Passionate Punishment




Now available at Amazon for Kindle, and Barnes and Noble for Nook is my new compendium of spanking romance novelettes, Passionate Punishment. These stories were published in 2013 and 2014 originally as paired novelettes, but were never properly identified as romances, which they certainly are. I’m therefore re-introducing them now to my romance readers as a single volume at a substantial discount from the originals. In addition, Passionate Punishment will soon be available as a print version for those who would rather have a physical book.



There are six novelettes in the collection. They are:

The Ladies of Heatherton Hallay5ym1r7thdeo00

Joshua Fairchild is a struggling American student until he discovers he is heir to an estate on an obscure English island. Oakton Island is both remote and unusual. Old traditions hold sway there, and as Josh finds out, he has duties as the Earl of Carlisle that he would never have dreamed existed, including meting out discipline to his own household. Josh meets the estate’s lovely Lady Gwyneth, and it’s not long before the mutual attraction between them comes to a boil. But when the task of administering discipline comes to include not only the staff and guests, but the fair lady herself, the pair of lovers come face to face with an agonizing decision.

The Countess and the Magician

It is the spring of 1944 and in occupied France a French resistance agent, code name tumblr_nifhqdtwqx1u80bgzo1_500LaFleur, plots to extract information from the German high command, information that may be vital to the success of the invasion. In reality, Lafleur is the Countess Angelique Dubois, purveyor of entertainment of a carnal nature and madam to a high class clientele enamored of the disciplinary arts. But to carry off the mission, the Countess needs The Magician, a mysterious American agent trained in the orient. The magician, one Marc Merlin, must go under cover with his assistant Caroline Grey, a pretty English data analyst, as players in The Countess’s entertainment tableaux, enactments of scenes of corporal punishment for the amusement of the officers..


cane-0042Brenda Starling, ace reporter for a Portland, Oregon newspaper, is on to a story, one that involves sinister abductions of young pretty females coupled with painful and humiliating judicial type punishments. Who is doing this and why? Brenda is determined to find out, heedless of the risk to her personal safety. This does not sit well with her photographer boyfriend who will not hesitate to discipline his headstrong girlfriend when the need arises. And as Brenda’s investigation brings her closer to the truth, she discovers that the hunter may have become the hunted.



Fall’s Creek Women’s Prison

Connie Bright is a rookie police officer with a mission – to enter the notorious women’s correctional facility at Fall’s Creek undercover, as an inmate, and discover the criminal enterprise being run on the inside. But it is 1955 and corporal punishment for inmates is very much the norm at Falls Creek where a date with Black Betty, the notorious prison razor strap, is something to be feared.nw-w-inst On top of that, there is the tough as nails inmate, Tall Mary, known to all as Big Momma, the ruler of the cell block. It is not wise to cross her, for as all the inmates know, momma will spank. As the true nature of the crime inside the walls becomes clearer, Connie is faced with a question–who is in on it, and worse, who can she trust to get her out?


Tumalo Bend 1895

Hank Carson, a prosperous rancher in the high desert country of Oregon, is at his wit’s end. His nearly adult daughters have been skipping school, and their last “hooky” incident has had them off canoodling with the local swains. Hank realizes that at their age what they really need is a tutor and governess. Enter Diana Fitzhugh, an English émigré with a clementine02desire to see the West. But she finds that as tutor to the Carson girls she has her hands full. A suffragette rally that becomes a riot lands her and the girls in trouble, with painful consequences at the business end of a birch rod. On top of that she becomes aware of a growing attraction between her and the tough old rancher. But can a lady used to the comforts of civilization be happy on a ranch in the rugged West? And what about Hank’s old fashioned notions of appropriate domestic discipline? For in the wild west, what goes for the girls applies equally, if not more, to a wife.


Lady Jayne

  The land of Thracia is under siege. Viking raiders have taken advantage of its weakness while its men are off to war. So in stark disobedience to her father’s orders, Lady Jayne and her cousin, Lady Celia, decide to act as scouts to discover the threat posed by the raiders. The threat is real enough as the ladies learn. They are ambushed, but a pair of knights lpr_pp_112intervenes, thwarting the attack on the two women. Who were these knights? A pair of brothers, Garth and Rance Devane, on their way to see Jayne’s father, Robert DeCorday, Baron of Thracia. The brothers have been sent by King Alfred to spy on the activities of the Vikings and report back. But in the meantime, it seems they must deal with two headstrong ladies who are not only in need of constant rescue, but require appropriate chastisement as well. Wills clash and sparks fly as the Devane brothers set about to tame both the Viking horde and the Thracian ladies.






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Here is an excerpt:

From The Ladies of Heatherton Hall

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

“We are not to be disturbed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both girls just nodded nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It hurts too much,” wailed Amanda.

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

“Me either,” said Amanda.

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

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

“Okay, who’s first?” he said.

The two girls stared at him, not comprehending.

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





More “Modern Spanking”– on F/M Sunday

Today we go old school. When Will Henry wrote “Modern Spanking,” a compendium of “authentic case histories,” modern meant 1960, as opposed to the old fogeyism of the 1950’s. Well, you could fool me, because the attitudes expressed in these “true accounts” could go back to the turn of the century. But who cares? These pseudo-stories are lurid and fun, and with erotic spanking lit, that’s all that really matters, right?

Henry was a switch writer and since it is Sunday, these excerpts feature the F/M side of things.

[Photos by; Art by Stanton, Barb].


“I live with my aunt who is very strict on the matter of discipline. She is a widow and has one son, who is two years younger than I am. She has always used spanking to discipline him and when I moved in with them three years ago, she started using the same punishment on me right away. At first, I thought it was terrible, but I’ll have to admit that it really gets results. You really do your best to behave when you know you will get spanked if you don’t. At least, I know that my cousin and I do our best to keep the number of spankings to a minimum.
“The other evening my cousin and I were out an hour later than our curfew. My aunt had gone to a party the same evening and we hoped to get in before she came home, but we misjudged. As soon as we walked in the door, we knew we were in for it but good. My aunt, who had apparently just gotten home a few minutes earlier, was waiting up for us. It had been a deliberate offense and she was furious with us. She ordered us into the study in no uncertain terms.
“As soon as we were all in the study, my aunt took out two sets of handcuffs which she always uses. In a moment, our wrists were handcuffed behind our backs in a crossed position. Although we’re both pretty good sized, with those handcuffs on we’re just as helpless as a couple of kids. We just hate to be handcuffed, but my aunt says that this is essential for fellows our size to assure that we will cooperate throughout the spanking.
“We were both quite shamefaced as we stood there while she prepared us for the spankings. First, our belts were undone and our trousers unzipped and lowered to around our ankles. Next, our shorts were skinned down until they also fell to our ankles. As she prepared us, she asked each of us in turn if we weren’t really ashamed of ourselves at having our bottoms bared for a sound spanking at our grown up ages. We both blushed hotly as we admitted that we were.tumblr_nv33mrscbu1ufv57eo1_500
“After she had us prepared, she brought out her hairbrush. But first we got scolded, and I mean scolded! Standing there holding her hairbrush, her hands on her hips and her feet apart, she delivered a scolding designed to make us feel as ashamed as could be. Our heads hanging and keeping our eyes riveted on the floor, we stood there beet red with embarrassment as she referred to us as two nearly grown young men who still had to have their bare bottoms spanked like little kids. She really knows how to deliver a lecture, and both of us felt like sinking through the floor.
“At the conclusion of the lecture, she pulled out a chair and ordered my cousin to step forward. Hobbled by the pants and shorts around his ankles, he did so. As he was making his way over to the chair, my aunt gathered her dark skirt and slip up out of the way, exposing stocking tops and bare thighs, and seated herself on the chair with her legs well apart. As soon as my cousin got to her, she firmly took him and turned him
over her left thigh and clamped her other leg around the backs of his legs. She has sturdy legs and once he was in that position, he was totally helpless.
“She lost no time going to work with the hairbrush. She was really angry and the spanks were good and sound. As his bottom quickly reddened, my cousin had to cry out. Handcuffed and held there helplessly with his exposed bottom sticking up higher than the rest of his body, there was absolutely nothing he could do except take it. In short order she had him reduced to tears, and he was soon begging her to stop and promising to be good. She didn’t pay any attention to him and proceeded to apply a long hard spanking. Standing there watching him get it and knowing that I was going to get the same type of spanking left me lightheaded and feeling weak in the knees.
“As soon as she was finished with my cousin, she ordered me to come to her. Feeling scared and ashamed with my pants and shorts down, I made my way over to her. As soon as I got to her, she took complete charge. In a moment, my face was nearly against the floor, and I could feel her thighs tightly clamped about me. With my bare hips sticking up completely vulnerable like that and knowing that I was helpless to prevent the sound spanking that was coming up, I was thoroughly regretting my misbehavior.tumblr_nyp2w6dbz71ul5b4zo1_400
“My aunt proceeded to put that brush to me good and hard. I will admit that I was no hero about it. The hairbrush stung and burned so much that right from the beginning I had to howl. In a very short time, she had worked up so much heat that I couldn’t hold back the tears. Feeling deep humiliation I cried and, as the spanking went on, begged her to stop and promised to do anything she said. I felt blistering hot before she called a halt.

Marilyn D. is a modern wife who has her young husband under her complete control. She is 27 and he is 25. A comely brunette, she knows how to use her feminine wiles to help keep him in line. In the following report, Marilyn describes her system:   

“Gradually, my young husband is learning to accept the idea that modern spankings are much better than nagging and scolding. I’ve always explained to him that a relatively quick spanking is much more sophisticated, effective and beneficial than arguments and the ensuing resentments. A delinquent hubby can profit a great deal from a warm spanking with its tingling reminder of misbehavior. Besides, a spanking clears the air promptly and then it’s time to make up.

“We have been married for over a year now. In this time he has learned that for each offense, I will insist upon correction. At first, of course, there was considerable opposition, but he has learned that a spanking is preferable to the nagging and scolding that will follow if he doesn’t submit. For the past few months, he has submitted meekly whenever I felt that discipline was necessary. Naturally, I have often told him how I appreciate his cooperative attitude, and have pointed out to him how much easier it really is if he simply accepts the idea that I am the boss.

“Our spanking sessions take place in the study, lights fully on. I invariably wear a severe black dress, black hose and patent pumps. By way of contrast, hubby is completely nude throughout and must bring along the hairbrush. Our relative positions are sharply defined–he is nude, humble, embarrassed and apprehensive while I am fully dressed, quietly confident and very much in charge. I have worked out a spanking ritual which he knows will be best for him to follow without protest despite the embarrassment it causes him.   barb-modernhousewife

“A chair is placed in the middle of the room and I sit down. Quietly but firmly, I give the commands. He must kneel at my feet, confess his fault and request correction in humble terms. Naturally, he is thoroughly shamefaced as I scold him and call him naughty. As I extend my right hand, the one I am going to spank him with, he must kiss it and then hand me the hairbrush. At my command, he must kiss the tips of my patent leather pumps and my stocking feet. By this time, he is feeling deep humiliation and meekly goes over my lap for his spanking.

“I spank with a firm hairbrush stroke designed to sting and smart. Soon he is warm and rosy, and I can tell that he is really beginning to learn the lesson I am teaching. As I put the brush to him, I tell him that it’s all for his own good and that he should try to get some benefit out of it. As I continue with the brush, there are squirms and kicks and eventually tears and pleas for forgiveness. But I do not stop until I am satisfied that I have really gotten my point across, and that means a very red bottom and repentant hubby. I would guess that he averages from seventy to eighty spanks per session.

“When I am finished, he is given a few minutes in the corner to meditate about the matter and try to regain his self−control. He is then expected to prove to me that he has learned his lesson and is very penitent. He must kneel and thank me for the spanking. I then have him remove my shoes and kiss my stocking feet. I then tell him that he’ll have to undress me before we can make up. This is one order that he has never questioned!
Soon I am as naked as he is, and the making up session is on. I am pretty hard on him when it comes to discipline, but I think that I make up for it afterward.”

As can readily be seen, Marilyn has used some very feminine wiles to bring her young husband under her control. However, the modern wife is often not dependent on such tricks to handle her husband. Today, many women have jobs as good as their husband’s, with the result that they can afford to be independent. Here are the views of Grace M, age 27:   tumblr_m1g3c20gtg1qmoxn8o1_1280

“I am a career girl working longer hours and making a higher salary than my young husband. Before I married him, I told him that as long as I made more money than he did, I would be in complete charge of our marital relationship. He agreed that this was fair. Before we were married, we had a very specific understanding of what my being the boss would mean for him. With some reluctance, he went along with my ideas.

“He must do all the housework, including the cooking. I can’t even remember when I last washed a dish or rinsed out a pair of nylons. When I’m relaxing at home evenings or weekends, I expect him to wait on me more or less like a maid. I make all the financial decisions. His paycheck is delivered to me and I give him an allowance sufficient to cover his carfare and lunches.

“If things do not go exactly as I think they should, I don’t hesitate to punish him as I see fit. In this connection, I have found spanking to be very effective. To get the best results, I believe that a spanking should be thoroughly humiliating as well as painful. When hubby is due for a lesson, I start him out in panties, garter belt and stockings. After three years of marriage, he is still scarlet with embarrassment when he reports to me in these feminine garments. Needless to say, I don’t hesitate to chide him at great length.  tumblr_n7ykpnio0u1qii8jto1_1280

“He must get over my knee and I lose no time going to work with the hairbrush on the thin panties. He is no hero about it; in fact, he carries on as any kid might. He yelps, squirms, begs, pleads, promises, cries, wiggles his hips, kicks his hairy legs and tried to reach back to protect himself. But I don’t let any of this stand in the way of an effective spanking, and go right on applying the brush where it will do the most good.   tumblr_mw6equq4sk1sl9dpyo1_400

“The spanking is always given in two parts. After I have him well warmed up and reduced to tears, I pause to rest my arm for a moment. Then, it’s panties down for the second part! When I go to work on his well reddened bare bottom, he really howls and carries on. Despite frantic pleas and promises, I never stop until I am satisfied that he won’t forget the session for quite a while. Afterwards, I make him leave the feminine garments on under his clothes for the remainder of the day as a further reminder to him.”

As for the male attitude on the subject, here is a report from a well spanked husband:

“I am married to a gorgeous redhead who stands six feet, four inches in her stocking feet and who is a former showgirl. Although Lois is five years younger than I am, she is definitely the boss in our home in every way. I am kept in line on a strict demerit system, enforced by old fashioned spankings.  tumblr_m0p99xukqc1qii8jto1_250

“When Lois decides that I am in need of discipline, she dresses in one of two basic outfits which she has had made over for just such occasions. The first is a black sheath dress, which is absolutely skin-fitting and which has been hemmed to end a full eight inches above the knees. With this she wears sheer black stockings and black spike pumps that emphasize her height even more. The other outfit is a red party dress, which she has also had shortened to end eight inches above her knees. With this she wears black or textured hose with her spike pumps.

“With her long, shapely legs she is a dream in either outfit, but I know what’s in store for me when I arrive home to find her so attired. She greets me affectionately and we have a cocktail before dinner. When she is seated, her short skirts fail to cover her stocking tops and as she sits there with her long legs crossed provocatively I can hardly take my eyes off her. The cocktail hour in the study is perfectly delightful although filled with somber implications for me.

“After dinner we again retire to the study. Lois reads the paper for awhile. I try to watch television but the sight of her long, nyloned legs and white thighs is very distracting. Although I try to keep it out of my mind as much as possible, the thought of the discipline that is soon to come gradually causes more anxiety. Before long I am both scared and anxious to get it over with as soon as possible.

“Finally, she sets the paper aside and, taking me by the hand, leads me to the spare bedroom that serves as the spanking room. She sits down at the vanity table while I stand at her right side. Calmly and efficiently, she lowers my pants and shorts to my ankles. While preparing me for the spanking, she scolds and chides me like
an angry stepmother. After pulling her dress up well out of the way, she turns me over her shapely, nylon−clad thighs.

“The spanking commences with about two dozen good, firm hand spanks accompanied by more scolding and chiding. With her strong right arm, she can land a spank that really stings and prickles. I try my best to take it as quietly as possible but it isn’t long before I’m squirming and gasping. Two dozen applications of her palm leave me feeling very warm on both sides.  tumblr_nzt4gkl7yr1ubl9p1o1_250

“I grit my teeth as she pauses to reach her wooden hairbrush. Next comes two dozen carefully applied spanks with the back of the brush. With her long arm moving in a high arc each time the brush descends, she sets me on fire. As much as I try to control myself, I involuntarily wind up squirming, breathless and moist eyed. During this phase, I am chided about my boyish reaction to the hairbrush.

“After this preliminary warming up, my wife spends several minutes carefully going over my stinging buttocks with the tips of her long fingernails. This creates a prickling, burning sensation that is utterly maddening and forces me to squirm around on her long, beautiful thighs. This workout is accompanied by many cutting comments and subtle threats of additional punishment to come, while my pleas for her to stop are answered only by amused laughs.    tumblr_ml7181bbfl1s2gszlo1_400

“Then she resumes with the hairbrush, laying it on with hard burning strokes on first one cheek and then the other. During this phase, I simply have to howl and cry, and soon find myself kicking my legs and wriggling just like a child. Despite my pleas and promises to do anything she says, she usually doesn’t stop until her arm is too tired to continue. Long before then, I am sobbing like a little boy. When she finally stops, my bottom is flaming hot and I know that it will burn and smart for hours.   tumblr_nyt3bljkof1sa8sudo1_540

“She watches with an imperious smile as I tearfully replace my clothes afterward. We then tearfully replace my clothes afterward. We then adjourn to the study once more, and she brings study, I fix her a drink and light her cigarette. When she is comfortable, she haughtily points a long, tapering finger toward her pretty feet. Abjectly I kneel before her, remove her spike pumps, and hold her stockinged feet in both hands. For the next few minutes, I am required to kiss her stocking feet all over. Slowly sipping her drink and keeping her hairbrush handy, she watches me sternly and occasionally makes a humbling comment as I press my lips against her wispy nylons.

“Following this demonstration of subservience, I am expected to wait on her hand and foot for the rest of the evening. Knowing that she won’t hesitate to use that hairbrush again and, at the same time, still feeling the bonfire under my pants from my earlier workout, I don’t hesitate to obey every order she gives no matter how humbling it happens to be. Of course, there are compensations such as looking at her beautiful legs as she sits there in her shortened skirt.


Here is a wicked little story by an author named Jean Marie. In a pickup bar you CAN get lucky … maybe sometimes a little TOO lucky.

[Photos by Northern Spanking and unknown; art by Paula Russell]




By Jean Marie


He sized her up from afar, or at least as far as the crowded club would allow.

She was here alone, not with a group, or worse, a girlfriend. She wasn’t here for just a drink, or just a dance. She was here to find a fuck.

She was blonde and passably pretty, she’d be popular to hit on. All the drunken playboys were wondering if her carpet matched her platinum drapes. And longing to find out, just as he was longing to find out, but, unlike all the rest, he wasn’t interested in just her twat. Was she interested in just her twat, or something more?

She had nice tits, but wasn’t using them. She wore a black turtleneck, as opposed to the low-cut tops every other girl was wearing. They were shaking their tits like shimmering bait before the open mouths of all these hungry fish, these slimy bass, these bottom-feeding carp. She didn’t seem to want to reel any ol’ whopper in. She wasn’t even sticking her treasure chest out.

She was arching her lower back, and so sticking her round rump out, half way off her bar chair, in fact. Jake guessed that she was proud of this fine asset, but no one else seemed to take particular notice. He did, and not merely because he was more of an ass aficionado than a tit man.

He moved in closer, still cautious and silent, but stalking now. He sat at the bar, a few feet from her table. He watched the parade of guys approach, try out their best opening lines, and get rebuffed. Another guy would have been worried; so many guys showing so much interest. Not Jake. Each attempt made him more confident that he knew this girl. He saw that she wanted to find a fuck on her terms.

There was a lull in the action; perhaps she’d discouraged the entire bar by now. Now it was his turn. He slid off his stool, and sat where so many had sat before; the upholstery was warm, though no one had occupied the chair for more than fifteen seconds each.

She looked at him through lowered, long eyelashes. Her glance seemed to convey a challenge. She resembled the film noir star Veronica Lake; no, more accurately, a pale Jessica Rabbit. His level stare seemed to announce assurance. He thought of himself as a beefier Bogart, or a slimmer Robert Mitchum from a by-gone era, no cartoon character sprang to mind.

“I have designs on your ass,” he said simply.


Suzie liked that the line was old school, like this early thirty-something dude was reincarnated from some late thirties style hood. She liked that he’d had the balls to mention her ass right up front; it made her squirm ever so slightly on her seat. She perched her heart-shaped bottom on one hip, like her ample understanding needed a breeze, her butt cheeks needed a breather, her vagina needed ventilation. Was it getting hot in here, was it this sweater and wool skirt, or was it him?

“What?” she replied, leaving the door open that had slammed shut for everyone else at this juncture.

“I said that I have designs on your gorgeous ass, or rather, I’d like to put some designs on your gorgeous ass…”

He was talking her language, but she tried not to let him know it. For the first time that evening, for the first time in a long time, she didn’t have a ready come-back. She drained her wine glass, both to cover the silence and to soothe her suddenly parched throat.

“May I buy you another?”

She nodded.

He caught a waiter’s eye before finishing off his Rusty Nail. “A bottle of Crystal, please. What’s your oldest vintage?”

“I’ll have to check,” the boy floundered and disappeared.

Suzie also struggled to keep her composure, hoping that her eyebrows weren’t raised to her hairline. She attempted her most enigmatic smile.

The inept sommelier returned in a rush, “A ’67,” he stammered, “and it costs…”

“We’ll take it,” Jake interrupted, handing him his magic plastic. “That’s a very good year; I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” she smiled more broadly. She was about to retrace the conversation back to how he’d opened it, but the wine arrived. A big production ensued; the opening, tasting and pouring. It was several minutes until they were again alone.

Suzie took more than a sip and felt it go straight to her head. She no longer felt in control, but uncharacteristically in this setting, didn’t mind.

“Do you like it?” he asked just as smoothly as everything else.

“Very much.” and she took another gulp.

“Like I said, an excellent year. I’m guessing that you and the champagne share about the same birth date.”

She found that she could do nothing more than laugh at his cheek. “So far, you’ve mentioned my ass and my age, and I don’t even know your name yet. Care to bring up religion or politics, too, just to keep it controversial?”

“I’m Jake,” he said genially, shaking her hand, “and am I right?”

Nonplussed, she blushed and replied, “I’m Suzie. Yes, I’m twenty-nine, in a little more than a week I’ll turn thirty…” She expected him to say something complimentary, such as the fact that she didn’t look it.

He didn’t. “And about the other?” he persisted.

“What…?” she giggled and simultaneously blushed.

“Your bottom; it is gorgeous, and it does need a design imprinted upon it,” he matter-of-factly stated. Now that we’ve ascertained that your birthday is eminent, I suppose a celebratory birthday spanking is in order.”


The fool of a waiter approached yet again, this time with the credit card bill to sign.

“Why don’t you keep that open,” he said kindly to the bumbling idiot, “we might run a tab.”

“No. Close it, and take me home,” Suzie whispered, looking down at the table top.

She avoided eye contact while the valet brought his car around; Jake having taken control effortlessly yet again to inform her that he’d drive her back to pick up her car in the morning. Of course it was an antique sports car that screeched up to the curb; Suzie had hoped it’d be an old junker to puncture his James Bond-like suavity. The valet closed her door with a muffled “thunk” that bespoke how expensive the thing must be. She held the nearly full bottle of champagne in her hand, not wanting to leave it behind to go to waste. But the fat mushroom of a cork had proven impossible to reinsert, so Suzie now grew paranoid about having an open container in the car, in case they were pulled over by a cop. She wanted desperately to take a swig, but felt drunk enough already. She wanted desperately to fish a smoke out of the pack in her purse, but didn’t know if he’d object. She realized that she’d never worried about what a man would think of her on any one-night stand before, and wondered if, subconsciously, she didn’t want this to turn out to be more than just a one-night stand. She stared out the window, then felt moved to break the oppressive silence.

“My roommate, Monica, wanted to go out to the Vault tonight,” Suzie said almost to herself, mentioning a well known D/s club. “But I turned her down, not wanting to spectate on some scene where another girl gets her bottom whipped good for her.” Suzie edited herself from saying her next thought, which continued by stating flatly that her own round butt needed it so badly. “I said that I was gonna go to the Viper Room. ‘What chance have you got of finding a non-vanilla guy there?’ my roommate asked. I replied that I didn’t know, but that anything was possible. I guess it is…”

Jake was through shifting through the gears, and Suzie took his hand in hers and squeezed it, still avoiding his eyes. She gave him directions off the expressway to her apartment. Her whole body tingled, especially her bottom on the leather upholstery.

She opened the lock to her front door, but he waited and held it open for her. She walked over to the kitchenette and picked up two glasses, then led him to her bedroom, and closed the door. He sat on the bed as if right at home.

“You know, I don’t do this with just anybody,” she said nervously, conscious as she did that they didn’t know one another’s last names.

Jake refrained from saying that he knew, that he’d passed the test by referring to her ass and a spanking in the same breath. Instead he told her, “Put down the bottle and come here.”

As she obeyed, Suzie wished that he’d just grabbed her, yanked her over his knee, held her in place and did it. Like the rape fantasies that she harbored, she felt better about her kink if she didn’t have to comply.

He gently but firmly took her wrist, helped her lay face down half across his lap and half on her mattress. His hand kept control of her wrist as it encircled her waist, while the other rested on her derriere.

“Now… first, to address that birthday of yours next week… thirty, is it? …please count these in a nice loud voice.”

Jake knew from experience that it was best to talk first; to discuss limits and a safe word and favorite things and turn-offs. But he also knew that most women wanted to avoid all this, wanting the dominant to be amazingly clairvoyant, and magically discipline her to perfection. So Jake had taken to simply punishing the girl to his taste, any way that he saw fit. He’d never had any complaints.

Thirty firm spanks were administered slowly and methodically to the seat of Suzie’s skirt. She was able to enumerate each one shortly after it landed, but also enunciated some small yelps and seductive coos and whimpered moans near the end.12049452_177658349237013_7686611818813458043_n


No sooner had she cried out, “Thirty!” and stifled the tears that sprang from her ducts, then Jake set her on her feet, and looked up into her sorrowful baby blues.

“You broke the law by bringing that champagne in my car. I’m going to take your skirt off and put you back over my knee for another dose.”

As she turned around to comply, lifted her hands up impotently as if being robbed, and felt him undo the zipper, Suzie thought about an old boyfriend. Sam had always made her take her own clothing off before and during discipline. She’d complained about it, saying it was sexier to be man-handled. Now she knew that she was right; she loved the business-like manner with which Jake undid the clasp, pulled down the zipper, lowered the skirt to the floor for her to step out of, then repositioned her efficiently. It all made the gusset of her panties even wetter.

So smooth was the operation, Suzie was half way over his knee again before blurting out, “Wait, let me take this off, too, I’m sweating.”

He helped her pull the waistband of the sweater over her head in one continuous motion. She tossed her tresses back and then lay down fully into the requested position. She noticed that he folded both her skirt then her sweater neatly and put each on her pillow. She swooned, remembering how often she’d had to pick up Sam’s soiled underwear from off the floor. This guy was a metrosexual, but if he continued spanking her the way he’d started, and could get it up to fuck her afterwards, she didn’t care if he spoke with a lisp and wore a necktie for a belt with Capri pants.

“Breaking the motor vehicle code is a serious offense, and I’m the one who would’ve been cited for it. This is going to have to be hard…” his no-nonsense voice decreed. Half-listening, she hoped that he would notice her matching black satin and lace bra and panties.

It was, the spanking, not the lingerie, hard. It stung right from the first swat, and hurt horrendously once he got rolling. It went on and on, until Suzie had to give in to the tears that brimmed her long eyelashes, and the lump in her throat that tried valiantly to choke back her sobs. He spanked her satin-encased tush mercilessly, relentlessly, until she was convinced that he was cruel. But he also spanked dispassionately, as if squeezing ripe cantaloupe in the grocery, instead of working a poor girl into a state of frenzy. It hurt so badly, Suzie could focus on nothing else except taking it; she longed to know whether this session was making him as hard as it was making her wet. It hurt so much, she was reduced to trying to reach back with a free hand to protect her bottom from any more spanks, at least until she could absorb the present pain, digest the intensity, deal with the humiliation that he’d already heaped on her. He simply moved her hand away and continued the onslaught. She kicked her legs and scissored her thighs. He adroitly pinned her legs between his and spanked on.


At long last, he stopped and massaged the fanny that felt like it was on fire. Suzie cried like a baby for long minutes, then twisted around to sit on his lap. She rubbed her still-smoldering bottom against his lap as she slowly got herself under control, snuggling in tight against his collarbone, feeling her hiccups reverberate through them both. She longed for him to kiss her, to tell her that she’d taken it well, to pull her soaked panties off and finger her needful pussy, to push her back on her bed and enter her. She was ready. That’s why what he said next struck her with such profundity.

“Stand up so I can pull your knickers down, this last set has to be administered to your bared bottom.”

Suzie froze, even as feeling returned to the flesh of her singed butt cheeks and hot tears coursed anew down her facial ones. She cleared her throat, but her voice was still unrecognizably no different from a female frog’s.

“Could I please be allowed to have some lotion or some ice applied before we go on…?”

“The moisture left behind on your behind afterward will only make the final spanks hurt all the more,” Jake warned.

“Yes, sir, I know, but… I guess having not been spanked in awhile, I’m not calloused back there any more, and… my tush is a little tender right now…”

He lifted her from his lap and stood, “Would you prefer one over the other, or both, one right after the other?”

“Just some ice. You can find a Tupperware bowl to put it in on the bottom shelf of the cabinet by the fridge… Thanks.”

He left, leaving the bedroom door ajar, so Suzie heard Monica’s key in the front door’s lock a second before they were invaded by the interloper. Suz cringed at what she expected was to come, but the domino had been flicked and the line of them had started to tumble…

“Hello, who’re you?”

“Jake, and you must be Monica.” Suzie was impressed that he’d really listened to her and knew her roommate’s name. “I’m, uh, just getting some ice cubes…”

Jake wasn’t the only observant one, “For your palm, it looks pretty red and it’s very warm?” She’d held his hand in both of hers after their shake to inspect it.

Suzie piped-up through the half open door, “Yes, for his hand, now let him come back to bed.”

She heard some ice cubes tumble into the plastic bowl as Monica called back, “Is that all that’s reddened and warmed around here?” Suzie probably didn’t hear the sotto voice whisper that followed, “When you’ve put Suzie to bed, come see me…”

As soon as he re-entered her boudoir and closed the door, Suzie looked at him with apologetic eyes.

“If you knew how often she’s fucked me over like this, barging in, being obnoxious, how much I hate her sometimes,” she seethed in a near-silent whisper.

He kissed her long and hard to put the other woman out of their minds. But a loud crash-boom from the other room kept the raven-tressed temptress omnipresent throughout the household.

“She’s a bitch, and you’re beautiful,” he said sincerely, paying Suzie the first compliment from his oh-so-luscious lips.

“Monica’s a brat, just ignore her,” she said as she stood, trying to toss it off.

“She is, and I won’t, but she’ll have to wait ‘til later,” he summed up as he snagged a bath towel for Suzie to stand on from the rack in her closet-sized adjoining bathroom.

He removed her bra and played with her tits until the shy nipples poked out curiously. Then he pulled her panties down and massaged her rump. Holding a handful of ice against her hot flesh, he pushed her back into the position he desired as if she were a rag doll; legs straight, bent over at the waist, extended hands reaching for her ankles. The cubes melted slowly, maddeningly trickling droplets curved into her butt crack and down her thighs and beyond, as Suzie saw the benefit of the towel under her wiggling toes. When her bottom was frigid, he righted her and held a cube against each nipple until she squirmed. Jake then wiped his hands on the towel, and pinched and pulled the numb nips back to glowing life.

He then took her chin gently in hand, similarly pinched between thumb and fore-finger as each cherry on her titty sundae had been, but not half as hard, and directed her gaze into his eyes.

“I know you think you’ve reached your limit and had enough. You haven’t. I’m going to use my belt on you now. You need those designs on your ass, remember? Be a good girl for it.”

He bent the rag doll over again, pushing a dip into her lower back until her buttocks were offered out proudly, then took off and doubled-up his leather belt.

“Do you wanna restrain me to the bedposts? I have some cuffs in the drawer…”

She dodged out of his grasp, wrenched open the bedside table’s bottom drawer, and withdrew a pair of fur-lined leather wrist cuffs.

“I’d feel better if I were cuffed,” she stammered, dangling them before his eyes, “then I won’t embarrass myself if I have trouble enduring the belt whipping…”

“And that’s exactly why I have to say no,” he said, tossing them on the bed and re-positioning Suzie over them. “You have to show me your will power now. Maybe we’ll play with those another time…”


The strokes were hard, but Suz was conscious of the fact that they could’ve been much harder. She’d reached back involuntarily to rub the sting, after the first one took her breath away (and got five extras for the impertinence), and knew that the licks weren’t drawing blood or breaking the skin, were only designed to break her will. And designed to tattoo a design into her flesh.

She lost count how many landed across her broad-beamed bottom and tender thighs. A long while later the whipping stopped as unexpectedly as it had begun, and the only sounds were her labored breathing and Monica’s loud rummaging around in the next room.

“Come have a look,” he commanded, straightening Suz with a forcefully firm tug of a handful of her blond hair. In front of the bathroom’s medicine cabinet mirror, she saw the red welts and melted like the bowl of abandoned ice.

He marked you, she thought in sobbing exuberation. Marked your butt as though he was a dog and your butt was his territory. You’re his bitch now.

He turned her so that she faced the mirror, and pushed her down until she leaned over the sink. She would’ve preferred it on the bed. Her knees were weak. It pained her to have to look at her bedraggled reflection in the mirror. He entered her sex roughly from behind and in a thrust she forgot all these complaints.

She only realized that he was still half dressed after he’d extracted his erection from the pants’ fly and fished a condom from his pocket to roll on over the thick thing. In an instant, this thought, too, vaporized from her mind, as her consciousness was filled with being fucked.

He used his cock like he’d used his belt; both were a weapon in his hands. Sharp, concise pistoning of his hips mirrored the way he’d brought his arm down; unerring, lethal. Suzie came, loudly, then came again even harder.

His breathing quickened, and she knew that he was soon to follow. She bent over and offered her full ass out again, he accepted the invitation and spanked her hip as he thrust with his loins. Her bottom jiggled this way and that, pummeled by his hips, pounded by his hand. Suddenly, violently, Jake slammed his manhood into her all the way, like a matador would push the sword in for the kill. Instead of the bull stiffening, Jake did; every muscle of his torso rigid and defined. Suzie stared at him, mesmerized by the reflection in the mirror. She felt the repeated spurts of his life-blood, and he collapsed on top of her in a near-faint.

He came-to a second later. The first thing he saw was Suzie’s smile.

“That was fun,” he understated.

“That was fucking phenomenal,” she gushed, thinking she’d been conservative, too. “Do ya wanna eat something?” she offered, hearing her roommate still noisily crashing through the tiny kitchen.

“Later,” he said and kissed her full on the mouth. “Now I want to play a little trick on your brat of a roomie,” he muttered when their lips parted. “Do you know she tried to seduce me away from you while I was fetching your ice?”

“I’m not surprised,” Suz answered sullenly.

“Are you mad?”

“Yeah… but…”

“Then here’s what we do,” and he led the naked girl over to her bed. He encircled her wrists with the leather cuffs, but didn’t buckle them or attach them to the ring mounted on the bedpost. “You make it look like you’re restrained, I call Monica in here. When she’s close to where we are now, we jump her. I’ll hold her wrists, you take those cuffs off and fasten them on her, then secure her to the bed. I think she ought to be punished for being such a cunt; first by me, then by you. Sound good?”

“Sounds great! But it’ll have to be hard,” Suzie fumed at all the accumulated wrongs Monica had perpetrated, and was now about to answer for. To answer Jake’s eyebrow arching intrigued stare, Suzie continued, “we’ve played together before, that Goth can really take a thrashing…”

Jake tried unsuccessfully to shake the persistent vision of the two submissives in bed together; Suzie’s big breasts in Monica’s black finger-nailed hands, her modest cupcakes in Suzie’s mouth, their black and blonde pubes grinding into one another.

Suz knelt on her bed, hands together and close to the heavy wooden post at its head. She allowed her lover to reposition her yet again, this time with her welted fanny high in the air. Jake opened the bedroom door wide.

“Oh, Monica… I’ve finished whipping your naughty slut of a roommate, wanna come have a look?”

Monica appeared at the door mere seconds later, a drumstick in her fist and chicken grease on her chin. She sized-up the situation as Jake did the same to her. She was an honest to badness Goth; as dark as Suzie was fair. She was slender and hard-edged everywhere Suzie was rounded and soft.

“Lookie, lookie, I see Suzie’s nookie,” she bragged from the door jam and took another mouthful of chicken in her sneering teeth.

“I spanked her hard, iced her ass, then whipped it with my belt. She seems preoccupied with licking her wounds, and I’ve been thinking about your earlier offer. Would you like to play… maybe show this goody-goody how to really fuck?”

Monica smiled more broadly, and came into the room. She ran her free hand over the curvature of Suzie’s proffered posterior, then reached back and slapped it hard. Suzie did a very good job of holding still, seeming to be unable to move, even though the spank across her welted bottom must have really stung.

“Yeah,” Monica gloated, putting her drumstick down on the bed and unfastening her jeans’ waist button, “let’s fuck right under her prissy little upturned nose.”

Jake was on her in a flash, holding her slender arms out in front of her. Suzie was equally quick at slipping the loose cuffs off and buckling them tightly around each of her roommate’s wrists, then clipping each to the heavy metal ring securely.

“What the fuck…? You fucking sons of bitches…!” Monica howled in bewilderment.

“I think your coming on to me earlier was rather rude,” Jake said, picking up his belt from off the floor.

“I think that’s the last straw in a long line of insults and offenses,” Suzie accused, completing the job that Monica had started by unzipping the tight denim and wrenching her pants down more than half way to her ankles. The thong underwear came down with them.

“I think you need to be punished,” he said ominously, advancing to where she knelt.

“Hard!” Suzie added.

“Hold her,” Jake told Suzie, and the buxom blonde tried.

Safe, sane, and consensual are the three pillars of D/s play, but this wasn’t play, and those three qualities had nothing to do with what transpired over the next hour.

He cracked the doubled belt across her bobbing and weaving bottom with an upper cut that stood the girl on her tip-toes.

“Was that the strap, or did a mosquito just bite my butt?” the raven-tressed raver asked as she looked back at Jake defiantly. He answered her by giving her porcelin-white butt another stripe, even harder. Monica tried to cover, but all could see how much it hurt. If Suzie had seemed a rag doll, this girl resembled a rag doll connected by jumper cables to a truck’s battery. With every lash she jolted and thrashed.


“Hold her still,” Jake admonished Suzie.

“I’m trying… she’s strong… I can’t seem to…” Suzie grunted as she wrestled with Monica’s hips. “If only I could pin her down… wait a second…” and the blonde sprinted over and wrenched open the top drawer of her bedside table, only to extract a sleek vibrator. “I can pin her down!” she exclaimed triumphantly, brandishing it aloft before rushing back and sticking it up Monica’s nearly-shaven snatch.

Jake wasn’t sure that this qualified as the punishment he had in mind, especially after Suz flicked the switch and the vibe sprang to pulsating life. But Monica was holding stock-still, with legs splayed wide and her tight drum of an ass offered out invitingly.

Jake didn’t hold back; the leather cracked mercilessly across Monica’s tight butt. The welts were vivid, but Monica’s attempts to escape them were no longer valiant. He put stroke after hard stroke across her waiting derriere, the welts lining up in perfect precision. Monica just stood there, bent at the waist, accepting the whipping and accepting the dildoing with soft moans that were impossible to decipher. Suzie watched her roomie’s rump grow increasingly striped as she pogoed the pole in and out of Monica’s twat. Even though she’d just taken more than she bargained for with the same belt, Suzie found herself growing slightly envious of Monica; it was a superb thrashing that he was doling out, no wrap around, every welt parallel, hardly any overlaps. He was a masterful Master.

Eventually her bottom and thighs grew covered with symmetrical welts, and Jakes anger subsided, as his shoulder fatigued. He dropped the belt on the bed and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Suzie withdrew the phallus from the engorged lips below the black pubic patch and sat on her bed’s edge.

“Ready for round two?” Monica said, breaking the silence. “Do ya wanna cane my ass… or fuck it…?” and she bent over further, until her puckered anus winked back at the man standing behind her behind.

“Do you want her…?” Suzie asked evenly, looking from Jakes eyes to her roommate’s red-rimmed rectum and back at Jake. Her eyes fell from his gaze to his crotch, and she politely fished his erection from out of his fly.

Jake didn’t know what to say, so said nothing. Suzie kissed the head of his swollen cock, then looked up, back into his pleading hazel irises.

“It’s okay if you do… we’ve shared before… maybe you could fuck her up her ass,” and Suzie deep-throated his rigidity for emphasis, then extracted his length from her mouth to continue, “while I suck your balls… Does that sound good?”

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Jake couldn’t believe his luck. He stiffened to full-staff rampancy and envisioned what she was offering. “There’s… another… condom in my pocket…” he stammered, trying to keep his baritone from cracking into falsetto.

Suzie dutifully fished it out as she swallowed his cock once more and sucked lasciviously. Then, regurgitating him and licking her lips, she said, “Regardless, you can’t wear your pants to fuck her like you did me, that’s just ungentlemanly…” She palmed the prophylactic and undid his waistband, then yanked his slacks and underwear down with one stout tug, just as she’d pantsed Monica.

“Maybe he wants to watch while you butter my buns first with the strap-on…” Monica piped up, looking back at the other two.

“Nah,” Suz replied after glancing up at Jake, “his thingy keeps throbbing with every mention of doing the deed himself… I’m kinda curious who he’ll fuck better, my pussy or your poop hole…”

As Suzie uttered these words, again without a trace of envy or rancor, Jake noted, she tore the condom packaging open with her teeth, and began to roll the rubber on over his thickness.

Again Suzie went to her Pandora’s Box of a bedside table, this time removing from the top drawer a tube of Probe lubricant.

“Before I put this in my hand to coat your prick and her pooper, I’ve got one tinsy request…” Suzie insinuated seductively.

Oh-oh, Jake thought, here it comes; she’s going to tell me that I can’t cum, or can’t enjoy myself, or can’t touch Monica with anything but my cock, or… He realized that she was waiting for him, and he was taking too long to reply… “Er, ah… what’s that?”

“I’d get really hot if you’d wear the cuffs,” Suzie breathed, moving to unbuckle Monica as she said this.

“Oooohhh, that would be hot!” Monica rejoined,”a naked hunk wearing only fur-lined cuffs. Butt-fuck me like that, Jakey, pretty please…”

He couldn’t see the harm in it, so stepped out of his pants that were around his ankles, flipping off his loafers as he did, and presented his naked self with wrists extended, as if being arrested by these two arresting beauties. They each manacled a wrist securely to the bedpost without an ounce of struggle.

Everything seemed perfect for a moment. Suzie applied a liberal amount of lubricant to his penis, jacking him off licentiously for several seconds as she did so. She then fingered a copious squeeze of the stuff up Monica’s winking anus, to appreciative moans from the Goth and an ominous lurch from Jake’s ready erection.

“You’re gonna love rumpy-pumping my roommate,” Suzie smiled, removing her finger from the greased orifice and wiping her hands on the towel that she’d stood on eons ago to have her paddled cheeks iced.

“That is, if you can keep it up ‘til we’re ready to play that game…” Monica said as she stood, sauntered over to the drawer and removed the strap-on dildo and began harnessing herself into it.

“Ya see, sweetie, we like to switch,” Suz continued, having fetched a vicious long cane from out of the closet, and cutting the implement through the air menacingly, “and we’ve got designs on your gorgeous ass…

“Now bend over like a good boy,” Monica whispered in a tone of voice that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but commanding, as she played with her pussy and held the phallus out at an angle and aimed for his tush.





Guest Post — Kelly Dawson’s “The Gunslinger’s Woman”

Today Kelly Dawson is in the house with her new historical western. I like westerns and this book looks like a good one — sexy and exciting with great characters and gritty action.




A hardened gunslinger, a sassy woman. Is his quick draw enough to keep her safe?

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The last thing nineteen-year-old Jeannie Cooper wants is to be a prim and proper lady, so when her older brothers try to send her off to finishing school she runs away from the family ranch to keep them from putting her on the train to Boston. She plans to hide out on the prairie and return in a few days, but things go horribly wrong when she stumbles upon the infamous Mullins gang.

Danny Coulter is a hardened gunslinger with more than enough enemies already, but when he sees a beautiful young woman held captive by outlaws his conscience forces him into action. Rescuing Jeannie turns out to be only the beginning of his troubles, however. Her sass and defiance quickly test the limits of his patience as he endeavors to get her home safely, and before long he is left with little choice but to take her over his knee for a sound spanking.

Though Danny’s firm-handed discipline leaves her bottom sore and her cheeks blushing, Jeannie is nonetheless excited when her brothers offer him a job at the ranch. Soon he is courting her in earnest, and after a local busybody witnesses him giving Jeannie the first bare-bottom spanking of her life, Danny proposes marriage to avoid a scandal. But with the Mullins gang out for revenge, will his quick draw be enough to protect his woman?

Publisher’s Note: The Gunslinger’s Woman includes sexual scenes and spankings. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Check out this hot sexy excerpt:

She gasped as Danny’s huge, hard hand connected with her bottom, the force of the swat reverberating through her. His hand landed again and she gritted her teeth against the pain, determined not to cry out, lest the townsfolk hear her.
    “You need to be taught a lesson in manners, and in controlling your temper,” Danny scolded, punctuating his words with another fiery swat.
    Jeannie hissed at the fire that tore through her backside, unable to believe that someone who had been half dead just two days ago was smacking her so thoroughly now. She straightened and stood up as he removed his hand from between her shoulder blades, relieved that it was over so soon.
    “No, stay there, this isn’t finished. Take down your pants – you’re going to get this spanking on the bare.”
    “No!” Jeannie gasped, horrified. “You can’t!”
    “I’m too sore to spank you hard enough to have much of an impact,” Danny said. “So it’s either your bare behind, or I use my belt. What’s it to be?”
    What a choice. Jeannie groaned. “It’s having an impact, believe me!” she cried. “It’s hurting a lot!”
    Danny looked at her sternly, his dark gaze smouldering as he fixed his eyes on hers, sending electricity rippling down her spine. His stern stare sent heat to her very core. “What’s it to be?” he asked softly, dangerously. “Will you take down your pants or am I taking off my belt?”
    The sting Danny’s hand was inflicting through her pants was bad enough, no way did she want to feel it on her bare skin. But his belt? She shuddered at the thought of the leather slapping against her bottom. Even through her heavy canvas pants, she knew it would hurt. The sting in her bottom contradicted his claim that he couldn’t spank her very hard at the moment due to his injury – the thought of his belt against her tender bottom truly scared her.
    “I’ll pull my pants down,” she mumbled, her face flushing red with embarrassment. She looked at the ground, hoping Danny wouldn’t see the shame flooding through her.
    “Go on then,” he urged her.
    Her fingers were shaking as she fumbled with the buttons on her pants, undoing them slowly then pushing them down to her knees. She tugged her short lace drawers down too – the only concession she made to femininity. She shivered as the cool air rippled across her bare skin, kissing her with a chilly breeze. She kept her back to Danny, trying to keep her most intimate places hidden from his view. She was mortified. But despite her shame, she could feel a slickness between her legs that wasn’t there before, and a tingling ache that left her wanting.
    “Put your hands back on the wagon and bend over, just as you were before.”
    She shook her head. I can’t do this. Panic rose up within her. Maybe she couldn’t escape from her punishment, but neither could she participate in it. If Danny wanted her bent over, he’d have to put her in that position.
    Danny’s hand went to his waist. “Do I need to take off my belt?” He looked at her sternly, one eyebrow raised, his dark eyes flashing with impatience.
    Inhaling sharply, she shook her head furiously and forced herself to obey. She placed first one hand on the side of the wagon and then the other, fighting to calm her racing heart.
    “Good, now bend over.”
    Danny’s voice was smooth, a low rumble that sent sparks through her. His hand on the back of her neck, pushing her down, gave her the strength she needed to position herself as he demanded, and she took comfort in the presence of his restraining hand.
    The first smack of his hard, rough hand against her bare skin took her breath away. It stung so much more without the protection of her pants. Never had she been spanked on her bare bottom before, and the indignity of it was almost as intolerable as the pain. A second slap followed quickly after the first, and the third one made her cry out.
    “Unless you want the townsfolk to witness your spanking, I suggest you keep quiet,” Danny admonished quietly. “You earned this spanking, now you can stand there and take it.”

Author Bio:
Kelly Dawson loves anything to do with horses, rodeos and cowboys, and loves to get lost in a good book – preferably one containing spanking!
A life-long closet-spanko, Kelly started writing spanking stories on every spare scrap of paper in the house as a child. So when she discovered the internet and spanking romance along with it, she was most excited. But it took her a good decade of devouring these stories before she got up the courage to submit her own. And now, here she is, 7 books later, with a plethora of ideas still to write!
She lives literally at the bottom of the world in the South Island of New Zealand, with her husband, four kids, a dog and a cat.

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The Health Club– the auction scene

The Health Club was one of my very first stories ever. I’ve revamped it over the years but I’ve left it essentially the same. To be blunt about it, it’s a spankfest. It lacks the plot and character elements that I tried to include in later works, but I think it still works as unvarnished retro spanking erotica. You be the judge.

This excerpt is the part of the story that details a “charity auction,” where wealthy patrons bid to see health club members in various punishment tableau’s. The orientations are F/M, F/F and M/F, so it’s a mixed bag this Sunday.



“I’m hosting a charity auction for a number of charities and causes that I support. It’s a unique affair I put on annually for a select group who support the same things that I do. Each year I try to think of some interesting and novel way to auction some things that are donated by benefactors to raise money.”

“But what does that have to do with us?” said Danny.

“Well, this year I am not going to auction off things. Rather, I have in mind a kind of ‘performance’, if you will. I am going to present a series of tableaus or little skits depicting scenes of punishment for the enjoyment of this, well, somewhat unique crowd. The scenes will be acted out by the instructors on my staff and by club members, such as yourselves. Participating in one of these little skits will square you with the club, and as an added incentive you will each get a whole year’s membership, free. So, what do you say?”

“Just what kind of ‘skits’ are you talking about?” said Danny

“There are several, and they will be assigned by lot. For example, if you are female, you might have to act the part of a naughty schoolgirl who has been sent to the principal’s office. You will be on stage in a little pleated skirt and knee socks, saddle oxfords and a white blouse. Let’s say Chrissy is the principal — she is holding the school paddle. What is offered for bid is the number of swats the girl will receive with the paddle. Let’s say each swat is two hundred dollars. The bidding begins at three swats and goes up from there; that is, assuming that some bidder wants to see our naughty girl get a good paddling. And depending on the implement, each stroke could be more expensive or less costly. Obviously a birch rod would command more per stroke than a little paddle or a hairbrush.”

“And are these swats on the bare?” asked Tracy, breathlessly.

“My dear, at my auction, and at these prices, yes, bottoms will be bare!”

“Can we talk for a minute?” said Tracy.

“Go right ahead. Step outside, and come back when you decide.”


“What do you think?” said Danny when they were alone.

“It can’t be as bad as another paddling down in that room,” said Tracy, “and think — a free year’s membership.”

“Yeah, and at two hundred bucks a lick and up, you’d have to bid thousands to get the count up high. I say we go for it. Anyway we don’t get paddled today if we take the deal.”

“Ok let’s do it. I can’t take licks with that paddle today…brrrrrrr,” said Tracy, physically shivering at the thought.

“Ok,” said Danny, as they reentered, “we’re in.”

“Wonderful!” said Vicky, “and just remember, the brief pain and embarrassment will all be for a good cause. You two are plucky kids, you can handle it.”

On the way out Chrissy pulled Danny aside. “I’m disappointed that I didn’t get to paddle your cute butt today,” she said chuckling,” but I’m a stern English governess in one of the scenes, and I get to pull a naughty boy across my knee and spank his bare fanny with a hairbrush. I hope it’s you, and I hope the bidding is hot and heavy.” She gave him a pat on the bottom and with a wink she turned and walked away.

“What was that all about?” said Tracy.

Danny shook his head. “I have no idea.” Actually he did. He was convinced that these instructors were turned on by paddling and spankings. They really liked dishing it out to members. Did they also get off on the receiving end like Tracy did? That was food for thought.


Two weeks before the event, all the participants were called together in Vicky’s office. There was the club’s staff including Chrissy and Sandra, and eight club members who, now that the day of reckoning was fast approaching, looked a little glum. Vicky, however, was as cheerful as could be.

“Well, I’m excited. I know we’re going to have a great event and raise lots of money for charity! Now we are here today to draw lots for the skits and to measure everyone for costumes. Our staff already have their assigned roles, so after today you will know who is going to ‘do’ you, so to speak. Now each of you draw one slip of paper from this bowl, please.”

Nervously, each member stepped up and drew a slip. It contained a brief description of the scene and the implement to be used. Matt, a sandy haired young man, drew a stable scene with the riding mistress in command. He was to be bent over a trestle to receive the riding crop. Jane, a pretty and slender young woman with long straight chestnut brown hair, would be tied to a whipping post and given the martinet in a medieval type of motif. Mary, a slightly plump strawberry blonde was down for a prison strapping. Tina, a redhead with athletic legs and a prominent ass would be birched in a pillory. Jim, a slightly juvenile-looking young man, would get the school paddle.

By contrast, Danny and Tracy got off lightly, or so they thought. Tracy was to be a naughty daughter due for a spanking with a novelty store paddle from a 50’s mom to be played by Carla. Danny drew. Damn if he didn’t get Chrissy playing a Victorian governess. Had she fixed this somehow?

Chrissy grinned openly at Danny and Carla gave Tracy a wink. When everyone had been measured for costumes, the meeting ended.

“Be at my residence at 6:00pm on the 17th,” admonished Vicky, “and don’t be late!”


For the unfortunate club members, the two weeks flew by all too swiftly, and on the appointed Saturday night, they found themselves arriving at the opulent mansion that was the home of Victoria Tarpley. Danny and Tracy marveled at the house as they drove up.  Located well out of town, the manor was situated on a large acreage at the end of a long driveway and out of sight of the main road. A spacious hall was set up with buffet tables covered with food at one end. At the hall’s other end there was a raised stage with a curtain. Next to the stage was a podium where Victoria herself would hold forth as the mistress of ceremonies. There was a door behind the stage where props could be brought on and off.

Tracy, Danny and the others were dispatched to upstairs bedrooms to dress. Danny’s costume turned out to be highly embarrassing. It consisted of a little boy’s sailor suit with short pants that were a bit tight, and white knee socks. Tracy wore 50’s style pedal pushers that were so tight they felt painted on.

“My, but you’re cute,” said Tracy with a laugh.

“You won’t think it’s so cute when your tail is getting tanned,” growled Danny.

“Oh don’t be such a baby,” said Tracy.” It’s for a good cause. Did you see those people downstairs? I’ve never seen such gowns and jewelry. These people must be loaded!”

“Yes, and that worries me. They have money to burn, and what they will burn it with is our rear ends!” Then he added, “You have to wonder what kind of ‘friends’ Victoria Tarpley has. I mean, who would pay big money to see ‘performers’ getting their tails whacked?”

Tracy had no answer for that one.

The participants were assembled in the room behind the stage. Everyone was in costume. But to Danny’s alarm it was not Chrissy wearing the long black governess skirt and the crisp white blouse. It was Sandra, and she was holding a wide oval shaped flat-backed hairbrush. Oh my God, he thought. How did this happen?

“Hello, Danny,” she said, meaningfully tapping the hairbrush on her palm. “I understand you’ve been a bad boy,” she laughed, “and in such an adorable outfit too. Aren’t you cute?” She reached up and pinched his cheek. “I just know the female patrons are going to bid like crazy when they see you in that sailor suit. And when the bidding is done I’m going to peel down those little shorts, put you over my knee and just tan that little fanny good.” She gave him a big wink.

Danny could only gaze at Sandra in her English governess costume and gulp.  Her hair in a tight bun, and towering over him, she looked every bit as formidable as a governess of old – strict, uncompromising and a true believer in the benefits of corporal punishment. At the same time he became aware of a tightening in the front of his shorts that he hoped was not noticeable. She did have that effect on him.


“Ok, but hey, let’s take it easy. It’s just for show, right?”

“Just for show?” said Sandra, cocking her head. “Oh, I think not. Besides,” she whispered in his ear, “we never had a chance to say goodbye properly.”

Danny could only stand there in shock.

Meanwhile Chrissy approached Tracy and said,” My, but aren’t you the bratty teenager tonight? I can’t wait to get you over mama’s lap and tan your little butt with mama’s paddle. See,” she said, brandishing the little paddle, “it says ‘for the cute little dear with the bare behind’. That’s you”.

Tracy looked around. “But what about Carla?”

“Oh,” said Chrissy, “When you guys drew, we swapped all around. I wanted you. It will be like old times.”

Danny overheard, and wondered what she had meant by ‘old times.’

Tracy, meanwhile, just stuck out her tongue, getting into her role.

“Ooh…just you wait young lady,” laughed Chrissy. But then she said, more seriously, “You know, we are going to have to give these folks their money’s worth. I have to make it real — we all do. No hard feelings?”

Tracy shook her head as if to say she was ok with it, but her face wore a grimace.

The place was beginning to fill with people dressed in expensive evening wear mixed with younger men and women in costumes that mimicked those worn by the “condemned” backstage. Later Danny and Tracy would notice that some of those in costume were other club members.

The richly dressed crowd was milling around the bar and buffet when Vicky took the podium.

“Attention everyone, we are ready to start. This year we have a very unusual treat for you. I know you are all law and order types, so I know you have a special interest in retribution.”

That drew a big laugh from the assembled guests.

“So tonight, The Health Club presents some very naughty members of our club who must, unfortunately, atone for some past misdeeds. And it is you, my dear patrons, who will decide their fate. Each of these young men and ladies have been paired with an instructor at my club. Each pair has been dressed and equipped to enact a scene of well deserved chastisement. But how severely will each be punished? That is what you will decide. You will bid against each other to determine the number of strokes, licks, spanks or lashes each of these naughty lads and lassies will get. The dollar amount of each one will be based on the severity of the implement. So, let’s get started. The winning bidder will be entitled to sit in this chair or stand if they wish, right in front of the stage to observe the action up close.”

A hush fell on the crowd as Vicky continued.

“First up is Mary, a prisoner at the Badham County Women’s Farm. It seems that Mary has tried several times to escape.”

The curtain opened to reveal Mary in tight denim short shorts and a work shirt knotted under her ample breasts. She stood, fidgeting nervously, by a padded trestle. Marcy, a tall brunette in an abbreviated “prison guard” outfit stood behind her holding a leather strap.

“I think what we have here is a failure to communicate” said Vicky.

The classic line from “Cool Hand Luke” drew laughter.

“We call the strap that Marcy is holding ‘the persuader’. We are going to pull down Mary’s shorts, and bend her over that bar. So how many licks with ‘the persuader’ does she get? Each lick will be priced at $300. What am I bid?”

“$900” shouted a voice from the back.

“$1200” countered another

“Am I bid $1500?” said Vicky.

“$1500” said a wealthy looking silver haired gentleman.


The bidding continued until it reached the outrageous price of $2700. Poor Mary was in for nine licks of the heavy strap. There was cheering and applause as the winner came up to the podium.

Vicky turned to Marcy. “Deputy, carry out the sentence”.

“All right, Mary,” drawled Marcy, doing her best imitation of a Southern sheriff, “drop them britches and git over the bar.”

Nervously, Mary complied, tugging down her tight denim shorts.

“That’s right, girl, get ‘em right down. This here is a bare butt lickin’,” she drawled.


Having worked the tight shorts down to her knees, Mary bent over the bar. The motion caused her ample bottom to bulge obscenely. A pair of brawny “attendants” fastened her hands to a ring at the bottom of the trestle and tightened a strap around her knees. Marcy stepped up behind Mary and peeled down her panties to reveal a full, fleshy bottom which she patted.

“My, my. Now ain’t that a sight?”

That drew some chuckles from the assembled guests whose attention was riveted on the stage. You could hear a pin drop.

Taking her position to Mary’s left, Marcy hefted the strap and brought it down with a loud crack that caused a distinct ripple in the proffered hind cheeks, leaving a band of red. Mary howled.


Another crack a few seconds later had the same effect. Marcy was an excellent whipper, taking her time to deliver the strapping. She was slow and methodical, getting her stance just right before lining up for each lick. The harsh smacks landed flat against the crowns of Mary’s bottom, each producing a loud crack.  The crowd was strangely silent as, for the next few minutes, the strap smacked Mary’s wobbling rear cheeks and she yeowled in anguish. As the ninth stroke was delivered, the crowd broke into cheers and applause. Mary was released and stood with her mouth wide open, furiously rubbing her rear while, to the delight of the crowd, Marcy took a bow. Once Mary had regained her pants Marcy tucked the strap under her arm, and taking Mary by the hand, led her from the stage.

The next participants were Matt, as a negligent stable boy, and Amanda as a severe riding mistress. Amanda was dressed in jodhpurs and black knee-high boots. Matt was bent over the trestle, his pants were removed, and he was given 11 sizzling licks with a riding crop. The strokes had gone for $350 apiece. Once again the crowd turned silent for the hiss of the crop, the thin sharp sound of it smacking bare flesh, and Matt’s yells of distress.


Following Amanda and Matt were Tina and Betty. Betty was a puritan-garbed town beadle and Tina was a maid sentenced to the birch for failing to attend church. A pillory was wheeled on stage to set the scene. Prior to the bidding Tina was stripped down to a short camisole and white bloomers that fit snugly, outlining her delicious figure. The birch also went for $350 a stroke, but the crowd was getting loosened up now, and a wealthy looking matron drove the bidding to 12 strokes—a hefty forty-two hundred dollars.

Tina let out an anguished “nooo…” as the “sentence” was pronounced:

“For failure to properly attend the Lord’s Day ye shall be locked in the pillory and given 12 strokes of the birch rod upon your naked bottom,” intoned Vicky solemnly. “I give you Betty and her naughty charge, Tina.”

This time the audience applauded as Tina was fastened into the pillory and her bloomers were lowered to her knees. The birch was a freshly cut bundle of thin willow switches bound in twine. Betty took up the birch and, swishing it once or twice, delivered a full swipe to Tina’s nubile backside. The effect was immediate. Tina let out a screech as the rod swished and thwacked against her resilient fanny. Each stroke was given with slow deliberation. Betty carefully lined up the rod, drew back her arm and then whipped the birch around in a flat arc. The rod whined as it flew, landing with a sharp whick against bare flesh. Tina’s prominent derriere quivered each time the rod struck, and she yelled out without restraint.


Locked in the pillory, Tina could only waggle her bottom lewdly in a vain attempt to alleviate the burning sting. For the audience it was an utterly captivating sight: an ancient pillory holding an attractive 22 year old woman, her bloomers around her ankles, voluptuous nude bottom jutting out as a result of her bent-over posture, and a robust, athletic “beadle” swishing the birch against her defenseless rear. Shrill cries accompanied the swish … thwack of the birch rod. When the twelfth stroke had been administered, Tina’s buttocks were a hot shade of red.  The yoke of the pillory was lifted and a tearful Tina was allowed to rise. She was escorted off the stage by both Betty, and by the attractive matron who had paid to have her whipped.

But still to come were Danny and Tracy.


The auction continued. From the room behind the stage Danny and Tracy could see the action on stage and the crowd’s reaction. There was a palpable sexual tension in the air inspired by the various scenes of punishment that were being enacted for the benefit of  wealthy patrons. These people, whoever they were, were shelling out thousands of dollars to see the attractive club members put to the lash and the paddle. In the restless, excited crowd, furtive hands began to stray to the bodies of partners and dates, and in some cases total strangers, gently patting, caressing and squeezing. Mingling with the patrons in evening wear, Danny noticed a number of young men and women in costume similar to what was being worn onstage in keeping with the theme of the evening. Danny also noted that he recognized some of them as club members.

The next scene featured Jim, a youngish looking man of 23, as a schoolboy in trouble. Playing the part of his strict teacher was Jennifer, a statuesque woman in a tight short skirt and a white ruffled blouse. With her hair pulled back in a bun, and wearing black horn rim glasses for effect, she looked every inch the stern but beautiful schoolmistress of many a boy’s fantasy. Jim’s imagined offense was snapping rubber bands at girls in class and he was to be paddled for it. In truth, Jim was very much taken with Jennifer. The attention he was about to get from her, even for the purpose of such a shaming ritual, was worth it as far as Jim was concerned.

Vicky had Jen hold up the paddle for all to see.

“This is the terror of many a naughty schoolboy like our Jim here. It is 15″ long in the business end, 3″ wide and 3/8″ thick. Notice the pattern of dime-sized holes to cut down on air resistance. Just a few licks on the bare behind with this implement will instill immediate contrition for misbehavior. So ladies and gentlemen, what am I bid at $500 per swat?”

Even at this price the bidding was heavy, and eventually a young woman in a designer gown purchased Jim’s punishment at the whopping sum of $6000. That meant12 licks with the dreaded paddle.

The couple, who had been standing on stage waiting for the bidding to finish, began their skit.

“All right then Jim, you bad boy,” said Jen. “Imagine. Snapping rubber bands at the girls in my class. I won’t have it, do you understand?”

Jim nodded, not sure of how to play this.

“Very well, young man, you will pull down your pants and briefs this instant!”

Jim gulped visibly. Now that the moment of truth was at hand, he wasn’t so sure. That paddle looked serious. He nervously fumbled with his belt, and lowered his pants to his knees.

“The underpants too, Jim. You are to be taught a good lesson in proper behavior at this school,” said Ms. Jennifer, now clearly relishing her role.

Jim turned, back to the crowd, and dropped his white jockey shorts to his knees. There were whistles and catcalls, mostly from females as his bare bottom was revealed.

“Now bend over and grip behind your knees, young man, while I teach you a lesson with this paddle that your mother obviously neglected.”

Jim assumed the position, displaying his rear end for the painful kiss of the paddle. Jennifer cocked her arm and delivered a full swipe of the wooden implement. It landed with a loud crack on Jim’s bare bottom.


“Ow!” yelled Jim, half rising out of position.

“You stay right there, young man,” admonished Jennifer.

Jennifer swung the paddle again with a full arm swing, connecting each time squarely across the crowns of Jim’s rear cheeks. With each solid smack his fanny would flatten momentarily, only to spring back an instant later leaving a sploch of red where the paddle had struck.

For poor Jim, the pain was incredible. He tried desperately to stay in position, but at the fourth swat, he bolted straight upright and clutched his aching buttocks.

“Get right back down, young man!” said Jennifer. Reluctantly Jim did so. Each crack of the paddle produced a plaintive wail. His buttocks turned a fiery red. Despite his best efforts, tears began to well up in his eyes.

“Please stop, please stop, I can’t take any more!” Jim pleaded.

Jen bent over and whispered, “Are you going to be a baby or take your licks bravely?”

“I can’t, I can’t! It hurts too much” Jim blubbered, now completely humiliated at having broken down in tears in front of the object of his affections.

“You have six more coming … take them like a man,” said Jen. “I’ll make it up to you later,” she whispered coyly. That gave Jim some resolve.

The excited crowd urged her on, and Jennifer did not let up to spare Jim’s beet red buttocks.

The last six swats were given full force, landing solidly across Jim’s thoroughly reddened backside, each producing a loud crack and pitiful crying from Jim.

When Jennifer finally gave him permission to rise, Jim shot upright and vigorously rubbed his rear cheeks, oblivious to the display his nudity presented. After a moment, he managed to pull his pants up over his enflamed rear and was escorted from the stage by Jennifer.

Wow, that was the worst one yet, thought both Tracy and Danny. Tracy was up next.

Tracy and Chrissy emerged onstage. The only prop was a solid-looking straight-backed chair. Chrissy was the epitome of a 50’s mom in a long print dress. She was holding a small novelty store paddle bearing the inscription “For the cute little ‘dear’ with the ‘bare’ behind.” Artwork on the paddle showed a deer and a bear and stars. Chrissy held it up for the audience to see while Vicky explained the inscription.

Tracy was certainly a “cute little dear” in her blouse and tight pedal pushers that emphasized the curves of her rounded fanny.

“Tracy has been bratty”, Vicky began, “and we all know that in the1950’s a teenager was bratty at the risk of a painful lesson over mom’s knee. This little paddle Chrissy is holding was commonly sold in souvenir shops all over the South in the 50’s and 60’s and some can still be found to this day. It doesn’t look like much but I’ll bet Chrissy will be able to give Tracy here a lesson that it doesn’t pay to sass mom. Each smack is only $50, so open your pocketbooks and let’s start the bidding!”

In no time at all the bidding reached 35 spanks, but then a surprise bid of $5000 from an attractive 50ish lady accompanied by an older dark-haired gentleman stopped everyone else cold.

“My dear Marion,” said Vicky, “I believe the honors are yours. Come on down.”

When the couple had taken their places to observe the action up close Vicky said, “Chrissy, the floor is yours.”

A microphone was placed on stage so that dialogue could be heard.

Chrissy crooked her finger. “Tracy, get over here right now! I will not tolerate your brattiness any more!”

“Awww….mom, lighten up willya?” said Tracy, determined despite herself to get into the act and put on a good show. Even at 100 smacks the little paddle did not look too formidable.

“That’s quite enough, young lady. You are about to get a good spanking with my paddle to teach you some respect,” said Chrissy, grasping Tracy by the wrist. She proceeded to sit and pulled Tracy to her side. Tracy stomped her feet and protested loudly as Chrissy unsnapped Tracy’s pedal pushers and lowered them to her knees revealing her cute bottom in white cotton panties.

“No, mom, no,” wailed Tracy as Chrissy pulled her over her sturdy lap. “I’m too old for a spanking!”

That line produced some genuine laughter from the crowd.

Inserting her fingers into the waistband of Tracy’s panties, Chrissy peeled them down to Tracy’s knees. Tracy’s bare bottom was now perched over Chrissy’s right thigh, which she raised slightly, cocking it in optimum position for a sound spanking.

And sound it was. The little paddle cracked and smacked as Chrissy applied a steady volley of unhurried spanks on Tracy’s quivering fanny.


Crack! Smack! Smack! went the little paddle.

“Ow…ouch ….yeowww….mom…please!” went Tracy.

Tracy now understood that the little paddle meant business, as the relentless smacks began to build up the heat in her sit-spots. The count approached 50, Tracy’s bottom cheeks were a hot pink.

As Chrissy raised the paddle for the 50th lick, the winning bidder, Marion said, “Stop … stop!”

Chrissy halted, arm upraised in mid smack as Marion approached Vicky and whispered in her ear. Vicky nodded and returned to the microphone.

“Our dear friend Marion says that she thinks Chrissy is doing an excellent job of disciplining Tracy, but she believes she can do better. She proposes to finish the job and will double her donation for the privilege of doing so.”

This proposal met with wild applause. Vicky nodded to Chrissy who stood Tracy on her feet, rose, and offered the paddle to Marion. Tracy took this opportunity to rub the sting out of her bottom.

The sturdy matron who took the stage was a heavy set woman in an evening gown with her dark hair fixed in a stylish coif. Marion took the paddle, seated herself and wasted no time picking up where Chrissy had left off.

“Don’t you dare rub, young lady. And put yourself right across my knee. Now you will see what a sound spanking really feels like!”

Grabbing Tracy’s hand, Marion yanked her across her lap and raised the paddle. With an arm motion that had plenty of wrist snap in it, Marion began to rain down crisp hard smacks of the paddle on Tracy’s bare bottom. Tracy’s anguished yelps leapt to a new level. There was no doubt by anyone in the audience that they were witnessing the real thing. Tracy flopped around in genuine distress as sharp spanks rained down on her bare bottom.

Offstage, watching this spectacle, the knot in Danny’s stomach began to grow. Letting the bidders get into the act was an ominous development, Danny thought. This was no sexy love spanking.Tracy was emitting high pitched yelps with every brisk spank, while Marion scolded her imaginary charge with relish, obviously enjoying every minute.

“You naughty little miss(crack!). I’ll show you what a real spanking is (smack!) You won’t talk back to your mother after Aunty Marion is done with you! Three spanks fell in rapid succession.

“Owwww……yeoww….ouch…!” wailed Tracy.

When the last smack had been administered to Tracy’s beet red fanny, Marion let her up. She then stood up, and to the delight of the crowd, took a bow.

“Now, that’s how you spank a naughty girl!” she exclaimed to the laughter and hoots from the crowd, who were simultaneously observing Tracy’s frantic” spanking dance” and attempt to soothe her flaming backside. Tracy gingerly pulled her pants back up, and trying to be a good sport about it, gave a plucky wave as she departed the stage. The audience applauded loudly.

“Wow,” Tracy said to Danny backstage. “She really spanked me good. I think I’ll be standing for a while. Uh oh! Looks like you’re on.”

At that precise moment, Sandra was beckoning to Danny with a crooked finger.

At the microphone, Vicky said, “I would now like to introduce Danny, a very naughty lad, and his governess, Sandra.”

Danny could not help but blush as he walked onto the stage amid cheers and catcalls. He felt acutely embarrassed to be wearing the juvenile sailor suit with white knee socks accentuating the short pants that were way too snug.

“Would you get a load of those cute buns in that little sailor suit?” said one very attractive 40ish tall and svelte platinum haired lady to her younger companion. “I like to get him bottoms up over my knee”.

“Then go for it,” said her equally lovely friend. “I’d like to help,” she giggled.

Sandra followed Danny onto the stage, tapping a large oval-shaped wooden hairbrush against her palm.

“And here is the lovely Sandra, his governess. Danny has been very remiss in his studies, and there is about to be a reckoning at the hands of Sandra and her sturdy hairbrush. As you know, the hairbrush is a ladies’ instrument of correction, and no self-respecting Victorian governess would be without one.  Danny is about to find out that, wielded by a determined feminine hand, it can really light a fire in a naughty seat. Ladies, this is your chance to see a cute but very naughty boy get a good sound bare-bottomed spanking. I know you have husbands that you can easily imagine in Danny’s position (laughter) so use your imagination and let’s start the bidding. $75 per spank. Ladies, come on. I know you want to see Danny get his cute buns tanned, but good. Turn around, Danny, and let the girls inspect the merchandise.”

More laughter erupted.

As Danny attempted to smile Sandra spun him around so the crowd could see him from the rear. There were whistles and hoots as the women admired Danny’s tush, packed into the juvenile, too tight short pants. The bidding was competitive. It was one society matron versus another for the privilege of a front row seat at Danny’s bottom warming.

At 80 smacks, $6000, the platinum-haired woman and her younger companion placed the final bid.

“Congratulations to Yvonne, everyone. Yvonne, come on down to see this naughty boy get his just desserts. And, Sandra, be sure to give him a good one!”

“That I will, ma’am,” laughed Sandra.

Sandra bent over slightly, putting herself right in Danny’s face to give him a scolding. “Now, Danny, you know you have neglected your studies and you’ve been very disobedient. I think you know what happens to bad boys who don’t obey. Master Danny, I think it’s time for a spanking!”

With that Sandra sat in the chair and pulled Danny between her knees.

“We’ll just have these little pants right down!” said Sandra undoing snaps and tugging the pants down to Danny’s knees, baring his bottom. Danny blushed beet red at the embarrassment of being partially denuded in public. In private was one thing, but this…

Sandra upended Danny across her lap. His nose nearly hit the floor as he was put over her knee. His legs were too short to find purchase on the other side, and they waved in the air. It was a helpless feeling. To make matters worse, and despite the humiliation of his position, he felt his penis getting stiff as a result of the contact with Sandra’s thighs. He felt the cold hard surface of the brush tapping his rear cheeks, and he tensed, waiting for it to start. He did not have to wait long.


Smack! whack! smack! whack! Sandra brought the brush down forcefully. Left cheek, right cheek, smack! smack! The sting took Danny’s breath away.

“This should teach you to mind me, young man!” she said. Sandra briskly paddled Danny’s upturned fanny. “I’ll have no more disobedience and more diligence in your studies.”

“Yeoww — owww — owwww!” Danny could not believe the atrocious heat imparted by the hairbrush. She was really giving it to him. As Sandra continued to spank, he flutter-kicked his feet in an uncontrollable reaction to the awful blaze ignited on his rear end. His legs were fettered at the knees by his short pants and he imagined that he looked almost comical, like the reactions of a ten year old, kicking and squirming over the lap of his gorgeous young governess, who was quite determined to teach him a stern lesson in deportment.

“Ouch! Ouch!” yelped Danny. Was this payback for the scene in Vicky’s office? The hairbrush continued to rise and fall, connecting with resounding smacks against Danny’s burning buttocks. He felt like squalling like an eight year old.

After 40 searing spanks, Sandra halted. Danny looked up. Sandra had responded to a signal from Vicky. Thank God, thought Danny. In the nick of time, too. Her upraised arm was poised for another hard smack. Her disappointment at the interruption was evident from her annoyed expression.

Yvonne strode to the podium.

“I will go one better than Marion,” said Yvonne, the stately platinum blonde. “Laura and I will donate $15000 to finish Danny’s spanking ourselves…..” she paused for effect …”in private!”

There was a collective intake of breath followed by murmuring in the audience.

Vicky did not drop a beat. “Well, I think that’s fair,” said Vicky. “We all got to see Sandra give Danny a good tanning, so let’s leave him now to the tender mercies of Yvonne and Laura. What do you say?”

The audience applauded with assent.

“Vicky dear, do you have a bedroom we can use?” asked Yvonne.

“Use any room you wish, Yvonne. My house is at your disposal”

Sandra set Danny on his feet and whispered, “Don’t think you got off lightly, Danny. I know those two. You are in for a hot time. Enjoy yourself, my boy. I’ll see you at the club later.” Sandra took a bow and exited the stage.


Yvonne turned to Danny.

“Come with me, young man. Let’s see if we can’t instill some manners in you by way of your bare behind and this hairbrush!”

Danny heard her threat and winced.

WIP it Up Wednesday

I’m going to steal the WIP  IT UP logo (I was too late to join the linky list) to post a little preview of my latest WIP (work-in-progress), which I think will be called, “The Marshal’s Woman.”   The story is actually two stories in one. Part of the action takes place in 1892 in the high desert country of Oregon near the Cascade crest. The other part of the story, which includes this scene, takes place on the Oregon Trail 25 years earlier.



Fort Laramie, Wyoming territory, July 1867

Hannah sat astride the horse, clinging to Gabe, her arms around him in a tight grip, her head resting on his back. Gabe didn’t say a word the rest of the way back to the wagon.  He didn’t have to. His eyes said it all. When they arrived he dismounted, helped her down, and tied up his horse.  Albert had lifted Lori off his own horse and was about to leave. Gabe stopped him.

“I think you should wait here, boy. I’m going to have a little talk with Lori and her mother. She may need you afterwards.”

Hannah cringed inwardly. What did he mean, a little talk? Clearly he was angry. She’d been frightened out of her mind during the confrontation with the Indians whom, as it turned out, Gabe had known. But then the desperate ride to escape the savages had scared her so much she thought she’d be ill. Lori, too, looked pale and shaken. Now that they were safe again, she had recovered some composure, but the consequences of her foolishness were at hand. She hadn’t broken any rule of the wagon train, so a public punishment was not to be her lot, but she had clearly disobeyed Gabe. Her biggest fear was that in disgust he would abandon them, leave them to fend for themselves and go on by himself unencumbered by silly women who couldn’t heed the simplest of warnings.

Gabe motioned for Hannah and Lori to join him in their wagon. Lori looked at her mother, a questioning look on her face. “We best do as he says, Lori.” Hannah’s stomach was in knots as she climbed into the back of the wagon.  Gabe helped both of them inside, then closed up the back with a blanket. It was meager privacy, but it was better than nothing she supposed. He sat on a barrel in the cramped inside of the wagon and gestured for both women to sit opposite him.

“I told you to stay put until I got back.”

Hannah winced. She remembered. “But we thought…” Hannah began. He cut her off.

“You nearly got yourselves killed. And Lori, if it hadn’t been for that young man of yours out there, we would not have escaped alive. You understand that?”

Lori lowered her head. She could not look Gabe in the eye. “Yes.”

“Yes, what? On this journey, I’m your father.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he said. Gabe began the task of rolling up his right sleeve as he talked.

“Hannah, there are things I know about this wilderness that you don’t. If I forbid something or tell you to do something, I damn well have a good reason, and I won’t have it ignored. You have come to mean a lot to me. I mean I have feelings for you, woman. And … and I want us all to make Oregon territory in one piece.” Hannah though Gabe seemed flustered at making this revelation to her and her heart skipped a beat. Lately she’d entertained the same thoughts but had not voiced them. Butterflies swirled in her stomach, but mixed with the trepidation was a surge of happiness. He cared about her as a woman.

“Now I got to do something I don’t especially like, but I got to do it. Out on this trail our wagon is a ship and I’m the captain — and both of you are going to get a flogging. Lori, you first. Come over here.”

Hannah shook her head, “Gabe, please.”

Gabe’s visage was set in stone. “You were both at fault. Lori, get across my knee.”

“Gabe, no!”

To Hannah’s surprise, Lori spoke up. “It’s all right, mama. Mr. Hardesty is right. We both disobeyed.”

She calmly stood, and with head held high she shuffled over to Gabe. He took her hand and gently placed her face down over his knees. When she was securely positioned, he raised her skirts in back. Underneath the long skirt she was clad in drawers that were still damp, and they clung to her skin outlining her womanly form. The pink color of her behind was clearly visible through the damp cotton. It was awkward in the narrow confines of the wagon but she stretched out, her head near the wagon’s floor and her legs up in the air.

Gabe’s hand patted the soft mounds, then he raised his arm. His hand landed with a loud splat and Lori stifled a yelp. For the next several minutes Gabe spanked Lori’s thinly clad bottom, his palm alternating between the twin cheeks of her behind. The punishment was noisy, stinging, and thorough. Gabe spread the smacks over every inch of Lori’s bobbing fanny. Lori’s soft ‘ouchs’ and sharp intakes of breath were testament to the effectiveness of Gabe’s spanking hand. Hannah was sure everyone nearby could hear the loud smacks landing on Lori’s bottom. That was an embarrassing thought. Soon it would be her turn and everyone would know she’d been spanked like a recalcitrant child. She could see the flesh ripple and bounce as Gabe’s sturdy palm made its point again and again. Lori fluttered her legs and squirmed but did not try to evade the punishment. She balled her fists up and put them to her mouth to muffle her cries.

Gabe delivered a most thorough paddling. It went on for several minutes, and by the end of it Lori was clearly in distress, gasping and sobbing, her feet waving in the air as much as the confines of the wagon would allow. The flesh of her bottom took on an angry red hue by the time Gabe had delivered a final hard smack.

Gabe flipped her skirt back down and helped her to her feet. Lori wiped the tears from her eyes with the folds of her dress.

“Go on, now. Go see that young man of yours and thank him for saving your life. He should have been the one up here tanning your hide. You need to think on that.”

Hannah watched as Lori tearfully exited the wagon to find comfort in Albert’s arms, then turned to face her pretend husband.

“Your turn, Hannah.” Gabe’s visage was all determination. She couldn’t weasel her way out of this one. But what had he said—that she meant a lot to him?

Hannah adopted an apologetic attitude. “Is this really necessary? I’ve learned my lesson. I promise to heed your instructions in the future.”

“I’m reminding you that this is the second time you disobeyed me, and so I guess there are some lessons you still haven’t learned. Come over here,” he said, crooking his finger.


Hannah rose and approached Gabe. He took her hand and eased her down across his lap. The posture, face down over his knees, was uncomfortable. Her nose almost hit the wagon’s floor boards. Her feet flew up in back. The hard muscles of his thighs were both a sturdy platform for her impending atonement and a reminder of the man’s strength, strength he had called upon to save her from her own recklessness. The fabric of her dress brushed her thighs as it slid up in back. It fell across her back, tickling the nape of her neck. She felt his fingers at the waistband of her drawers and she gasped as he slid them down, baring her. “Stop. This is indecent. You can’t.”

“I can and I will. You deserve what is coming, Hannah, and I want to make sure you feel this.”

A subtle disturbance in the air signaled the beginning of her chastisement. The first splat of his palm on her tender bottom was an explosion, landing squarely across the center of her fanny and sending a shock wave that rippled her flesh and spread throughout her core. More spanks followed in rapid succession. The spanking burned, a stingy uncomfortable heat that grew ever more intense as smack after smack landed on her bare bottom. She could only imagine what she looked like, bare bottom exposed, her rear cheeks wobbling lasciviously with each crack from Gabe’s hard hand. Good God, he had hands made of stone! Her bottom felt scorched as if she’d backed into a bonfire. He’d let Lori keep her drawers up, and still she’d seen the bucking and jiggling of her flesh, growing pink then red as his hand struck. The spanks were like muffled rifle shots in the confines of the wagon, loud pops that assailed her ears as much as the impacts assailed her scorched behind. She wriggled shamelessly, not caring that her squirming exposed her sex to him. He alternated between groups of rapid flurries and slow deliberate smacks. It was these measured spanks that made her feel as though with each one he intended to drive a point home.


Smack! Do as I say

Smack! Don’t take reckless chances

Smack! I love you, Hannah

Wait, what had that last one been? Had that been in her head or had he said that? He had stopped spanking her. His palm now rested on her bottom, rubbing the sting away.

“Hannah, can you understand? I love you. The idea of something happening to you terrified me.” He flipped her over and pulled her to him in a hug. Hannah threw her arms around him and sobbed, letting the tears come in a flood of release. There had been so much doubt, so much fear. And now he’d said he loved her.


Toy Story — on F/M Sunday

For many of us who are fascinated by spanking and its attendant rituals, there is nothing more powerful than memories of incidents in our past that we either experienced directly or heard about from friends. These memories can stoke the fires of desire and need all the way through adulthood. In this story a man with a spanking fixation tells a therapist all about a boyhood experience that was forever imprinted on his psyche. The therapist has ideas of her own about dealing with that memory now.

[Artwork by Barb]

Toy Story

[a rewritten and heavily edited version of an original story by “defiantmom.”]

The patient entered the waiting room of Dr. Elizabeth Dragnich and nervously took a seat. A door opened and a most attractive dark haired lady in her late 30’s stuck her head out the door.

“Mr. Findly? Please come on back. I’m Dr. Dragnich,” she said offering her hand.

“How do you do?” said Findley, taking her hand.

“Please sit in the recliner and relax. I understand you have a recurring memory from your childhood that you wish to understand and perhaps resolve. My specialty is age regression therapy, so I’m happy to help. I also understand from our telephone conference that it involves a disciplinary incident, a spanking, when you were a young boy. Is that right?”

Bill Findley blushed and nodded. He wasn’t comfortable revealing this aspect of his past, but it was the reason he was here, so he resolved to forge ahead. It both helped and made him tremble with anticipation that the doctor was such an alluring woman. She wore a tight short black skirt that revealed a good bit of her long lovely legs, and her full breasts pushed out high and firm against her tight white blouse. The ruffles at the collar and sleeves topped off the picture, making her into every man’s fantasy of the sexy librarian who takes off her glasses, lets down her hair, and does you on a table in the reading room.

“Don’t be ashamed, Mr. Findley. It’s really quite ordinary, I assure you. Childhood disciplinary incidents can be firmly imprinted on the psyche and influence us in many unexpected ways. Please tell me about it.”

The patient cleared his throat and began. “It’s a little embarrassing,” he said. Also, he had to wonder just what this doctor did. He was referred to her by a friend who touted her as something called “an age regression therapist.” He had no idea what that meant but assumed she was some sort of psychologist. He was taken aback by the fact that she was so, well, frankly “hot” and wondered what sort of follow-on treatment she’d provide.

“Don’t be embarrassed, just let it all out,” said the attractive doctor. She sat back in a chair next to the recliner, notepad in hand, listening. Findley tried not to stare at her legs.

“Well, ok. Yes it involves a spanking I got as a boy. This most memorable experience was at the hands of a relative stranger: the woman who ran the toy store in my home town, a Mrs. Emily McDougal.”

“Please continue,” said the doctor, crossing her legs. Findley noticed and his cock surged. He hoped she hadn’t seen that.

“There was this toy gun I wanted. It was a replica colt 45 – great for cowboys and Indians games with my buds.  So I used to go into the toy store in town and moon over the pistol and a few other items, too. I got so desperate I tried to talk the lady who ran the store into letting me have the pistol right away since my parents were going to buy it for me anyway. Mrs. McDougal was really nice, but she wouldn’t go for it. She told me learning to wait for some of the things I wanted was an important life lesson. She smiled and promised that the pistol would be right there waiting for me when it was time for me to have it.

I liked Mrs. McDougal, but I thought she was stupid for not letting me have the gun. I tried whining at my parents again, but they just told me to be quiet about it, or I could forget getting it for my birthday. I started dreaming about that pistol and how I could get it before that.

I wasn’t the smartest kid in the world. I decided to steal the pistol and say I found it in the woods if anyone asked. So I did when she got distracted by a customer. I lifted it and strolled right out.

My friends all thought I was the coolest thing in town with my replica gun. They assumed my parents had bought me the gun and didn’t question me at all. That got my confidence flying, but that only lasted until my mother rang the lunch bell and called for me to come home.  My blissful happiness ended as soon as I walked into the kitchen and saw the box the pistol had come in sitting on the kitchen table. Like I said, I wasn’t the smartest kid in the world. I’d stuffed the box under my bed the night before, and forgotten all about it. I couldn’t  think of anything else to say when my mother demanded to know how I  got it, so I told her I’d raided my piggy bank and bought it. I knew I’d get in trouble for disobeying her, but I wasn’t so dumb that I didn’t know which was the lesser of two evils, disobedience or theft!

My parents weren’t big on corporal punishment, usually opting for other things like confinement to my room. I hadn’t gotten spanked since I  was eight, so I figured I’d get grounded and have my allowance withheld  for a week. But then my mom decided to go upstairs and take a look at my piggy bank. Mom checked it, and then it really hit the fan!  Mom turned out to be far from stupid. As soon as she knew I hadn’t bought the gun, she deduced what I’d done, and extracted a frightened confession out of me in a matter of minutes. Mom was real scary when she was mad, and she was real mad that day! She took the pistol and my hand, and nearly dragged me the few blocks to the toy store.


Mrs. McDougal was alone in the store when we entered. I recall her eyes opening wide in surprise when mom put the gun on the counter and told her what I’d done. I recall her insisting that I look up at her instead of at my feet, and then I’ll never forget how hurt and disappointed she looked. For the first time, I felt really, really guilty for stealing the gun.

Mom was sort of ranting, but Mrs. McDougal was as calm as could be. I stood as still as I could while Mrs. McDougal calmed mom down. Mom said something about not knowing what to do with me, to which Mrs.  McDougal replied that she had a very good idea of the best course of action. Mrs. McDougal had four kids of her own, was a pillar of our church, and, as a career woman, was respected by my morn and most of the other women in town. I guess you could say that she was ahead of her time in one respect, but the solution she came up with was very old-fashioned indeed!

I wish I could remember every word that was said, but I don’t.  However, I do recall some of what was said, and have since recreated the following conversation in my fantastic memory of that day: ”

‘All children are tempted to steal, Betty. Most don’t because they listen to what we try to teach them. The ones who don’t listen aren’t really bad, they just need a little extra lesson. I’ve known you and little Billy since he was born. You’ve done a good job raising him. He’s a good boy. He just made a mistake.’

‘But he stole this toy gun from you!!’

‘Yes, he did. But we’ll take care of that, and I’m sure Billy will never steal anything again…’ is what she said.”

I recall worshipping Mrs. McDougal right then. She was going to let me off the hook, and calm mom down at the same time, too. Before I could canonize her in my thoughts though, Mrs. Emily McDougal– career woman, religious pillar, and mother– finished her sentence.

‘…after he has paid his penance for breaking the Seventh Commandment.’

Penance?!? I went to church with my parents and all that, but I wasn’t a particularly religious kid. Still, I knew enough to know penance was not a good thing. I wasn’t sure what Mrs. McDougal meant.  Neither was mom, so she asked. Unfortunately for me, Mrs. McDougal was only too happy to clarify her meaning.

‘Speaking from my own experience, Betty, I think what Billy needs is a good sound spanking.’ She let that sink in for a moment. ‘He has certainly earned one for stealing the toy and in my experience a good hard spanking is the right remedy for a boy who has stolen for the first time. A real bottom tanning and he’s not likely to ever do it again. A good hard over-the knee lesson is just the thing for boys who stray from the path. It happens to every boy at some time in their life and I think it’s time this young man learned the price of sin. And then he should work here in the store for an hourly wage until he pays it off. That would teach him not to steal, and also the value of working for something he wants.’


My heart dropped right to my gut. A spanking? Oh, no! My worst nightmare! I tried to say so, but both women turned, looking daggers at me, so I shut up. I really thought I was too big to be spanked, and mom wasn’t a big believer in spanking anyway, so I expected her to thank Mrs. McDougal for her suggestion, and then not follow it.

But I learned a hard lesson that day– Mom surprised me in more ways than one. She not only said she thought Mrs. McDougal was  right, she also said she thought that since she was the injured  party, she should be the one to give me my spanking.  I was too shocked to move or say a thing at first, but Mrs. McDougal wasn’t. She looked at me, then at mom, smiled, and said she would  happily treat me as if I were her own son, who she said never  committed the same crime twice after having his bare bottom spanked!

I was aghast! Bare bottom! I would have run out of there, but mom was holding my wrist. I whined loudly about being too old to be spanked, being real sorry already, all that sort of thing. But I may as well have been mute and invisible. Neither woman paid the slightest attention to me as they settled the rest of my fate. I would be left in Mrs. McDougal’s care until the shop closed at 5 p.m. She would bring me home on her way home, but until then, I was at her mercy. She assured my mother I would learn a lesson I’d never forget.  I really couldn’t believe my mother would allow Mrs. McDougal to really give me a spanking, but she it looked like that’s exactly what she was going to do. I recall watching the door close behind her and feeling like it was the end of my joyously youthful world. I stood stock still, not knowing what to do.  It was the longest, most scary moment of my life.

Mrs. McDougal swept past me and went to lock the front door. She turned the “Out to Lunch” sign toward the street, and then came at me like an avenging angel out to smite the devil. I’d always thought  Mrs. McDougal was a pleasant looking lady– she was about 5’9″, buxom  and matronly, wore her hair up in the fashion of the day, smiled a lot, and had nice, friendly brown eyes– but right then she looked to me like the meanest school principal you could imagine!

“So at that point you were afraid of her,” said Dr Dragnich.

“Oh, you bet. I was terrified. It was every kid’s nightmare. I was trembling.”

“She said, ‘Let’s go–into the back, my boy. You’ve got a good, sound spanking coming. Let’s get to it.’ I think she said.


So it was really going to happen. My dad had administered my last spanking and it was awful, but somehow, I had the feeling the one Mrs. McDougal planned to give me would be even worse.  She put a hand on my shoulder and guided me to the storage area behind the store. I took tiny little steps at first, but then Mrs. McDougal’s free hand whacked my backside hard and I scampered the rest of the way. I remember being surprised at how much that casual smack over my pants and shorts stung, and how my mind raced wondering how much worse it would feel on my bare behind! barb-modernhousewife

I was too scared to care about pride, so I started begging, pleading, and whining before we got into the back room. I knew I was going to get spanked, but it never occurred to me really resist. Being a kid back in the 50’s was a lot different than being one today. You did what adults told you to do. I was going to get my bottom spanked and that was that. Mrs. McDougal propelled me through the storage room door and into the middle of the big storeroom behind the shop. There were rows of shelves that rose way above my head and boxes scattered around. She paused for a moment, then pushed me toward a stack of crates.  Before I could grasp everything that was happening, she sat down on one of the crates, pulled her skirt up out of the way, and pulled me between her knees. Locking her legs around mine, she held me fast and then got my full attention as she reached out and took hold of the stretch waistband of my pants. What she said next chilled me to the bone.

‘Billy, a spanking isn’t a spanking unless it’s given on the bare bottom,’ she said in a voice that clearly meant business.  ‘So these pants and underpants are coming down.’


“You have no idea, doctor, how embarrassing it is for a young man to show his bare bottom to an adult woman. I had never felt so shamed and vulnerable.”

“I understand. Please go on.”

“I squealed, ‘No! You can’t! Please don’t! Not on my bare heinie!…’ When I tried to grab my pants, she slapped my hands with one hand, and tugged my pants down to my knees with the other.

I recall feeling utterly humiliated and shamed as I stood there with only my soon to be lowered jockey shorts covering my privates. I was a modest kid, so not even my mother or father had seen me naked for a long, long time.

“You can’t! You’re not my mother!” I hollered, holding onto the waistband of my little jockey shorts.

`No, I’m not your mother, Billy,’ Mrs. McDougal replied in a patient tone, ‘but I am going to soundly spank your naughty bare bottom nonetheless.’

A short tug of war followed, but it ended quickly when Mrs. McDougal somehow got her hand behind me and gave my sensitive seat three or four really hard slaps. They burned and hurt something fierce, so, without thinking, I let go of my underwear and put my hands back to  protect and rub my assaulted ass. Before I even knew it, my white briefs were down around my knees with my pants, and my privates were staring Mrs. McDougal in the face. She could see everything! I thought I’d die of shame!

Mrs. McDougal didn’t seem at all flustered by my display or by the scarlet blush I could feel on my face. She simply spread her legs apart, took my hips in her hands, and moved me around to the side of her lap and turned me right over her knee.


Mrs. McDougal took her time getting me ready once I was over her lap. She moved me around, reached down and pulled my pants and shorts the rest of the way down my legs to my ankles, and then reached out and pulled my arm up behind my back. I tried to move around when I realized my little cock was resting against Mrs. McDougal’s warm, stocking-covered thigh, but she had me pinned down too tight. As embarrassing as it was having her staring down at my very bare bottom, I was mortified with certainty that she felt my little nubbin’ too. I had been acquainted with Mrs. McDougal all my life, but never in any way that could prepare me for the intimacy of what was going on. I had not ejaculated yet, but I was at the age when almost  anything could get me hard. I prayed that I wouldn’t, and I also prayed that Mrs. McDougal would hurry up and get it over with.  Neither of those prayers were answered, as it turned out, but first things first.

Mrs. McDougal didn’t spank at all like my mom or dad. I’d gotten a lot  of one whackers in my life, but I’d only been spanked in the  traditional over the lap position twice: once by my mom when I was six, and once  by my dad when I was eight. Both of those were on the bare and hurt like crazy, but they were probably less than twenty slaps each and over and done with in a hurry. Mrs. McDougal wasn’t in any hurry.


She scolded me for a long time while I hung there with my butt up in her face. I don’t remember everything she said, but I recall her mentioning the Seventh Commandment (“Thou shalt not steal!”) and  “Sparing the Rod and Spoiling the Child!”  Then she started to spank – hard open-handed slaps landing full force on my behind. I didn’t know anything could sting my ass that much! It had been years since I’d been spanked, so I don’t know if Mrs. McDougal  slapped harder than dad or I had just forgotten how much a spanking  hurt. Whatever it was, I know I howled like crazy as my whole butt erupted in flames, and I panicked at the thought of more to come!

Mrs. McDougal went back to sermonizing for about a minute or so, then  she said the words I’ve replayed in my fantasies ever since, “Are you  ready to learn your lesson, Billy?”

I answered with what I assume is all the usual stuff: “I’ve already learned… I’m sorry… I’ll never do it again… please don’t spank me…please, no!…” I could feel the heat. My ass stung bad and I did not want more. But she was just getting started.

Mrs. McDougal listened patiently until I ran out of things to say,  tucked me in tighter on her lap, and then started up again, slapping my bare little butt like it was possessed and she was going to drive the  demons right back to hell! I’ll never forget how that spanking felt at first. (I guess it’s like the first time you make love– no matter how many years pass, you don’t forget the details.) Her palm was big  enough to almost cover a cheek, and I’m sure she spanked from cheek  to cheek to start, because I recall my whole ass stinging and  burning from just a few smacks, then stinging and burning more, then more, and more. As far as I knew, I’d never felt such intense stinging in my young life. I  couldn’t believe how much it hurt, but every time I thought it  couldn’t get worse, Mrs. McDougal’s hand would slap my bare ass and  show me how wrong I was.


Her hand smacked my fanny over and over, covering the whole surface, making every inch sting like a horde of wasps had attacked. It went on and on. I squirmed and tried to wiggle, but that was no good. She was relentless. I don’t know how many spanks it was, but she kept at it for several minutes.

I know I raised a real ruckus while Mrs. McDougal warmed my bottom, and I remember feeling like she’d never stop before I burst into tears. I’d totally forgotten any semblance of modesty or where my penis was by ten slaps or so, and only became remotely aware that my  little guy had stiffened against Mrs. McDougal’s warm thigh as I  bounced around on her lap. I remember pleading and crying uncontrollably for a little while, then everything sort of went blank  while Mrs. McDougal continued to spank my bare seat really hard and I was overwhelmed by the pain of it.

I don’t know how long Mrs. McDougal spanked me or how many spanks she  administered, but it was a lot. My behind burned like it had been seared with a blowtorch. The stinging was, frankly, unbearable, and I ended up crying like a baby. I don’t even remember her letting me off her knee. All I remember is sobbing and gasping for air over her lap one minute,  and then realizing I was dancing around the store room half naked and  holding my throbbing ass. I remember noticing Mrs. McDougal watching me, but I didn’t care. It felt good to rub, but it was like trying to put out a bonfire with a glass of water. I don’t know how long I danced  before I noticed my little cock was half hard, but when I did, some  modesty returned and I bent over to get my shorts and pants.  “Leave them. You’ve got a date with that corner before they come back  up.” Mrs. McDougal said firmly, pointing across the room. I sure wasn’t about to argue about anything. I left my pants right where they were and hopped over to the corner.

“I’ll call you when it’s time to come out, Billy.” she informed me, then added, “I’m going to open the store. But I’ll be watching you.  If I see you rub your bottom just once, I’ll close the shop up tight and put you back over my knee again!”

“I won’t rub! I won’t! I promise!” I think I said, totally petrified by the notion of going back over her knee.


Mrs. McDougal told me later that I spent fifteen minutes in that corner. It was the longest, most enlightening fifteen minutes of my life. I put my hands in front of me so Mrs. McDougal couldn’t possibly see or think I was rubbing. It was quiet in the store, so I could hear her turn the lock on the front door, and her footsteps as she moved around on the wooden floor. I heard her come back towards me once and stood very still, not at all concerned that my bare little bottom was shining under the hanging lights in the back. I knew I passed muster when I heard her walk back toward the counter at the front. I felt a lot of things as I stood in that corner, but oddly I didn’t feel an ounce of resentment at Mrs. McDougal or my mom. I knew I’d done wrong and deserved what I got. I had been taught to trust my elders, and I guess I did because as bad as the spanking had been, I never doubted for a second that Mrs. McDougal had spanked me for my own good.

I don’t know how long I stood there before I noticed my little cock was still half hard. The memory of Mrs. McDougal’s warm thigh rubbing against it as I bucked on her lap was fresh, and I was a randy kid. Mrs. McDougal was still at the front of the store, so I looked behind me and figured I could touch myself with no one being the wiser. I did, carefully, and it felt great. I think between what had happened and how I felt standing there naked for Mrs. McDougal to see, I got a rush of lust. I was too afraid to play with myself like I did at home, but I wanted to badly.

But alone, later that night, I stroked myself. I’d been hard before, but it had never really progressed beyond some pleasurable feelings. But this time was different. I stroked harder and faster. I felt something was happening, but didn’t know what. My bottom was still warm and actually felt pleasant, and that, combined with the waves of pleasure from my hand, pushed me over the top. I shot off like a fountain, spewing gism all over the place. It was the first time, you understand. My first orgasm.

Back to the store—Mrs. McDougal came back eventually and told me to pull up my pants.  Then she sat back on the crate and called me over to her. She pulled me onto her lap and enveloped me in a big hug. I remember feeling her soft breasts against my cheek as she told me she had spanked me for my own good just like she did her own kids. She said she loved them  very much and didn’t like to spank them, but firm guidance was an  important part of love. Then she said she loved all kids, including me. She kissed my forehead and hair a few times while she soothed me, and I felt weird feelings of love and respect in return.

Mrs. McDougal took me home that evening and every evening for the next two weeks while I worked off the price of the toy gun. Even before my bottom had recovered two days later, remembering that orgasm, I fantasized about her spanking me again. I don’t know if I wanted her to, really, but I played with myself, and I did that every night, thinking about her hand on my bare fanny.


As you can tell, I still think of Mrs. McDougal fondly, and often. She was the first and last woman to spank me so soundly, so many, many years ago and ironically that led to my first orgasm. I secretly searched for a woman like Mrs. McDougal for years, but I didn’t find one. Then I grew up, got married, and accepted the fact that I never would. My own wife would never understand what happened with that fine lady, and why it has stayed  an important part of me ever since.”

Dr. Dragnich took her black horn rimmed glasses off and stood up from her chair. She put down her notepad. Findley swallowed hard as she stood in front of him, a gorgeous vision in her short tight skirt and long sculpted legs that seemed to go on forever. What was she going to do?

“Well, Billy. The only way we can resolve this issue for you is to engage in a little role play. Let’s say I’m Mrs. McDougal, just for today.”

She had called him Billy, a reversion to his childhood moniker. What did she intend to do? He felt both a chill and a flush of excitement.

“We need to recreate that incident and see if it’s what you really want. Are you ready?”

Billy gulped, but nodded yes. In his heart he knew this is what he had been waiting for.

The doctor moved her armless chair to the center of the room and sat down.

“You’ve been having naughty thoughts, Billy,” said the doctor as she took a seat in a heavy armless chair. She pulled her dress up revealing stockinged thighs and began to roll up her sleeve. “Let’s pretend this is the storeroom and I’m Mrs. McDougal.” Was she serious? Findley’s heart caught in his throat. She patted her bare knees.

“Stand up and come here, Billy — and take down your pants. You are going over my knee for a very sound spanking on your bare bottom.”



More Letters to Mr. Magazine

Back in the 60’s and 70’s there was a soft core skin mag called Mr. There was nothing extraordinary about it, it was one of many “men’s” magazines that featured a few nudes, a centerfold photo shoot, some “manly” articles and a short story or two. But as most spankophiles of that era may recall, it sometimes delved into the spanking fetish. The editor must have been into spanking to feature it in some way in nearly every issue for almost two decades. It did this mainly in its Letters feature, and each issue might feature one or two letters of the type I’ve reproduced here. These were always fun to read and some enthusiasts of TTWD collected issues of the magazine solely for the letters. I have no doubt they were written by the magazine staff, but it’s fun to pretend they were real. In fact, many bear the unmistakable style of the famous spanking erotica writer, Will Henry. Fortunately some of these ended up being posted on the internet which is where I found them some years ago. From time to time I’ll share more.

Stills and art—Thanks to; and Benson.


Dear Editor,

I was most interested to read the letter in your November issue from the woman who cast a dissenting vote on the subject of spanking teenage daughters.

I don’t doubt that corporal punishment, if carried to extremes, can cause possible psychiatric damage to children. But my question is this — how can you hope to control healthy, spirited youngsters if you don’t occasionally resort to the oldest form of domestic discipline?

Let me cite my own case. I am the mother of two high school age daughters. Both are pretty, popular and full of fun. But, frankly, they are both still children in many ways. My husband and I are aware of the temptations they face. There have been altogether too many instances in our neighborhood where girls have gotten into trouble simply because they were allowed to run wild. My husband and I long ago decided that this wasn’t going to happen to our children.

When the girls were younger I handled all matters of discipline easily enough. Five or six swift swats on the seat of the pants were generally enough to put a naughty girl on an even keel. But by the time they reached their teens this became a physical impossibility. I was no longer strong enough to do the job, and both girls resisted me freely, which made the situation worse than ever. I felt they were losing all respect for me, and for my husband because he allowed the situation to go on.

The older girl, who was at the time I am discussing fifteen, was especially a problem. She was extremely popular with boys and I think this popularity went to her head. Both her manners and her school work began to suffer. Furthermore, she was setting an example for her younger sister that I didn’t like.

We tried a number of forms of punishment — withdrawal of allowance, halting of dating, etc, but found no improvement at all. Finally, my husband drew the line. He called both girls together and told them that they were either going to improve their behavior or they could expect some thorough spankings.

I don’t think the girls believed him. My husband is a large, strong man but generally very gentle and courteous.

Three nights later our older daughter attended a school dance with a boy who is old enough to drive a car. Before they left, my husband explained that he expected Angela back no later than 11:30. She looked at her father a little oddly and said that they would “try.”

By midnight she still wasn’t home and my husband was both worried and very angry. He stormed downstairs to the rumpus room and returned carrying a ping pong paddle which he laid on the arm of his easy chair.

It was well after 12:30 that we finally heard the car pull up in the driveway. Without a word, my husband rushed out of the house and soon returned dragging a very flustered young lady behind him. I don’t think that she had ever imagined that her father would ever carry out his threat. But in a moment, party dress, high heels and all, she found herself stretched out, face down, across his knees.


What followed was certainly a far more thorough spanking than that young lady had ever experienced. My husband delivered four or five good swats with the paddle which set her to yelling and kicking. The more she kicked, the angrier he got, and in a moment he pulled up her skirt and really got to the seat of the matter. There was no more kicking after that and when I led the sobbing girl to bed she was a thoroughly chastised young lady.

While we don’t have a mantle piece in our home, my daughter could certainly have used one that day. She was certainly in no hurry to sit down on anything. But on the whole, I don’t think that the pain she experienced was comparable to the embarrassment.

Since then there have been other spankings in our house — not many, but enough to do the job. My younger daughter received a very thorough paddling for being sent home from school because she was smoking a cigarette.

What has been the effect on the girls? Marvelous. Their behavior has improved immensely they are more courteous and, I think, happier. Not, of course, that they have developed into angels. But now they think twice before they misbehave, because they know the paddle is hanging right behind the pantry door and they know that their father will apply it whenever and wherever necessary.

Actually, I think they prefer a paddling to the nagging kind of punishments that go on for days or weeks afterward. A spanking is something that’s over with soon and there are no lingering effects, except for a temporary soreness.

While corporal punishment may not be the answer in every home, it has done wonders in ours.

Mrs. A. E. New York




Dear Mr. Sheldon:

I am a London girl, aged 22, and am a graduate of a University in England.  I recently saw your article on corporal punishment in an old issue of “MR” and thought you might like to hear of my own experiences.

When I was aged 18 my parents went abroad and I was placed in the care of a spinster aunt who was a schoolmistress.  I attended the local University and for a time led a very gay life and skipped some classes.

Unknown to me one of my lecturers knew my aunt very well and when he met her in the street he expressed his regret that I had been ill and unable to attend classes.  This of course came as a great shock to my aunt as I had not been ill at all.  To make matters worse I had gone to a dance that night and came in very late.

My aunt had stayed up waiting for me and she demanded an explanation for my behaviour, which she said, was disgraceful.  She told me that I was wasting my father’s money and that she would write and tell him what a disappointment his daughter was.  I pleaded with you not to do this and asked her if I might be punished some other way.  She said that I deserved a proper spanking and that I should go to her room at once.

I meekly went to her room and obeyed her instructions to take off my skirt and girdle and lie over the bed.  I thought she would use her hand or a hairbrush, but she said it was to be the strap.  From as drawer she took out a heavy leather strap which when it was uncoiled was about 2 feet long.  After a brief lecture she told me to take my panties right down, then when I was ready, the thrashing commenced.  It was terribly painful and I was soon howling.  She did not stop, however until I had received 15 strokes.  Afterwards she was very kind and tender towards me.

For a time, things went pretty smoothly and my work picked up.  She tutored me in French and I appreciated her help.  One night while she was tutoring me she said that I had been slacking off in my work and must be punished.  She sent me upstairs for the strap and I fetched it for her.  I undressed when she told me to get ready, and lay down on the couch.  Again I got a lecture, and was told that my punishment would be more sever as I was now a year older. I obeyed when she told me to take my panties down, and on this occasion I received 20 strokes of the strap.

These were the only two occasions when I got a thrashing and believe me, unlike one of your correspondents, I did not relish the prospect of having more.

Yours faithfully,

  1. C., England



Dear Mr. Shelton:

My wife and I live in a Michigan city.  I am a junior executive in a professional business and have an annual income in excess of $10,000.  Your reports have been enlightening as far as spankings between married couples are concerned.  We have a different approach to this and perhaps your readers would be interested.

Shortly after our marriage, we discovered quite by accident that spanking aroused us sexually and usually led to relations.  It happened this way.  After the honeymoon was over the usual husband-wife disagreements developed and we found ourselves going for days without talking to one another.  One day I made the remark – “Why torture ourselves this way?  When one of us has done something wrong, why not agree on some form of punishment and get it over with in a hurry?”

My wife agreed and after some discussion we decided to revert back to the punishments received when we were children in the form of a good old fashioned spanking.  It is true that there was some embarrassment the first time this form of punishment was used, but when we discovered that it did work and cutting our arguments short and even led to a happier married life we decided we had taken the right step.

As some of your other letters have mentioned, we have a form of ritual we go thru.  If my wife has done something wrong she is punished to coincide with the degree of her wrongdoing.  For example, she has always taken so long to get dressed when we are going out that we always arrive at the function we are attending late.  Tardiness on either side draws 25 spanks.  In this case, (after we returned home from our evening our) she admitted she should be punished.

Even though she was dressed in a cocktail dress the punishment was delivered immediately.  This is where part of the ritual comes in.  She must stand before me and raise her skirts to her waist.  I then pull her panties down around her knees and take her across my lap.  She then has her choice of being spanked with my hand, a hairbrush or a ping-pong paddle.  I then proceed to whack her for the full 25 cracks without mercy.  It is not unusual for her to be crying like a baby by the time I finish.

When I am to be punished it is somewhat different.  Since I am a man, I must strip and lay on the bed or sofa.  She then usually ties my hands with nylon and whips my bottom with a belt.  We have discussed getting a whip for my spankings but have not made a decision on this yet.  The reason for my being tied of course is that I am much stronger than she and there is always the possibility that I, in anger, would strike back.  My wife never hesitates to lay on the 25, 30 or up to 50 strokes with all of her might.  25 strokes or over will quite often bring me to tears.

I realize that our system of punishment is most likely not the usual.  However, we do now feel as though it perhaps is not abnormal.  We both firmly believe that spankings have helped our marital life.  I hasten to add that we are very much against severe beatings or brutality, I would never think of striking my wife in anger.

Both my wife and I have tried to think back o anything in our background that might contribute to this enjoyment of spanking.  I cannot remember anything unusual along this line happening.  My wife has one teen-age experience that she recalls.  I will quote her.

“I was never spanked as a small girl and received my first spanking at the age of 17 when I went to live with an older sister.  This was the first tip-off that I might look at spanking as a punishment a little different than most people.  Shortly after moving in with my sister, I arrived home quite late from a date.  My brother-in-law was quite furious and practically insisted that I receive some sever punishment.”

“My sister agreed and sent me to the bathroom for her long handled hairbrush.  As I handed it to her I realized what was going to happen and found myself tingling from head to toe.  She sat on the sofa and in front of my brother-in-law raised my skirt and lowered my pink panties to around my knees, then pulled me across her lap.  She really pounded my bottom with that hairbrush and although I found myself crying and perhaps didn’t realize it at the time, I’m sure I enjoyed the stinging sensation as the hairbrush connected with my bottom.”

“To be real honest, I must also admit that I liked rather than resented my brother-in-law watching me get spanked.  When my sister finished spanking me, she ordered me to stand in a corner like a little girl with my skirts high.  This I guess, makes me somewhat unusual, but I agree with my husband that our spankings have helped make our marriage a great deal happier.”

  1. L. S., Michigan

Dear M. C. and W. L. S. –

Your two reports highlight the sharpest division that appears to exist among those adult who find spanking a subject of interest and worth writing about.  Many, like M.C., report no sexual element and may even go on to accuse those who do of being “abnormal.”  Many others, like W.L.S., state that spanking is a part of their sex lives, and in their turn may go on to accuse those who admit no such connection of being naive, and/or deluding or hypocritical.

Mr. Shelton states that he is not prepared to theorize on either side at present.  Life experiences are varied-this he is becoming convinced of more than any other single thing-and both points of view may well be equally true for the differing individuals involved, more report may help to establish it.




Dear Editor:

Mrs. J. M. writes of “slippering” in the school she attended as a girl.  A cane is more efficient than a slipper.  One method used by English disciplinarians is to make the unruly one bend over from a standing position and grasp the legs just above the ankles.  The seat is bared and six or eight hard strokes with the cane are given across the buttocks.  I once heard of an English girl of 14 or 15 who was soundly caned by her mother for complaining she was too old to be spanked. (The girl had been getting hand spankings).  The mother reported that the girl made no further complaints for fear of getting another caning.

I miss your “Wild Wild World” page with the occasional items about corporal punishment as practiced in other countries.

Sincerely yours,

  1. C., Texas



Dear Editor:

Until last Friday I would have sworn that your letters on spanking were just so much imagination – not that I didn’t enjoy them!

Earlier in the week we were informed by the juvenile authorities in an adjacent town that our two daughters, 16 and 14, had been apprehended along with about ten other girls of similar ages in some rather serious shoplifting.  We found out later that it was their “sorority.”  We are well-to-do and the girls certainly had no need to steal except for “kicks.”

As you may imagine, my wife and I were horrified that our pert, lively young girls would do such a thing.  What to do about it?  Honestly, my wife became almost sick with worry so we decided to consult our pastor. His advice was almost as shocking:

“You know I was born in Germany.” He said, “and my parents were pretty strict with my four sister, my two brothers and me.  Any misbehavior was immediately dealt with by having the culprit or culprits lay across the end of the bed with our bottoms bared for a few dozen swats with the “klop-peitsch,” a six tailed strap like a cat-o-nine tails.  None of us ever saw the other get it, but we sure could hear it!” He went on to tell us that none of his brothers or sisters ever had many repeats of the same offence.

He also informed us that he still occasionally spanked his own two daughters but that he had substituted a razor strap as less vicious, and that he favored the more traditional over-the-knee position as more satisfactory.  He made a point of advising us that it should always be a sound paddling and on the bare.  We were even more surprised to find that his teenaged daughters were still so punished, because we always considered them model girls.

He went on to tell us that he had already advised another set of parents to try the same remedy on their three girls – they were part of the same group!  Unable to find a razor strap in the local stores, we hit upon the idea of stopping at a shoemaker’s where we bought a strip of sole leather about a quarter inch thick, three inches wide and about seventeen inches long.

The shoemaker grinned as he cut it: “Do you want me to shape a handle?” he asked. Then, noticing our discomfort, he said, “Don’t be embarrassed, folks, I just figured that somebody was going to get a good spanking with this.  It’s just like the one I use on my kids, and it sure keeps them in line!  Shucks, folks, I make quite a few of these!”  We agreed to let him shape a handle at the thicker end and put in a hole so that it could be hung on a nail.  Finished, it looked terrible enough that just the sight of it should be enough to keep our girls in line. we thought.

That night when the girls were ready for in their shorty pajamas, we brought out the strap and told the girls what was coming.  Talk about shock!  Both girls were sassy, defiant, incredulous, and finally, contrite and scared as they saw that they weren’t going to talk their way out it.  We decided that it would be extra punishment for the older girl to see her younger sister get it first, with the knowledge that she was also going to be strapped like that.

I don’t have to tell you that the pleas and promises were numerous and frantic, especially after I had the fourteen year old over my knees and started to peel down the shorty panties!  The pleas and promises became even more frantic as they turned into howls and tears and uncontrollable squirming and tossing as I laid on that strap –hard – for about thirty smacks.  That fanny looked like the setting sun when I finally let youngster up to clutch her bare behind with both hands in a vain effort to rub out the sting.

Still rubbing, with tears streaming down her eyes and cheeks, she watched as the sixteen year old take her place over my knees, but only after I grappled with her to do so.  She was still protesting that she was too old to be spanked when the strap reached her upturned bared bottom.  If anything she howled even worse than her sister.  I hate to admit it, but it made me actually feel good to give our Miss Smarty-Pants her comeuppance!  For good measure, she got about six more than her younger sister before she too, danced around rubbing her bottom.

Afterward, we hung the strap in the girl’s bedroom in plain sight, with the promise that any further misbehavior would result in another bare-bottom over-the knee session with the strap.  And, believe me, if either girl gets too far out of line, that’s exactly what she’ll get!

Naturally, my wife and I were worried as to just what would be the effect – if the girls hated me for spanking them, etc. I can only say they’ve behaved like angels all week.  Perhaps the best endorsement of our new “spanking policy” came in the telephone conversation between our younger daughter and one of her girl friends, which my wife happened to partly overhear.  Daughter was saying and, according to my wife, almost proudly: “…Gee, I wouldn’t take a chance on doing that!  Daddy would paddle me good with the strap if he found out!  Count me out!

If that’s the effect spanking has, we’re sold!  The strap will hang handy from now on!

S.G.B., Connecticut


Dear Mr.:

I greatly enjoyed your feature on cinema spanking and hope that you will run similar articles in the future.  It’s too bad today’s movies don’t feature some of these present snotty actresses getting taken down a few notches.  My own personal nominations for on-the-screen spankings are the Redgrave sisters, Raquel Welch, and Brigitte Bardot.  One thing I would like to point out is that the present trend toward nudity and scanty attire in the movies (as well as in real life) could make for some great spanking scenes.  One problem the actresses would have is protecting their rear ends while still making the spanking scene look realistic.

If Brigitte Bardot got walloped in the nude or Raquel Welch in her famous bikini it would be a great scene; however their bottoms might require some attention afterwards.  In fact, a shot of them sitting on a pillow after getting spanked might be the real facts of the mater.  I have seen a number of movies in which I would have loved to see some female bottoms get smacked that were asking for it – Barbarella, Blow-up, Cactus Flower, The Owl and the Pussycat, to name just a few.

I really get annoyed by off-the-screen spankings on TV.  They really infuriate me.  I recall an episode of I Spy a few years ago in which Mary Jane Saunders got the seat of her tight slacks spanked by Robert Culp.  She was playing the part of a spoiled teenager really well, and it would have been a great climax.  Only trouble was it all took place out of sight.  I guess TV thinks that spanking is too violent!

I don’t watch TV much anymore but I too can recall good spanking scenes – Westerns, comedies, etc. I really wanted to see Marlo Thomas get walloped in That Girl in one episode when she got arrested by the police in a raid on a party and they thought she was a stripper.  She was in a tight, revealing leopard skin suit and her shapely rear was just right for spanking.

I suggest you run more spanking articles as you have been pretty deficient lately.

A.P., Virginia


Dear Mr.:

My husband is a regular reader of your magazine, and I’ve followed the items on spanking with interest.  A spanking I received about ten years ago taught me a lesson that I never forgot, which I guess is I’ve stayed interested in spanking as a form of punishment.

At the time, I was in the spring of my senior year in high school.  I had excellent grades and had been accepted by colleges.  I had been very popular and was considered rather pretty by my classmates, so I had a pretty good opinion of myself – I thought I could do whatever I wanted.  One week our English teacher told us to write a poem as a class assignment.  I was busy with other things that week, so I decided to cheat and turn in a poem from a girl’s magazine.  I figured he’d never read that kind of magazine, so I’d be safe.

I still don’t know how he found out – someone must have told on me, I guess.  One day in class he told me to meet him after school. When I walked into the room after school, he had a copy of the magazine and my poem right there together, so there was no point to denying anything!  He was very direct in telling me that I would fail English and wouldn’t graduate.  I broke out in tears at the humiliation of not graduating and not getting into college.

He blew up and asked me just what I thought would happen to a cheater?  He said, “Maybe when you were in grade school the teacher would just have paddled you and made you re-write the paper, but you’re 18 now and you’ve go to live with the consequences of your actions.  You know the penalty for cheating in this school.

I don’t think he meant to suggest anything when he mentioned paddling – in our school system corporal punishment was common in grade school but unheard of in high school – but he set my mind buzzing I knew I was in deep trouble, and I’d settle for anything that wouldn’t destroy my whole future.  I begged him to give me a chance.  I told him I’d never cheated before (which was true) and that I would submit to any punishment if he would let me graduate.  Then, trembling, I made the suggestion, “I know I’ve acted like a child.  If I promise to re-write the assignment and never to cheat again, couldn’t you give me some punishment that won’t wreck my future? I’ll even take a paddling if that’s what you think I should have.”

He looked rather startled at this suggestion.  He thought about five minutes and finally said, “As you know, we don’t normally spank students at this high school.  But since you’ve always had a good record and since you yourself suggested it, I am going to make an exception.  The conditions are there: first you will do the assignment properly; second, you will report to this room after school everyday this week for a spanking; third since this punishment is not in our rules, it must be kept confidential or the bargain is off and you will not graduate. The reason you get spankings every day this week is that I want you to realize that cheating isn’t something you make up in one afternoon.”

I remember those words as if it were yesterday – it was only Monday, so I had been sentenced to five spankings!  But his logic made sense so I agreed without argument.  He told me to come lie across his lap.  As I lay there over his knees, staring at the floor, I felt him reach for the hem of my skirts and pull it and my slip up over my waist.  I hadn’t expected this and started to protest but quit when he pointed out we could call the spanking off and I wouldn’t go to college.  Then another problem came up.  Fancying myself very grown up and sexy, I had a collection of colorful underwear.  This day I was wearing frilly panties that were bright red, with a garter belt that matched.  You can imagine how I felt lying there displaying my red panties, bottom up, to a handsome forty-fivish teacher who was about to spanking me!  My face was fiery red from embarrassment and fear.  I remember the window was open and the breeze coming in over my bottom cooled my thighs between my panties and stocking tops, making a contrast with my flushed face.  But I was not to be cool anywhere for long.

He saw my panties and said, “I don’t know who you planned to display this underwear to.  Since you obviously didn’t expect to be displaying them to me, I will ignore it today.  But you should know that I think you’re too young to wear sexy undergarments, and if you wear such underpants here again, I’ll take them down before I spank you.  I assure you that I’ll make your bottom red enough without red panties!”  Then he proceeded to spank me, and he was true to his word.  After ten spanks my bottom was on fire.  His hand came relentlessly down on the nylon seat of my panties for a total of about sixty spanks.  After he was done, he lowered my skirt and said, “Take about five minutes to compose yourself.”  Tearfully, I got up and stood there.  My bottom burned so much I ignored modesty and pulled my skirt up to rub my seat, I wanted to pull down my panties to cool off, but that would have been too embarrassing.

When I came in for my second, on Tuesday, my teacher had a wooden paddle.  It must have been an old frat paddle finding a new use.  I actually welcomed it, even though it would hurt more, since it seemed less embarrassing than having his hand on the seat of my panties.  This time I bent over his desk for the paddling.  You can imagine that I was sure to wear plain white panties so that he wouldn’t make good his threat to pull them down after her lifted the hem of my skirt up to my shoulders.  I got 25 spanks with the wooden paddle and it hurt as much as 50 with the hand.  I went to the Ladies’ Room to compose myself.  I looked in the mirror, and my seat was so red my white panties looked pink in the reflection.

The next two days were the same.  I made only one mistake – on Thursday I wore a girdle.  I figured it protect me, and didn’t violate his rule against sexy underwear. Well, I was wrong about the protection.  He paddled me over the girdle, and it stung like crazy.  An elastic girdle make a spanking hurt worse than one given on the bare bottom (some of your readers who spank their wives, take note!)  I had to take the girdle off after I had gotten my 25 spanks.

I made my worse mistake on Friday, my last spanking.  Without thinking, I put on sheer black panties and a black garter belt.  I realized my mistake when I got to school, but it was too late since I couldn’t get home and had nothing to change into.  When I reported to my teacher that afternoon and bent over his desk, he blew up again as soon as my skirt was lifted.  He put down his paddle, grabbed me around the waist and sat down in his chair with me across his knees.

As I lay there trembling, my skirt and slip pulled up so the hem was on my shoulders he said, “I warned you about sexy underwear.”  Then I felt his hand in the waistband of my black panties and the next I knew they were being pulled down around the tops of my nylon stockings.  His hand came down on my bare bottom.  I guess he gave me 100 hand-spanks.  I was thrashing about for the last 50 or so, but he held me firmly.  That bare spanking was the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me.

When it was all over, I thanked him of my own free will.  Even though I was sore for a week, I was grateful – he taught me a lesson I will never forget, and saved my future.  My husband still spanks me now if I need it (and he always takes down my panties!) but that one experience in high school taught me never to cheat in anything.

Mrs. M.B.K., Connecticut



F/M Spanking Story Sunday — STRIPES

This F/M English boarding school story is one of my favorites. Among other things, it’s a morality tale about bravery and self sacrifice. This story is part of the collection published in Strict Ladies and Naughty Boys, Vol. 2.

Cripes! thought Jake Eliot as he hurried through the trees toward the entrance gate at St Paul’s prep school. Out of bounds after 7pm and it was a sixer for sure with Dr Taggart’s cane. Known as The Dragon, the cane instilled terror in each and every lad at St Paul’s from the lowliest junior boy to the 6th form captain of the rugby team. He could almost feel the searing pain of the beastly stripes landing across his defenseless rear end as he ran. He fought against the too tight clothing; he could hardly move. To make sure Wiggins got back in time, he’d had to give him his own clothes. He had to take the time to retrieve Wiggins’ clothes from the tree into which they’d been thrown by that shithead bully Mallory and his pal Creel. As he sprinted toward the gate, his hopes died. It was already locked. In a moment they’d find out he was missing.
        Kate Thornbush regarded the anxious looking boy who had rushed past her as she stood hidden in a copse of trees. It had certainly been an interesting afternoon. She had been given the job of standing in as Headmistress for Dr Taggart and Mr Howard, the headmaster and his assistant, (and most of the staff)while they attended a conference in London. It was Sunday night and they were due back Monday afternoon. On a quiet Sunday she had thought to do a bit of nature photography and bird watching. But as she approached the Mock property through the woods she heard a cry and splashing. At the same time the sound of running feet along the path made her pull back instinctively into the brush. She did have the presence of mind to bring her camera up because she wanted to capture whoever or whatever was causing the commotion. On one level she was afraid she knew the answer. Mock’s pond was alluring to the boys at St Stephen’s, particularly on a hot weekend afternoon, but it was strictly out of bounds. The boys were forbidden to swim there or to even cross the fence onto the Mock property on pain of a severe caning. Twelve strokes of Dr Taggart’s dreaded Dragon was the penalty if caught. A boy had drowned several years ago, and to protect the students, this strict rule was imposed. Those who violated it did so at their peril.
     The sound of thumping feet came closer and she raised the camera and clicked. The runners’ faces had been captured in the image. She’d worry about who it was later, because the splashing and yelping was still going on. She had quickly threaded her way towards Mock’s Pond only to see a boy of about 15 years, she guessed, jump into the pond and pull another boy, who was shivering and crying, from the water. The rescuer was clothed, the other lad was not. “They stole my clothes,” he cried. The other boy asked him something. The naked boy wailed “I don’t know—somewhere over there,” and pointed toward a large tree. Amazingly the clothed boy took his own clothes off and gave them to the naked lad. Then she heard him say, “Run. Get back. I’ll find yours. Hurry.” The first boy mumbled something and took off, the too large pants flopping around his feet. The second boy headed for the tree and, spotting something in the branches, began to climb. A young naked Tarzan, thought Kate Thornbush. It took precious time to retrieve the clothes and more time to get them on, after which began the mad dash.
     Kate hurried after him but at a distance and then observed the boy’s futile attempt to get inside the gate. Mr. Strand, the Maths teacher had locked it a bit early believing all were inside. She observed Mr. Strand returning to the gate and the waiting boy to unlock it, no doubt informing the unfortunate lad that he was out of bounds past curfew and that he would be on report to Dr Taggart the next day.
     By now she had pieced together what had happened. The way she saw it, the two boys had been playing in the pond, well at least one of them had been because he was in the water…but the other was dressed. A mystery there. The “runners”, whoever they were, had stolen the first boy’s clothes and had hid them in the tree, no doubt to cause him either to have to walk back to school stark naked, or be late. Either way he’d be in painful trouble which was surely the point of the prank.
     So, she had four miscreants to deal with. But it was the second boy who intrigued her. At some risk to himself he had pulled his friend out of the water. Had he been thrown in, perhaps? Then knowing that he stood little chance of getting back to school on time or without his own clothes, he gives his friend quite literally the shirt off his back, knowing he was likely to end up in the dock with Dr Taggart. Quite amazing. She would find out who he was upon her return because Mr. Strand would report it to her immediately. So out of this quartet only the last boy out was known to have violated a rule. The rest (so they thought) were home free.
     Jake had by now changed and was sitting in his dorm, expecting the summons and hoping against hope that it would not come. Those hopes were dashed when Mr. Strand entered and motioned to Jake.
     “Well, Mr. Eliot, I wouldn’t want to be in your breeches,” said the dour maths teacher.    “I’ve reported this matter to Miss Thornbush—she’s acting for Dr. Taggart. You’re to see her straightaway.”
     “Where should I go, Mr. Strand?”
     “To Dr. Taggart’s study. Now go,” said Mr. Strand, pointing toward the stone building across the quadrangle.
     With a heavy heart Jake Eliot reluctantly trudged to his fate. Damn it all! Why did Tommy Wiggins take off with those two?  He should have known they were only going to get him in trouble. He’d spent all semester trying to protect Tommy as best he could from the belligerent bullying, name calling, and spiteful pranks of Mallory and Creel, two spoiled sons of MP’s who thought nothing of tormenting anyone they thought of as weak. Ok, Tommy wasn’t good at games and he wasn’t royalty or anything like it, but he was Eliot’s friend. And on top of that his mother had died last Summer. Jake’s father took him in while Tommy’s dad traveled. Being the son of a diplomat from America, Eliot could not understand what was so important about who one’s father was or what the family tree looked like, but it sure seemed important to everyone around here, and besides Tommy had had a tough time of it after his mom’s death.
     He didn’t know Miss Thornbush well. She taught the more senior boys part time. She was an imposing figure to him, but pretty as well with a robust mane of reddish chestnut hair that fell to her shoulders and a figure that was often well displayed in tight skirts and tucked white blouses with choker collars. He’d heard that at the neighboring girl’s school, where she was some sort of assistant headmistress, she was known as The Lionness. Her reputation was that she was strict and ruled her charges at Coldwell Hall with a firm hand, or so the girls said.
     This all ran though Jake’s head as the nervous 15 year old knocked at the study door.
“Enter,” sounded the voice from within and Jake pushed open the door.
     Kate Thornbush was seated at Dr. Taggart’s desk fingering a file. She now had a decent idea of what had happened and it seemed that the two real culprits were the boys whose photos were now in her camera. And there was the third boy. She could guess who he was from reviewing Mr. Eliot’s file. But she had to deal with this situation and Mr. Eliot. Rules, unfortunately, were rules and young Mr. Eliot, laudable though his intentions may have been, broke a big one. He should have notified staff. For God’s sake, someone could have drowned.
     “Mr Eliot, is it?”
     “Yes, ma’am.” Jake shifted nervously. All they knew at this point was that he had missed curfew. Maybe he could wriggle out of this.
     “Why did you get back to school late, Mr. Eliot?”
     “Well, ma’am I was…that is…I had trouble with ah…”
     Miss Thornbush narrowed her eyes boring in on Jake Eliot. “Mr. Eliot, you weren’t somewhere you shouldn’t have been, were you?”
     “I…I..well..”. Jake fidgeted uncomfortably, thinking ‘oh, no she knows something’.
     “You didn’t go to Mock’s Pond did you Mr. Eliot?”
     This was the moment of truth. She couldn’t know he’d been there, but strangely he found it impossible to lie. It just wasn’t in his nature. He thought maybe he’d explain about Tommy and the pond and Mallory and Creel’s dirty trick then he be off the hook.
     “Yes, ma’am. I was there, but only for a moment. I had to go after…”
     “Who, Mr. Eliot? Who did you have to go after?” Kate Thornbush had noticed the name Tommy Wiggins in Jake Eliot’s file. They’d asked to be roommates. Understandable. She was aware of Wiggin’s unfortunate loss.
     And then Jake realized. He couldn’t say. If he does he puts Tommy in the dock for an appointment with Dr. Taggart. Mallory and Creel win. He could tell on them as well, but they might deny it, they have friends who might lie, say they were on the grounds all day. Anyway he wasn’t by nature a squealer and he could not afford that reputation.
     “I can’t say, Miss.”
     “You can’t or you won’t?” demanded Miss Thornbush, now regarding him with arched eyebrows.
     “I…I just can’t , Miss.”
     “Well,” said Kate Thornbush, pushing her hands together and gazing toward the ceiling, “you see, Mr Eliot, it seems you place yourself in a bit of a pickle. You admit you were there but you won’t say why. So by your account you acted alone and went out of bounds to a place that is very strictly forbidden to you boys. You are aware of the penalty for trespassing in Mock’s Pond, are you not?”
     “Y-yes, Ma’am.” He was all too aware. And to make it worse he’d have to face a sleepless night awaiting Dr. Taggart’s return. He could see the long thick Dragon cane on display like a headsman’s ax in a glass fronted cabinet behind the desk. He was afraid—of the pain, the humiliation and of breaking and crying like a baby. He’d never been caned but he’d heard the lurid tales told by others.
     “Mmm, but if there were, shall we say, extenuating circumstances, perhaps Dr. Taggart would be lenient. You could tell me and I could explain it to him.”
     It was tempting and Jake almost broke and took it, but then he thought about Tommy, who was having such a tough time of it and he couldn’t. He’d have to give up Tommy and that would mean a twelve striper for his friend on top of everything else.
     Amazing, thought Kate Thornbush. Not only will he not give up his friend who he had pulled from the pond, he won’t tell on the two others who were the real culprits here. Boys! She knew enough about boys to know that to be labeled as a rat would be the kiss of death in that social circle. Her girls would be singing like canaries now to avoid the cane. Even so, many boys would do most anything to avoid a date with Dr. Taggart’s cane. This Eliot, he’s an American. Remarkable what he did, really. He doesn’t deserve what’s going to happen to him but without an explanation, well….or I could punish him myself. I have the authority. All I have to do is enter it in the book, the punishment log. He can’t be punished twice for the same crime. Dr. Taggart won’t like it, but he did put me in charge and it’s now my decision.
     A plan formed. It wasn’t perfect but it was a plan that would serve Mr. Eliot better than if he had to meet his fate at the hands of Dr. Taggart. She’d heard tales of the fearsome Dragon and in her view it was much too severe for Mr Eliot. He’d saved his friend. That counted for something. Even so this would not be easy for Mr. Eliot. Or for her. If Eliot was going to keep his friend’s identity a secret she would have to as well. She’d come to the conclusion that Wiggins had been lured or perhaps forced to Mock’s Pond by the others.
     “Well, Mr. Eliot, there is really nothing for it is there? I sense that there is more here than meets the eye and I think you are protecting someone. Be that as it may, you were out of bounds— in Mock’s Pond, of all places— with no explanation. The penalty for that is twelve strokes of the cane. Are you prepared to accept the punishment?”
      “Ma’am? You mean now? Here?” Jake was confused. Dr. Taggart wasn’t due back until tomorrow.
     “Yes, I mean now. At my hand, Mr. Eliot.” She saw his confused look. “Of course if you would rather wait for Dr. Taggart….” Her eyes drifted to the Dragon cane in the glass case.
     Jake gulped and blushed. He’d have to bend over and be caned by Miss Thornbush? It was super embarrassing to think about bending over in front of a woman for her to cane his bottom but it couldn’t be as bad as Dr. Taggart, could it?
     “I-I’ll be caned by you, Ma’am.” He might as well get this over with. He just hoped he could endure it.
     Miss Thornbush nodded and stood up from behind the desk. “All Right Mr. Eliot, remove your blazer, place it on the couch and stand behind that armchair.”
     Jake nervously removed his jacket and stood at the back of the chair as instructed. In the meantime Jake watched, transfixed as Miss Thornbush slowly rolled up the cuff of her right sleeve.
     “The case to Dr. Taggart’s cane is locked, so I’ll be using my junior girl’s cane, Mr. Eliot.” She walked over to a bookcase and retrieved what appeared to be a slender wand about 30” long with a handle grip that had a little loop on it for hanging it on a nail, Jake guessed. Of course the cabinet was not locked, but this boy didn’t know that. Anyway she had never used a cane that long or that rigid and she wasn’t about to wing it with Mr. Eliot. On the other hand she had found that her junior girl’s cane was quite adequate for her duties at Coldwell Hall. Except of course that it required removal of some clothing from the target area.
     “Now, Mr. Eliot, this cane is very light and thin, as you can see,” and she flexed it into a near circle as she spoke, “so you will kindly lower your trousers for me.”
     “I—I mean lower my…” Jake was stunned. You got caned across your shorts. They all said that. What was this?
     “Mr. Eliot, this cane amounts to what you call in America a ‘switch’ I believe. You won’t even feel it on those wool shorts. Come, now, trousers down. I won’t tell you again.”
     This was the complicated part, she reflected. He didn’t know it, but she was actually doing him a favor. The others would be caught tomorrow based on the photos. If Jake Eliot returned tonight with visible evidence of a severe caning, his peers would know he’d suffered grievously, but had given no one up. But he needed stripes to prove he hadn’t ratted anyone out. So, she had to put 12 livid stripes across his bare little bottom. They’d all demand to see, she knew. The girls did the same thing. And when they saw these stripes and that he hadn’t told on anyone, well, he’d be a hero. It was unfortunate really. This Eliot lad was going to be somebody. He had the stuff. But now he had to accept the consequences of his acts and take his medicine. And she couldn’t even tell him she knew.
     He gave her an agonized look and blushed beet red, but he unzipped his shorts and let them fall to his ankles.
     “Underpants too. This is to be on your bare bum, I’m afraid.”
By now he was beyond mortification. He stared in jaw-dropped stunned silence, unmoving.
     “Really, Mr Eliot. I said underpants down, if you please, sir. Come on, I’m waiting.”
     Blushing beet red Jake Eliot slowly dragged his last veil of modesty down to his knees. Thankfully his shirt tails still covered him, for now he had another alarming problem to deal with—he was developing an erection. Whether it was fear, the presence of the attractive Miss Thornbush, his nudity, or a combination of all of the above, he didn’t know. All he knew was it would not go down.

     “Now. Have you ever been caned before, Mr. Eliot?”

     “No, ma’am,” said the boy, shaking his head. He could not stop blushing with acute embarrassment.
     “Well, it’s going to hurt, but I want you to take this correction like a gentleman. But once the punishment is entered into the book you cannot be punished again for this offense.
“Now”, she instructed, swishing the cane through the air experimentally, “You will bend over the back of the chair and grip the armrests.” Jake grimaced at the sound of the chilling whine of the cane, but bent forward as instructed. The posture thrust his bottom up. He’d never felt so vulnerable. “Do not get up or move out of position. Do not utter any profanity. Do not let go of the armrests. Do you understand?”
     “Yes, Ma’am.”
     “If you do I will award extra strokes.” Damn it. She had said that without thinking. She didn’t want to punish the boy any more than what was necessary. Tucking the cane under her arm she approached and lifted the boy’s shirt, folding it over his back. He was now bare from his knees to his upper back. He was an attractive lad, she mused. Athletic legs molded into pale white boyish buttocks which quivered as Jake fought to maintain some composure.
     Kate Thornbush took a stance at his left and laid the cane across the center of the pale cheeks. Jake flinched as she gave him an experimental tap. “Remember, Mr. Eliot, no flinching and do not put your hands in back. Keep them on the armrests.”
     “Y-yes, ma’am,” Jake groaned. His knees were trembling.
     She brought the cane back to shoulder level and whipped her arm down with a deft flick of her wrist. There was a whine as the cane sped though the air and it landed with a loud thwack! The pale cheeks rippled at impact and Jake gasped. A red weal appeared.
     Jake heard the swish…crack! And the felt the most searing pain he’d ever experienced. It was a line of white fire that took his breath away and he struggled to hold on and not move. He wanted to let out a screech and jump up clutching his bottom, but he sucked in a breath and gripped the armrests fiercely. He felt another tap and seconds later another searing stroke cracked against his bottom. The third was just as bad. Tears welled in his eyes, but he held still.

     A caning is really a dance of sorts between the person giving correction and the person accepting it, mused Kate Thornbush. One has to inflict, one has to endure. I must lay these strokes on this boy’s bottom with all the skill I can muster. I must be firm; I must be precise. My job, she thought, is to correct this boy— no, it is really to be the impartial agent of authority. And my job is give this boy the stripes he needs to demonstrate his courage. His job was to hold fast, without crying or begging to be let off. In short to accept the discipline. As she lined up each punishing stroke she had to remind herself that this was for his own good. So for the next few minutes the dance played out; the only sounds heard in the study were the whine and crack of the cane against tender bared bottom cheeks and the gasps and muted sobs of the young man.

     It hurt so bad. Jake was holding on, but the searing agony of each lick with that awful cane across his bottom was too much. How could they expect you’d hold still and take punishment like this? Each stroke was a red hot line of fire. His face was red, he gritted his teeth, but the tears were coming anyway. Please don’t let me bawl like a baby, he prayed silently.
     It pained Kate Thornbush to hear the the muffled “ah…arrh…” that followed each deliberate Swish….thwack! of cane. Because those muffled cries were getting louder. That was 8.  At number 9 his knees buckled and she thought he’d lose it.
     “Please hold steady, Mr. Eliot. There are only 3 more. I must say you are taking this bravely.” That should help, she thought.
     “Y—yes, ma’am. I’m sorry , ma’am,” was the piteous reply.
     The boy was nearly crying now, and he fought to hold back the tears.
     Just a few more thought Kate.
     Swish….crack! The cane landed again. The vulnerable bottom cheeks seemed to dance with pain.
     “Ahhh…oh…oh…”, cried the boy.
      That was 10. Don’t flinch, for God’s sake. Don’t stand up, she thought. Pausing to wipe her brow, she lined up the next stroke.
     Whoosh……thwack! Another hard stroke.
     “Ow..ow…oh…,” he hissed, stifling a cry.  At this one he slumped, but pulled himself back up. Steady, that’s 11. One more.
     Swish…..whack! A final livid weal was painted on the boy’s tender backside. “yeow…unhhh…unhh.” He could barely hold on.
And 12. Done. Thank God.
     Kate lowered her instrument of correction. It was over. Jake Eliot slumped across the chair back, still gripping the rests, trying to maintain his composure. His buttocks were streaked with livid red weals and, as she intended, these were laddered. She couldn’t tell if there were 12 distinct lines because the whole of his rear end was suffused with redness, but he was well striped.

     “You may rise, Mr. Eliot. I will turn around while you restore your clothing.”

     Jake Eliot slowly straightened up and reached for his underwear. It hurt to slide it up over his whipped bottom, but he managed. What he really wanted to do was hop around the room rubbing his scalded cheeks while he squealed at the top of his lungs.
     “Now, Mr. Eliot, look at me.”
     Yes, ma’am.”
     “I know it hurts atrociously but the pain will go away. You’ve taken your whipping well as befits a brave young man. Now do you know what you should say?”
     Jake thought for a moment. “Th-thank you for correcting me Miss Thornbush?”
     “Splendid. You are very welcome. I trust this will not be necessary again.”
     “No, ma’am.” And he really meant that.
     “Now come over here and sign the book acknowledging punishment and you are dismissed.”
     Kate Thornbush watched as Jake signed the book and took his leave. Whew! She thought. I need a drink. Her thoughts turned darker as she contemplated Dr. Taggart’s return. He’s not going to be happy about this. Not one little bit.
                         EPILOGUE—18 years later
     The eyes of the youngest person ever to be appointed as Ambassador to The Court of St. James swept over the room. The reception in his honor was now going full bore and Jake Eliot wanted to savor the moment. From an Army commission in the Rangers and posted to the middle East, to election as a junior congressman from Virginia, and now this presidential appointment, he had come a long way. It seemed that it had all happened so fast. There were lots of people here he didn’t know, of course. People from the various ministries within the government, business leaders, folks from charitable organizations—he’d have a lot of homework to do keeping everyone straight.
     His gaze found a rather handsome middle aged woman talking in a small group. It took him a moment, but the wave of recognition finally hit him like freight train. Miss Thornbush! That’s who it was. Good God. Unfortunately he could not remove the dumbfounded look from his face before she met his gaze and smiled. He saw her excuse herself and make her way towards him.
     “Mr. Eliot, after all these years.” She said warmly extending her hand.  “My how you’ve grown. And now the Ambassador to our fair land. Welcome and congratulations.”
     “Miss Thornbush,” Jake couldn’t help stammering like a school boy, “thank you, I never expected to see you again.”
     “Well, after our last encounter, I can’t say I blame you,” she said dryly, “but it’s not Miss Thornbush now, it’s Mrs. Taggart. But, please, call me Kate. I work in the Ministry of Education now.”
     Jake was still trying to absorb this last bit of information. “Taggart—you mean as in…?”
     “Yes, the very same. I married Harry three years after our…ah…first meeting. We’ve been married now for 15 years.”
     Amazing. The Lioness teamed up with Dr. Taggart. Jake had not seen much of her after that fateful day, never took any class she taught. In fact she rarely appeared, it had seemed. Meanwhile he’d managed to avoid Dr. Taggart’s wrath and the Dragon while building an impressive record at St Stephen’s. In fact thinking back to that incident he recalled that although Mallory and Creel had gotten their just desserts, his friend Tommy Wiggins had emerged unscathed. It made sense in a way. Mallory and Creel couldn’t have given him up without the whole story coming out. They could have been expelled. As he recalled they had been nabbed based on photographs that had been snapped by someone who had been just walking by, but no one ever said who had taken them. He’d been hailed as a real stand up guy. Everyone had had to see the stripes across his butt, and the general consensus was that he’d gotten it good but hadn’t talked.
     What he never understood was who took the snapshots and how Miss Thornbush had known that he’d been at Mock’s Pond. Finally he never understood how Tommy had escaped retribution. It wasn’t as if everybody in the whole damn school didn’t know what happened.
     “You have a puzzled look on your face, Mr. Eliot. A  little woolgathering, perhaps?”
     Jake laughed. “Yes, Ma’am. Just a little. But if you could indulge me, I’ve always wondered about that day—my friend. No one ever knew. Why?”
      “Oh, posh! Mr. Eliot. About Tommy Wiggins? Of course we knew. We all did.”
     “But he never….I mean Creel and Mallory..”
     “Squealed like stuck pigs. Yes I heard. You could hear their wailing halfway to Coldwell Hall, “ she began. “But I see you want the whole thing so I shall tell you. When Harry arrived and learned of the incident he was furious. When he heard how I’d dealt with you he was doubly furious.”
     Jake was having trouble thinking of the formidable Dr. Taggart as “Harry”.
     “He said I’d usurped his authority. I said he’d given me authority. He said ‘not for that, woman’ and we went round and round. Finally he demanded to know the identity of the fourth boy. Well, you hadn’t told and I wasn’t going to either. Then he got this hard gleam in his eye and said ‘well, Miss Thornbush, then someone will just have to stand in for the mystery boy, won’t they? There were four miscreants at Mock’s Pond and, by God, there will be four canings handed out’. And there were—yours had already happened. There were three others.”
     Jake pondered this one. “But, who…?”
     Kate said nothing. She just looked at him and smiled. Then the light dawned and Jake’s jaw dropped open. “You?” he said incredulously.
     “It seems we both wore our stripes proudly that day Mr. Eliot. It was an intensely emotional scene. Very painful, as I’m sure you can attest, but at least in my case the aftermath was quite delightful.”
     Jake stared in shocked silence. Here was this very proper Englishwoman admitting that she’d been caned like a schoolgirl and then what?…done it with Taggart on top of his desk?
     “So you see, Mr. Eliot, in your own way you are partly responsible for my acquisition of a husband. And I will tell you that, although he has moderated his disciplinary proclivities somewhat,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “he’s still a bit of a tartar.”
     She had known all along. Or had guessed. And, wait a minute….the “photographer”. If that had been her, she might have seen it all, seen him in the tree. Jake’s mind was racing. And that means that by the time I was in Taggart’s office she had known what had happened….and had acted like she knew nothing. She’d had carried out the charade, and had punished him herself thus protecting Tommy, “…once the punishment is entered into the book you cannot be punished again for this offense…”, and himself. At the same time those stripes, while they’d stung like blazes, had given him cover when Creel and Mallory had been called out. And based upon what he learned later, had been milder than anything dished out by Dr. Taggart’s Dragon (although a bit more embarrassing).
     “You’re lost in thought, Mr. Eliot.”
     “Oh my God, yes. I’m sorry.” Jake recovered, blushing.
     “He does it all the time,” said a tall and pretty brunette who walked up and linked her arm around Jake’s.
     “My wife, Janet, Mrs Taggart.” They shook hands.
     Janet smiled at her and said. “Sometimes he pretends not to hear me too.”

     “Well, dear, I may have the remedy for that,” she said with a wink at Jake. “Come round to my house later this week and I’ll give you something that might help correct the situation.”

     Jake’s eyes narrowed. She wouldn’t dare…..


Cora’s Chastisement — excerpted from “The Colonel’s Woman.”

“The Colonel’s Woman” is a spanking romance novel under my Jordan St John nom de plume. In it, my lead male character, Nathan Bradford, is a boarder in Eva Weston’s boarding house. He has reluctantly agreed to be the “enforcer” of rules laid down by Eva for her female boarders, but in addition he is a deputy sheriff. In this excerpt one of the girls, young Cora, has run afoul of the law and Eva’s boarding house rules.


After supper that night, Nate asked Cora and Emma to join him in the parlor. Cora looked nervous. She kept smoothing her hands on her skirt and wouldn’t meet Nathan’s eyes.

Nathan got right to it. “Cora, were you in the general mercantile yesterday?”

She sat up and licked her lips before answering. “Why, yes. I—I stopped in on the way home. Why do you ask?”

The girl’s fidgeting spoke volumes but Nate didn’t say anything, he just went on. “Did you see anyone else when you were in there? Anyone you knew?”

“Yes. Vera Bowles and Mary Thomas were with me.”

“Did you see either of them take anything? Without paying for it, I mean.”

“Take anything? Why gosh, no. We wouldn’t do that.”

Nate noted the “we” in her answer. What had happened here? “Well, I have to ask because I knew from Mr. Hough’s description that you had been there and right after you left he noticed an item had been stolen.”

“An… an item?”

“Yes, a rather expensive one. Do you know anything about this?”

Cora shook her head vigorously from side to side.

“Well, that’s good Cora, because Mr. Hough is determined to file a complaint that will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. That could mean jail for the culprits in the women’s reformatory in Twin Falls. Bad place.” Nate shook his head.

“Jail? You’d go to jail just for taking a little piece of lace?” said an astounded Cora.

Nate stared straight into her eyes. “I hadn’t said what was taken, Cora.”

Cora put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear!”

“You best tell me what you know before this gets any worse.” Cora’s wild-eyed reaction had told him everything he had feared to learn.

Cora looked around in a panic, as if someone might arrive to save her but, realizing her plight, she sat up and began to spill everything, gesticulating with her hands, desperate to explain. “It… it was just a prank. To see if I could do it. I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just so pretty.”

“Apparently he didn’t see the humor,” said Nate. His face was grim. The silly girl had dug herself a deeper hole than she realized.

“Oh, gosh. I could just give it back. I never meant to keep it. I was going to do that anyway after the barn dance this Saturday.”

“But you did take it?”

“I suppose I did,” said a crestfallen Cora.

Nate noticed that Emma, who had been sitting there, taking it all in, was shaking her head, apparently sad at what had come to pass. For a moment there was silence as all three pondered the implications of Cora’s folly.


* * *


I’m going to have to turn the girl out, Emma thought. She’s committed an act of theft, and if I know Calvin Hough—he’ll demand justice.

Then the Colonel said something that made her sit up and take notice. “There may be another way,” he said.

Cora, who by now had broken down in tears, managed to stop crying and edged forward on her seat.

“You won’t like it, Cora, but it may spare you prosecution and jail.”

“Yes? There is something you can do?” Hope brightened her tear streaked face.

“First thing is, you return that lace. Right now. Second thing is, you agree to accept a punishment.” There was firmness and a little bit of anger in his voice.

Cora seemed confused. “Punishment? What do you mean?”

Emma understood his irritation. The girl had been so foolish. Hadn’t she understood that there had to be consequences? As to the nature of the consequences, Emma thought she knew what they had to be. When he explained it to her, all the color drained out of Cora’s face.

“Cora, if you were my daughter and you did this, you’d be down for a good tanning with the strap, no doubt about it. And that’s even if the law were not involved. But here, they will be involved unless you agree to take that strapping.”

Cora fidgeted nervously as she listened to Nate.

“If you agree, Cora, I’ll propose it to Hough. He has a right to be there.” Nate turned to Emma. “I’d ask you to be there, too, Mrs. Weston. I think Cora will need some moral support.”

Emma nodded. Why wasn’t she surprised? After what he’d said about handling the discipline chores after his father’s death, it made sense that he’d propose a bit of old fashioned woodshed discipline for a young girl who had strayed from the path.

Seeing the devastating nature of the alternative, Cora reluctantly agreed to accept the colonel’s discipline.

“I suppose I have no choice,” she said, wringing her hands. Cora’s expression told Emma the enormity of the situation had now become clear to her. To avoid the law, Cora would have to submit to a good licking with a strap.

Now Emma saw Colonel Bradford in a different light. What he had proposed would be embarrassing and difficult for Cora, but the fact that he was concerned enough for her welfare that he was willing to plead her case, and then administer the discipline himself, sent a little shiver up her spine. Just like the head of household of a family.



* * *


It took a day for Nathan to talk to Calvin Hough, now joined by his wife, and convince them to drop the charges. There was no harm done since the lace was now back in Calvin’s possession, but they wanted assurances that it would not happen again.

“She has agreed to accept a sound whipping with harness strap, Calvin. I’m going to dish it out, and I assure you the girl won’t be sitting easily for a week. You are entitled, as the offended party, to be present. I will do it after supper tonight in the woodshed out back of Mrs. Weston’s, where I board.”

Calvin said he and his wife Nora would be there promptly at seven o’clock. From the stern set of her features, it seemed clear that it was the wife who wanted to make sure that the punishment would be severe.

“I expect she will not have the protection of her bloomers either, deputy,” said Mrs. Hough, a hard thin-faced woman with a self-righteous air about her. “To teach this little tramp a good lesson, the whipping has to be on the bare.”

Nate hadn’t thought about that. For modesty’s sake he’d planned to let her bloomers stay up, but with this harridan insisting on it, he guessed that to settle this thing, they’d have to come down.

When Cora heard that Mr. Hough had agreed to drop charges she was relieved, but now she had to face the reality of a strapping to be administered by Colonel Bradford.

“This is not going to be easy, Cora. I’m going to have to give you licks with a strap. And I hate to say it, girl, but it will have to be on the bare. They insist.”

Her knees nearly buckled. Her bottom would be bare for the strapping. It was almost too embarrassing to think about.


* * *


Supper was a subdued affair. Cora hardly ate, and Emma couldn’t blame her. Colonel Bradford, to his credit, did not say much. He stuck to small talk. Laura Lee and Jenny, now knowing the whole story, favored her with sympathetic glances, occasionally reaching over to give her hand a squeeze. There was palpable tension in the air as they awaited the Houghs who were no doubt looking forward to claiming their pound of flesh.

Especially Nora Hough, thought Emma. The woman had a pinched face that seemed set in a perpetual frown. Her husband was a rather dour man, as well. Emma imagined that Colonel Bradford had to have been quite persuasive to convince the pair not to prosecute. Then she shuddered, realizing that Nathan would have to punish Cora severely to satisfy them. The next hour would not be pleasant for the girl. But nobody ever died from a spanking, she rationalized.

A rap on the door jolted Emma out of her reverie. Cora nearly jumped. Clearly the girl was nervous as a cat. Emma had counseled her after learning exactly what would transpire.

“Best wear something simple, dear,” she had said. “It wouldn’t do to have to deal with layers of petticoats and such.” So Cora had worn a simple yellow shift that covered only a chemise and drawers.

Colonel Bradford answered the door. It was Cal and Nora Hough. “Well, we are here, deputy. I trust you are ready to do your duty,” said Nora Hough, glaring at Cora who stood behind Bradford like a naughty child hiding behind a kindly uncle and fearing parental wrath.

Emma sighed. They were determined to be unpleasant about it.

“We are ready.” The colonel turned to Cora. “Come with us, Cora. Let’s get this unpleasantness over with.”

Emma fell in behind the four of them and noticed that Cora actually took his hand as they trooped out. “This way,” said Bradford. “The shed is out back.”

As they made their way toward the shed, Emma recalled her conversation earlier that day with Colonel Bradford. He had been fashioning the implement of Cora’s chastisement, working silently in the workshop portion of the woodshed. He intended to whip her with a strap, so he had taken a piece of leather from an old harness rig. It was three inches wide and a little over a foot long. He worked silently, busily attaching a wooden handle to it, sandwiching the end between a pair of carved wooden grips.

“There,” he said, swooshing it through the air until it struck the workbench with a loud thwack! It made Emma jump.

“That looks…rather formidable. How do you intend to do it?”

Bradford cocked his head, thinking. “She won’t hold still. I reckon I’ll have to put her over my knee. Kind of embarrassing, but that way I do it and we’re done.”

Emma gulped. “Embarrassing, indeed.” For a moment she imagined herself, held across the knee of the roughly handsome Colonel, her bloomers at her knees. He’d be able to see everything, all her womanly secrets revealed. She blushed.

“Something the matter?” he asked, noticing her flustered expression. “This looks severe, but I guarantee it’s nothing like a razor strop. Oh, it’ll smart, yes, it will. But no lasting harm. She’ll be right as rain in a day or so.”


* * *


When they reached the shed, Emma could see that the Colonel had prepared for this moment. A sturdy stool, the one used for the workbench, stood in the center of the room. It wasn’t entirely dark outside yet, but night was falling fast, so Bradford lit a pair of kerosene lamps. Their soft glow bathed the inside of the shed, illuminating the walls with a warm yellow light that cast shadows into the far corners. Emma peered around the shed. Sure enough, the homemade punishment strap hung on a peg on the wall, ready to perform its punitive task.

Bradford pulled it off the wall and sat on the stool. “All right, Cora. Come here.”

Cora’s knees knocked as she stepped gingerly to Bradford’s right side.

“Apologize to these folks here, Cora. They need to hear you’re sorry for what you did.”

Cora faced the Houghs and stammered out an apology. “I’m really sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Hough. I never meant to steal that lace, I just… it just happened. I’m so sorry. I’ll never take anything again.”

Nora Hough did not seem impressed. “Well, in my book you’re a little thief and we’ll see.” Then she directed a question to the Colonel. “How many do you plan to give her?”

“I think an even dozen should suffice, Mrs. Hough. The girl is sorry.”

Nora Hough folded her arms and shook her head. “Now, that’s not near enough. Nossir. It should be a biblical punishment. Forty stripes less one. That’s what it says in the Bible.”

Emma watched as Nathan considered this. She knew what he must be thinking. Thirty-nine licks with that strap would be very severe. Cora was nearly shaking at the prospect of thirty-nine strap licks. The Colonel had told her earlier what her punishment would be and she had reconciled herself to it. But to hear that three times that would be her lot was obviously unnerving.

“All right, Mrs. Hough, but for the first twenty-seven, it will be with the flat of my hand. It will smart, don’t you worry about that. She’ll be duly punished.”

Calvin Hough jumped in. “It’s your show, Colonel, but if it ain’t a proper lickin’ we’re back to pressing charges.”

Bradford nodded. “Cora,” he said, “raise your skirt and get across my knee.”

Gingerly Cora lifted her skirt up above her waist to reveal her legs and hips clad in thin drawers. Blushing shamefully, she lowered herself across the Colonel’s lap until her torso was forward and her feet were off the floor. Her body curved over the Colonel’s knee so that her plump derriere was thrust upward, presenting Bradford with a prominent target.

Emma’s heart stuck in her throat as she watched Nathan peel down Cora’s undergarment. The fabric came to rest at the girl’s knee hollows, revealing a pair of plump rounded globes, quivering in the cool air of the shed. Cora was short but buxom, and her bottom was full and well-developed. She sucked her breath in as Bradford rested his large palm on the girl’s bottom, apparently testing the resilience of the flesh he was about to chastise. Cora squirmed uncomfortably, but Bradford patted her rear cheeks and told her to be still.


There was dead silence as Bradford raised his arm, then brought it down with a loud splat! He struck right at the center of Cora’s seat. The soft moons rippled with the impact. Cora threw her head back and gasped. A big red handprint appeared when the Colonel lifted his arm for the second blow. He nodded to Emma. “Mrs. Weston, please count.”

“Uh…yes. One,” she said.

Smack! His palm landed again. Another gasp from Cora.

“Two,” said Emma.

Bradford proceeded to deliver a stinging spanking to Cora’s bouncing fanny, spreading the spanks around to cover the entire surface of her bottom. The tempo was deliberate. It wasn’t hurried. To Emma it seemed as if the Colonel intended to make each hearty swat an event. He waited for Emma to count before raising his arm for the next blow.

Emma had never seen anything like it, and it was having a strange effect on her. The sight of the determined Colonel meting out discipline to the half nude girl aroused something within her, something she could not explain. She imagined being in Cora’s place, her buttocks bared, the cheeks of her own bottom absorbing blow after blow, hearty smacks delivered by a dominant male. He’d make me mind and after that I’d be his to command. The widow gave herself a mental shake. Where did these thoughts come from? She forced herself to stay on task.



“Fourteen,” she said, counting the last hard smack. That one had struck the crease at the base of Cora’s buttocks and had made her squeal.

“That’s more like it. Give it to her hard,” said Nora Hough, an expression of smug satisfaction on her face.

What would his hand feel like? wondered Emma. It must hurt. Cora was wriggling and fluttering her feet. Her body reacted, flinching with each smack, the flesh of her bottom wobbling. But would the fire become a warm glow later? One that would compel her to do things, unspeakable things? She shivered.

Cora was crying softly when the count reached twenty-seven. Her bottom was a fiery red and she quivered anxiously as Bradford pulled the strap from off the floor. He tucked her in closer and shifted her forward so that she hung suspended over his left knee, her bottom pointing toward the ceiling.

“Twelve with this. Are you ready, Cora?”

“Y-yes, sir,” she managed to say.

The strap descended in a blur.

Crack! The leather struck her bottom and she threw her head back and her feet came up off the floor.

“Yeoww!” shrieked Cora.

Emma counted one.

Bradford raised the strap to shoulder level and whipped it down again to strike Cora’s fanny square in the middle, eliciting another howl. A third lick produced the same result.

“Nggggg….ahhhh!” wailed Cora.

The girl was clearly in distress. It was a serious licking. Emma wondered if Cora had ever experienced anything like it. The wriggling behind bounded and bobbed as stripe after stripe was laid on by the supple strap. Vivid red welts arose and Cora cried unabashedly.

Emma watched, transfixed by the lurid display of Cora’s bare fanny, wriggling and flexing as the strap struck, forming red welts across the fulsome cheeks. The Colonel’s face was a study in concentration as he lined up to place each lick exactly where he wanted it, covering the entire expanse of Cora’s bottom, painting it uniformly red.

At the count of twelve, the Colonel put down the strap. He eased Cora to her feet and gave her a hug.

“We’re all done now,” he said.

After that display, even the Hough’s had to admit that justice had been done. Nora Hough even seemed a little pale. They left abruptly after the Colonel had secured their promise to drop charges.

Emma took Cora upstairs to tend to her and to give her some witch hazel to rub into her reddened flesh. Jenny and Laura Lee fluttered around her, comforting her and offering to help. Even though the woodshed was separate from the house, they had heard the cracks of the strap and Cora’s wails of distress.

Emma shook her head. The girl would not sit easily for some time.