In the midst of cranking away on the spanking romance novel I’m writing (The Marshal’s Woman), I found time to pen a little domestic F/M drama, my first original short story since Ladies Who Spank.
This is a stand-alone story, but I’ve deliberately left room for a continuation.
[photos by Nu-west, Pacific Source, art by Franco]
Mrs. Mundinger’s Rose Bushes
©Rollin Hand, 2016
Chad awoke to the sound of pounding on his front door. Someone was banging on it. He tried to ignore it, but the pounding would not go away. He covered his head with a pillow to blot out the sound. No go. Still the damn pounding. His head hurt, his mouth was dry as a bone, and he felt like death warmed over. The incessant bang—bang–bang finally roused him so he stumbled out of bed and made for the front door. On the way he chanced to see himself in the bedroom mirror. It wasn’t pretty. Bloodshot eyes, rumpled hair, pale skin. He was a mess. He’d slept in his clothes, apparently.
The memory of last night was vague, but it involved meeting up with his buddies at a downtown bar, followed by heavy pub crawling the rest of the night. He’d been three sheets to the wind by midnight. Somehow he made it home in his car after closing hour. Lucky for him no cops were about, or he’d have been in the drunk tank and charged with a DUI.
Good God! Stop the pounding! It was all he could think of as he prepared to open the door. When he flung it open he found himself face to face with his next door neighbor, Mrs. Mundinger, and she looked angry. He didn’t know her all that well. Her first name was Gerda or some Germanic sounding name. They had exchanged pleasantries when he moved in three months ago, and that was about it. What he knew was she came from eastern Europe somewhere, and had a thick accent. A large and stout blonde woman, she was the type you see in those German operas, the ones wearing helmets with horns. Big tits, big hips, thick legs. Nearly six feet tall, she towered over Chad by half a foot, and likely outweighed him by a good fifty pounds. She had a daughter, Anna, also big and tall, but considerably shapelier. Anna was hot, in fact.
Chad tried to clear his head and understand what she was going on about. Something about rose bushes.
“Yah, you see,” she said gesturing toward the driveway separating their property. “Your car. You crush my rose bushes, my prize roses.”
Chad peered out the door. What he saw gave him an awful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His car was not in his own driveway. Instead, it was in Mrs. Mundinger’s rose garden. Oh shit. No wonder she was upset. He must have run over the flowers the night before when he came in roaring drunk.
She stopped her tirade long enough to simply say, “I call police.”
“Whoa, whoa, now Mrs.Mundinger. Let’s hold on,” said Chad, raising his hands in supplication.
“No, you hold on, Mr. Chad Beachem. My roses are ruined by your car. You crash through them last night.” She stepped back and folded her arms across her ample chest. “Did you come home drunk, Mr. Chad Beachem?”
“I, uh, well…maybe I had a little,” he admitted.
“Don’t you lie. Don’t you lie to me.” She wagged a finger in his face like an angry schoolmistress.
“Okay, okay, I was a little drunk, I guess.”
“I thought so. I call police.” She turned abruptly and started to walk away.
“Wait. Stop. Don’t do that.” Chad could ill afford a DUI on his record. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it right. Really. No matter what it costs. I’ll see to fixing everything.” Chad was fully awake now, the adrenaline kicking in. This would be big trouble if the cops got involved.
She stopped walking and turned back around.
“So you fix? Get me new rose bushes? Plant them?”
“Yes, yes. Whatever,” said Chad, anxious to close this deal.
She stood with arms folded, frowning at him. She said nothing for a moment. It looked to Chad like she was considering his proposal.
“You will re-plant under my direction.”
A ray of hope. Chad said, “Yes, of course.”
She nodded. A good sign.
“But,” she said, frowning, “you must also be punished.”
What was this? Punished? He did not like the sound of that. He met her steel gray eyes staring intently at his face, looking for a reaction.
“You drive drunk. This calls for severe punishment. If I don’t call police, I must do it.”
Chad was confused. “Do what? What do you mean?”
“You will see. You come to my house at seven tonight. Don’t be late.”
Chad had all day to think about what she meant. He had had time to recuperate now. Some strong coffee, a few aspirin and a shower helped his physical sense of well-being, but could not quell the raging butterflies in his gut. What had he let himself in for? One thing he knew instinctively—he’d better not blow off this 7pm appointment next door. Mrs. Mundinger did not seem like the forgiving sort.
One thing he did know. He did not like the sound of it at all. At least she wasn’t calling the police or suing him or something like that. Still, all day his mind drifted, engaging in wild bouts of speculation as to what she planned to do. Chad didn’t know much about his neighbor, except that she seemed stern, rigid and controlling. Her nearly full grown daughter still lived with her. Chad had spoken her on a few occasions. She was hot, and Chad would have liked to know her better but she was always in the company of her mother, and the few times he saw her alone, it seemed she was almost afraid to talk to him without mother’s permission.
At the appointed hour he rang the next door doorbell. He was dressed casually, but not too much, in Bermuda shorts and a collared shirt. It wouldn’t do to appear ragged. Mrs. Mundinger’s daughter opened the door.
“Please come in. I am Anna. Mother is waiting for you in the parlor.” She smiled, but it was a thin smile, more like a smirk. What did she know that he did not?
Chad let her escort him to the parlor. It was an old fashioned sitting room with antique style furnishings, definitely early grandmother. Mrs. Mundinger was seated on the couch, leaning back comfortably, legs crossed, and eyeing him intently as he stepped through the doorway.
She didn’t greet him or say anything. Instead, she let Chad stand there shifting uncomfortably under her silent scrutiny. He finally broke the silence. “Uh, here I am, Mrs. Mundinger. I don’t know why you wanted me to come, really, so … why am I here? I said I’d fix your rose bushes.”
“Come here, Mr. Beachem,” she said crooking her finger.
Chad shuffled over closer. She sat up on the couch, pushing her solid torso forward until she perched on the edge. Then she commenced lecturing him like he was a schoolboy caught throwing spitballs.
“You are here to be punished,” she said wagging a finger at him. “You destroy my rose bushes like a little boy who does mischief.” She stood up and put her hands on her hips. Now she towered over him, and he had to look up to see her face. He gulped. This was intimidating.
“Go get me a chair, Mr. Beachem. Hurry.” She pointed at the dining room where six armless chairs were positioned about a formal dining table.
Chad was confused. What does she want a chair for? He selected one and brought it into the parlor.
“Put it right there,” she said, indicating a spot in the middle of the room.
He did and awaited further instructions, feeling like a complete fool. What in the hell was she going to do?
She sat in the chair and motioned him to her side.
“Now I ask you, Chad Beachem, when you were a little boy and you broke a vase or drew on the wall, what did your mother do?”
What kind of question was that?
“I uh…I guess she’d yell at me.”
“She did not punish you?”
Chad thought for a minute. “No. Not really.” He recalled a lot of scolding, but no real consequences for any childish misbehavior.
“And that,” said Mrs. Mundinger triumphantly, “is the problem.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will, she said. “Please to let down your pants, Mr. Beachem.”
“What?” Let down his shorts? Was she crazy?
Then it all became clear.
“You are going over my knee, young man. I give you what you should have been given by your mother, a sound spanking on your bare hinder.”
Had he heard right? A spanking? Chad gasped. He was in shock. No way! “I—I…you can’t do that!” It came out like a croak.
Mrs. Mundinger wasn’t fazed in the least. “Then I call the police. You decide. A spanking or police.”
Chad realized he had no choice. Of all the dumb things. Jeez! This was embarrassing as hell. She wanted to give him a spanking, like some little kid, like in those comics. What was it, the Katzenjammer Kids? They were always getting spanked for something. This was ridiculous, but Chad realized the woman meant it, and he had little choice. He had to play along.
With a sickening feeling Chad fumbled with his belt buckle. He glanced at Anna. She grinned at his humiliation, obviously enjoying it at his expense. He wondered if Anna received the same treatment from this woman, and the thought gave him a hard-on. He instantly regretted that because now his stiff prick would betray him. Blushing ten shades of red, he let his pants drop. He stood next to Mrs. Mundinger in plain white briefs, his dick making the cotton stick out like a tent.
“What is this?” She said, looking daggers at the stiff appendage, her expression indignant that he would dare display sexual arousal at a time like this in front of two ladies.
“I—I can’t help it. Sorry.”
“Let down your underpants, Chad Beachem,” she said icily.
Chad groaned and slipped his underwear down. His dick hung on the elastic briefly then popped up, bobbing up and down.
Gerda Mundinger eyed the erection with disdain making a clucking sound with her tongue to voice her disgust. Then she did not waste any further time. “Get over my knee, young man. I will teach you a good lesson right here and now.”
She adjusted her skirt, pulling it up toward her waist. Chad got a glimpse of legs clad in nylon hose. She reached out and guided Chad over her lap, opening her legs slightly to accommodate his cock. He hissed at the contact with her muscular thighs. It was a fleshy platform, soft but with hardness underneath. He could feel the powerful rippling of her thighs as she adjusted him so he was well over, his bare bottom the highest point, his nose nearly touching the floor.
Chad felt her hand on his bottom. The flesh to flesh contact was electrifying. She patted, testing the surface. “You have a nice round hinder, young man. It will take a sound spanking.”
The pats were not gentle. She had a large roughened hand, maybe from all the gardening. Chad gritted his teeth, waiting. He didn’t wait long.
A sharp flurry of spanks exploded across his bare backside. The sensation of stinging heat was nearly instantaneous. His mouth flew open in disbelief that just her hand could sting so much, but it did. The effect was like he’d sat on a beehive.
“Yow! Ow!” he yelled as Mrs. Mundinger delivered smack after smack to his bare bottom. It lit a fire in his behind.
“This will show you, young man,” she intoned laying one hard spank after another on his bare bottom.
Chad squirmed helplessly. She had him pinned with an arm across his back. He reached back to shield his seat from the onslaught, but she grabbed his wrist and twisted it into a hammer lock high on his back.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said. “I spank hard and I spank long and you going to get a good lesson here today.”
More slaps exploded across his buttocks. He could only buck and squirm.
“Ow! Ow!” This hurt more than he’d imagined. He figured it would be more embarrassing than painful. He was wrong. It was sheer agony! The woman had a hand like a stevedore. She spanked with short sharp strokes that traveled up both cheeks from his thighs to the small of his back until every inch of his prominently presented buttocks was inflamed.
“You will not come home again driving drunk will you, Chad Beachem?” She questioned him and at the same time peppered his bobbing fanny with hard smacks.
“Ow! Ow! No, I promise.” Frantic now, he couldn’t stand much more.
“I make your little fanny nice and red, Chad Beachem. Now you learn.” She changed tactics shifting away from the fast flurries, and spanked him with long sweeping downward strokes of her powerful arm, each one landing dead center on his buttocks and delivering a shock that made his teeth rattle.
“Ow Yow! Please stop!”
Chad was sobbing now, a thoroughly chastened little boy. The intensity of the spanking had been a complete surprise. Her hand was all she had used, and it felt like a wood paddle. He fluttered his legs as he dangled helplessly over her knee. His tears salted the parlor floor. It amounted to such total humiliation for Chad that he had broken down and cried like a child.
“Get up,” she said finally.
Chad managed to rise off her lap. The erection was long since gone. He rubbed his bottom ruefully, choking back more tears. This had been absolutely devastating.
“Anna,” said Mrs. Mundinger, “Go fetch the cane.”
What was that? Fetch the cane?
Anna came back a minute later carrying a thin yellow stick. Chad eyed it with trepidation. In response, Anna smiled and bent it in a semi-circle.
“Now wait a minute,” said Chad, holding out his hand as a stop signal.
“Did you think we were done?” said Gerda Mundinger. “Did you think a little hand spanking was the whole lesson?”
Yes, he had. That spanking had given him a blazing, throbbing behind that was probably glowing bright red.
Anna handed her the cane. She took it a swooshed it. Chad looked on in horror as it vibrated like an evil thing, whippy and vicious looking.
“Bend over the back of the chair,” she said. “Anna, hold his hands.”
Anna came around and seized Chad’s wrists. She held them down against the chair seat, forcing Chad to bend forward.
“You will take six strokes without moving.”
“Ahh—no,” gasped Chad, panicked as he looked over his shoulder to see Mrs. Mundinger, her cane raised to strike.
It was too late. The rod whipped through the air and landed, striping Chad’s inflamed seat with a blazing line of fire.
The pain was atrocious. Chad tried to raise up but two things prevented him from moving. His feet were tangled in his shorts and underpants, now pooled around his ankles, and Anna had gripped him in a bear hug, her arms locked around his middle, her breasts mashing into his back.
Held in this immobile posture, his bare bottom raised over the chair back, Chad had no choice but to endure the five remaining strokes from Gerda Mundinger’s whippy cane. He howled at each one.
“You will never drive the car after the drinking.” Whirrr…whip!
“Yow! Ow! Okay!”
“You will be careful in future!”
“Yes, yes!” Whirr…whip! The cane flexed as it sped through the arc of her swing. “Yahhh!” Chad wailed anew as the cane bit into his bottom like a hot wire.
The sequence of scolding, a stroke, and Chad’s anguished response continued for the next three agonizing strokes. When Anna released him, Chad shot up and hopped from foot to foot rubbing his striped bottom, oblivious to the almost comical display he presented.
Mother and daughter stood back and watched, Anna observing with her sardonic smile, her mother looking on with approval for a job well done.
“Now,” said Mrs. Mundinger, shaking the cane at Chad, “You will be here on Saturday at eight am sharp to replant my bushes. Anna will instruct you and she has my permission to punish you if you do not do what she commands.”
What was this? Anna would be in charge? Chad’s eyes shifted to Anna. Her face wore a wicked grin, and Chad’s insides churned. Once again he asked himself what had he gotten himself into?