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.

Nurse Bobbie–on F/M Sunday

This is a story I found by someone named Bayou Bubba. The setting is Lafayette, somewhere, so I’m guessing it’s Louisiana. It follows a familiar trope, one common in F/M fantasies, that of the curious lad who fools around in the panty drawer or shoe rack of a dominant woman and is eventually caught. Nu-West did a series of videos on this theme 30 years ago called “The Woman Next Door,” and the stills come from some of those vids. You can find them at

Mom and Dad moved me out of my room last week. It seems an old friend of theirs, some nurse chick, had a temporary assignment here in Lafayette; they gave her my room so she could have some privacy and exiled me to the couch. Although I’ve been sleeping on the couch, I still get to use my bathroom after she leaves for work or before she comes home. She’s also sharing my closet. I don’t mind, because her fabulous scent permeates the air and combined with the leather smell of her silky lingerie and the sensual smell of her leather fashion footwear, well, it’s almost too much to handle. If I’m lucky, I get home before her and have time to play with some of her stuff before she returns. I almost got caught wanking off in one of her shoes last week, but I was able to get out before she discovered me. I was shaking for hours after that close encounter last week. She had an air of strictness about her that I knew I didn’t want to cross.



It was late afternoon. I’d come home from school hot and sweaty and decided to take a shower. Mom and Dad wouldn’t be home for hours, so I’d planned to play some video games once I cleaned up. Just as I’d just gotten out of the shower and had dried and combed my hair, I heard Nurse Bobbie calling to me through the door. She asked me to come out. She said she needed my advice on something. Apparently she’d come in while I was in the shower. I called back to her, saying I’d be out in a little bit, as soon as I got my clothes on.

She said, “Oh nonsense. Just throw a towel around you and come give me some help now. I need your opinion on something now. There’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I’m a nurse you know.” She has a sense of urgency in her voice, so I reluctantly did as I was told. When I came out, she looked so great. I felt so very exposed before this incredibly sensual woman, dressed in her f*** me pumps and that slinky little robe partially open, exposing her fabulous little black Lady Marlene bustier with the six garters tautly holding up her stockings . In her hand was one of those awesomely sexy pumps that I had violated last week. They were all leather, black and with a 5” heel. They were way too sexy and I was having a hard time concealing my interest.

Bobbie asked, “Steve, do you like these shoes?”

Feeling a little bulge under my towel, I tried to hide the arousal that was creeping up on me. I played dumb, and said “Uh, I guess so. They’re all right I guess,” trying to look dumb and uninterested, like a stupid adolescent.

She caressed the shoe, placed it up to her nose and took a deep nasal breath. “Well, I think they’re really great. So you don’t like them very much? Don’t you think they’re beautiful? I do.”

“They’re ok I guess,” I timidly replied.

She said, “Look at them. They’re by Charles Jourdan, one of the top Parisian designers. Look at the lines, the stitching, just smell the richness of the leather. They’re perfect!” After a long pause, she said, “Almost.”

“Look here, Steve.” She held the shoe close to my face and pointed to a stain in the heel about the size of a quarter .”What do you think this could be?”

I began to tremble slightly, because I knew exactly what it was. “Maybe something that was on your foot when you put them on?” I offered.

Nurse Bobbie said, “No, I don’t think so”. She asked me again, “So you have absolutely no idea what it could be?”

“No Ma’am”, I said glancing away from her icy stare.

She said, “Well, I didn’t either. So do you know what I did? I took them to the lab at the hospital and had it tested. Do you have any idea what they said it was, Steve? Do you have any inkling of what it could be? Think about it a minute. You have no idea at all?”

“Uh, can’t say that I do, Ma’am”.

“Well, Steve, I was really amazed when they told me what it was. Would you like to know what the lab told me it was, Steve?”

“Uh, I guess,” was my weak response. I was getting pretty nervous. She was a stern woman and was very possessive about her stuff. I had been warned to leave her things alone, but there they were in my closet and they had driven me almost insane and I just couldn’t resist doing what I did with them.

“Well Steve, they told me it was semen. It’s the ejaculate from a male penis. Now just how do you imagine it got in there, Steve?”

“Uh, uh, I can’t guess,” I stammered.

Well, I couldn’t either. So I had a DNA test run on it. I found a few hairs on the couch and had them analyzed. Steve, this is your cum. It came from your penis. Now what do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

“Uh, well, I guess it could have accidentally dripped in there somehow.”

“So you don’t find these high heels sexy?”

“They’re just shoes,” I shot back. “They’re ok”.

“They don’t excite you?”

“No, Ma’am. If something from me got in them, it was just some sort of an accident”…. I was starting to fidget.

Then she put her hand on my cheek and turned my face where I was looking straight into her steely eyes, and she stared directly at me for what seemed like an eternity. Then with her other hand, she quickly grabbed my towel and yanked it from my torso, exposing my rock hard erection.

“Then what’s this all about, young man?” she said as she put her hand firmly on my chin and directed my gaze to my obvious arousal. “Now do you have anything you want to tell me, boy?”


I was caught. I started apologizing all over the place. She simply stood there and listened to my babblings. Once I stopped long enough to catch my breath, she asked me if I was finished. I concurred.

She told me how disappointed she was in me. She told me how I had ruined her favorite shoes and how she was going to have to tell my parents what a filthy little pervert I was. They’d kill me because Nurse Bobbie was one of their favorite people and they didn’t cotton to sexual deviation. I begged and pleaded with her not to tell.

“You’ve violated my privacy, you’ve soiled my things and you must be punished. I guess we can keep this from them, but first, you’re going to have to buy me a new pair.”

“OK, Ok,” I quickly chimed, anything you say.

“They were $200.”

My eyes got big. “Two hundred dollars!!? I don’t have that kind of money!”

“Well you’d better get it, or I’ll let your Dad handle this.” I began to stutter and got weak in the knees. I’d be working all summer for my transgressions. Little tears came to my eyes.

“Not only that, but you’re going to have to pay for the lab tests. The analysis was $75.”

My heart sank even lower that I thought it could go. I’d been busted big time.

Then she added, “You know DNA tests are very expensive too. This one was $400, Steve. You’ll be working for me for some time. Do you understand that?”

I was devastated. I felt so hopeless, so naked, standing naked before this gorgeous but very angry woman. My erection had subsided as I considered the hopelessness of my fate.

She said, “Well, we’ll just have to work this out between us. You can come serve me this summer and work it off. I’ll keep you busy where your little mind won’t have so much free time to molest other people’s things.”

I felt a slight touch of relief and said, “yes Ma’am. Anything you say.” What else could I say? I was feeling a little better, but not looking forward to being her slave all summer. She could be really harsh when she wanted to. She was known not to take any crap off anyone.

Then she added, “But then there’s the issue of your punishment. What do you think we should do with you, Steve?”

I stammered, uh, “I guess I could write you an apology and work really hard?”

“Oh no, no, no, little man. I intend to teach you the error of your ways. Steve, go into my closet and bring me what you find there in my top drawer.” I humbly turned and went to the closet and opened the drawer. My eyes got big as saucers I know. Lying there on top of her silky panties was a paddle, the size of a ping pong paddle. No! It can’t be! I’m much too old for that, I thought. I picked it up anyway and obediently brought it to her. She handed it back to me and told me to take it and my sorry ass into the bathroom. She said she’d be there in a minute.

After what seemed like an eternity, she entered the bathroom, her heels confidently clicking on the tiled floor. She pulled out the vanity stool and took a seat and looked up at me, naked and trembling. She’d removed her robe and was sitting there in her undergarments, that deadly black merry widow with the 6 garters holding up her fully fashioned seamed hose, and wearing a pair of her highest heels.

She motioned for me to close the door. I did. She “Now lock it. We don’t want any disturbances while we take care of this matter, do we now?” she offered as she crossed her legs and raised her eyebrow.

“No Ma’am,” I replied. How humiliating to be standing before this incredibly sexy woman knowing that I’d soon be experiencing her wrath and punishment for my actions!

She started in on a long speech about respecting other people’s property, the proper way to relieve one’s sexual tensions and how disappointed she was with me. I hung my head and stared at the floor.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Steve. I want to make sure you understand this completely. Do I make myself clear, young man?”

“Yyyes’m.” I begin to tremble. She worked out and I knew she was strong and could inflict some serious blows with that intimidating paddle of hers…. My time was almost up.

She started to calmly speak. “Now Steve, I want you to come over here and stand in front of me.” I respectfully did as I was told. “I’m going to take you across my lap for your spanking. Bring me a towel.” I did as I was directed. She laid it across her lap, saying it was to prevent any further soiling of her things by “that thing” as she pointed to my semi erect penis. “Give me your hand.” She tenderly guided me across her lap and gently placed her hand on my bare bottom.


“Now Steve, this is going to hurt. If you struggle or kick or scream it will only prolong the session. Do you understand me? Every jerk, every outcry will be met with increased severity. Do I make myself clear, Steve?” “Yeah,” I said.


“Yes Ma’am” I quickly responded as her fingernails dug into my fleshy behind.

“Your insolence will cost you. You’ll need to watch your mouth and be more respectful in the future. Is that understood, Steve?”

“Yes Ma’am,” I said.

“OK then. Well I guess we’re ready to start. Are you ready, Steve? This shouldn’t take long if you behave properly.”

I said, “I guess so”.

She rubbed her hands over my smooth little bottom like she was inspecting it. She commented she was glad I’d just had my shower, because it was all sweet and clean so it wouldn’t soil her paddle. Just when I thought it’d never start, she lit into my bottom with a vengeance only an angry, violated woman could muster. A hailstorm of powerful swats were falling on my poor naked behind and it was all I could do to just lie there and take it. My butt was on fire and the pain was starting to overcome my humiliation of being over this woman’s lap getting a spanking like a small schoolboy. Then one made me yell out. The barrage immediately stopped. She put her hand on my neck and asked me “Do you remember what I said before we started this? Now you’re really going to get it. I’d better not hear another peep out of you, young man. Is that understood?”

“Yyyesss Mmma’am…” I tearfully replied, not knowing if I could take any more. Then they really started coming down. She’d grabbed my arm and held it behind my back as she tore me up.

After what seemed like an eternity, she stopped and told me to get up. I did and grabbed my underwear and started to get dressed as she continued lecturing me.

“Oh, no sir! We’re not through yet, Steve. That was for the act of soiling my shoes. You still have to be punished for your lying. That’s a much worse offense don’t you think so, Steve? I just can’t tolerate a liar and we need to have a little lesson on that subject too, don’t you think?”

My heart fell 10 stories. My ass was on fire, and she tells me there’s more. I was completely humiliated and now she tells me there’s more? Wow, that little squirt surely wasn’t worth all of this I thought to myself. I’d sure steer clear of her things in the future for sure I thought.

She took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom. She said from her experience with me getting a little paddling and all my squirming, she was going to restrain me so I didn’t embarrass or hurt myself when she delivered this part of my punishment. She bound my wrists and legs and tied me to the bedposts, with my bottom protruding in the most vulnerable way. I heard her heels clicking down the hall, a brief pause and then the clicking back to the room. In the mirror I could see she had a rattan cane, about 6mm thick and about a yard long. She swished it around in the air a few times and began to talk.

“Steve, I’m going to introduce you to the cane. You are to receive six of the best. Do you know what that means?”

“No ma’am,” I meekly replied as I lay there bent over and helpless.

She said she was going to give me six swats with the cane across my bare buttocks. She instructed me not to cry out, and then decided to gag me so as not to alert the neighbors. She stuffed her panties in my mouth and tied it in with one of her stockings that had a run in them. There I was, trembling and helpless to defend myself from her wrath and discipline.

She began to talk. “The first, Steve, will be a wake up call. It is designed to wake you up to the issues at hand. The second will be an introduction to corporal punishment. The third will be to get your attention. The fourth and fifth are your punishment. The sixth will be insurance to make sure you don’t find yourself in this position again. Don’t you think that’s a good idea, Steve? A real man and gentleman should never have to find himself is such a position again, don’t you think, sir?”

“You are so right,“ I replied.

“Good. So, shall we begin?” She took her stance behind me and swished the cane through the air several times like she was practicing. I could see her behind me in the mirror warming up. She laid the cane gently across my butt like she was aiming and then gently withdrew it. I saw her arm go way back and the next thing I knew an intense stinging pain shot through my entire body. Thank heavens for her panties in my mouth or they would have heard me in Canada!


“Are you awake now, Steve?” I vigorously nodded as I felt her line the cane up on my derriere, just slightly below the last throbbing welt she last left on my rear. It arrived ever so soon with even more force than the first.” Do you get the hang of this now, Steve?” She asked? Nodding yes, I started to tremble thinking there were four more of these to come. The third came down with equal force. Hell, she was only half through.

The 4th and 5th inflicted incredible pain, but nothing like the sixth, which descended with such force, I was amazed this little petite woman had it in her. How thrilled I was that this was over!

She removed the panties from my mouth and patted me on my sore bottom. After another lecture about leaving other people’s things alone, lying and perverted sexual activities, she untied me and told me to stand up and face her. My eyes were red and teary and my whole body was quaking from the experience. She looked me in the eyes and asked me if I thought we’d have to repeat this session?

“No ma’am!” I replied. She piped up that she certainly hoped not, because the next one would be so much more severe than the first that I really would not want to experience it. She gave me a long tender hug and directed me to lie down on the bed on my stomach and rubbed some lotion onto my stinging red hot bottom. She said it would help reduce the swelling and marks that were surely now part of my anatomy. As I lay there sobbing like a child, I knew Nurse Bobbie’s things were not my toys and there’d be hell to pay if my lusts ever got the best of me again. As her gentle hands caressed my aching behind, a slippery finger flicked my anus and brought me to an erection again. She gave my balls a little firm squeeze and gave me a playful yank on my penis. Nurse Bobbie was no one to mess with and she had made that perfectly clear. (I guess I’ll just have to be more careful next time…)

My Worst Paddling

This is an illustrated school story about some cheerleader hi-jinks that land the heroine and her friends in a some pretty hot water. (The water isn’t all that’s hot.) To graphically illustrate this tale I’ve chosen one of my favorite models, Jessica of Realspanking Networks and specifically The stills came from various clips found all over the place, but are all easily obtainable from the realspanking web site above or, I think, from as well.

It’s been a while since Jessica was actually a teenager, but there is a ton of footage of her which goes all the way back into the early 2000’s. One of the things that is great about her, besides having an incredible figure, is her ability to project the innocent persona of the schoolgirl in trouble who genuinely fears the punishment to come and reacts to it in a realistic way. Oh — and the fact she’s a redhead. Love redheads.

Realspankings has always had thing for school paddling scenes and many are very realistic, if somewhat mechanical and by the book. But I guess that’s the way it’s actually done.


My Worst Paddling

Let’s get one thing straight, right off. I went to high school in the South, Tennessee to be exact, in a rural county that shall go unnamed. In those days, discipline was strict, not like it is today with all your psychologists, namby-pamby counselors and such. You misbehaved and it was a date with the “board of education.”

I was popular, pretty (I was a perky redhead – still am by the way), and most importantly, a cheerleader.

In those days cheerleading was a big deal. Football and basketball were king. The bleachers filled up every Friday night. The whole town came out, from the high school kids to moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas, and all the little kiddies. Everybody. In the winter the old gym was packed, standing room only. And we cheerleaders were part of the package. In fact, we viewed ourselves as an extension of the team. We screamed encouragement, we shouted, we did routines to fire up the crowd, any and everything to help the team win.

You know what else we did? We twirled. We were young women discovering our bodies and our power over the male of the species. We noticed when we twirled, the boys on the other team looked.

It’s a well-known fact cheerleaders have great, well, asses. It’s all the gymnastics, the tumbling, the dancing. My girlfriends and I used to kid ourselves about our sexy butts and how the boys would all sneak a peek as our skirts flared out, exposing our panty-clad derrieres. We loved to tease, and little by little, those panties got briefer and briefer as we experimented with French cuts, half cuts and any other cut or style that displayed a good bit of bottom cheek. Did this prompt more interest from boys? You bet.

Of course our cheer coach, Mrs. Harris noticed too, and told us to cut it out, that we had to wear something more modest under our skirts. For a while we did.

But then came the big game, the district championship. We talked about what we could do to help the team, and it was Brandi, I think, who came up with the idea.

“We’ll distract them,” she said.

We wanted to know what she meant.

“We’ll take our panties off and do the twirl at some important point in the game. The other boys will stare at us and muff the play.”


Now, you are saying, I’m sure, ‘how ridiculous is that idea?’ Well, I’m here to tell you, it worked. On a critical third down play, we all got in the end zone where the other team was facing us and did a big cheer. We’d taken our panties off and when our skirts flared out, the other team did a double take as they saw nothing but bare butt and pussy. Our team snapped the ball and ran it all the way for a touchdown. We’d won the game.

Unfortunately, a lot of others noticed too, including the principal, our cheer coach, the boys coach and parents in the stands.

To our dismay, the price of victory was going to be high. We got called in and reamed out good for half an hour by Mrs. Harris, the boy’s coach, Coach Mattson, and Mr. Gregory, the principal.  We knew something bad was coming and we breathlessly awaited sentencing as the scolding ran out of steam.

It came at the end of the scolding and it was a whopper, literally. Twelve licks with the board. Six to be given by the boy’s coach and a week later, six by Mrs. Harris. And here was the kicker—from Mrs. Harris we were going to get it on the bare. They figured that since we were shameless enough to show our bare butts to the whole town at the game, we could bare them to Mrs. Harris for the paddle.


I’ll never forget either of those two punishments. We had a day or two to think about it. It was all set up with our parents who agreed one hundred percent. In fact, if the school hadn’t sentenced us to the paddle so soon, I know my dad would have been calling me up to his bedroom for a blistering with his belt. I’d have been lying over some pillows, panties down and counting out twenty good hard licks right on my bare fanny. As it was, dad figured twelve good hard smacks with the board would do it, at least for now.

Mom did not. She decided to give me a preview. That night after I showered, she came into my bedroom.


“Jessica,” she said, as she sat on the bed. “No daughter of mine will ever do that again. Get your little butt up over my knee.”


I was stark naked when she took me across her knee and spanked my fanny to a bright fire engine red.

She just used her hand but it stung like a hornet swarm. She must have smacked my bottom for two or three minutes straight because when I was done my ass was red as a beet.


But that was mild compared to the paddle.


We went in two at a time to see coach Mattson. I went with Brandi. He made us sit and fill out a corporal punishment form. The last time I got licks had been in the 6th grade and it had only been two, so I was nervous as a cat. My stomach was churning. Here I was, a senior and a cheerleader and I was going to get six swats from the boys’ coach.


I handed him the form and he told me to stand up. My legs were shaking as he told me to bend over and put my hands on my knees.


“All right, Jessica. You’re getting six. Keep your legs straight, don’t move or flinch and stick your fanny out.”

He came over to my side and flipped up my skirt. Underneath I was wearing full cut panties and thank goodness for that. He patted my butt with the paddle a time or two then let loose.

The paddle cracked down on my bottom and I yelled. It hurt like crazy, a hot blast that exploded across my seat.

He lined up another and brought the paddle down again. This one was worse. The pain just amplified itself. Tears sprang into my eyes and I fought to hold still.

Crack! Number three was as bad as the first two. My knees were knocking and I think I was twitching. I know I was gulping and gasping and I can remember how bad it burned.

The coach spanked my fanny with that paddle three more times and let me up. I had to sit down and watch Brandi get it. Afterwards we had to sign the punishment forms. I left in tears, relieved that it was done for now but dreading the next one.


The next week we were on pins and needles, all of us dreading our date with Mrs. Harris. Bruises had faded but the prospect of another six, and on the bare, was the darkest of dark clouds on the horizon. That it would hurt like crazy was a given. Embarrassing? That too.

This time we went in alone, one at a time. I wore a short pleated skirt that day and full cut panties. I figured my skirt was coming up and my panties were coming down so I’d best make it easy.

I sat at a desk and filled out the punishment form. I was literally shaking as I tried to write. Mrs. Harris was all business. She reminded me of why I was there and why this licking was to cement in my mind a lesson in proper conduct for school representatives and young ladies especially.

Then it was time.vlcsnap-2016-09-08-12h20m34s322

She went behind the desk and retrieved the paddle, a 24 inch long, five inch wide maple board with a gripping handle.

“All right, Jessica. Stand up.”

I stood.

“Forearms and elbows on the desk, please.”


I bent over and rested my forearms on the desk. She shuffled up behind me and I felt my skirt being lifted. She put the hem in the small of my back. My bottom stuck out, a big round target for the board. Then the worst. Her bony fingers inserted themselves in my elastic waistband, and she dragged my panties down, baring my bottom. It was weird being clothed, all except for my bare butt, wagging in the breeze.vlcsnap-2016-09-08-12h21m46s124

“Six swats, Jessica. Do not move or get up. No cursing. No swearing or we repeat. Here we go, young lady and I do hope you take this lesson to heart.”

I think I heard a whoosh and then POP! The board smacked me right across the crown of my bottom cheeks.

I hissed, “Yeow!” It hurt like blue blazes.


SMACK! Another lick lit a fire in my tail. I shifted back and forth on my feet.


SMACK! Number three was horrible. It hit lower than one and two and I lifted up.

“Feeling sorry now, Jessica?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” I wailed.

“Well, we’re not done yet.”


SMACK! I jumped at number four. The blazing sting was overwhelming.


“Stay down, Jessica,” warned Mrs. Harris.


I felt the board tapping my bottom, lining up for the next one. I gritted my teeth.


CRACK! Five made my eyes water.

SMACK! Six made me cry.


To add insult to injury I had to sit and sign the punishment form acknowledging I had received six swats.


Somehow I made it home, red faced, sobbing and rubbing my butt all the way. I did end up face down over the pillows with my bare behind in the air, but it was so mom could put an ice pack on my behind. She expressed some sympathy for my condition, but mostly satisfaction that justice had been served.


And the cheerleading squad? We adopted spandex gym shorts to wear under our skirts, but you know … I’d have voted for just about anything as long as it completely covered our butts.


More Suburban Spanking — an F/M excerpt

Here is a bit of classic spanko porn from one of the old masters, Will Henry. This is how they wrote it in grandpa’s day.





“That’s right, Helen. Bill is now under my discipline the same as the girls. I must say that it is quite interesting to discipline a fellow!”

Helen Masterson had just returned from her trip, and Grace was bringing her up to date on the phone. It had been a month since they had seen one another. In the meantime, Grace had given Bill two spankings similar to the first, and it had worked out so well that she was considering disciplining him on a weekly basis the same as Maureen and Carol.

“Yes, it can be quite interesting!” Helen laughed. “Welcome to the club!” It was the first direct admission Grace had secured from Helen concerning the latter’s disciplinary practices with her young husband.

“I’ve been rather meaning to ask you some things,” Grace explored the subject somewhat tentatively. “I would like to get your opinion…”

“Now would be an ideal time,” Helen broke in. “Actually, Kirk was rather naughty on our trip and is going to have to spend considerable time repenting! I’ve even dressed him for the part! Perhaps if you came over this afternoon…”

Helen was attired in a severe black dress when she opened the door for Grace. Tall and sophisticated, with jet black hair and a full figure, Helen was extremely attractive but in a severe, cool manner. As usual, she was impeccably made up with high arching eyebrows and frosted white lipstick. She was wearing black stockings and patent leather pumps with spike heels and pointed toes. The slim high heels made her appear taller and even more commanding. At twenty−eight, she combined mature sophistication with youthful appeal, and was quite well aware of her effect on the opposite sex. “You may be a little shocked at first,” Helen remarked with a knowing smile as the two of them seated themselves in the living room. “However, I’m sure you’ll fully approve when you see what excellent results I get!”


She picked up a small serving bell and rang it. Grace gasped a moment later as Kirk made his blushing entrance. He was wearing a French maid’s outfit! Grace stared at the sight of the tall, well built young man attired in the short black dress with flared skirt, white apron and cap, black nylon stockings and black sandals with three−inch pencil−thin heels. He wore a black wig and was heavily made up. For a moment, Grace could hardly recognize Helen’s young husband in the girlish outfit! Blushing deeply beneath his heavy make up and keeping his eyes averted, he slowly walked over to where Helen was seated. Grace was quick to notice that he walked quite expertly in the high heels, taking small, feminine steps. Looking delightfully shamefaced and self−conscious, he meekly curtsied to his mistress. Her tongue−in−cheek smile revealing her amusement as her young husband’s humiliation, Helen crossed her shapely legs and leaned back comfortably in her easy chair. She made no effort to pull down her skirt, which rode up to reveal her stocking tops and a glimpse of bare thigh.

“How do you like my pretty maid?” she asked Grace with an amused smile.

“My goodness!” Grace exclaimed, staring at the blushing male maid. “What an interesting idea! Does he have to dress like this all the time?”

“Well, most of the time!” Helen laughed. “And he’s been trained to be completely submissive!”

Kirk blushed even more deeply and stared at the floor. “I mean submissive in every way a woman might enjoy!” Helen explained quite pointedly. “After I have given you a demonstration of my control over him, perhaps you will want to avail yourself of his services!”

Grace felt herself flushing slightly at the unexpected offer. Kirk swallowed and cast a quick, shamefaced glance in her direction. When their eyes met for an instant, he quickly lowered his head, scarlet with embarrassment. “Now bring us some coffee!” Helen ordered him. “And remember to take very small steps and swing your hips when you walk!” Kirk returned in a moment, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee on it. Blushing with mortification, he humbly served the two women and placed the tray on a nearby stand. Sipping on her coffee, Helen snapped her finger and pointed toward her feet. Kirk hesitated for a moment and directed an imploring glance at her, remaining silent but pleading with his eyes. “Hurry up!” Helen ordered, giving him a freezing look. While Grace watched in astonishment, he slowly knelt before Helen and planted a kiss on the toe of her patent leather pump. “Kiss the entire shoe, including the sole!” Helen demanded, watching him closely. Humbly, Kirk complied with the humiliating order while Grace stared at him. Slowly sipping her coffee and smiling imperiously, Helen was obviously enjoying her young husband’s debasement. Grace wondered how far she would make him go in over!”

Helen told him after a few moments. “Now remove my shoe and kiss my foot all front of her. Kirk quickly removed her shoe, revealing a slender and well groomed foot attired in black nylon. Grace could see that her toe nails were painted a bright red. Blushing deeply and occasionally casting a shamefaced look in Grace’s direction as if to see if she were really watching his humiliation, Kirk began kissing Helen’s pretty stocking foot all over. “Don’t miss a square inch!” Helen reminded him. “Toes, sole, heel and so on! Don’t remove your lips for one instant!” She smiled at Grace as her submissive young husband embarrassedly carried out her instructions, his face scarlet with shame as he kept his lips pressed against her slender stocking foot.

“Tell me, Grace, have you ever seen a naughty male maid soundly spanked?” Helen asked with an amused smile. “No, I can’t say that I have!” Grace laughed. “Well, you will!” Helen assured her. “This one has a real good one coming!” Kirk shuddered but did not remove his lips from Helen’s stocking foot. Both women watched closely as he bussed the heavier nylon covering her brightly painted toenails. “There, I think that’s about enough for now,” Helen finally told him, pulling her foot back. “However, you must remember that you haven’t kissed the other foot, and I’ll want you to do that for me later on! Remind me if I forget!”


“Now bring me the paddle!” she finally told him after his lips had been in contact with nearly every square inch of Grace’s pretty stocking feet. He hastily got to his feet and departed from the room. As he returned in a moment, carrying a red maple sorority−type paddle, Grace was quick to discern that the front of his skirt was bulging in a distinctly unfeminine manner. Head hanging and blushing through his makeup, he meekly handed the paddle to Helen. Although he said nothing, his lip was trembling slightly and he looked quite apprehensive. “Kneel!” Helen demanded. Swallowing hard and looking as if he wanted to protest, Kirk slowly sank to his knees in front of her. Helen regarded him severely and he meekly averted her gaze. “Now, slave, I want you to get me in the mood to paddle you!” she told him with a haughty smile.

“No, please!” Kirk whimpered. “Not in front of her! Please!”

Helen gave him an amused smile. One of her favorite sports was to humiliate him in front of visitors. While Grace watched with a mixture of astonishment and fascination, Helen reached down and began pulling up the hem of her black dress. Shapely legs, black stocking tops and bare thighs slowly came into view. Grace gave a start when she realized that Helen was wearing no panties! Helen pulled her skirt up nearly to her waist, revealing a heavy growth of jet black hair at the fork of her legs. Her black dress, black stockings and black pussy hair made a vivid contrast with her white flesh. Keeping her skirts up, she stepped closer to Kirk. His blushing face was now directly opposite the intriguing black delta.

“Go ahead, slave!” she told him with quiet confidence.

“Please, not in front of her!” he begged, casting a shamefaced look in Grace’s direction. For her part, Grace was thoroughly astonished that Helen would make him go so far right in front of her, but could hardly conceal her interest as she watched the intriguing sight. Helen did not reply but stared down icily at her cringing slave. Finally, Kirk surrendered and meekly pressed his blushing face into the inviting nest of jet black hair. Grace felt her pulse quicken as she watched Kirk’s head moving up and down, his mouth and tongue caressing the pink crevice. Helen smiled imperiously at his capitulation and spread her long legs slightly apart to give him more room to work in.

“Keep doing it, slave!” she told him. “Lick me all over! Every hair!” As Kirk continued to caress Helen’s most intimate parts with his tongue, from time to time he would cast a quick, shamefaced glance in Grace’s direction. Grace could hear the slurping sounds as Helen’s moisture seeped against his mouth and tongue, and could see the glistening wetness of her hostess’ black pussy hairs. It wasn’t long before Helen was sopping wet between the legs and was moving her pelvis in response to her young slave’s oral attentions. As she watched Kirk submissively paying tribute to his mistress’ feminine charms, Grace could no longer suppress her own excitement and could hardly wait to be invited to join the festivities.

“That’s enough for now!” Helen abruptly told him. “You’ve got me all hot and sticky, and I’m in the mood to give you a good workout! Now smear your face around in it!” Turning his face from side to side, Kirk abjectly complied with the humiliating order. When he finally pulled his face back, Grace could see that his makeup had been thoroughly smeared by her feminine fluids. He made no effort to wipe his face and, as Grace later learned, was strictly forbidden to do so. He directed a deeply shamed look at Grace and hung his head.

Without pulling her skirt down, Helen sat down on the couch with her long legs apart. Smacking the paddle lightly against her open palm, she regarded her hapless male slave severely. “Get yourself ready!” she told him. “Take off everything except your garter belt and stockings!” Slowly getting to his feet, Kirk embarrassedly removed the dress to reveal skimpy black panties and a waist−cincher garter belt. His erection was readily apparent beneath the panties. Grace watched with great interest as he awkwardly stepped out of the panties, fully exposing himself. His garter belt and black nylons made a strikingly unmasculine contrast with his fully erect penis as he shamefacedly walked over to his commanding wife.


“Please, mistress,” he stammered. “I’ll do anything…” Thoroughly enjoying her young husband’s intense humiliation, Helen patted her shapely knee as a signal for him to get into position. Haplessly, Kirk lowered himself face down over her capable, nyloned thighs. Grace noticed that Helen caught his erect member between her thighs, holding it firmly between them. Clasping him firmly about the waist with her left hand, Helen raised the paddle.


“Ow!” Kirk gasped as the paddle landed smartly on his exposed rear. His stockinged legs jerked out, and Grace could see the expression of pain on his face as the paddle descended against both cheeks. Helen got a good grip on the paddle, and began smacking his bare bottom with noisy smacks.

Splat! Splat!

“Oh! Ooh!” Kirk quickly proved to be no hero as he reacted to the stinging blows. Grace watched with fascination at the intriguing sight of the well built young man in girl’s clothing carrying on under the paddling. Squirming about on Helen’s lap, he swung his nylon−clad legs girlishly back and forth. It was apparent to Grace that he would have twisted about considerably more had Helen not been holding his stiff penis firmly between her thighs.


Splat! splat!

The paddle continued to descend against his reddening bottom. Helen looked thoroughly pleased with the results she was getting with the paddle, and kept applying it to his hips with wrist−snapping strokes.

“Ow! Please! Please!” Kirk wailed, tears dripping from his eyes as his bottom turned beet red under the paddle.

“Don’t be such a baby!” Helen scolded him.

Splat! Splat!

Helen kept putting the paddle to him, concentrating on first one side and then the other. Grace couldn’t conceal her interest as she watched the spanking go on and on. Kirk finally broke down in loud sobs, gasping and choking and pleading to be spared as his buttocks turned a fiery red under the paddle.

“Pleeeeeeeeese!” he begged repeatedly, turning his tear stained face back over his shoulder to plead with his severe mistress. Grace watched his stockinged legs swinging merrily back and forth in response to the loud whacks of the paddle, and was thoroughly impressed with Helen’s complete control over her well built young male maid. His buttocks were a deep shade of scarlet and it was obvious that he was simply burning up.

“Oh! Pleeeeeeese! Owwww! Pleeeeeeeeese!” he pleaded between sobs.


Helen finally released him and he tearfully dropped to his knees between her long, nyloned legs. While Grace watched closely, he immediately began licking Helen’s pink cleft as she spread her legs apart. Acting as if he were grateful that she had spared him from further paddling, he caressed her with a submissive enthusiasm that left Grace staring in disbelief. As Helen started moving her pelvis back and forth, Kirk worked his tongue inside her orifice and began caressing her most intimate parts. As she watched Kirk’s head moving back and forth and listened to the loud slurping noises, Grace’s imitative urges took command and she could feel the moisture forming between her own legs. “Oooh!” Helen emitted a delighted gasp, a pleased smile on her face as she clasped her hands down over Kirk’s bewigged head and held him even closer to her. She began moving back and forth with quick jerks, her face flushed with pleasure. She finally uttered a loud sigh and, clamping his head firmly between her thighs, climaxed with convulsive shudders.

Kirk made no effort to pull his face away and kept it firmly plastered against her soaking wet delta until the last spasm had subsided. As she began to catch her breath, Helen relaxed her grip on him and he slowly drew back. “Rub your face in it!” Helen told him. “All over!” After a moment’s hesitation, he complied. Grace stared in fascination as the male slave rubbed his face in the glistening wetness of Helen’s cunny until he was damp from forehead to chin.

“Remember, don’t wipe your face!” Helen reminded him with an imperious smile. Kirk glanced quickly at Grace and shamefacedly averted her gaze.

“Grace, perhaps you would like to avail yourself of my slave’s services!” Helen remarked, pushing Kirk away and pulling down her dress.

“Well, I’ll admit…” Grace began.

“If you prefer that this lowly one does not sully you with his eyes, I can always blindfold him!” Helen interjected.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary!” Grace replied quickly. Kirk gave her a grateful look and meekly lowered his eyes.

“Since I’m sure you’d prefer some privacy,” Helen explained. “The spare guest room is over there. If you wish, I will tie him up to assure his complete cooperation!”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Grace replied. Although the idea of rendering him completely helpless was quite intriguing, Grace was in too much of a hurry to take the time. Still wearing nothing but his garter belt and nylon hose, Kirk began accompanying her to the spare room.

“One other thing,” Helen remarked as they departed. “You can see that our slave has got himself all hot and sexy. You can let him come off if you wish. However, be sure and make him do it exactly the way you want it! If it amuses you, you might even make him do it to himself!” Kirk looked deeply embarrassed as Grace gave him a knowing smile. “If you don’t do exactly what I say, that’s what I’ll make you do!” she warned him quietly, closing the door behind them.


In the spare bedroom, the shades were already drawn and the lights were on. Grace would have enjoyed having the young male slave undress her, but was in no mood to prolong the affair. While Kirk watched with great interest, she rolled her dress up out of the way, revealing charcoal stocking tops, bare white thighs and black nylon panties. Quickly shedding the panties, she stretched out on the bed with her knees drawn back and apart. Kirk stared avidly at the dark brown tuft of hair and the inviting pink crevice that was nearly concealed by the foliage. Grace didn’t take the time to remove her garter belt and stockings, and the dark garments made an exciting contrast with her milk white flesh.

“Go on, eat me!” she commanded. “Do it exactly like you did Helen!” Without further ado, Kirk knelt on the bed at her feet and lowered his blushing face toward the pretty nest. As he did so, he could see the moisture that had already formed on the pink lips of her vulva. He pressed his lips gently against the soft, warm orifice and kept them there as he slipped his hands beneath her hips, elevating them slightly and giving himself more room to work in. As her charms were spread out before him, he began licking her softly and abjectly with his tongue.

“Oooh!” Grace could not conceal her delight at having a submissive masculine tongue caressing her most sensitive parts. She began thrusting her hips in response, feeling her moisture flowing against his face. Balancing her soft hips lightly in the palm of his hands, Kirk rolled his tongue up and down her split with expert strokes. Grace gasped with surprise and delight when he suddenly ran his tongue clear back to the pink lips of her anus, caressing the sensitive opening while she pumped her hips vigorously in response. It was quite apparent that Helen had thoroughly trained him in the art of pleasing a woman in the most servile fashion. After teasing her rectal area with his tongue for several delightful moments, Kirk returned to the dripping lips of her warm, sticky pussy. This time he worked his tongue between the lips, nibbling on the sensitive flesh and working his tongue deep inside her. The slurping sounds were quite audible as he drank up her fluids, and Grace wriggled her hips furiously as he caressed her most intimate charms. As his tongue concentrated on her ultra−sensitive clitoris, Grace gasped and shuddered violently. Clamping his head between her thighs, she breathlessly twisted back and forth.

Oooohh!” she practically shrieked as she climaxed with violent spasms. As her fluids gushed forth and she squirmed frantically, Kirk kept his tongue submissively against her clitoris as best he could. As her shudders began to subside, he continued to keep his face pressed abjectly against her wet charms. He did not draw back until she patted him lightly on the head.

“That was quite nice, slave,” she told him. “I think you do deserve some reward for that!” Kirk looked surprised and quite pleased as she sat up on the bed, and cupped a soft hand over his erect member. She could feel his aching tension as she began stroking gently. Looking exquisitely embarrassed but quite excited, he began moving his pelvis back and forth. It wasn’t long before he erupted with a gush of white semen. Smiling imperiously at him, Grace continued stroking his throbbing member throughout his surging climax. When she finally released him, the young male slave gave her a shamefaced but grateful look.

When they emerged from the spare room afterward, Grace’s dress was quite wrinkled around the waist and she looked pleasantly flushed. Still attired only in his garter belt and stockings, Kirk blushed and kept his eyes averted as Helen glanced at his dangling penis. “Put on your clothes!” she told him severely. While Kirk donned the maid’s uniform once more, Grace and Helen seated themselves in the living room.

Hide in Plain Sight

I decided to re-post this story in the wake of my completion of a brand new original 55,000+ word spanking romance. In some ways, there are features of that novel that are taken from this story, namely the idea of hiding a critical witness to a crime on a remote farm, and a US marshal who has responsibility for her safety. This story can be found as part of the collection, Anne of Wulfstedt and Other Stories.

Artwork by Sassy Bottoms, Geo Churchward. Photos by Clare Fonda’s Spanked Sweeties and Realspankings Network.


A letter found in an old box somewhere……

June 15, 1957
Dear Sally,

They told me not to write but I’m writing anyway. We get to come to town on Saturdays and if I dress like the rest of them, in these long dresses and bonnets, I blend in and nobody can pick me out. These clothes suck. It’s some religious thing I guess.  I even have to wear these stupid bloomers. Anyway, when nobody was looking I dropped the letter in the PO box. They say it’s for my protection, because of what I saw. I have to testify eventually, but until then I’m stuck out here where they can’t find me. So at least I’m going to write to my best friend. Just don’t tell anybody I did. I’ll get in trouble with Raylin.

You remember the story, I guess. I was with Jean and Sue and we had been downtown shopping. I left my purse in the store and had to go back. I took a short cut through the alley and that’s when I heard a gun go off and saw the guy who fired the shot and killed that man. They say he was a big time hoodlum in the Dixie mafia, whatever that is. Sorry that I sort of disappeared without telling anybody, but that’s why.

I’m here because of that deputy marshal. His name is Raylin Higgins and I hate him. That’s too bad because he is really handsome in that sort of rugged cowboy way. Gives a girl goose bumps, you know? But everything I want to do, he says no. No calls, no visits, not even letters. I can’t go home, etc, etc. Meanwhile he stays in a cabin nearby somewhere keeping an eye out while I stay here. Where is here? Well, I’m not supposed to tell, but it is a farm somewhere south of Nashville and it is the middle of nowhere. The farm is run by this woman Raylin calls Aunt Jolene. She is a big stout farm woman in her forties and has three daughters. Two of the girls are a little younger than me at 17 and 18. Kate, the oldest is 23. She also takes in boarders, like girls who are homeless. I think some state bureau or something places them.

The deal is, this woman is Raylin’s aunt, and Raylin told daddy that the best way to protect me until this whole mess is over with was to hide me in plain sight, that no one would look for me here and he’d guard the farm himself while I was there. The district attorney said ok, so here I am. And let me tell you, it is sticksville. Not only that, this woman, Jolene, runs this place like an army camp or something. I mean there’s all these rules. They are posted on a board in the kitchen and if you break one, a tick goes by your name. They cover everything from doing chores to keeping out of other people’s stuff to smoking, swearing—you name it. I don’t know what happens when you get so many ticks, but the girls, there are four others besides me, seem concerned about it. I’m not because, it doesn’t apply to me. Raylin argued with his aunt about this, but she finally told him that I’d have to obey the rules just like everyone else. Raylin said I was different, and he’d be responsible for me. I felt like a child, them arguing over me like that, and I gave them a piece of my mind. Jolene looked hard at Raylin and he took me aside and told me to behave. I told him this was not my idea in the first place to be out here in Dogpatch, but I’m not a child and not to worry. He let it go and went back to his cabin.

More later,
Mary Beth

June 20, 1957
Dear Sally,

I do see Raylin regularly. He comes to supper. We talk about this and that. He’s not so bad when you get to know him, I guess.

Well now I know what happens when you get five ticks next to your name! It happened yesterday when me, Cheryl and Linda got into a fight. We were arguing over whose turn it was to clean the bathroom upstairs and I guess it came to scratching and hair pulling, at least between Linda and Cheryl. Aunt Jolene came running and pulled us apart. She sat us down and chewed us out and then announced that they, Linda and Cheryl, were each getting five demerits-that’s what the ticks are. Linda said what about me, but I don’t get demerits because Raylin fixed that with Jolene. They got real quiet then. I didn’t know what that meant until supper when Dot, Jolene’s youngest, whispered to me that they were due a “licking”. I wanted to ask her what she meant but then supper was over and we all went into the parlor.

Aunt Jolene pulled out a chair and sat down in it. She called Cheryl and Linda over and had them stand in front of her. She scolded them about the fight again and when she stopped, she turned to Kate her oldest and told her to go fetch “it”. I didn’t know what “it” was, but Cheryl and Linda looked at each other wincing at this news, and shifted from foot to foot. Finally Kate walked back in carrying this big black flat-backed hairbrush and gave it to Jolene. She tapped it in her hand and told Cheryl to go to the corner. I finally figured out that these girls were going to get spankings! This is something that never happened to me. Mommy and daddy have never in my life raised a hand to me in that way, but here was Aunt Jolene about to give Linda and Cheryl a real spanking.tumblr_nb4pgnvjBe1tk6crdo1_500

She told Linda to stand at her side and raise her dress, which she did, blushing like all get out. Then she ordered her across her knee and Linda went right across Aunt Jolene’s lap, bottoms up. Aunt Jolene put the brush down on her back and to my utter amazement slipped the girl’s bloomers down, baring her bottom. I’ll have to say Linda has a very shapely seat as far as I can tell. It’s round and firm without being too big. Then without further ado she picked up the brush, announced “39 spanks, girls”, and raised her arm.otk

Of course I’d never seen a spanking either, but this one, I’m sure was very thorough, and I’m glad it wasn’t me on the receiving end. She brought that brush down right on poor Linda’s bare fanny and it made a terrible crack. Linda cried out and raised her head and kicked, but Jolene just tucked her arm around her real good to hold her tight. Then she commenced to dish out a real honest-to-gosh bare fanny spanking like I’d heard girls talk about but had never experienced. She smacked her bottom over and over again-sometime three or four in a flurry, sometimes one after another, very slow and deliberate. It amazed me the way Linda’s fanny wobbled as the brush hit it, first one cheek then the other. It turned pink, then deep rose, then flaming red. Linda bucked and whimpered, begging for mercy, but Aunt Jolene just ignored her and kept smacking her bouncing bottom until all thirty nine licks had been dispensed.

Well, by this time Linda was in tears, blubbering about how sorry she was and how she’d never do it again. Of course she’d say that, taking the licking of her life. Aunt Jolene stood her up and sent her to the corner. Then it was Cheryl’s turn. If anything Cheryl was less brave than Linda. She squalled and kicked as that brush smacked her little hind end to a cherry red, but she got all thirty nine spanks too. They both got sent to the corner then, hands on head and no rubbing.

The next morning Cheryl and Linda still could not sit down and had to eat breakfast off of the mantelpiece in the parlor. Whew! I’m glad I’m not subject to this-because I’m a state’s witness and all. They need me, so I get the kid glove treatment and that’s a good thing.

Later Alligator,
Mary Beth

July 5
Dear Sally,

Today I saw Debby get it. That’s Jolene’s middle daughter. She snuck out with some boy at the 4th of July church picnic which is a big no-no around here. I was in the barn petting the horses when Dot came up to me and tugged on my arm, saying to come with her. There is a shed out back where they store wood for the fireplace. Dot told me that when Jolene is really mad at one of her own, she takes her out back to that shed so no one will hear. She told me on the way that Debby was really going to get it on account of skipping out with that boy. She said we had to be quiet but there was a place with a hole though the boards so we could see. I asked wasn’t she afraid her ma would see her, and she said it was worth it to see Debby get her sassy butt whipped good and proper. Well, we snuck back there behind the shed and got down in the weeds. Sure enough before long here came Jolene pulling Debby along by the arm. Debby was pleading with her ma, begging her for another chance, anything to get out of that whipping, but Jolene had made her mind up.

Inside the shed there is a big log held between two frames. Jolene pointed to it and told Debby to get herself ready. Debby started to cry but Jolene just scolded her and told her she had this coming and to get across that log with her skirts up. Debby hoisted her skirts and laid across the log. This put her behind up, positioned just right to get a licking. Hanging on the wall was this black strap with a wooden handle and Jolene got it and swished it around, all the time telling Debby how she was never to sneak off with a boy again. Debby was pleading with “yes, momma” and “please no, momma” but Jolene said she was due a good strapping and to get ready. She put the strap under her arm and stepped up and peeled Debby’s bloomers down to make her bottom completely bare. It must be awful having your bare white butt exposed like that waiting to feel hot licks from a leather strap. But I felt excited to watch. Then Jolene told her daughter to hold on and not get up no matter what.tumblr_mo6v3jMCjn1s5vfv7o1_500

I thought the hairbrush spankings looked bad, but that strap! Let me tell you, that black strap smacked Debby’s behind making a sound like a firecracker went off. Debby shrieked and drummed her toes on the dirt floor. Her butt had a big red band across it. Jolene told her to keep still. Then she drew back and whipped the strap down again to let her have another one. Debby let out another wail. Now I saw why Jolene took the girls out to this shed for a licking with the strap. It’s noisy, the sharp smack, the crying and wailing. She took her time, scolding Debby between smacks, but she gave her twelve good hard licks and Debby was blubbering and crying through it all. Her butt was beet red. After it was over, she told her to get up and get back in the house. It was really something to see, Debby wailing and hopping foot to foot, trying to rub the sting out. But just as Jolene was leaving, she must have heard us because she asked who was there. At first Dot and I said nothing, but Jolene came around outside and caught us. Well, she gave us hell for spying and she told Dot she’d see her at bedtime. Dot froze and put her hands back like she was protecting her bottom when she heard that. Then Jolene turned to me and said how it was too bad I wasn’t subject to her household rules or I’d be getting a licking too. That made me shiver, like a cold knot up my spine. Me, get a spanking? She gave me a hard look and said she’d take it up with Raylin. I’m not scared of Raylin, because he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on me without daddy’s permission, so there.


That night before bed Jolene motioned to poor Dot and upstairs she went. All the rest of us were sitting downstairs and we got very quiet. After awhile you could hear this sharp smacking sound and Kate said that Dot was getting her bare bottom tanned by her momma’s hand. It went on for quite a while and I could imagine little Dot squirming across her momma’s knee as she got her bare bottom spanked. Then she looked and me and told me how lucky it was that it wasn’t me.

More later,
Mary Beth

July 19, 1957
Dear Sally,

It sure gets boring around here. It’s getting hot too. Back home we have an air conditioner at least, but not out here. Raylin comes down in the evenings and we talk. I think he’s sweet on me and I’m beginning to like him too, but I hate the darn rules he sets.

I noticed that there was a creek out back and I asked Debby where it went. She said that downstream there was a place called flat rock where there was a waterfall with a pool below. I asked her if they ever went swimming there and she said sure they did, only they had to have her momma’s permission to go and there had to be a chaperone and all that. And I reminded her that her momma had gone off to town for the day leaving Kate in charge. She lit up then and got Betty and Annie, two of the boarders and said we could slip away from Kate, no problem. I said I’d get my swim suit on, but Debby said why not skinny dip? And I thought, oooh, how deliciously naughty. Skinny dipping. Debby said it was great, jumping in the water in only your birthday suit on a hot day. That part of the creek was on their property and no one was around, so why not? It sounded good to Betty and Annie. Well, that plan turned out to be our downfall, and I guess it was my fault that everyone got in trouble.

So we snuck off. Kate didn’t see us, so we thought we were home free. Now, I know Raylin had told me to stay around the house at all times, but I’d been there over a month and nobody had come nosing around. I never saw Raylin except when he came by, but I knew he patrolled all around the county looking for anyone suspicious, and I guess so far he saw nothing. I could see his cabin up on the hill and his car was gone so I figured he was off somewhere.

We got to flat rock and got out of our clothes. We were splashing around having a time when I heard a shout. We all looked up and here came Raylin with a rifle in his hand crashing through the woods. Then we heard a commotion on the other side of the creek and two men who had been hiding in a thicket stood up and took off. We all started screaming and ducked down in the water. Raylin crashed across the creek and chased the two men. In the meantime we got out to get our clothes on only to be met by Kate and Jolene who were standing right there by our clothes with their arms folded.

About that time Raylin came back and announced that the men were gone but that he recognized them, and he wanted to have a talk with me. Jolene told him to go back to the house and wait, that we would all be along directly, but that there was a chore to be done. Well, Raylin being a gentleman, he hid his eyes with his Stetson and walked back toward the house. When he was out of sight Jolene told us all to get out of the water. Betty and Debby started to reach for their clothes but Jolene said to stop right there. We stood there naked and dripping wet. She looked at me and said those men were there because of me and I’d put everyone in danger. She told Debby and Betty and Annie that they knew the rule and had disobeyed them. It was then I saw what Kate had been doing. She was cutting switches from a hickory with a pen knife. She cut several long thin switches and offered them to her momma. Jolene swished them and took the stoutest one, handing the other to Kate. Debby started blubbering again that she didn’t want a switching and Betty and Annie put their hands back as if to shield their bottoms.

There was a tree next to the creek with a low branch and Jolene told the three of them to get over there, bend over and grip that branch. She made them stick their bottoms out and so there they were, three naked girls spaced apart, bending over and holding that branch.1_1_1_1_1_1_1abraham_heights2
Jolene tapped Debby’s bottom and then let fly with three quick strokes that made this “whick” sound, one after the other. Debby half stood up and wailed and shook her bottom like she was trying to shake off the sting. Jolene told her she’d better hold on to that branch. Then Jolene moved over to Betty and gave her three sharp licks. Then she whipped Annie’s butt three times. This is the way it went. She rotated from one girl to the next, three sharp licks, then move down the line. The girls were shrieking and hopping from one foot to the next, begging Jolene to take it easy. The switch put these vivid red lines across their behinds and Jolene looked like she put some muscle behind every stroke. They were crying their eyes out by the time she stopped and I guess she must have dished out a couple of dozen. She turned then and shook that switch at me and said it was partly my fault and that I should be up there with them getting my licking but she’d promised Raylin.

When we got back Raylin took me aside and really let me have it. It was a terrible tongue lashing and I cried. I hated that. He’s so mean and at the same time he gives me the shivers and I’m all girlish and flustered. He said somehow those men had tracked me here, but how, he didn’t know. He said never, never stray away from the house again until this was over.

Another close call.
Bye for now,
Mary Beth

August 7, 1957
Dear Sally,

Big news! There has been a break in the case. Raylin just phoned Jolene and said he was coming by to tell me. Maybe I’m going home soon!

More later,
Mary Beth

August 9
Dear Sally,

Oh my God. What happened to me was just awful. I’m standing here writing this (more on that later). I’m at home now by the way, and the reason I’m writing is that I’m grounded, I think forever. They won’t let me even call my friends. Daddy is so mad and I am completely humiliated. Me! a grown up girl of twenty. Well, I didn’t feel so grown up yesterday, I can tell you that. I’d never been so embarrassed and shamed in all my life.

It started when Raylin showed up at Jolene’s farm. He drove up and told me to get my things together, that I was going home. I asked him what had happened and he said that that man they had in jail had been killed by another inmate. There would be no trial and I was no longer in a protected status. Jolene came out and we all went into the house. Jolene said she was relieved, but wanted to know how come those men had traced me to her farm and Raylin said he didn’t know. Then he started asking me, did I call anybody, did I tell anybody I was here? I guess I’m not a good liar and he kept asking so I finally admitted I’d been writing these letters to you. He swore and threw his hat on the floor and Jolene said that she knew I’d done something like that. Jolene said I should be taken out to the woodshed and given the strap for being so damn foolish.

When Jolene said that, Raylin looked hard at me, and I got an absolute chill up my spine. He told her to hand him the phone. He dialed up a number and started talking to the person on the other end. It was all about me. After a couple of minutes I realized he was talking to daddy. He gave the phone to Jolene and she went on about what I’d done, including the fight and the spying incident and the creek. Raylin talked and listened for a bit, nodding his head. Then they handed the phone to me and I heard my daddy tell me he was glad it was over, but before I came home there was the little matter of an overdue reckoning. Well, my jaw dropped. I cried “Daddy!” but Daddy hung up and Raylin took the phone and hung up. He looked at me and shook his head. Then he grabbed me by the hand and pulled me up out of my seat.

Raylin dragged me out of the house and everyone saw it. I was squealing for him to let me go, but he had his jaw set and just looked straight ahead as he pulled me along. Pretty soon everybody else saw what was happening and they all followed us across the yard. It was like a parade. I finally realized where he was taking me-it was to that woodshed. I dug my heels in, but I’m just a little 120 pound blonde girl and Raylin is six feet tall and all muscle.

He opened the door and dragged me inside and slammed the door behind him. Then he stood over me and really let me have it. He said I’d put everyone in danger by sending those letters, that somehow the gangsters had seen the postmarks and had figured out where I was, all after he had specifically told me no letters. On top of that my behavior had been awful and I’d gotten away with all of it, but that was going to end right here, right now. He said my daddy had given him permission to deal with me-“appropriately” as he put it. He also added, Sally, that he had asked daddy if he could call on me and that daddy had said yes.

Well my head was spinning, but before I could even think about that, he sat down on a stump they use for chopping, lifted me up, and put me right over his knee. I realized that he was going to spank me! Me! Mary Beth, a twenty-year old Vandy coed. I struggled and kicked but he just gripped me with that big strong arm of his and held me face down over his knees. Then to my horror, I heard the giggling. I looked around and could see eyes peering through cracks in the boards. All the girls were going to see me get my spanking.

But the worst was yet to come. He lifted my dress in back and threw it over my head. Now my bloomers were exposed to his gaze. Horror of horrors, he put his fingers in the waist band and pulled my bloomers down until I was bare from my back to my knees. I felt him rest his hand on my bottom. Sally, you don’t have any idea what that feeling is like, a man resting his hand on your bare bottom, knowing what he intends to do in one short minute. I was blushing head to toe and yelling my head off, demanding he stop.tumblr_mfyk2o1I8c1s28hw2o1_500
All he said was, I had this coming and he was going to give it to me.

That first hard spank took my breath away. It landed right across the middle of my bottom and stung like nothing I’d ever felt. Then he smacked me again. Then he smacked my poor bottom a third time, and what had tingled now felt like a hot sting. He took off then and landed spanks on one side then the other. I wasn’t keeping track, though. It was just this hot blazing barrage of spanks that kept coming, and it was lighting a fire in my seat. It was relentless. He spanked my blazing fanny like that, a steady volley of spanks, one piling up on top of the other, until I thought my seat was surely on fire. I was kicking and squirming and shrieking like a scalded cat. I lost all dignity and begged him to please stop. I promised to be good. I said I was sorry. Tears were running down my face and I pounded my fists on the dirt floor, but he kept right on, delivering smack after smack to my little bare fanny until I just broke down and cried big salty tears. I was all done in. I sagged across his knees, all my fight gone. I wasn’t Mary Beth the hot shot coed, I was Mary Beth, the naughty little girl who just had her bare bottom soundly spanked.4oy2yy41ciiz

I guess when I let go sobbing, he stopped. He gently pulled me to my feet and said it was over. I hugged him and cried on his chest. He patted my back and said he was sorry but my daddy had told him to do it, that I did deserve it. Outside it was silent. I forgot who all had been watching but the giggling had stopped. Later they told me they were just transfixed with the way Raylin had handled me. They said it was the most awesome shellacking they’d ever seen. It was like they were in awe of Raylin. In fact Debby allowed as how she almost wouldn’t mind a spanking from a man like Raylin if he loved her up later. I got to thinking about that and got a feeling in my private parts, you know? We got up and were about to leave when Jolene burst in.

To my dismay it wasn’t over. Jolene said that I deserved additional licks for putting her girls in danger like that. I had got off scot free at the creek, but now I should pay. To my own amazement I said I agreed with her. I had felt guilty about the creek thing and thought maybe this would clear the air with the other girls if I stepped up and took my medicine like the rest of them. Raylin put his arm out and asked her to hold off just now. So I got a reprieve until morning. It was too late to go then anyway. I was spending another night at Aunt Jolene’s. All the girls were sympathetic because they knew what was coming in the morning.

Well, after breakfast we made that long march back to the woodshed. I felt like Marie Antionette on the way to the guillotine. All the others came along.  Once inside, Jolene pointed to the log and I pulled up my dress and assumed the position. I even slipped my own drawers down. I suppose Jolene let me off easy on account of my already sore bottom. I got only six licks with the strap, but they were scorchers. She took her time and delivered the licks slow, with a lot of time in between so I’d get the full benefit of each one. Each lick is etched into my brain now and I don’t think I’ll ever look at a leather strap again and not think of Aunt Jolene.

So the reason I’m standing here writing this is I can’t sit down yet. The whole thing is over and I’m grounded, but daddy is letting Raylin call on me Saturday night. I’m excited and terribly embarrassed at the same time. This is awful. I mean, he has seen me naked and paddled my bare butt! I have one question—what should I wear?

Your best friend,
Mary Beth

August 12, 1957
Dear Mary Beth,

I was amazed to receive your letter as I had not heard from you in months. I never got any of the other letters. We had some thefts from our mailbox over the summer. I want to hear all about your new beau, but so far reading about what he did makes my insides go all butterflies. I feel flushed and need to lie down. Please send details and don’t leave anything out.

Your best friend,

Certificate of Correction–an F/M excerpt

Here is an excerpt from a very early story of mine called Certificate of Correction.

(The Health Club and Certificate of Correction)


The setting is sometime in future when certain crimes may be expiated by accepting corporal punishment. The male protagonist has a girlfriend, Karen, who is a newly minted corrections officer who needs to learn how to use the new tools of her trade.


When I awoke the next morning, Karen was already up. I could hear her rustling around in the kitchen. She heard me in the bathroom and called to me, telling me to come on down for breakfast. “And don’t bother to dress!” she admonished in a sing-song lilt. I staggered downstairs in my t-shirt and boxer shorts to find Karen in a flimsy nighty bouncing about in the kitchen. At her command I sat down and was treated to a hearty breakfast served by Karen in a black negligee that hid little. My penis gave a little twitch at the sight of those luscious breasts and her jouncy rear end. I noticed that her ass seemed yet a bit pink from the previous night’s festivities. Hmmm….I was starting to get worked up again, all right. We sat down and ate. I was eying Karen as hungrily as the eggs, and I was famished.

“Are you done?” she said over our third cup of coffee. “Because if you are, I want to continue our experiment,” she said grinning.

Mmmm boy, I thought. You bet. I want to get my hands on those pneumatic buns of hers again.

“Are you sure you are up for this again?” I said with genuine concern. “Your fanny still looks pinkish.”

“Oh, you’re not going to smack MY bottom this morning, oh no,” she said giggling.

Then it dawned on me what I had forgotten.

“Wait a minute…you don’t mean to…”

“Oh yes I do! Come on Scott. You agreed to help me. I now know what a smacking with that spanker is like … thank you very much,” she said, lifting and giving her rear end a rub, “but I also need to know how to give one.”

I choked on the coffee. “You’ve got to be kidding. You want to smack ME with that thing?”


Karen huffed, “What’s the matter, are you chicken? To take a little spanking from a girl? A strong, brave guy like you?”

I was trapped and I knew it. I mumbled a surly okay. Karen broke into a big smile, and said, “Good boy,” pinching my cheek playfully. There was silence for a moment.

“Well…. no time like the present for giving my brave boy his spanking. Come with me, young man,” she said with a mock serious tone.

We got up from the table and Karen took my arm and led me into the living room where the spanker lay on the coffee table. Karen sat down and crooked her finger, grinning all the while, beckoning me to her side. I sighed and shuffled to her side reluctantly. She patted her thighs and I draped myself across her lap. She leaned over, her breasts brushing against my back, and took up the spanker.

“Lift up Scott. This is the moment of truth for all naughty boys.” I obeyed and felt her fingers in the waistband of my shorts. She tugged my boxers to my knees fully baring my hind end. A cool breeze fanned my rear as she patted it with the spanker. She gave my fanny a few more tentative taps and said: “I am going to give you what I think they call a good SOUND spanking! Now don’t move. Be brave. After all, I took mine, so you should take yours.”


Then she started to smack. She was tentative at first, and the first few spanks were tingly and somewhat pleasant. Then she really got into it, putting some force behind the blows, and my bottom started to heat up. I felt solid hard slow smacks for about the first ten then she switched to a rapid cadence for the next ten. My bottom started to really sting as she laid on smack after smack, alternating one side at a time, sometimes right across the middle. I could imagine what she looked like, a determined look on her pretty face, arm flashing in the air, breasts heaving and then bringing the spanker down with a loud smack. My body gave a jerk with each sonorous smack that landed. I gasped and wriggled. My sit-spot was heating up and I knew my buns must be getting red by now.

“How (smack!) does this (smack!) feel (smack!) Scott? “( Smack! smack! smack!)

“Oww….it stings.” I was gritting my teeth. It really did smart.

“Good.(smack! smack!). You probably deserve it for all the stuff (smack! smack!) you got away with when you (smack!) were (smack!) a kid. (Smack! smack! smack!)”

“Yeowww…ouch …ow ….ouch. That’s enough….stop!” This was bad. My ass was on fire.


“No, not yet. Tell me, is it worse with slow even spanks like this? (smack!…..smack!…..smack!……smack!), or fast spanks—- all at once like this?” I felt a rapid fire volley of spanks.  It felt like angry bees attacking my ass.

“Ow! They’re both bad,” I yelped, “Now for god’s sake stop!”

“Just a few more good hard ones, Scott. I’m pretending you are a naughty 16 year old truant. This(smack!) will (smack!) teach(smack!) you(smack!) to get to school(Smack! whack! swat! spank! whap!)”

“Ouch!…Hey, Karen … stop now? ok?”

I imagine I looked pretty much like a 16 year old truant, lying over her knee with a beet red bottom and howling for mercy after a good licking from the truant officer. She stopped and I hopped up off her lap rubbing my flaming buns and doing a little dance as I ooh’ed and ahh’ed. As the fire subsided to a hot glow, amazingly, my cock began to rise. I contemplated Karen’s barely concealed charms in the little nighty. Karen reached out and took my throbbing member in her hand.


“Ohhh…is this for me? Maybe there is some benefit after all to a good old fashioned spanking for you, Scott. We may have to do this again. I know it turned me on.”

And with that she stood up and doffed the flimsy nighty to reveal her glorious nakedness. While I stood she knelt and took me in her mouth until I could stand no more. I pulled her up and flung her to the couch. She was more than ready and I slid right in. We commenced to fuck furiously, building quickly to a climax. We rested awhile in each other’s arms then started up again, this time very slowly. And so it went…

We made love all weekend, just friends no more. All too soon it became Monday morning.

The Island –part 2

After the incident with the cannibal hillbillies, Luanne and Cath have learned their lesson, right?

I said…right??



“It’s just not right,” said Luanne. It was several days after the incident on the island with the cannibal hillbillies. She and Cath were sitting at the table in Luanne’s cabin. Both women were in short cut offs and halter tops. The dishes had been cleared and the men had left again to help the sheriff. Luanne and Cath were sipping coffee when Luanne had just blurted it out.

“What’s not right? That we got our tails switched by some inbred mountain clan people who might have been cannibals?” Cath shivered. “We got off easy if you ask me.” It was now a bad memory. But the marks from that terrible switching had faded mostly. Cath had peered at her backside in the mirror. Just a few faint weals were now visible. Jake had dutifully rubbed cold cream on her bottom every night and, it had seemed, had been particularly attentive afterwards. The cold cream rubbing had led to other things which made Cath think that maybe there was a silver lining in this after all.

“Two things are not right,” said Luanne. “First we let our husbands down and put ourselves in danger. They told us not to go to that island.” She stopped and got a pensive look on her face. “I’m almost of a mind just to hand Gus the strap and tell him to go ahead and tan my hide good. I feel like he should. But second, those hillbillies are still at large.”

“What?” Cath exclaimed. “Gus would do that to you?”

Luanne directed a sharp look at Cath. “Honey, don’t act all innocent. Don’t you dare tell me Jake never puts you over his knee.”

Cath blushed and squirmed.

“Yes, he does you little butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-your-mouth princess. I can see it.”

“All right, all right. Sometimes.”

“Hah! I knew it. What does he do and when?” Luanne smiled knowingly.

Cath raised her eyebrows. “I’ll tell you if you tell me,” she said.

“Deal,” said Luanne. She hunched forward. “Don’t leave out one little detail.”

Cath sighed. “If you must know, he got one of those cracker barrel paddles—you know, the type that says ‘wife tamer’ and has a little cute slogan on it. It’s a little cedar paddle that’s light and all, but it stings like you sat on a beehive.”

“Go on.”

“It was right after we were married. We went on this weekend trip down to Kentucky. It started out ok, but I was in a bad mood that day. We were going down to stay in this romantic country inn and see Mammoth Cave. But we got started late because I wasn’t ready and Jake was put out with me about that. Well, I snapped at him and got all bitchy and I said ‘why don’t you just turn the car around then and go home’. Jake told me we’d be all right, that it was our romantic trip and don’t be that way. That kind of stuff. Well, the more he tried to smooth things over and make nice, the bitchier I got.”

“Yeah, girl, I have noticed that tongue of yours can be a mite sharp.”

“I guess I just got worse and worse, complaining and whining, and after awhile Jake went all quiet. Then he turned and said, ‘Cath if you don’t stop this childish tantrum of yours, I’m going to treat you like your daddy did when you were thirteen.’ Well I knew exactly what he meant by that because I remember telling him what my daddy did when I was thirteen and called my mom a f’**ing bitch.”

“What did your daddy do?” asked Luanne.


“He put me over his knee right there in the living room, pulled my pants down and paddled the seat of my panties with my mom’s hairbrush, that’s what. So I got all indignant and said ‘you wouldn’t dare’, that I’d tell my daddy, etcetera. Well, Jake just said, ‘go ahead, tell him then, but I’ll tell you two things. First is I mean what I say, and the next is that your daddy told me just what to do with you if you threw a tantrum like this’.”

“Whoa! Then what happened?”

“We didn’t say much after that. I was fuming and Jake did not try to make conversation. We stopped for gas at a Cracker Barrel and he went inside. He came out carrying something in a bag and I said ‘what’s that’? And he said, ‘I’ll show you later. It’s a surprise.’ Well we got there and I stomped in and told Jake I was taking a bath before we did anything. Jake, to my surprise, said, ‘fine’ and he sat on the bed to wait for me. I slammed the door and took about an hour, making him wait. I finally got out of the shower and realized my bag was in the room, so I just wrapped up in a towel and came out.”

“Jake was sitting on the bed. That paper bag was next to him. He asked me if we could start this weekend over on a better foot, that he was sorry if he’d made me upset and that we’d go out for a nice dinner. And, I don’t know what came over me. Maybe I wanted to test him, I don’t know, but I said something snippy to the effect that I didn’t care if he got down on his knees and kissed my ass, he could go to hell. Well, he came up off that bed and before I knew it, he ripped my towel off. So there I was, totally nude, and he hauls me right over his knee face down. My ass is right up in the air over his lap and I’m totally vulnerable and I’m staring at the carpet. He pats my fanny and says, ‘just remember, Cath, you asked for this.’



“Then he started spanking me with that big hard hand of his. He smacked one cheek then the other—over and over. At first it tingled, then it stung. Then it was blazing. He must have spanked my little bottom for a good five minutes while all I could do was squirm and yelp and kick, but it did no good. Then he stopped and asked if I was ready to behave. I told him where he could stuff it, so he gave out this big sigh and I hear that bag rustling. The next thing I knew my bottom feels a sting like nothing I’d ever felt. It was liked I backed into a stove. It was that paddle, as I found out later. It made this sharp crack sound and each swat felt like a hornet sting. Twenty cracks later I was apologizing—and how.”

“He let me up and I danced around rubbing my fanny which was flaming hot. Then he took me in his arms and said he was sorry but he wasn’t going to put up with my sass. And then something happened—I felt so, well, turned on that we, uh….well we ate pretty late that night. I mean when I saw Jake’s….um, you know…I think it made him hard, giving me that spanking. But by then I wasn’t complaining.”

Luanne said, “That is some story and I know what you mean. When Gus gets in his cave man mood he gets pretty potent.”

“So now you go,” said Cath. “You promised.”

“Well, it started at the wedding.” Luanne poured herself another cup of coffee. “In our family, and we were a big one, you know, each kid had a whacker, a little leather strap about an inch wide and a foot long.  Well, when you acted up, you had to go and get the whacker and give to ma or pa who then lit up your tail with it. Over the knee you’d go and pants would come down. And let me tell you, that little strip of leather stung. You’d be kickin’ and squallin’ while Ma or Pa tanned your little hiney. A good whippin’ lasted two or three minutes and usually produced real tears. Then you’d behave for a good long while after that. But that stopped mostly when you got to be thirteen or so. When all us kids grew up, the whackers somehow got collected and Pa had them all.’

“So damn if he doesn’t tell Gus all about it with me standing there, right at the rehearsal dinner and hand him the whacker. ‘Here son, he said, you might need this. Luanne can be a right hand full.’ Well I just fumed and stomped out. Gus thought it was funny. Pa was half drunk. The wedding went on and I didn’t think any more about it.

“It was a couple of months after the wedding and I was out with the girls—I think you were there too—and I’d had a snoot full. So it’s late but I figured, so what, Gus is on shift so I was in no hurry to leave. When I finally did, I was woozy, but I could still drive. So I get in my car and on the way home I drive right through a radar trap. And wouldn’t you know it? It’s Gus. Now one thing about Gus. Being a state trooper he has a real bug about drinking and driving, and he told me if I was ever arrested for that that there would be hell to pay. But this time he must have recognized the car so he had not radioed it in. He pulled me over and boy was he mad. He made me park the car in a nearby lot then he took me home. I went to bed but he went back on shift.

“He came in about the time I was up and in the kitchen. Boy was he mad. He gave me hell about getting behind the wheel when I’d been at that bar, and I said something like ‘what did you expect me to do?’ Well that tore it. He stormed off back into the bedroom for a few minutes and when he came back he was holding that strap. And I said something stupid like ‘what do you think you’re doing with that?’

He didn’t say anything at first. Before I could move he grabbed me, sat in a chair, and flung me over his knee and yanked down my panties. He said ‘no wife of mine is going to drink and drive, Luanne.’ And then he whipped my bare ass but good with that strap. Daddy never tanned my tail half as good as Gus did that morning. He spanked my bottom with that strap for what seemed like forever. I was kicking and hollering but he just went on and on, laying on with that strap. My bottom was a red as a beet and hot as a bonfire.”


“After that he said he was going to keep the whacker hung up in our closet in case he ever had to use it again.”

“So does he use it?” asked Cath.

Luanne sighed. “Remember that night we went out and ended up dancing on the tables at Dooley’s and they had to call the cops?”

Cath nodded. She remembered that one all right. It had got pretty wild.

“When he got me home that night he told me to take my clothes off—all of them. Then he got out that strap, sat on the bed and put me across his knee and gave me a hard licking with it. My fanny was as red as a ripe tomato by the time he was done and I was squalling like a baby.  He said the way we were teasing those men it could have been much worse. I suppose he was right. Now don’t get the idea that he hauls it out for every little thing. Hell, I wouldn’t stand for that. But you know how I love to raise hell and sometimes I have to admit, I get a little carried away. So it’s if I do something dangerous or stupid, that’s when I’m likely to get my butt tanned.”

“Ok,” said Cath, “but what should we do?”

“Somehow we’ve got to make up for that business on the island. We have to do something.” Luanne stood up and gazed out at the lake as if there was something out there that they had missed.

Cath thought a minute. “What if we could help?”

Luanne turned. “Help what?”

“Help our husbands. You know. It’s some kind of watching for suspicious activity on the lake. The sheriff is understaffed and that’s why they asked for Gus and Jake.”

Luanne thought for a minute. Then she grabbed her keys. “C’mon, let’s take a ride.”

“Where are we going?” Cath practically had to run after her friend who seemed to be focused.

“The other side of the lake. You know, I saw something when we were on that island.”

“Wait a minute. Didn’t Jake and Gus say to stay close to the cabin today? Stay in the park here because something was happening?” Cath was worried now. Here was Luanne getting all hyped up again.

“Yeah, but think of it. If we can spot something that helps our husbands, so what if we didn’t stay here like good little wives? They’ll be grateful.” Luanne opened the driver’s door of the SUV and got in.

“What do you think you know though? What did you see?” Cath jumped in the passenger side throwing caution to the winds.

“There was a road, almost hidden by brush but it was there. On the other side of the lake opposite that beach. Next to it was where a creek came in. I’ll bet they use that as a boat ramp. That’s how they get on and off the island I’ll bet. If we find tire tracks or other clues maybe they can test for DNA or something and catch them.”

“I don’t know Luanne. Shouldn’t you just tell Gus about it? Why should we go there?” That seemed like a good question to Cath but Luanne just wheeled out, intent on finding clues.

An hour later they were at the other side of the lake, routed there by the GPS map in the SUV. It was just a gravel road that came right up to the lake shore. But there was a crude ramp made from gravel.

“See, you can get a boat in here.” Luanne was excited. “Let’s look around. And look here—tire tracks.” Luanne looked at the creek. It veered away from the road but there was a rough jeep trail along its bank. It headed straight toward a cliff.

“You know what is around here?” said Luanne. Cath shook her head. “Limestone. A creek coming off a limestone cliff sometimes means there is a cave. Let’s follow this road and see.”




At the end of the lake the two men in the fishing boat swept the shoreline with high powered binoculars. One man stopped and focused on a distant point hundreds of yards away. “Gus, didn’t you tell Luanne to stay close to the cabin today?”

“That I did,” said Gus.

“Then tell me, partner, what are Luanne and Cath doing over there at the south shore snooping around?”

“What?” Gus had trouble believing this. He swung his binoculars around. “I’ll be damned. It’s them. What in the holy hell?”

“We have to get them out of there. We don’t know exactly when those old boys are going to show up, but we know it could be today.” Jake started up the motor.

“Damn it all!” said Gus. “What the hell is over there that’s got them so curious? They usually access the lake from this end, at the public ramp, or at least the sheriff thought so.”

“I guess we’ll find out when we ask them, and I intend to question my wife rather forcefully.” Jake gunned the engine and the boat leapt forward.


Gwen’s Sorority Days–an F/M excerpt

GSD 2.1
An except from the sorority spanking extravaganza, Gwen’s Sorority Days
The action in this chapter shifts to Joyce’s nephew Jeff and his dominant girlfriend Margaret……
Jeff cursed. He’d been tossed out of the house by Aunt Joyce and was halfway to Margaret’s house when he realized he’d forgotten his wallet. Margaret would kill him if he got pulled over with no wallet. Then he’d get pulled over again…over her knee that is. She was a very exacting no nonsense Amazon of a girlfriend. He called and told her he had to go back.  “I’ll just meet you at your house,” she sighed. “I really hate it when you are late, Jeffrey.”
Jeff cringed. That statement had an ominous undertone to it. “All right Meg. I’ll wait for you out front. Aunt Joyce has some ladies over and she doesn’t want any men around. I don’t know what that’s all about.”
“Well this is all fun,” said Mary Ann, “but I think we have a little business do we not?”
“That’s right,” said Donna. “Joyce here has been proposed for honorary membership in our august sorority.” All the ladies applauded.
“Now Joyce,” said Mary Ann, “it’s very simple. All you have to do is to take an oath to uphold the noble traditions of Kappa, and to swear that you will not tell any non-member any of our sisterhood’s secrets or traditions…”
“Oh yes, I agree,” said Joyce excitedly.
“And, as I was about to say, you must undergo a brief initiation ceremony to prove yourself worthy.”
“Initiation?” asked Joyce. Here it comes. She had thought about this. There were actually advantages to being an honorary member of Kappa. There was the fellowship and there was business networking too—all over the country. She could parlay her connection with Kappa into all types of potential business contacts. She knew that what was coming would probably be a bit silly and embarrassing, but she’d figured it was worth it.
Mary Ann waved her hand as if to dismiss her concern. “A small thing, just a bit of fun. Nothing really.” All the ladies smiled broadly.
Joyce digested this news with a bit of a nervous look. “Um, well, I suppose so. When we would have this initiation?”
Mary Ann grinned. “Why right now, of course.” Joyce looked around at all the other grinning faces. They’d been having a great time. The wine had been flowing freely and everyone was feeling good. Joyce felt that inhibitions were slipping away very quickly.
“Ok, so what do I do?”
Mary Ann asked Joyce, “Do you have a little short nightgown?”
“Yes, I do,” she answered. She recalled she had a flimsy Victoria’s secret thing.
“Then Gwen, take Joyce into your bedroom and have her put on the nightgown. Donna, come with me, and you girls move the furniture out toward the wall. Let’s make some room.”
The nightgown was a pink baby doll style, very short, and very skimpy with panties so brief it was like being bare. It made her feel almost naked. “What will they do?” whispered Joyce. It seemed silly. Everyone had been giggling, so that put her at ease, but she was still a bit apprehensive.
“You’ll see,” said Gwen. “Now hold still.” Joyce let Gwen fit her with a blindfold and lead her by the hand into the big family room. She heard someone say in rather formal manner, “Is the candidate ready?” Gwen said, “She is prepared.”
“Then she shall prove herself by the test of courage.”
Joyce sighed. This was all so juvenile.
“She shall plunge her hand into the cauldron of writhing snakes!” This overdramatic announcement was met with a few muffled snickers.
Then someone said, “No. Are you serious?” Another, it might have been Brina said, “Oh God, just look at them writhing like that. Where did you get them? Ewwww!”
Someone took her hand and stuck it in something. She felt slimy tubes that seemed to wriggle and she yelped involuntarily at the contact. “Ahhh!” They were snakes! There was muffled laughter, then they took it away. Then was the test of dexterity. She had to go down on all fours and push a peanut across the floor with her nose. Her ass was sticking up and it was no surprise that she felt the tap of a paddle on her rear urging her along. There were a couple of other dumb stunts and then they stood her up and took off the blindfold.
The “snakes” were, of course, gummi bears in water. She laughed too, being a good sport about it. Next was the secret handshake and the secret signs which were a complicated series of hand and arm movements. Then they told her the secret motto and passwords.
“Now we will test you,” said Mary Ann. They went through the whole thing and she muffed it. Badly. “How many mistakes did she make?” asked Mary Ann. “Five,” said Donna. There was the shaking of heads and muttered “ooh’s” and “uh-oh”. Somebody handed Mary Ann the paddle. Of course they had brought the paddle. Joyce eyed the paddle with alarm. She could guess what was coming now. In view of all of Gwen’s tales it did not surprise her that the old sorority paddle was finally making an appearance.
“Well, pledge Joyce, five mistakes is not good. We think you need a little help remembering, don’t we girls?” Everyone nodded or voiced assent. “Assume the position, please. Bend over, hands grabbing your knees.”
Joyce knew that to be a good sport she had to do this. She just hoped it wasn’t going to be too hard. She bent forward. Someone flipped her nighty up to present her bottom for the paddle. She felt the blade press into her flesh as Mary Ann lined it up. There was a whoosh and then splat! she felt a hot band of fire searing her rump.
“Yeow!” She’d never been hit with a wood paddle before, and it burned like nothing she’d ever felt— a sharp sting, followed by a glowing heat that spread from her ass all the way into her core. Brad’s spankings seemed mild by comparison. Her thoughts were interrupted by a second searing swat that had her almost jumping up. Oh my God, how did they stand this?
Smack! a third swat made her raise halfway up.
“No breaking position pledge!” Mary Ann sounded like she was all business now. Joyce bent back over. “That’s good girl, stick that bottom out,” said Mary Ann. She felt a few taps and then….
Crack! Her bottom absorbed number four and she yelped, “Whooo….ahh!” The burning sensation was overpowering.
Crack! Mary Ann delivered swat number five. Yeow! She thought. That’s like a branding iron, searing my behind. Thank God that’s over with.
“You may rise,” intoned Mary Ann.
Joyce straightened up and frantically rubbed her tender seat. It felt like she had backed into a bonfire.
So as not to disturb the meeting or whatever it was, Jeff parked down the street and slipped in a back door as quietly as he could. He tiptoed up the back stairs. From the family room he could hear giggling. Then he heard a sharp smack! He knew that sound—it was a wooden board meeting bare flesh. The soft yelp confirmed it. Someone was being paddled. He crept from his room and lay down on the landing. From this angle he could see into the room. He had to gasp. It was Aunt Joyce and she was bent over. Her nearly naked luscious behind was offered up to the lady standing behind her with a paddle. She was lining it up for the next swat.
Aunt Joyce was hot. For an older lady she had a great figure. She’d been hot even when she’d smacked him with that strap. Now she was getting it. She was bent over with that curvaceous ass sticking out. The panties were so skimpy most of her bottom was bare. She was being paddled by this very attractive woman in a business suit. Every time the paddle smacked Aunt Joyce her ass wobbled. This was too good to miss. Jeff settled in to watch. He became aware of an erection that was becoming a bit uncomfortable in this position. He moved to adjust his clothing.
The second time she only got three things wrong. But that meant another three stinging swats with the paddle. “Oops, Joyce. Nice try, dear, but I’m afraid you haven’t got it yet,” said Mary Ann. While the rest of them giggled, she bent back over. Smack! Yow! She thought as the wood smacked her seat for the sixth time. Smack! Ooooh! That one smarted, she thought. What these girls went through. At the same time, she felt that familiar frission between her legs. The last smack made her raise halfway up. “Yeow…!” she yelped.
Finally the third time was the charm. She managed to get it all right. “Whew! Good,” said Joyce, energetically rubbing her bottom. Thank goodness that was over with.
Meg stood tapping her foot impatiently. Jeff hadn’t turned up yet. Where was he? Meg had told him she’d be out front. Was he inside? She hated to go in, but maybe if she just knocked to see if he was there. She walked up and rang the bell. Joyce looked through the peephole, saw it was Meg, and opened it.
“Hi Joyce, is Jeffery here?” Why was Joyce in a nightgown? Joyce looked at her puzzled, and told Meg she’d sent him away for the afternoon. Then from inside the foyer Meg saw motion out of the corner of her eye and looked up. It was Jeff on the landing at the top of the stairs. “Jeff, what are you doing up there?” she asked sharply.
Joyce turned, shocked to see that it was indeed Jeff at the top of the landing. Jeff tried to get up but he tripped because his pants were down around his knees. It became apparent to Joyce immediately what he had been doing. Her mouth formed a tight line.
“Jeff, get down here immediately,” Meg commanded. Sheepishly, Jeff obeyed while Joyce went to get a robe.
“I can’t believe you’d do this Jeff.” Joyce was steamed. They were all now seated in the parlor and Jeff was standing in the middle of the room. Somebody had brought Joyce a housecoat. “Do you know what they call it? Well I’ll tell you. Voyeurism, that’s what. A peeping tom, that’s what you are.”
“What are you going to do with him, Joyce?” asked Donna.
“I’m so mad I don’t know,” said Joyce.
Jeff stood there, embarrassed and blushing at being caught. “I know what I’m going to do with him,” said Meg. “And you know too, don’t you Jeffrey? I can’t believe you’d spy on your aunt.”
Now the other ladies were intrigued. “Just what will you do with him, Meg?” asked Mary Ann. They’d all been introduced by now and Meg had come to understand that this small gathering had to do with a sorority or something.
“Meg, please….” Jeff begged.
Meg tossed her head and ignored him. “He’s going to get his little fanny warmed. Just as soon as I get him alone.”
The ladies all giggled. “Really?” said Brina. “You’re going to spank him?”
Joyce raised her eyebrows. How interesting. So that’s what has kept Jeff on the straight and narrow.
Then Donna said, “well don’t mind us, go right ahead. We even have a paddle if you want it.” She handed the paddle to Meg who hefted it, smacking her palm a few times. tumblr_n6qyzqS2qO1rnze26o1_500
Meg glared at him with eyes narrowed. Jeff paled. He knew that look. “Now, Meg, please no, ok?” He put his hands up. Meg’s response was to reach out and grab his ear lobe. “Owww!” Jeff squealed.
“I think that it’s only fair Jeff. You spied on your aunt trying to see her bare fanny, now she can see yours.” Meg said this as she tugged him along toward a stool in the kitchen.
“Ow! Ow!’ yelped Jeff, stumbling along as she pulled him by the earlobe. The ladies, now grinning from ear to ear and tittering excitedly, all followed. Meg wasted no time. She seated herself and pulled Jeff in front of her and made him stand still. She unhooked his belt and slid his pants to his knees. With Jeff protesting wildly she pulled him up over her lap. It was a high stool so Jeff’s feet were off the floor and he could keep from falling only by grabbing a stool rung.
Jeff was embarrassed beyond belief. He was blushing so hard he thought his whole body must be red. And then he froze. Meg’s fingers were in the waistband of his briefs. He felt cool breezes on his backside as she yanked his briefs down to his knees. “No, no…Meg, please,” he wailed. But Meg was having none of it. She took the paddle from the counter.
Jeff felt the press of wood on his bare buttocks and he knew Meg was lining up the paddle. There was a whoosh and then a smack! Pain exploded across his bottom. Jeff screeched, “Ahhh….”. It was awful, a hot searing sting. Another swat made him jerk up and throw his head back, but Meg had him in a tight grip.
Meg began to deliver a slow methodical paddling to her errant boyfriend. The swats fell with a whoosh…smack!  Right across the fat part of his sit spot at a rate of about one every five seconds. With each swat Jeff wailed and arched his back, pressing his groin into Meg’s lap. His legs waved up and down. He begged to be let up. The sting was atrocious. Crack! Crack! The paddle fell relentlessly. It went on for several minutes. The ladies watched as Jeff’s bottom became as red as a beet. When Meg let Jeff up he hopped around grabbing his inflamed buttocks and rubbing like a madman. Tears had welled up in his eyes.
“Now get your pants up and apologize to your aunt,” Meg commanded.
Sheepishly, Jeff faced his Aunt. “I—I’m sorry Aunt Joyce.”
Joyce smiled sympathetically. “You’re forgiven Jeff, but no peeking again, ever.”
Jeff rubbed his bottom through his slacks and mumbled, “Yes, Ma’am.”
The girls watched Meg take him by the hand and exit the front door. “Somehow,” said Donna, “I don’t think she is through with that young man yet.”
“Yes,” said Mary Ann, “I expect there will be a reminder session in Jeff’s immediate future. She looked pretty upset.” She clapped her hands together. “Well, now that that’s over, we still have an item or two of business.”