed to the boys by the naughty Polly who added, for their titillation, the fact that girls caught out after hours were invariably soundly spanked on their bare bottoms!  How the boys had sniggered at the thought.  Penny watched as the boys entered the back door and texted the head girl the pre-arranged message “Stand by!”.  Now came the most critical part of the boys’ plan and also of Persephone’s counter plan.  Testosterone pulsed through their veins as the boys breathed in the heady perfume of girls!  They made their way up the stairs to the second floor on which was Persephone’s room.  She lay, her heart pounding, feigning sleep but very much on the alert.  Penny’s team followed the boys upstairs cutting off their retreat.  It was vital at this stage that the boys should have no inkling they were in trouble, the girls could have caught them now but wanted them ‘bang to rights’ with their hands on the head girl’s knickers!

Tom and Harry made their way to Persephone’s room their pulses quickening as they heard her gentle breathing.  They crept inside unaware that their every step was now being followed not only by the head girl but also by Penny’s outriders.  They found her knickers drawer exactly as briefed by Polly, gently opened the drawer and, suppressing their sniggering with difficulty, took out two pairs of Persephone’s most delicately feminine frilly pants!  The air was sundered by the piercing tone of a referee’s whistle!  The well laid trap was sprung and they were caught!

Lights came on all through the house and the boys found themselves surrounded by a veritable army of angry, vengeful girls.  Cameras flashed as hard evidence was collected of Tom and Harry clutching their trophies.  They knew they had failed but felt sure they could laugh it off.  After all, they thought, no harm had been done, no one had been hurt.  They had no idea just how much they had offended the girls.  They were not to be let off.  It was perhaps fortunate that they had no idea what now lay in store for them, no idea whatsoever!

Persephone rose from her bed fully clothed in all her glory as head girl and looked the boys over.  “Well, well” she said, her voice seductively sexy  “Who’s a naughty boy, then?  Who’s needs to have his bottie smacked?”  The boys were utterly defeated, hardly able to understand what had happened they nonetheless realised they were at the mercy of these formidable girls.  Their buttocks clenched as they came to terms with the realisation that, somehow, they were going to be beaten!  They stood before Persephone, heads hanging, and awaited to learn their fate.

Persephone was very much in charge.  She addressed the excited gaggle of girls.    “Thank you girls” she said  “Well done all of you!  Now, you junior girls, back to bed and sweet dreams!  Sixth Formers come with me to take these wretches to meet the Head Mistress.  Seize them, girls, and come with me!”  So Harry and Tom found themselves pinioned by their captors and marched off accompanied by the ironic cheers of the girls.  Persephone led the way followed by Penny, Prue and Pamela together with Prunella who dragged Tom and Philomena,  Phyllida, Pansie and Pauline holding the abject Harry.  This solemn party set off to Miss Maltravers’ study.

The Head Mistress had been fully briefed by Persephone and had given her consent to the plan on the clear understanding that no summary punishment would be handed down by the girls. (Persephone, for one, would have loved to spank the lads herself)  Miss Maltravers said she would ‘see to’ the boys and that they would be beaten in front of the entire school in the morning at assembly.  They would be detained overnight and given the opportunity to consider their foolish and disgraceful conduct and to contemplate their well deserved and humiliating punishment.  They did not sleep well!

The happy sound of excited girlish chatter filled the hall at 9 o’clock the next morning.  It was time for Assembly and the girls had reason to believe this was to be a bit special!  Everyone knew about last night’s adventures indeed most had been involved to some extent.  They did not know for certain that the boys were still on site or what was about to happen to them.  Persephone called “Quiet girls, all rise” and silence fell on the room as 500 girls rose from their seats to await the Head Mistress and other members of staff.  Miss Maltravers and her colleagues processed down the hall and mounted the stage.  Assembly began.  A hearty rendering of the school song was followed by a prayer and a hymn.  Then came ‘announcements’ and that was when this assembly became rather special indeed.  The Head reminded the girls of the disgraceful business of the night before sparing Persephone’s blushes by not referring directly to her knickers but congratulating her and the other 6th formers for the courage and dedication they had displayed.  Their conduct had been exemplary in very trying circumstances.  The girls applauded.  The Head then went on “It has always been my aim to establish good, friendly relationships with the village community.  Relationships based on mutual respect.  These two young men have put that relationship at risk.  It is my intention, girls, to punish them both most severely here and now in front of the whole school”  An excited burst of chatter was stilled as she snapped “Silence!” and turning to the back of the stage said “Bring them in!” and the miserable pair, under close escort, were led onto the stage. They looked around in fright at this hall full of girls all seeking revenge.

Miss Maltravers looked them up and down.  “Look at me!”  The boys dragged their eyes from the floor and faced this avenging figure. “Your conduct last night was quite appalling and must be punished.  Punished most severely.  You insulted the whole school last night and the whole school should see you brought to book.   Take down your trousers!”  “Oh!” gasped 500 girlie voices!  Miss Maltravers produced the martinet from the folds of her gown and held it up for the two to see.  “Now” she repeated the dread phrase so feared by naughty boys over the years “Take down your trousers!”.

The boys reacted to the command in different ways.  Tom, sullen but realistic, knew there was no way out.  He began to do as directed his eyes shifting nervously to that martinet.  Harry, made of less stern stuff, began to blubber and beg!  “Take his trousers down, girls” said the Head coldly.  “Take the little baby’s trousers down for him!”  He didn’t resist but stood, blubbering with fright, as three healthy teenage girls took his trousers down for him.  They let the garment fall to the floor around his ankles.  Tom stood beside his accomplice holding his trousers in his hand.

“Bring me that chair, please” said Miss Maltravers and one of the 6th Formers obliged placing the chair centre stage.  The Head went over to it and sat down.  There puzzled glances amongst the girls.  Persephone, who had, some years ago, received 6 strokes of that martinet across the creamy curves of her delicious young bottom, recalled being made to bend over while the Head stood close beside her to apply the martinet.  Oh, she recalled, it had HURT!  She would never forget a single detail of her punishment and was sure ‘Miss’ had not been seated.  What was going on?  (‘Miss’, by the way, was convinced that that little beating had saved Persephone from ‘going to the dogs’.  Persephone was not so sure!)  The Head called Tom.  “Come here, please” and watched the lad, his stomach churning and his bottom twitching, as he went to her side.  “I expect you remember how mummie used to spank you when you were naughty. She put you over her knee, didn’t she?” He nodded miserably.  “Well, your conduct last night was so silly, so childish, that you deserve to be punished like a little boy.  Get across my knee, I’m sure you remember how to do that?  Over my knee so that I can get at your bottom!”  There was a burst of nervous giggles from the body of the hall.  “Quiet, girls, please”  As Tom bent forward to put himself across the knee his shirt rode up at the back and exposed, not a pair of boys’ underpants but a very girlie pair of knickers stretched across his buttocks!  They were white with a pretty floral design similar to those worn by Kylie in the photo set where she’s spanked by our Sassy!  Miss Maltravers explained all!  “These revolting boys stole some underwear last night and it seemed only right, if they were so attracted by such garments, that they should be made to wear them for their punishment!  They’ll not be wearing them for long, though girls!  At least not on their bottoms!  They’ll come down and the punishment will be on his bare bottom just like his mummie used to do.”  Tom moaned in his misery as he felt Miss place thumb and forefinger of each hand on the waistband of the pretty white knickers.  Deftly she pulled them down off Tom’s slim and finely muscled seat.  “Aah” sighed the girls!  They knew Tom was ready, so did Tom, he seemed to raise his bottom for her!

Miss raised her hand and gave the martinet a little shake then she took it back over her shoulder and brought is swishing down across Tom’s bottom.  A startled expression and a sharp intake of breath!  Tom had his very first taste of the martinet.  Harry, now sobbing watched in abject misery as angry red marks suffused his pal’s bare bottom.  Again the martinet lashed down and again and again.  Persephone standing close by and watching recalled how her bottom had felt when she had the martinet!  She slipped her hands round and caressed her seat, remembering!  Tom’s bottom was already a mass of weals and he grunted with pain as she gave him another and another and another stroke.  He was counting!  That was seven, five more!   As he writhed across Miss’s soft, yielding lap he experienced very mixed emotions and sensations.  His bare bottom was a mass of pain yet he felt a sense of excitement as, held down over this luscious lap, he was thrashed with her martinet.  Eight, nine, ten.  Tom counted.  Eleven, twelve!  It was over!  Millicent Maltravers paused before easing Persephone’s knickers back up over his flayed bottom.  She said “Stand up!”   She could not help admiring the way, the dignity almost, with which he had taken his thrashing.  Stiffly he rose from her lap and got to his feet.  Tom stood before the massed crowd of girls, ruefully rubbing his bottom and said  “I am sorry.” His voice was wobbly. “I am so sorry”

Harry’s thrashing was not a very edifying business.  He behaved very, very badly weeping and refusing to cooperate.  The girls grabbed him and dragged him, howling with fright, over to the chair.  Helped by the girls Miss persuaded Harry over her knee.  “Hold him down, girls, he’ll not stay here without your help!”  Once in place and held down by strong hockey playing girls his shirt was lifted and his knickers exposed!  He wore a pretty pair of red pants with lace panels.  They were of a silky texture which tormented him as they rubbed sexily against him.  After giving the assembled girls time to admire this fine pair of Persephone’s drawers Miss Maltravers eased them down!   He wailed piteously as he knew what was coming and howled as it whipped across his bare bottom.  Harry did not take his beating well!  He squirmed and kicked, or tried to kick but his legs were pinioned by two of his tormentresses who had an excellent view of the action.  He tried to escape from the Head’s skilful attention but he was held by another pair of vengeful girls who looked with interest at his flushed and tearstained face as the martinet did its work.  “Poor boy” murmured Phyllida insincerely “I don’t think he’s enjoying this!”  Prue, grasping his right arm, giggled!  “Well, would you?” she asked.  “Girls” snapped Miss Maltravers. “Sorry, Miss”.  As we have seen with Tom’s whipping the martinet can make a nice mess of a boy’s bottom and Miss Maltravers did not hold back.  She had, of course, applied the dread instrument to more than one girl’s bottom since her appointment but those whippings had been without passion.  She had beaten ‘her’ girls because it was her duty to beat them.  With these two boys, however, there was passion enough and some to spare!  She despised what they had done last night and she thrashed them hard and long.  Twelve strokes, well placed and well spaced; was a very sound punishment and to have it in public and a la maman on the bare bottom was just what they needed.  Miss Maltravers would not have admitted enjoying her task, that would have been unprofessional, but she did not feel any guilt or disquiet when thinking over what she had done.

It was over and Harry hung over her knee and wept like a baby.  Polly, who at Persephone’s suggestion had been invited to witness the punishment, felt slightly ill at ease but, when she thought of those grubby fingers fiddling with the Head Girl’s knickers, she was sure she’d been right!  The boys, of course, would never know of her betrayal although they did wonder just what had gone wrong.  They kept their guilty secret!

Persephone, off to Marks & Spencers to restock her underwear, was well satisfied with how things had gone

Bermuda Triangle

Here’s another letter. I found it on the beach. It was stuck inside a sealed bottle……

Somewhere off the coast of Bermuda
1945

To Whom it may concern,

This letter may never reach anyone, but I have written it nevertheless so that any who find it may know we are alive. I pray that this bottle, sealed with wax, may some day reach our families and be of some consolation to them. I fear, however, that we might never see home again. Here we are, stranded here on this Island, trapped in all likelihood and awaiting an unknown fate.

I am Lt Commander Will Fletcher and with me are Lt’s Jed Folks and Randall Craft. We were stationed in Fort Lauderdale. On a routine training mission northeast of Bermuda, we flew our trainers into a very thick and very strange fog bank. We lost contact with our base and eventually had to ditch as fuel ran out. I managed to launch my raft and found Jed and Randall in rafts in the water. Together we floated through a strange mist that lasted for days. We had no idea of our bearings. We were being carried, but could not tell in which direction we were going. We floated until at last the mist cleared and, carried by currents, we washed up on this Island.

It is a tropical island typical of islands in the West Indies. There is abundant fruit here and water gushes from cataracts in the inland mountains. It appears to be a large island, but we cannot tell where it is. At night the patterns of the stars are unfamiliar and we cannot get our bearings to fix our position.

We spent several days on the beach, searching the horizon, hoping for rescue. Seeing none we turned our attentions inland. We’d need food, shelter and water to survive. We also wondered if there were other inhabitants of this place. It was on the fourth day that they appeared.

To our utter amazement the “natives” who walked out of the bush and accosted us were female—all of them. They were a mixture of white and brown skinned women. Some had blond hair, others dark hair, other in between and their features were a mix of many races, which we found exceedingly odd. Some looked Nordic, like Swedes. Some looked like denizens of southern Europe, perhaps of Italian or Spanish lineage. They wore very little, their dress consisting of short leathers about their waists like loincloths or a thong and a small strip of leather across the breasts. The most amazing thing was that each was in her own way, beautiful. In fact we had never seen such a collection of beautiful women gathered together in one place. We are Navy men and could certainly appreciate that.

They carried spears and bows for hunting, and upon coming across us, they were suspicious, I am sure. They leveled the spears at us and motioned for us to follow their leader. It must have been a hunting party we figured, because they carried game they had killed. We had no choice but to follow them to their village.

The village lay several kilometers inland, in a verdant valley. It was a gorgeous place with waterfalls and lush jungle, lagoons and distant mountain peaks. Their chief was a woman of amazing stature, a bronzed blue-eyed blond, tall and of regal bearing. I put her age at about 35 with a figure that would rival any Playboy centerfold. In fact most of the women in the “tribe” were between the teenage years and young adulthood. There were no men, few very young, or very old women.

They spoke an odd language which seemed a mix of many languages that some of us had heard, including a bit that sounded like English. Over time we did pick up their language and now speak it fluently, but those first few weeks we struggled to communicate. By gesture and drawing in the dirt we explained our plight to this queen of their tribe and were able to communicate that we meant them no harm and were not a threat. We were certainly objects of considerable attention since, as we came to find out, they had lived without men for some time. The men, we were told, had departed in canoes to find other islands, or perhaps other tribes. Why they had done this we could not, at the time, fathom.

To say we were objects of much interest is putting it mildly. They fussed and fawned over us and it was a heady experience to be the object of such attention from beautiful women. We were each assigned three females whose job it was to feed us, give us shelter and see to our needs. We dragged what items we had salvaged from our life rafts back to the village and set up residence with our three appointed helpers. Those first few days were spent recuperating from our ordeal at sea and learning what we could of their language. At this time we were separated such that each of us had his own “household”. Things went well. The women were attentive and we had everything we could need. Being men (and Navy men at that) and they being women with no men around, things began to take an amorous turn as you might expect. There was certainly mutual interest, but as we were unsure of our status, we held off some initial advances. That all changed, however.

We’d been there a week when there was a fracus. The queen, whose name we learned was Sheela, sent for us. When we arrived in the center of the village we were met by Sheela, her handmaids and warriors and a girl who was bound. It was explained to us that she had stolen an object of ours. It turned out to be a watch and the girl, named Rhea, had been caught. We were there to witness justice being meted out. The punishment for Rhea was apparently to be branded with a symbol meaning “thief” and fires were being stoked for that very purpose. We were horrified that such a harsh punishment would be given for what we figured was mainly curiosity.

I spoke earnestly with Queen Sheela trying to convince her that we were not offended and to let the girl off. I conveyed that we got the watch back and all was ok. Sheela insisted that the girl had to be punished. I then had an idea. I told Sheela that back where we came from, there was a suitable punishment for girls who took things and that I would personally punish the girl. She thought about this but then agreed. Well, what I had in mind was what had happened to my sister Betty when she took money from mother’s purse and was found out. What she got was a good sound spanking from mother with the back of her hairbrush.

So I took Rhea by the arm, pulled her over to a fallen log and sat down. The women watched as I tipped Rhea across my knee and rucked up her little loincloth. Like all the women there, Rhea was a real beauty with a curvy figure. Her shapely bare bottom upended over my lap was giving me thoughts that had nothing to do with punishment. But I resolved to make it a good one, for her sake, to spare her the branding. So I spanked her bottom briskly, the slaps ringing out loudly. All could see Rhea’s wobbling cheeks take on a reddish hue as I spanked her soundly I thought, at least enough to make it look like real punishment. She squirmed and flailed around but I held her securely, just as I had seen my mother do with my sisters when chastisement was called for. I smacked her cute behind for several minutes while she wriggled and squirmed, her bottom bouncing and bucking over my knees. It must have stung pretty good since my own hand stung. I let her up eventually and she danced around frantically rubbing her behind, much to the amusement of her fellows.

Queen Sheela was apparently satisfied and let the girl go. After that there was much discussion and chatter about what had just happened. We got the idea that spanking as a punishment was not practiced here, but that the whole incident had made a big impression on the tribe.

After that the tribe seemed to take to the idea. We were called on again when a pair of hunters had been derelict in their duties. By this time I had learned enough of the language that I was able to understand that Sheela wanted us to punish these two like Rhea had been punished. So Jed and I sat down side by side and took the two huntresses over our knees and proceeded to redden their backsides. We carried out the sentence, a brisk spanking, amid much carrying on until the girls were squalling lustily and two sets of bare bottoms were red and hot to the touch. Sheela finally called a halt to it. The two women were properly chastened by the experience if the vigor with which they rubbed their well punished rears was any indication.

A more serious incident occurred still later when two of the women got into a fight which left one with a bloody nose and the other with a black eye. After discussing it, I suggested that for an offense like this, a switching might be called for as I had seen momma do with my sisters. I took a penknife and cut a long switch from a nearby plant that had tough stringy shoots. I suggested that the girls be bound to an overhead tree branch and their ankles hobbled. After baring the girls’ bottoms I took a switch and applied about a dozen sharp strokes to each, alternating between them a stroke at a time. They shrieked and danced about as I plied the switch, and it was apparently a satisfying spectacle, because a dozen strokes satisfied Sheela.

Thus, we had unwittingly established a new protocol for maintaining harmony in the tribe. And there were unintended consequences. We began to receive amorous advances from females who had been spanked. The night after the huntresses had been punished, both Jed and I were approached by those same two women, who told us they bore us no hard feelings. They led us off to what they termed a secret spot which was a jungle pool with a gorgeous waterfall. They divested us of our clothes then they stripped down to nothing. Bare we swam for a while in the pool before Lily, the one I had attended to, led me off to a private place of hers where our natural inclinations took over and we made love on a bed of soft ferns.

This happened more than once. In addition, our own methods of keeping house with our assigned attendants, who rotated weekly, included spankings for petty faults which seemed to lead to bouts of lovemaking. A squabble between females for one thing or another was put down by turning one or both of them across our knees and applying a paddling until squeals and promises to be good were forthcoming. Obviously this activity aroused us quite visibly to the girls and they took full advantage. The one who got the spanking would demand to be comforted and forgiven, and how could we refuse?

Finally there was Queen Sheela herself. She approached me one day and had me follow her to a grove some distance from the village. She told me that she was very happy with the new disciplinary regime we had introduced, but she felt that as queen and leader she could not require her subjects to undergo such punishment without experiencing it herself. With that she stripped off her garments and in her glorious nakedness, took me by the hand and led me to a broad tree stump where she asked me to sit down. She then placed herself across my knees until her full and magnificently shaped buttocks were positioned at the apex of my lap. She told me to lay on hard and not hold back for she wanted to feel what a real punishment spanking was like.

I did as she requested and smacked her jouncy bottom hard with the flat of my hand, giving her four of five slow deliberate smacks to opposite cheeks which elicited a little gasp. She told me to continue and I began to spank her wonderfully rounded bottom with volleys of spanks that made the cheeks wobble and dance. She writhed across my lap in a sensuous dance as my palm smacked one cheek then the other. She hissed and groaned a time or two but did not attempt to escape or call a halt. I spanked until her behind was as red as I had made the others. Then I stopped and lifted her to her feet. Her eyes were watery but she was not crying, but I saw that she seemed truly amazed that something like the flat of my hand applied to her bottom could produce such a ferocious sting. Her eyes were wide with wonder as she rubbed her flaming rear vigorously.

But we were not done. After she had cooled off a bit she cut a switch for herself. I told her she did not need to do this but she put her finger to my lips and shook her head. She found a low branch and bent over gripping it. She willingly thrust her bottom out and told me to give her a good switching like I had done with the others. I obliged and whipped her lush bottom a dozen times raising red stripes. Her body would stiffen as I laid on each stripe. Sometimes she moaned and shifted from foot to foot, but she held on to the branch. After the dozen strokes I had her rise. I embraced her to comfort her and she responded with a passion that took my breath away. She was like an aroused lioness as she  pulled me down in the grass and we engaged in a bout of passionate lovemaking that left us limp and satiated.

While this was going on, unbeknownst to me, Jed and Randall had been exploring. There was a path into the jungle that the women had indicated as “taboo”, but with Sheela nowhere to be found, they were able to slip away. Later they told me what they had found. The path led to a clearing deep in the jungle at the base of a cliff. There were cave openings in the cliff face. In the clearing were piles of bones—human bones, and an immense iron cook pot. Randall who has had some experience with such things declared the bones to be those of adult males. So we all had the same thought—were these the bones of the missing men? Who was responsible? Was there a cannibal tribe in the area in addition to the women? Or a beast in the caves? Or a worse thought—had the women lied to us? Was a similar fate in store for us? We noticed that they had fed us very well, pampering us and attending to our every need. The spankings had aroused their passions and we had engaged in furious bouts of lovemaking with dozens of them. It is seemingly a male paradise but now it appears to us that paradise has a dark side.

So we have made our plans to escape. But if we fail I can only hope that this message may reach someone, anyone. Help!

Lt Commander Will Fletcher,
USN

Eric’s Babysitter, an F/M spanking tale

Still in the hospital. This is getting old. Sorry for the repost but maybe some of you haven’t seen this one.

When I was ten I fell in love with an older woman. I was at a day camp for boys (I guess I don’t recall if girls were there. I don’t think so) and the counselors were mostly college girls. I was absolutely, uncontrollably and totally smitten by my counselor, a cute brunette named Kim…or Kit, or something like that. Anyway it was a case of puppy love in full bloom. All I wanted to do was be around her, follow in her wake, bathe in her attention.

Now consider the subject of today’s story. Eric is an older lad, but he too is smitten, and who knows what lengths to which he might go to to be near the object of his desire?

[This story and others may be found in the collection Strict Ladies and Naughty Boys, Volume 2. Scroll down the panel on your right for the cover and the link. Also available for Nook and at iTunes.]

                                   Eric’s Babysitter
When Amanda arrived Mr and Mrs Heath were hurrying to get out the door.
“Amanda, thank goodness you are here. We’re late for the party and it has been quite a day. We haven’t had time to attend to much needed chores. I hope you don’t mind. I left you a list in the kitchen.”
“Sure, Mrs H. I don’t mind.” They paid her really well. This was a frequent job that she did not want to lose.
“Just so you know, Eric was a complete pill today—fighting with his sister, broke a window in Mrs MacDougal’s garage, coming in late. Oooh! I am just beside myself.” Mrs Heath grimaced in frustration. “We just didn’t have time to cope with it all. And I am so angry I don’t trust myself to even deal with Eric right now. He’s banished to his room. I don’t have time so you’ll have to deal with him.”
Amanda shook her head. Eric was a typical teenage boy—all supercharged energy and boisterousness. At his age though, he was getting a bit big for a sitter. Amanda guessed that they still wanted her for Melinda, the 11 year old, who was at a movie and due to return later.
“It’s ok, Mrs H. Eric and I get along swell.” Amanda had to laugh to herself. That was an understatement. He usually stuck to her like glue on nights when she babysat, and she’d been doing it for years. Eric would hang around her all night. He’d be doing little things for her, showing off his hobbies, asking her to play cards or games with him, constantly vying for her attention. And all the time fixing her with that loopy grin of his, desperately seeking to please, just like an eager puppy. Why he wanted to hang around her, Amanda could not fathom. True, she was a statuesque brunette and very popular with the boys, but she was older than he was. She was aware that she was thought of by the boys as “hot.”  She had lustrous dark hair that cascaded below her shoulders, a thirty six inch bust, long legs and an hour glass shape. Still, she thought teenage boys wanted to hang out with their buddies, not with an “older woman” like her. After all, she was a college graduate and Eric was still in high school.
It was, in a way, very sweet. Well, he’d be a good looking catch for some girl some day.
She sauntered into the kitchen. There was the list, right there on the counter. She perused it.
“take out trash”—ok, no big deal
“put away groceries”—again, no biggie. There was a sack on the counter.
“feed the cat”—-ok
It was the last item, written in a hurried script, that got her attention.
It said:
“spank Eric—long and hard!”
What? She reread it. That’s what it said. This couldn’t be right. She had to think back. Eric had blushingly admitted once that his parents did, on occasion, spank. And there was that one time that Mrs Heath had smiled at her as they were leaving and said, “If they give you any trouble, you have my permission to dish out spankings.” The kids had said, “Awww, mom.” Mrs Heath had pointed at them with her finger and said, “So behave!” Amanda had laughed nervously. Had the woman been serious?
But this? Wow. She had seemed really put out with Eric. Was this a chore she just didn’t want to do or have time to do? From her own experience she knew that parents, when they decided that a spanking was in order, did not like to delay the act. So in a way it made sense—of a sort. She had been their babysitter for years. Why not trust her with this disagreeable chore? But spanking Eric? He was a teenager. Wasn’t he a little too old for that?
But if that is what they expected of her….She looked up at the second floor. Eric’s door was still closed. With a sigh she ascended the stairs.  Might as well get it over with, she decided.
She knocked on the door softly. “Eric? Eric? We have to talk.” She heard a muffled ‘yes’ from behind the door. She turned the knob, pushed the door open. Eric was seated on the bed, knees up, body slumped forward hiding his face.
“What is it?” He refused to look up.
She sat on the bed, holding the note so he could see it. “Well….I think you know.”
Eric didn’t say anything.
“Eric, your mom….the note.” She held it out.
In a small, almost inaudible voice she heard, “I know.”
“I mean, Eric, I don’t want to do this, but your mom, she expects me to….”
Eric finally looked up. He looked embarrassed, his face flushed red.
“I know what it said. I was there when she wrote it. But do you…I mean are you really going to, you know….do it?” His face was a picture of teenage angst.
Amanda sighed. The poor kid. He looked miserable.
Amanda decided then. No. She couldn’t do this. The hell with the note. Eric and she were friends. She couldn’t punish him like a six-year-old who runs into the street. “No, I won’t do it,” she said. She dropped the note on the bed and got up to leave.
“No wait.” Eric’s voice caught her at the door. She turned. Eric stood up. With a big sigh he said, “If you don’t do it my mom will—or dad. And she’s so mad at me. It will be after church tomorrow and all that time she’ll just be steaming.” His head slumped. “I’d just rather get it over with.”
Amanda stopped and thought. She understood. It was no fun having to go about your day dreading a punishment. He’d sit in church the next day no doubt squirming with anxiety as to what awaited him when they got back home. He’d have to endure the sharp looks, the barely repressed anger, then that awful command—go to your room and get ready.
Amanda came back, sat back down on the bed. “All right. How do they do it?”
“Mom sits on the bed. I have to stand next to her, on her right. She asks me to repeat what I did and say I deserve to be punished. Then she…she…takes my pants down. I have to go across her knee.”
“And she spanks you.”
“Yeah. With her hand.”
“Pants down? Really?” Geez, how embarrassing.
Eric blushed beet red. “Yeah,” He mumbled.
“Does she spank you hard?”
Eric shrugged. “She spanks me for a long time. It’s hard I guess. It hurts. Sometimes I cry.”
They looked at each other for a moment, the attractive young woman  and the nervously fidgeting teenaged boy.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?” she asked.
“No… but I’d rather you did it than mom.” He shuffled his feet, looking down. From what Amanda could see he looked pretty miserable and embarrassed about what was going to happen.
“I can’t go easy on you, you know that.” He nodded. “I’m not going to lie to your mom and say I gave you a good spanking if I didn’t.”
“I know.”
“I might make you cry. I’m pretty strong. I swim and play tennis, so this won’t be easy for you.”
“I know.”
“All right, but I want you to cooperate. No jumping up, no putting your hand back, none of that. Can you be brave and take your medicine?”
“Yes,” he said.

Amanda brushed her hair back and sat up straight. “Ok, Eric,” she pointed with her finger, “then stand over here.” Eric obediently moved to her right side. “Now, tell me what you did that lead to all of this.”

Eric took a deep breath. “I broke Mrs MacDougal’s window. Mom said not to play ball out there, but we did and somebody threw wild.”
“and….?”
“And I was fighting with Melinda earlier.”
“and…?”
“I was late coming back and it made mom and dad late.”
“It’s quite a list, Eric. Do you deserve to be punished you think?”
“I guess so.”
She looked up at him sharply. Amanda steeled herself. She was going to have to be a different person now. Not the sweet, friendly sitter that Eric doted upon, but a new Amanda, a no nonsense disciplinarian performing an unpleasant, but necessary task.
“You can do better than that, Eric.”
“I mean, yes. I deserve to be punished.”
“Very well, Eric,” she said squaring her shoulders. “I’m going to give you a spanking. It will be a good one, just so we understand ourselves. There will be no set number of spanks but….” She eyed Eric’s clock. “It will go for three minutes. One minute of good sound spanking for each offense. Does that sound fair to you?”
“Yes, I guess.” Eric grimaced and shuffled nervously.
“All right, then.” Eric stiffened as Amanda inserted her fingers into Eric’s shorts. She dragged down the athletic shorts and white cotton underpants in one yank. And was startled to see Eric’s stiff penis pointed right at her face and bobbing up and down like a pendulum. She looked up at him, eyes wide.
“What is this?”
Eric blushed beet red. “I…I can’t help it. It…it just happened.”
Amanda sighed. Boys. She guessed it was the anxiety. And, she told herself, he’s only a teenager. All raging hormones. He can’t control anything, least of all his penis. She had to admit being startled, not only at the erection, but its size. Why, he was like a full grown man. She hated to admit it, but at the sight of the prominent erection she felt her own faint stir of arousal.
Enough. Time to do this.
In her most commanding voice she said, “Get across my knee, Eric.”
With a soft groan Eric lowered himself across Amanda’s thighs. Amanda was wearing shorts herself and it was s shock to feel the boy’s mid section make contact with her in such an intimate way. She felt his hard penis slide along the top of her left thigh, imprisoned there by his weight. She forced the sensation out of her mind. She had a job to do.

“Look at the clock. When the second hand goes by twelve, I’ll start. You’ll tell me when it’s been three minutes, ok?”

“Yes, Amanda.”
She rested her hand on his bottom, patting. She felt him shiver. “Good boy. And just so you know, I’m really sorry I have to do this.”
The seconds hand passed 12. Amanda raised her arm to shoulder height and brought it down with a loud crack, right on the center of Eric’s bottom, spanning the divide between the boyish cheeks. “Owoooh!” Eric yelped. She quickly raised it again and brought it down again delivering another sharp smack to the same place. Eric hissed, drawing air through his teeth. She drew back and placed another spank on the same spot. It made a red hand print. “Yeowch,” yipped Eric. A half dozen smacks later, she felt she was getting the hang of it.
Amanda increased the tempo, settling into a rhythm. She spaced the spanks out all over Eric’s bottom but concentrated on the undersides of the wobbly cheeks. Right where he sat, she thought. Eric tensed and relaxed, flinching at times. He grunted in pain, obviously trying not to cry out. Poor kid, he was trying to be brave, she thought as she continued to pepper his bottom cheeks with hard ringing smacks. It stung her hand enough, it must be stinging him. She looked at the clock. One minute had passed. She paused for a second or two then resumed.

“Ow…ow…ahhh…ow!” Eric bleated now with almost every smack. His bottom was getting red. The spanking was faster now— rapid volleys that impacted his cheeks and caused a nearly continuous ripple. Handprints had merged into an overall red flush. Amanda realized she was sweating and that Eric was too. He was wriggling across her lap. She shifted him a bit to get a better grip. She paused to wipe her brow with her forearm. Licking her lips, she resumed the punishment with a volley of brisk spanks that made Eric arch his body inversely. He let out a long anguished groan.

She looked again. One minute to go. She slowed down, bringing her hand down hard, each spank deliberately placed. Eric gasped. He began to rock, sliding across her thighs. As she increased the tempo again he humped up and down, wriggling like an eel. His legs fluttered as if vainly seeking relief from the searing heat of the intense smacking. Twenty seconds to go.
Almost there, she thought. Suddenly Eric jerked frantically, back and forth across her knee, then his body went stiff. Amanda felt the explosion of a jet of warm sticky fluid on her thighs. Instantly she realized what had just happened. Eric had climaxed. The friction of his penis rubbing her thighs had caused him to come. The seconds hand passed 12.
“Eric!” she exclaimed. “Look what you did!” She hauled him up and stood him on his feet. “Get me a tissue.” Before Eric could react she saw a box and grabbed one. “Eric, I don’t know what to say!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” cried Eric. “It just happened.” His face was flushed with embarrassment. He shifted from foot to foot, rubbing his bottom.
Amanda willed herself to calm down. It wasn’t his fault. He was just an average teenage boy after all.
“Ok, Eric. It’s all right. It was an accident. Come here.” She took him in her arms for a hug. It had been an intense emotional experience. Eric leaned his head on her shoulder. She patted his back, oblivious to the fact that he was still naked below the waist. For a few minutes she just hugged him. “There…now, it’s all right. It’s done.” She pulled back. “Better pull your pants back up.” She smiled. “Then you can come downstairs and we’ll have some ice cream. Would you like that?” Eric appeared to be in a daze. He just nodded.
***************************************************************
Later that night Eric lay in bed, stroking himself. He was approaching another climax—the third one since Amanda had left and he’d gone to bed. It had been an impulse thing, adding that item to his mom’s note (which had since been flushed down the toilet). He hadn’t really thought it through, he’d just wanted to be close to her in any way that he could. But downstairs later he’d had the presence of mind to ask her not to say anything to his mom unless she asked and, of course, she hadn’t.
 It had all been worth it. The humiliation of her pulling his pants down, going over her knee, the stinging pain, all of it. Just to be close to her, to feel her, to breathe her scent, to bear the smacks from her hand. Climaxing while enduring the spanking had been a bonus beyond his wildest dreams.  Now the dull hot throb in his bottom from the spanking just made him all the more aroused. It had been HER hand striking him, he’d lain across HER lap, he’d come all over HER thighs. Pain, embarrassment, humiliation? What did any of that matter to a man in love?

The Summer Camp Story from Gwen’s Sorority Days

Today a sorority tale but with no illustrations. Sorry. I’m posting from my hospital bed.

“Oh yeah,” said Misty. “I used to go to this summer camp for girls. I was sixteen and in sort of a senior cabin. Cabin 12. Our counselors were juniors and seniors from the university, so they were about five years older. There were three other senior cabins and we were all highly competitive with each other. You know, who won the most at swimming races, who were the best horseback riders, things like that. We got into a real fierce rivalry with cabin 18, one of the other senior cabins. We even competed on cabin inspections. You got points for having the best cabin and we all had chores assigned, so if you got dinged at inspection it was because someone failed to do their job. At first the other girls would just make sure you got scolded for missing some dust or whatever, but as the summer went on, the competition heated up. Our counselors were getting into it too. They wanted to win. Our counselor was a girl from State named Jennifer Johnston. She was a Phys Ed major—real pretty girl, a solid, tall athletic blonde who worked out all the time and was a water safety instructor. Her counterpart at cabin 18 was Claire Carson, a tall and voluptuous dark haired girl who mostly taught horseback riding. They were known as JJ and CC to all the girls and they didn’t like each other very much.”

“I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised by what came next because of what happened on my birthday,” Misty continued.

“What did your birthday have to do with anything?” asked Joyce.

“Nothing, really, but it revealed a lot about Jen. Anyway, I had a birthday during the camp session and I told everybody, and I was all excited. Our cabin was going to get a cake at supper. Now, at this camp we had an outdoor shower facility. Typically you put on a big towel or a robe and walked up to the showers. So on my birthday I walked up there as usual, just before supper, and took a shower. When I got back to the cabin, all of my cabin mates, there were six of us to a cabin, were there and standing inside. They were all dressed and were just standing there grinning at me. Jen was seated in a chair in the middle of the cabin. And then everyone shouted ‘happy birthday!’ and Jen grinned and said, ‘and what happens on birthdays?’ and everybody shouted ‘birthday spanking!’. They were all laughing, but before I could blink they ripped off my towel. I was stark naked underneath. Then Jen grabbed me and pulled me down, right over her knee, just like some naughty schoolgirl. I was mortified beyond belief, but everyone else thought it was great fun. There I was, just squirming and wiggling over Jen’s lap, but Jen was strong and I couldn’t get up. She rubbed her hand around on my bottom, patting it and said, ‘how old is Misty today?’ Somebody said ‘seventeen,’ and Jen said ‘seventeen it is.’

“The next thing I felt was this crisp smack! from Jen’s hand on my bare behind. Everybody said, ‘one!’. Then another smack, then another. All the while my cabin mates are counting. The smacks stung. She spanked one cheek, then the other. Sometimes right square across the middle. I was struggling and yelping, but to no avail. The spanks just kept coming as Jen worked her way up to seventeen. My behind was burning hot. I could see the absolute glee on my friends’ faces as I got the birthday spanking of a lifetime as they counted….smack! ‘fifteen’…smack!….’sixteen’….smack!…’seventeen’. Finally I got the last ‘one to grow on’, which was harder by far than the others, by the way, and Jen let me go. They were all laughing as I jumped up in the nude and danced around rubbing my bottom which must have been ten shades of red.

“It turns out that the birthday spanking was a camp tradition and a couple of other girls had birthdays that Summer too. Anyway, back to the rivalry.

 

“The camp director who ran everything was a big blonde matronly woman in her forties named Dottie Findlay. Every morning we had cabin inspection and she’d come though inspecting cabins one by one. We stood by our bunks while she looked around and made sure everything was ship shape. If she found dust or grime or things out of place you got dinged for it.

“So one day Dottie came though and we lost points because the walk in front wasn’t swept. Donna Sanders was supposed to have done it, but she’d been yakking and fooling around before inspection and it didn’t get done. Everybody was mad at Donna and we all started in on her. It got pretty heated but Jen stepped in and said, ‘Girls, there’s a better way to handle this.’ And she pulled out her sorority paddle from her locker. She let us pass it around and hold it. It was a maple paddle, about eighteen inches long, four inches wide and three fourths of an inch thick. She said from now on if we all agreed, whoever caused us to lose points would get swats. She would decide how many and her decision would be final. She said if we really wanted to win, this would keep us on our toes.

“We all gaped at the paddle and understood the implication, but in the end we agreed. We’d do whatever it took to win. Even Donna, who was in the soup for that morning said yes. Jen said, ‘Ok, if you all agree. We’ll institute a system and I’ll dish out paddle swats for anything that causes us to lose points.’ Then she addressed Donna and told her that she was ‘it’ and that she should get three swats for the messy walk. We closed the cabin door and Jen told Donna to bend over and grab the steel frame of the bunk. We gathered around to watch, and the tension was really thick in that closed cabin. Donna was nervous, but she bent over. It made her butt stick out in her little camp shorts. Jen stood to her left and carefully lined up the paddle. “She tapped a time or two then reared back and smacked her with the paddle right on the center of her bottom. It made a loud pop! And Donna hissed and jerked her head back. Then pop! Pop! Jen laid on two more swats, hard, about ten seconds apart. Donna stood up and rubbed frantically and hopped from foot to foot. Her eyes were as big as saucers. She said, ‘Oh yeah, girls. That hurts.’

“And that came to be our method for dealing with mistakes that lost us points. If you didn’t do your job right, if you came in last at anything—it was swats. Usually the bill was three but it could be as high as six. Six would leave a girl blinking back tears.

“Wow,” said Joyce. “How often and when did you get it?”

“If it was an inspection, right after. Otherwise, just before bed the day of the event. Sometimes you had to wait a day or two. Staff meetings and other duties would take Jen away from time to time. That was the worst, I think, having to wait for a day, knowing that when Jen had time it would be bottoms up for the paddle. And it got worse. At bedtime we were in tops and panties or shorty PJ’s which were even less protection. When you bent over and grabbed the bunk, there was frequently just one thin layer of nylon between you and that paddle. Some girls started wearing thicker PJ’s. So in order to make things perfectly fair, Jen said all paddlings should be bare, that that was how her college sorority did it. We reluctantly agreed. So from then on it was panties down when you bent over to take your licks. It was so embarrassing to have to drop your panties to your knees. We came to dread that command, ‘ok, take your panties down and bend over.’

“Bare, it really, really stung. A smack on the bare bottom with a wooden paddle felt like a brand of fire. It was fascinating to watch, as long as you were not getting it. The first time someone got it bare it was a girl named Sarah Blake. She had been given a demerit at gym for poor sportsmanship. Demerits subtracted points from your cabin’s total, so that was really bad. So that night at bedtime Jen announced, ‘Six swats, Sarah.’ Everyone else agreed. It had really hurt our chances. So Sarah stood at the head of her bunk and slid her panties down. She was a honey haired blonde, a little beauty. When she bent over her cute little bottom cheeks stuck out in the most adorable way. But then Jen took up her stance and patted her butt lightly. She clenched up but Jen told her it hurt more that way. Then Jen swung the paddle and it hit with a sharp crack! Sarah’s bottom cheeks wobbled with the impact and she sucked her breath in with a ‘hss….ahh’ sound and stamped her feet. A few seconds later a red band rose on her skin. We watched breathlessly as Sarah took her licks. Each swat took maybe fifteen or twenty seconds because she had to calm down and resume her position after each one. I mean at each swat she’d howl and jerk straight up and clap her hands to her bottom cheeks. Jen just waited, but after a few seconds told her she had to resume the position and stick it out. Then she’d line up again, bring her arm back and crack! the paddle would smack Sarah’s bottom.  It was like that through all six swats and I know she struggled to take her paddling.

After that Jen had to say that you had to stay bent over or get an extra. No one wanted that and everybody tried their best to stay down for their licks.

“After that everyone redoubled their efforts. Every now and then, though, somebody had to take their panties down and bend over for swats. I know I did a couple of times. Once I got three and another time four and both times it hurt like blazes. Fran Breck, a real cute brunette, got it the most. But she had the butt for it—a real round fleshy bubble of a fanny. And boy did it wobble when Jen tanned it. We all yelped and did a little dance when that paddle toasted our bare fannies.

“The competition kept getting hotter between us and cabin 18. And we found out something else. They had taken our lead and had instituted their own discipline system as an incentive to win. Their cabin counselor, CC, brought a wide harness strap down from the stables. Her girls had to take their pants down and get face down on the bed over pillows and take up to six licks with the harness strap. They later said it stung like fire too and we wondered whose was worse. We were about to find out.

“I don’t know who first concocted the idea of sabotage but someone did, and we managed to find ways to screw up cabin 18 so they would lose points. Britney Sayers dumped some dirt on their porch just after Dottie had gone in for inspection and when she came out she figured she had missed it the first time and dinged them. They knew we did it, though and they retaliated. It got to be a war. One night things came to a head. After lights out cabin 18 snuck out and raided us. They hit us with talcum powder bombs, making a big mess.

“Now the thing is, Jen was there and she got hit too. And she was mad. She figured there was no way this could have happened without CC being in on it. So we plotted revenge. That same night we made water bombs with some balloons that someone had. Then at about three in the morning we snuck out and tossed our water balloons in their windows. Well, they started shrieking and yelling and next thing you know lights are coming on all over the camp. Before long, here comes Dottie and she is steaming mad. JJ and CC are mad at each other and us girls in cabin 12 are screaming at the girls in cabin 18.”

“I guess you were all in trouble,” said Joyce.

“Not only us, JJ and CC too. Nothing happened right away, but the very next day all of us were summoned to the director’s house where Dottie lived. Dottie was there with the assistant director, another woman in her forties everyone called Aunt Betty. They marched us all out to this shed in back of the house, kind of an equipment shed where stuff was stored in the winter. It was a big metal shed with a concrete floor and it was all cleared out in the middle. Except that there were two of these tall narrow type sawhorses set up side by side. We were all really nervous, as you can guess. I didn’t like the looks of the whole thing, not one bit.

“Dottie started off by telling us that what ordinarily would happen is, we would be sent home, that the kind of fight we started was totally unacceptable, and it was grounds for terminating our camp session. But, she said, she’d had a talk with both JJ and CC and that she knew and understood how things had got to that point. She also said that she had been told about our pact on discipline. Then came the bomb. Anyone could walk out of there with five demerits for the fight, she said. She understood that girls will be girls and highly competitive, but there had to be discipline. But—in lieu of demerits any girl could take eight swats. The catch was it was to be administered by the other cabin’s counselor. ‘And it will be on the bare butt, girls; and if you get up before it’s done, the demerits will be applied anyway,’ she added. She pulled out JJ’s paddle and CC’s harness strap and placed one on each sawhorse. ‘You decide, girls,’ she said, and stepped outside.

“For minute we were just in shock. Then we started talking. Cabin 18 was talking too. We were eyeing that strap and it looked wicked. But no one wanted to be the coward that cost us five demerits. In the end we made a pact. We would all take our licks. Let those floozies from cabin 18 be cowards about it. So when Dottie came back in we told her what we had decided. Each of us would step up and take licks with the strap. To our surprise cabin 18’s girls decided the same.

“So Dottie said, ‘all right, CC, you and JJ come up here and take over. They did. JJ said, ‘ok, who wants to go first?’ and one of their girls stepped up and stood at the sawhorse. JJ told her to take her shorts and panties down and get over the horse. Meanwhile CC motioned toward us, and one of us, I think Cyn Lawler, this cute little pixie of a girl stepped up to the other sawhorse and skinned down her shorts. Since it was the other cabin’s girls, both CC and JJ really laid it on. CC brought her arm back over her shoulder and let fly with that strap will a full sweep of her arm. JJ did the same with the paddle. The crack! of the strap and paddle sounded deafening in that shed, like firecrackers going off. As the strokes of the strap were delivered one by one, Cyn’s little bottom quivered and got red as a beet; and she really squealed as CC whipped  her fanny but good. The girl from 18, Yvonne something, yelped frantically too as the paddle turned her butt the color of a ripe tomato, but neither got up before their eight.

“Wow,” said Brina. “I’ll bet that really hurt when it came your turn.”

“Listen, the whipping I got with that strap was worse than anything I ever got at the Kappa house. The sting was unbelievable. I thought I’d never hold on for eight licks. We had to bend over the sawhorse and grab the crossbar in front. This meant that your bottom was arched over the top. I never felt so vulnerable, having my bare ass upended like that. I held on for dear life, but when I felt the licks from that strap, I practically screamed. It was white hot fire searing your fanny. In the end we were a sight, a dozen girls hopping around crying and wailing and rubbing our bottoms like mad. It was quite the old country style licking.”

“But that wasn’t the end of it. When it was over, Dottie told us she hoped we’d learned our lesson. Then we heard her tell JJ and CC that she wanted to see them both right back here after lights out. Well both our counselors kind of went white, I mean, all the color drained out of their faces. But they just said ‘yes, ma’am’ and we all went back to the cabin. There was a lot of chatter, I’m sure, as to why we were all sitting on pillows at supper that night. But what we really wondered was what was going on with CC and JJ. A couple of us were determined to see. So after lights out me and Cyn and Sarah snuck out and followed JJ.

“We made our way in the dark to the shed and crawled down on our stomachs. We could see through cracks in the siding. The lights were on in the shed and Dottie and Aunt Betty were there. CC and JJ looked like naughty school kids while Dottie reamed them out for letting the whole cabin war thing get out of hand. She said she ought to fire them and send them home too, but she’d thought about it and since she’d given us the choice, she’d give them one too. They could each take twelve licks, she said, bare bottom. Six with the paddle and six with the strap, so they’d know what each one felt like. CC and JJ got these sick looks on their faces but we could see they were going to do it.

“We watched breathlessly as JJ and CC stepped up to the sawhorses. They unfastened their shorts and slid them down. The panties followed. Both girls had great figures. They were tall and well built college seniors. JJ was more slender, CC more voluptuous, but both girls had round, firm, and well shaped bottoms on them. I had to admit we all had this sick feeling of anticipation now seeing our counselors about to get it. Dottie picked up JJ’s paddle and Aunt Betty took up CC’s harness strap. Dottie measured up for a swat and brought the paddle back. She gave it a full swing. The paddle whooshed through the air and landed with an ear splitting smack. JJ hissed. Her bottom jiggled. Then it was Aunt Betty’s turn. The strap cracked across CC’s behind and left a red stripe.  Then it was Dottie again with the paddle. She lined up and planted another hard paddle swat On JJ’s bottom. JJ let out a soft yeow! Trying to stifle it but we knew how bad it burned. Then she stepped back so that Aunt Betty could swing that strap and paint another red stripe across CC’s fanny. It was a loud tanning they were getting with the sharp smacks of the paddle and the thwacks of the strap, not to mention the girls’ vocal reactions.

For the next five minutes at least the two directors alternated giving their charges paddle swats and licks with the strap. Both CC and JJ yelped and squirmed around. They stamped their feet on the floor, humped up and down, and gasped in pain as stripe after stripe, smack after smack literally painted their bottoms red. In the end they were pleading for Dottie and Aunt Betty to go easier on them. But Dottie said no, they were going to get it good and hard if they wanted to stay on. So the girls just had to grin and bear it. When it was over, when they had each been given twelve licks or swats, they were tearfully rubbing their behinds and stamping around, trying to rub the sting out.”

“Whew,” said Donna. “Is it hot in here? That’s some story. Who won? How did it come out?”

“Oh,” said Misty. “Nobody. Both cabins disqualified.”

“Oh, geez,” said Gwen. “All that for nothing.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Misty with a grin. “It sure was an interesting Summer.”

Donna looked at her watch. “Whew girls, we’ve got to go. But let’s get together before we all leave town, all right?”

All agreed and Donna added with a wicked grin, “And Gwen, we’re going to have to do something about you telling our secrets, you know. I think we need to reconstitute the Kappa Court. What do you say girls?”

Misty and Brina grinned. “Can we make Joyce an honorary member?”

“Oh, surely,” said Donna.

“Well, I’ll donate my place then,” said Joyce. “Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night,” they all said in unison, looking at Gwen who looked worried.

 

Mrs. Scully on F/M Sunday

Today’s guest author is BJ who wrote for CF Publications. This story is from 1999. You can still find BJ at cfpub.com.

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Mrs. Scully
By BJ

Joe and Steve got out of the army in early August, 1972. The had both been
lucky; neither had gone to Vietnam. Now they were both free to get on with their
lives. Joe had no immediate plans but Steve was already enrolled at Providence
College for the fall term. So Joe accepted Steve’s invitation to come home with
him for a few weeks until he decided what to do with himself. What the hell,
they had been good buddies since basic. Pretty soon life would break up their
friendship so why not hang together for a little while longer?

Besides Joe really had nowhere else to go. He had been so anxious to get away
from his own family that he had joined the army as soon as he graduated from
high school. There was no way he would return to his home town. He had some
vague thoughts of going up to Alaska to work on the proposed oil pipeline but
that could wait. Joe knew that Steve had been raised by a single mother who was
now Dean of Students at a local woman’s college. He wasn’t sure if there was
ever a father in the picture. Just the same Steve seemed like he came from a
happy home. He seemed more stable that most other guys. He had more self
discipline than Joe. He could be just a wild as anyone else at times but he
always knew when to stop, when having fun turned into hurting someone or getting
yourself into trouble.

Joe admired Steve. If he had been more like his friend he would have found his
two years in the service a lot easier to handle. So Joe was anxious to see what
Steve’s home life was really like. Maybe he would learn something.

Joe was stunned when he first met Steve’s mother. She was 5’8″, had short auburn
hair and was absolutely beautiful. Although she was in her mid forties she
looked about ten years younger. She was dressed in a light blue summer suit that
made her look like the professional she was but did not, in anyway, hide her
figure. Joe was impressed. If she hadn’t been Steve’s mother he would have put
the moves on her!

The love between mother and son was evident. Joe was almost embarrassed by the
display of affection between the two of them. Then, he wasn’t used to it. No one
had ever hugged in his family or show the slightest trace of emotion. They never
even touched each other. To someone used to cold comfort such a visible display
of warmth took some getting used to. Mrs. Scully took them out to diner that
first night. It was the fanciest restaurant Joe had ever been to. He felt a bit
uncomfortable among the finery and had some trouble with the menu but both Steve
and Mrs. Scully did their best to put him at ease. They didn’t make him feel
like he was any less of a person because he wasn’t used to the finer things in
life. They were helpful without being condescending.

Joe thought he was beginning to understand why Steve was such a good guy. If he
had been brought up by a mother like that he would have turned out the same way.
Well, it was too late now! Of course, Joe didn’t really understand, but he
would! He would find out that it was never really too late, that a boy is never
too old to be brought up right!

As good a time as Joe was having he was anxious to hit a few bars, have a couple
of beers and meet some girls. Especially the girls. Being around Steve’s mom was
making him awfully horny. Since she was obviously not available he needed to
find someone else.

The boys announced their plans at the end of dinner. Mrs. Scully raised no
objections and even slipped Steve an ten dollar bill. As they were parting
though she smiled sweetly and told Steve not to drink too much and not to stay
out too late.

“Remember, you’re still my little boy.” She had said as they walked away.

As it turned out they did drink too much and were out much later than they
intended to. It was all Joe’s fault. He was having to good time to go home. He
didn’t end up with any of the girls they ran into. The only woman he could think
about was Mrs. Scully. But he enjoyed the music and the beer and the sheer
chaotic freedom of it all!

Steve kept trying to get him to leave but Joe would just smile and buy another
round. “Hey, come on man, my mother told me not to drink to much!” ‘Hey, Steve,
you’re twenty one years old! You just got out of the army. Your free! You
deserve a good time!”

“Ya, but, my mother.”

“Will you relax? You’re not a kid anymore. What’s she gonna do to you?”

Steve looked Joe right in the eyes. He was about to answer, then thought better
of it. Instead he and took another sip of his beer.

“You’re right, man! I’m an adult. What’s she going to do to me?”

It was after 2 A.M. when they stumbled loudly into the house. Steve tried to
sush Joe for fear of waking up his mother He need not have worried. She was
awake and waiting for them.

“Well, Steven. Your first night home and you’re already drunk and disorderly! I
was hoping that you might have grown up from your military experience but,
obviously, you have not. It seems that the army doesn’t make a man out of
everyone, at least not the type of man I find acceptable. Perhaps it is just as
well that I discovered your continuing immaturity so soon. Best that we
re-establish the status quo ante regarding discipline as soon as possible.”

Seeing that Steve was just too inebriated to stay awake much longer she sent
them off to bed saying that she would deal with him first thing in the morning.

It was around nine in the morning that Mrs. Scully entered the bedroom. Steve
was still asleep while Joe had just awakened. Joe scrambled to pull the covers
over him. He’d been sleeping in the raw. He might as well have not bothered,
however. Mrs. Scully walked right past him without looking and stood over
Steve’s bed.

Steve was sprawled out on his stomach clad in his boxer shorts. Joe saw that
Mrs. Scully was carrying something that looked like a board in her right hand.
She raised it up and brought it down onto Steve’s bottom. WHACK! Steve came
immediately awake and jumped up grabbing his cheeks. He looked angry until he
saw his mother standing there looking with that stern and determined look he
knew too well!

“Steven! Your fist night home and you’ve disgraced yourself already. It’s plain
to see that whatever discipline you received in the army wasn’t sufficient!
Well, you’re home now. You’ll have to live by my rules and under my discipline!
You know what to do.”

“Aw, Mom! I’m too old for that!”

“Don’t, ‘Aw Mom,’ me! You certainly aren’t too old as long as you behave like a
child! Now march!”

Steve got out of bed and walked over to the chair next to his desk. He bent over
the back of the chair resting his hands on the seat. Naturally this left his
bottom in a most vulnerable position. Mrs. Scully came up behind him and yanked
his shorts down until they fell to the floor.

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“My god! She’s going to spank him!” Joe couldn’t believe it was happening and
right in front of him! No wonder Steve had been so anxious to get home last
night! Mrs. Scully was taking aim. For the first time Joe saw what she was
using. It was the paddle board he had seen hanging in the kitchen. He had
assumed it was used as a cutting board but he saw how wrong he had been.

Mrs. Scully swung the paddle with both hands against Steve’s bare ass. WHACK!
Steve jumped but stayed in position. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Twelve times in all
the hard paddle connected with Steve’s tender rear end! Joe didn’t know how
Steve kept from bawling like a baby. His behind was crimson! It must have hurt
like hell!

Mrs. Scully put the paddle down. She placed her left hand firmly in the small of
Steve’s back and began spanking him with her right. The hand spanks couldn’t
have hurts as much but they were landing against an already sore bottom! Before
long poor Steve was bawling and wriggling his ass in a most unmanly manner.
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After Steve was reduced to tears Mrs. Scully stopped spanking but kept him
firmly in position.

“I’m sorry I had to do that, Steven. You really should be too old to spank by
now. Until you’re behavior tells me otherwise, however, I shall have to continue
to paddle you”
She gave him a few more solid whacks and told him to get dressed. Steve walked,
naked, to the bathroom clutching and rubbing his burning bottom. As he left Mrs.
Scully turned to Joe.

“Joseph, I realize that you’re just as guilty as Steven. However I have no
authority to punish you as you deserve. If you were mine I would most certainly
paddle you for your behavior last night. I believe that you are probably even
more culpable in this affair than Steven. I think you have proven to be a bad
influence on Steven. So the sooner you are gone the better!”

Joe felt terrible! He really felt like he had alienated Mrs. Scully, a women he
not only desired but also respected. Now he had to leave. While she hadn’t
exactly thrown him out she’d made it clear his presence was no longer wanted. He
didn’t want to leave. He really felt at home here for some reason.

Joe didn’t know what to do. He wanted to discuss it with Steve but he was in no
mood to talk. Joe could feel Steve’s sense of humiliation being paddled on the
bare butt in front of his army buddy. Steve hardly said a word to Joe. He
showered and left the house saying something about buying some new clothes.

Joe wanted to make it up with Mrs. Scully in some way. He tried to think of some
gesture that would appease her anger. Try as he might, however, he could only
think of one thing. He wasn’t too sure he could go through with that but it was
the only way. He gathered up his courage and entered the study where Mrs. Scully
sat working at her desk.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Scully. I came to apologize.”

“Yes, Joseph. Go on.”

“You were right, it was more my fault than Steve’s last night. He wanted to go
home but I convinced him to stay.”

“I was aware of that, Joseph. I know Steven very well and I’ve formed a very
good idea about your character, or, should I say, lack of character.”

That last remark stung if only because it was so true. Yet Joe let it slip by
and continued.

“I don’t think it’s fair that Steve should be punished for something that was
really my fault.”

“Steven has free will. He could have left at any time. It was his choice. He
deserved exactly what he got! As for you, you certainly need to be punished but,
as I said, you are not mine to discipline.”

“That’s just it, Mrs. Scully. I mean, why not? Okay, I messed up good and maybe
I’ve go it coming but if you don’t give it to me who will? ”

“Joseph, are you suggesting . . . ?”

“I just don’t want you mad at me. I don’t want to have to leave! I like Steve
too much; I like you too much. If I have to take a spanking to stay than I’ll
take it. Please!

She was touched by his heartfelt sincerity! The poor boy looked so desperate, so
contrite! He was on the verge of tears. She rose and took his hands in hers and
looked into his eyes. They seemed to be pleading with her.

“All right Joseph. If a spanking is what you want than that’s what you’ll get.
Goodness know you deserve it! I’ll return in a moment. When I do I want to find
you bent over the chair with your trousers around you ankles.”

She returned with the paddle to find that Joe had done as he was told. He was
bent over the chair looking embarrassed and uncomfortable but his pants were
down! Obviously, he intended to go through with this.

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She moved around behind him and yanked down his shorts. She wasn’t prepared for
the wave of feeling that washed over her as she fully exposed him. She had
paddled her son bare on numerous occasions but this was the first time she had
pulled down another male’s underpants from behind. And this one was certainly
full grown in more ways than one. His legs and buttocks were youthful and tight.
Plus he was, unless she was really mistaken, almost fully aroused!

Much to her surprise, she found herself becoming excited. She had always thought
of spanking as pure punishment. She knew that there were people who became
sexually aroused from spanking but she had never thought she was one of them.
Still, this was the first chance she had to paddle a strange man’s bare bottom!

She exercised her rather impressive will to force those sexual thoughts from her
mind. She couldn’t process them right then. They were just too new, to alien.
Besides, she had a real spanking to administer to very deserving bottom.
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Joseph was well aware of his state of arousal. His main concern was hiding it
from Mrs. Scully. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea because, in this
case, it was the right idea! Sure, he had been with women before but this was
very different! He was presenting his rear end, naked and vulnerable to a women
he desired, a woman old enough to be his mother. This combination of
circumstances led him to feel ashamed at what was a perfectly natural response.

Using both hands she administered the same twelve whacks to Joe’s behind as she
had Steven’s. If she paused a little longer between strokes it was only for
effect and not necessarily to admire her handiwork. Poor Joe took his twelve
with the board quite badly. He yelped and moaned and wriggled around. Every time
he wriggled he revealed a little of his erect penis to her wondering gaze.

After she finished with the board she continued with her hand. If she sometimes
left her hand on Joe’s burning cheeks between whacks it was only to rest her
arm. She felt the warmth radiating from Joe’s crimson behind. It was a new
sensation and most pleasant! Still, she kept her mind well focused on what she
was supposed to be doing.

When she finished spanking she kept her hand cupped over the cleft in his
cheeks.

“Joseph, I hope you’ve learned your lesson. Are you sorry for what you did?”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

“Good! And it won’t happen again, will it?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Because if it does you know what you’ll get! As a matter of fact, as long as
you stay here you’ll be subject to the same rules and discipline as Steven. Do
you understand?”
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“Yes, Ma’am. Does that mean I can stay?”

“As long as you like under the conditions I’ve outlined. Do you understand and
agree.”

“Yes, Mrs. Scully. Thank you.”

“Very well, Joseph. You may get dressed now.”

She left the room before Joe straightened up. That was fine with him! There was
no risk of accidentally displaying his erection and shocking Mrs. Scully. He
never thought that she had been well aware of his state. (Young men never
realize that older women are not so easily shocked.) She had gone away quickly
in order to avoid embarrassing him. Besides she decided that a quick change in
underwear was definitely necessary!

When Steve returned, Joe told him what had happened.

“I couldn’t let you take the rap alone. It was more my fault than it was yours.
Besides, it was either that or I’d have to leave.”

“Ya, well, thanks, I guess. Mom can be a real Prussian sometimes!”

“Don’t I know!” Joe grinned as he rubbed his behind. “Don’t I know!”
“Sorry about this morning. I guess I was kind of embarrassed. Getting paddled,
bare assed, by my mom in front of you. You know.”

“Ya, but don’t worry about it. I wish my mom had cared that much about me.”

The following days were uneventful except that Joe and Mrs. Scully were quietly
falling in love with each other. Neither one said anything about their growing
feelings but they talked about everything else under the sun. They always seemed
to be in each other’s company without actually seeming to do so on purpose. Joe
saw less and less of Steve and more and more of his mother.

Then Steve went down to Newport for the weekend with a bunch of friends from
high school. Joe was invited but declined.

“I’d just be in the way. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Old friends, old
times. You know.”

What Joe said was true enough as far as it went. He was well aware, though, that
he would be left alone with Mrs. Scully. This would be his opportunity to
approach her, to speak from his heart and take his chances. If he only knew that
best way to go about it!

He had all day, Friday, to think about it. Steve had gone and Mrs. Scully hadn’t
returned from the college. He busied himself around the house for a while; read
the paper, watched some TV. He feel asleep on the couch around four and woke up
around five. He decided to take a shower before Mrs. Scully returned.

He went up to the bedroom and stripped down to the buff. He grabbed a towel and
walked casually into the bathroom. He got the shock of his life. Mrs. Scully was
sitting in the tub! They both screamed in surprise. Her hands covered her
breasts while his flew to cover his crotch. Naturally he dropped his towel. He
bent to pick it up and used tried to wrap it around his waist. It was all right
for a second but hen it slipped off. He picked it up again and began backing up
to the door, trying not to look at her but unable to turn away.

“God! I’m sorry, Mrs. Scully I didn’t know you were her! Oh my god! I’m sorry!”

“Don’t you know enough to knock before you enter a woman’s bathroom!”

“No! Yes! I mean I always knock! I’ll leave.”

Joe raced out of the bathroom and down the hall, dropping his towel once again
in the process. He didn’t bother stopping to pick it up, intent only on reaching
the realtive safety of his room. He’d only just closed the door behind him,
though, when Mrs. Scully opened it and entered. She was wearing a small towel
wrapped around her head and a large bath towel wrapped around her body. Her skin
still glistened with moisture.

Joe was still naked when she entered the room. He turned his back to her in an
attempt to find something, anything, to cover himself with.

“Don’t you turn your back to me, young man! You turn right around and face me.”

Joe turned, blushing with embarrassment, his only covering two strategically
placed hands.

“You should be ashamed of yourself walking around the house without a stitch on.
This is not the army. This is a respectable household and we do not parade
around in our birthday suits. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Perfectly. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were home. I’ll get dressed
now.”

“You didn’t know I was home? Did it ever occur to you to check first before you
paraded around the house exhibiting you naked body.”

No Ma’am, it didn’t. It should have. I promise I’ll never do it again.”

“How can I believe you. How can I be sure you weren’t aware I was in that
bathtub. Maybe you entered without a stich on with a purpose. Perhaps you’re an
exhibitionist. Perhaps you’d enjoy showing off your naked body, your private
parts, to women. Maybe you get a sexual thrill from it.”

“No, Mrs. Scully. You’ve got to believe me. I’m just not that way!”

“Oh, really! Then prove it too me.”

“Sure.” Joe was puzzled. “How?”

“Remove your hands from in front.”

“What?”

“You know what I mean. Uncover! Let’s just see if you’re aroused or not.”

Poor Joe! Of course he was aroused. He was with the women he loved; he was
naked, she was nearly so. Of course he was aroused but she would take it the
wrong way. There really was no help for it, however, for soon his hands would no
longer serve to hide what was rising beneath them. He moved his hands away and
his arousal became most apparent.
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“You dirty boy! You are aroused! I’ve a good mind to put you across my knee
right here and now! As a matter of fact, I will!”

With that she led Joe over to the bed and sat down.

“Get that fanny across my lap and be quick about it.”

Joe crawled awkwardly across her knee. she began to rain blows down on his
bottom. This hand spanking didn’t hurt half as much as the paddle had. Oh, it
stung nicely but warmed much more than just his bottom. It felt different
somehow as if her intention was other than punishment.

“If you ever walk into my bathroom again without knocking I’ll take a switch to
you! Whap! Whap! Whap! “What do you mean by parading around my house naked!”
Whap! Whap! Whap! Do you think I’m too old to think about sex?” Whap! Whap!
Whap! “Are you trying to tease an old lady! Whap! Whap! Whap! “Well, answer me!”

“No!” Joe practically shouted.

“No, what?” Whap! vlcsnap-2016-02-23-16h18m30s916

“No, you’re not old. You’re beautiful! I love you!”

“You love me?”

“Yes, I love you!”

“Oh, my god, Joseph. I love you too!”

She helped Joe to his feet and stood to hug him. As she did her towel slipped
down and they met in a naked embrace. They made love right there and then! There
passion for each other was to explosive to hold back another second!

Much later they lay together in bed, talking softly.

“I’m sorry I spanked you, Joe. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. But when I
saw you standing there I wanted you so badly! I didn’t think you’d ever want
someone like me. It was just so frustrating. I guess I took it out on your
bottom as a substitute for what I really wanted.”

“I’m not sorry, Grace. I like it when you spank me. It makes me feel loved. It
really turns me on!”

“I know!” She crooned into his ear. Then she became a bit more serious. “But I
not sorry for the paddling I gave you the other day. You did deserve that one.”

“Yes, I did. I probably will again. I’ve got a lot of growing up to do, I know,
and I’m going to need your help.”
“And you’ll get it! I’ll see to it your brought up right if I have to bend you
over ten times a day!” She said with mock seriousness.

“I know you will! But you’d better watch your step too. Or else!”

“Or else what?” She teased.

“Or else I might give you a taste of your own medicine!” He gave her a love pat
across her fanny.

She cuddled closer to him.

“Now, that might be very interesting!” She cooed.