The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Friday, December 30, 2011

Palm Springs Pt 1

This time of year I get to thinking about someplace warm...someplace like Palm Springs.

Paul found it frustrating that they checked his ID so closely. He sighed. The problem was, he looked so young. And he knew it. His blonde hair that tended toward curly, his cherubic face (yes, girls had called him that), his slender build (he was a runner), all made him look like he was 16, not 21. So he stewed as he sat in the bar at the hotel where he'd come for a long weekend while the bartender poured over the ID. All his other friends were still in bed. Here he was up at the crack of noon.

"Problem over there?" Paul turned to see who had spoken. It was a thirty-something woman who was sidling up to the bar. She was a looker too. A busty brunette with great long legs in a tight dress, she looked to be around thirty-five or so. Paul's mind began to race. What have we here? A cougar? A lonely divorcee?

"They don't think I'm 21," he said with a wan smile.

"You do look young," she admitted. "But," she said, pulling back and giving him the once over, "you look fit."

"Thanks," said Paul. "I run."

"Ah, now that explains it." They struck up a conversation. Mostly she asked Paul about himself. He explained that he was a senior at Redwood State, here on break, just cutting loose. He told her about his major, his work in drama. That got her interest. "You act, do you?" Paul admitted he did. "How interesting...mmm, better and better," she said.  She asked if he had a girlfriend. He explained that no, not presently, but not for lack of trying.

There was a lull in the conversation, and she looked to be thinking about something, while regarding Paul intently. "Look, Paul" she said finally, "do you want to make some money?"

That was unexpected. He'd hoped she was going to suggest they head for her room. She was hot and Paul was feeling charged up by the attention. So what if she was fifteen years older? He'd heard stories from his friends about being picked up by cougars, older women who wanted it from young guys. Maybe this was it. "Um, sure, uh, what's the deal?"

"Let's get a booth," she said. "By the way, I'm Tessara Trask. Call me Tessa." As she led the way to a private booth where they could talk, Paul marveled at the finely toned legs and the side to side sway of her hips. The tight skirt displayed her taut rounded buttocks. Paul's penis surged at the sight. Once seated, she leaned toward Paul. "I provide a rather unique service and my last partner, well, he left. You see, this is Palm Springs. There is a large and rather wealthy retirement population here and a market has arisen for, shall we say, entertainment services of a rather intimate nature."

Paul stared. What was she suggesting?

"It sounds mysterious, but what it amounts to is that many of these people who are my clients like to just watch while I present certain tableaux for their pleasure. All of them are women. I don't do shows for men. And, my clientele have very interesting tastes. Do you see?"

No, Paul didn't see. She was talking around it. "What exactly is it? What is this intimate entertainment?" He was interested, though. This sounded exotic.

"Very simply, I have a clientele that will pay substantially to witness the live enactment of a scene featuring a boy, such as yourself, being well... disciplined for various misdeeds." She let that sink in. "It would be worth $500 for each scene you did."

Disciplined? And did she say $500 a pop?

"You have the look that they like," Tessa continued, "youthful, boyish, slender---you're almost pretty." She touched his hair, brushing it away from his forehead. "Yes, they'd like you a lot."

Her touch was electric and Paul was taken aback. "What do you do exactly?"

Tessa shrugged. "A little role play. Maybe I'm your tutor, or governess and you've been unruly, disobedient. I punish you while they watch."

"Punish how?" asked Paul. This had slipped into a bizarre territory.

"Oh, I scold you for your misbehavior, then perhaps a brisk spanking...things like that. They like to see cute boys like you get spanked," she added, smiling.

Paul sat back, thinking. He felt all hot and cold at the same time as he felt Tessa's eyes on him. His penis twitched again. "A spanking?"

"That's right," said Tessa. "Just like mommy." She grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

"The, uh, spanking part, that's just pretend right?"

Tessa cocked her head and smiled. "Come on, honey, they're paying you good money. You have to make it real for them. Anyway so what? You're a runner, right? Long distance. Don't they say no pain no gain? Wouldn't a little discomfort be worth $500?"

Paul knew it was crazy but the money was just too alluring. And part of it was Tessa---she was hot. And no doubt, experienced. His fantasies started to run riot. He said he'd give it a try. Tessa was elated. "Good boy," she said, giving his cheek a pinch. Paul hated it when girls did that, but somehow with Tessa it seemed ok. "Come on then. We need to go shopping."

Paul found it easy to slip into the role of the young male escort and let Tessa lead. She was naturally dominant and Paul, without a whole lot of experience with females, felt pliable and obedient. "Oh, you are such a gentleman," she cooed as he opened doors for her and carried packages. To the rest of the world it must have looked as if he were a favorite nephew out on a shopping trip with his aunt. She bought him tailored grey shorts---a size or two too small. It felt ridiculous the way they rode up his thighs and were tight across his bottom. She said he needed white dress shirts, a tie and a blue blazer. Next came pajamas---little boy style. The right underwear was also needed she said-tighty-whities and undershirts.

She decked Paul out in grey pants with a white shirt and blue tie. Then she took dirt and smeared it all over the white shirt.

"What did you do that for?" asked Paul.

"You'll see. We're going to see Mrs Murphy. She was a preacher's daughter before she married her rich husband, now deceased, of course. It's this scene she witnessed 60 years ago." The little red convertible tooled along Frank Sinatra Drive. "You are James. He has been told to get ready for church, but instead he went out and played in the dirt. Just follow my lead. It's theater. We make it up as we go." The car pulled up to a gated community. Tessa punched in a code and the car proceeded through. She turned into the circular drive of a large, well appointed home. "This is it. Remember, follow my lead. You are about 14 years old. Use your extemporaneous acting skills."

They walked up and rang the door. A stout woman in her sixties answered. Her eyes lit up when she saw Paul.

"Hello, Mrs Murphy. I wonder if we could come in." She smiled a knowing smile and ushered the pair in. "We were on our way to church. I explicitly told James here to stay clean once he was dressed for church and do you see what he did? He started playing ball and got dirty." Paul got it. He was a naughty kid who had gotten dirty in his church clothes and had made his mother angry.

Mrs Murphy said with a shine in her eyes, "Oh my. How naughty. You'll have to clean him up, then."

"Yes," said Tessa. "How disgusting. The very idea. Look at him. Can we use your bath?"

"Why, yes, it's right upstairs. Imagine. The young scamp. I suppose you will punish him too?" Mrs Murphy's expression was bright with excitement.

"Oh you can be sure of that," said Tessa, slipping into the role of an irate mother. "Come along James." Tessa grabbed Paul by the earlobe and pulled him down a hallway toward the stairs. Paul winced but allowed Tessa to pull him along. It hurt to have her yank on his ear like that. It actually did remind him of his mom when she was bent on teaching him a lesson. They climbed the stairs and Paul winced as Tessa tugged him along.

"Ow...ow," he said as Tessa led him down a hallway. They entered a large bathroom.

"Now you stand right there while I draw a bath," said Tessa, turning on spigots. "In fact, you can just take those dirty clothes right off." Mrs Murphy watched gleefully while Paul stripped down to his underwear. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to remove this last veil of modesty even though he knew that was what was expected of him. It was pretty embarrassing to strip down in front of two fully clothed women.

Tessa turned around and spoke sharply. "Well? I said take off your clothes. All of them, young man. Right now." She eyed him sternly.

Paul grimaced. He knew she was acting, but still, her tone sent a shiver down his spine. Ok, if this is what it took. He slid his shirt over his head, then he glanced at Mrs Murphy. Her eyes were glued to his groin. He slid his underwear down and let them drop to his ankles. She smiled approvingly. Paul got in the tub. Tessa started washing him with a washcloth. "Now, we'll get you cleaned up, you dirty scamp," she said. She soaped him up and scrubbed him like he was a four year old. Then Paul felt her fingers underneath the water, massaging his penis. It leapt to life, growing hard under her ministrations. Paul blushed. He couldn't control it.

"All right, stand up," said Tessa. Paul stood slowly, willing his cock to soften. It wouldn't.

"Well, Mrs Murphy, would you look at that!" Paul's cock stood straight out proudly. Tessa glared at Paul. "Just what is that?" she said.

"I---I can't help it, er, ma'am. It just happened." Paul tried to cover up. Geez, this was embarrassing.

"You can just get yourself right out of this tub." Paul got up, dripping wet. Tessa toweled him off while at the same time talking to Mrs Murphy. "Do you see that?" she said indicating Paul's rampant penis. "If this boy didn't need to be punished before, he certainly needs it now. Might I borrow your hairbrush to teach this naughty boy a good lesson?"

"Oh, yes," said Mrs Murphy gleefully. "It's right in the bedroom."

Tessa grasped Paul by his stiff appendage and pulled him along, heading down the hall to the bedroom. Paul allowed himself to be led, little jolts of pleasure vying with acute embarrassment. Tessa sat down on a vanity bench and made Paul stand to her right.

"Now, James. You are going to be punished. Imagine! I told you to behave while we got ready for church and instead you played in the dirt. And on top of that you have the impudence to sprout....well, you know, an erection....while I'm trying to get you clean."

"I think he deserves a most sound punishment, don't you Mrs Murphy?"

"Indeed I do," said Mrs Murphy enthusiastically.

"I'm going to put James across my knee, Mrs Murphy. I think he deserves a very sound spanking."

"By all means," said Mrs Murphy. Her eyes were practically shining with anticipation.

Paul's eyes widened as Tessa pulled her dress back to reveal bare thighs. She tugged Paul and he fell across her lap. He felt a distinctly erotic tingle as his stiff penis contacted Tessa's thighs. She edged her legs apart just a bit and his penis slid between them. He felt another surge as she clamped them shut. Now her hand was resting on his bottom. She squeezed and patted both cheeks. Mrs Murphy was practically licking her lips.

"Look at this naughty bottom," said Tessa. "What an impudent little fanny James has. Just made for applying correction, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh yes," said Mrs Murphy. She leaned forward so as to not miss a thing.

"Well I intend to teach him a lesson. I'm going to set this little bottom on fire." Paul squirmed under the ministrations of her hand which was still patting and stroking his bare hind cheeks. He hoped this wouldn't hurt too much. "Naughty boys. They need a good spanking now and then, Mrs Murphy."

"Oh I couldn't agree more, dear," said the matronly lady, obviously excited now. "You go right ahead."

Paul felt her hand leave. For a moment there was only a cool breeze tickling his bare cheeks then splat! Tessa's hand impacted his left cheek. It was a shock. Then her hand smacked his right cheek. She started spanking him at a measured pace, smacking one cheek then the other alternately. It tingled at first, but then started to sting. The smacks rang out in the bedroom and Paul shifted, trying to alleviate the spreading sting. Ouch! This was starting to burn, he thought. Tessa kept on delivering steady crisp spanks that made him jerk in response. At the same time she kept up a running line of scolding.

"Just think (smack! smack!). I leave you (smack!) alone and you play in the dirt (smack! crack!). How many times have I told you (smack! crack! splat!). I'm going to spank this little fanny until it glows, do you hear? (smack! crack smack!). You will learn to obey me! (smack! crack!)

Ow! Yow! This was really stinging! Tessa's hand smacked steadily. Paul squirmed under the onslaught.

She stopped for a moment and let her hand remain on Paul's buttocks, rubbing and patting. His erection returned. The relief was short-lived.

"Mrs Murphy, will you hand me your hairbrush?"

"Certainly, dear," said the matronly Mrs Murphy, handing her a stout flat-backed wooden hairbrush.

"All right, James. We will now get to the seat of the problem." Paul cringed as she tapped his bottom with the wooden brush. It felt hard and unforgiving. How much was this going to hurt?

He soon found out as the hairbrush spanks began to fall with a sharp smack! Smack! Smack!

"Yow! Oww! Owww!" Paul started to yelp. His legs flutter kicked.  Crack! Crack! "Ow....ow...ouch...Please ma'am, I'll  be good." It didn't require much acting to play the pleading little boy. This spanking was the real thing. His ass was on fire. He looked at Mrs Murphy who was on the edge of her seat, transfixed, it seemed, by the mother-son disciplinary drama being played out. The spanks with the hairbrush hurt lots more than her hand.

How long was she going to spank him? This was getting to be really painful. Each smack stung atrociously. His eyes were starting to water as Tessa continued to smack his bottom briskly, harder now and faster, it seemed. He arched his back and let out a long wail. Just when it seemed unbearable she stopped. She handed the brush back to Mrs Murphy and rubbed and kneaded his bottom. He slumped over her lap. As she rubbed his erection returned.

"Up with you now," she said, cracking his red behind a final time. "Now you stand over there, nose to the wall."

Paul got to his feet. His hands went back to rub his inflamed cheeks. His erection bobbed up and down.

"Well, I think he's been taught a good lesson, don't you Mrs Murphy?"

"Oh, yes," said Mrs Murphy. "A sound spanking for a naughty boy. It was exactly what he needed." She smiled broadly as she gazed at Paul's totally red and swollen bottom, twitching and flexing as he tried to stand still as commanded.

"Turn around James. Look," said Tessa. "The impudent boy still flaunts his maleness." She put her hands on her hips. "I think we should do something about that," she said. "Come here, James."

Paul hobbled over to her, clutching his bottom and rubbing furiously. He made hissing sounds as he sucked air through his teeth in reaction to the horrible sting from the hairbrush. He stood next to her, his penis bobbing. She told Paul to sit on her lap. "Now will you behave? She said gently. Paul nodded, "yes, ma'am." The feeling of his hot buttocks sitting on Tessa's lap made his cock stand straight up. She reached down and touched it with her hand. The touch turned to stroking. Mrs Murphy's eyes were wide with excitement as she watched Tessa stroke Paul's erection. He began to move his hips, pumping in time with Tessa's stroking. Finally he could stand no more and his body went absolutely rigid as he pumped his seed in great jutting arcs into a towel in Tessa's left hand.


"She likes to see them cum," said Tessa, as they drove back into Palm Springs downtown. "I don't know why. It's probably a fantasy or some remembered incident from long ago." She parked at the hotel and fished a wad of cash out of her purse. "Here it is, $500." He took the money.

"Call you again?"

Paul winced. A stew of emotions boiled inside. His bottom still throbbed, but he had regained his erection. Just being next to Tessa in the car thinking about what she had done-the nudity, his vulnerability---and that lush body of hers. "Ok,' he said.


She called a few days later. She met him at a different hotel, the Desert Springs in Palm Desert. She had a girl with her. No, she was a woman in her twenties but she looked young.

"This is Becky," she said. Paul said hello. She was cute. Chestnut hair fell to below her shoulders framing a pretty face with dainty features.
Tessa explained. "Some of my clients like scenes with girls too. Today we're going to see Mrs Smith. Not her real name of course, but Mrs Smith has a certain fondness for school scenes. She has a room in her house that she has furnished with desks and a blackboard, some props she picked up." Paul was instructed to dress in slacks and a shirt with a tie. Becky wore a pleated skirt, a white blouse and bobby sox with loafers. We look like we should be on the set of "Happy Days" thought Paul.

It was an imposing house set well back from the road. They parked in the circular driveway. "Remember, kids, you are teenagers and not too well behaved ones at that. Becky, I know you like this scene. Paul, this will be a bit more intense but there will be extra. Are you ok with this?"

Paul nodded but he gulped. A bit more intense? What did that mean? But it was too late to reconsider. They had arrived. It was showtime.


Friday, November 11, 2011

Love's Passionate Frenzied Fury

You know those lurid bodice ripper novels? The kind that show some beefcake guy clutching a fair damsel and about to ravish her royally? Of course you do. Do you know where they come from?


“Arthur, I need to speak with you for a moment.” It was Eleanor, Arthur’s wife. Arthur had just settled down in his study to listen to a brand new remastered recording. Bill Evans with Scott LeFaro and Paul Motian. Classic. Relaxing. Arthur sighed. It would have to wait. “What is it, dear?”

Eleanor bustled into the room. She was a bundle of energy as usual. Never stopped talking. She never just walked into a place, she burst in. She looked the part too--- a short voluptuous blonde with curly hair that cascaded in ringlets framing a round and very pretty face. They had been married for nine years. No children.

“I need help with my writing.”

Oh God. The latest of Eleanor’s nutty hobbies. Now she was writing these romances, for Christ’s sake. The kind with some alpha male in a loincloth on the cover clutching some quivering damsel who, incidentally, had exceptionally large breasts, said breasts having been revealed by the tearing action of said male’s oversized paw visited upon said damsel’s wardrobe. He understood they called them “bodice rippers”, an apt characterization.  Before that it had been pottery (the garage was still a mess) and before that violin lessons (his ears had yet to recover).

“So how can I help dear?” he said smoothly. He hoped this wouldn’t take too long.

“It’s my latest novel, Love’s Furious Passionate Frenzy. You see I’ve reached a bit of a writer’s block and I need help. I am finding it difficult to understand my own heroine, get into her head, as it were.”

Understandable, thought Arthur. Nobody can figure out what’s in a woman’s head, not even another woman. “But I don’t know anything about damsels in distress or whatever it is, dear.”

“You don’t have to, you just need to help me understand her.”

Arthur was now totally confused and Eleanor could see it on his face. “No, well, you see Miss Cadivec, my creative writing teacher, always says that we have to live the lives of our characters, to experience what they do, and well, I need to actually be her to know how it feels.”

“How what feels? To have the buttons on your blouse popped off? I think not. It looks expensive.”

“No, no, not that. It’s ah…a bit more intimate.”

Arthur was now a little more interested. Eleanor was a very attractive woman, and to tell the truth, things had been slipping in the bedroom department lately. Arthur was always busy at work and Eleanor had her hobbies. They were drifting, it seemed.

“Well, er, you see, Miss Cadivec says that, ah… spankings are very popular in romance novels nowadays, and so I thought I’d work one into the plot. I have it all figured out. My heroine, Daisy is an English princess captured by Thorgar, the Viking, as a slave, only he falls in love with her and when they get back to Thorgar’s castle he wants to marry her only she runs away, against his express authorization, I might add, and he is very angry and when he catches up with her he decides to give her a good spanking…”

It was making Arthur’s head swim. Daisy? What kind of name was that? And if she’s a slave, of course she is forbidden to run away. Spankings? For grown women? Did Vikings do that? He’d always thought that Viking discipline usually involved something with an ax in it.

“….and so he puts her over his knee, tosses up her skirt and spanks her, right on the bottom!”

“It all sounds very intriguing dear but where do I come in?”

“Arthur, haven’t you been listening? I need to live Daisy, to be Daisy. I need a Thorgar.”

Arthur processed this for a minute. “You want me to spank you?”

“Yes. Yes. Precisely. I don’t know what that feels like. I can’t write about Daisy unless I know, you see. I need to have an authentic experience.”

This was too much. Arthur had to laugh. “Do I have to wear one of those horned helmets?”

Eleanor pouted. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

“Sorry, dear, but your request is a bit odd, wouldn’t you say?”

Eleanor remained firm. “Miss Cadivec says it is quite common in romances, historical or otherwise, and I should embrace the idea if I’m to write about it.”

“Hmm,” said Arthur. “All right, but how do we do this? I’ve never spanked anybody before.”

Eleanor brandished a sheaf of papers. “Here is what I’ve written so far. Just read it and speak Thorgar’s dialog. I’ll be Daisy.”

Arthur squinted at the page. “What ho, Glondorf, are the thralls secured in their bindings? Odin sends a fair wind, I’ll warrant.!”

“No. No. Not there. The next page. Here,” she said pointing.

Ok. There it was. “I think perhaps I must needs teach you a lesson, wench. You sorely try my patience.”
Eleanor reads, “You brute. My father will hear of your mistreatment of me. He will bring an army to rescue me.”

“Ha ha! Before he arrives I will have tamed you, you tawny vixen.” Tawny vixen? What drivel! Who reads this stuff?

Eleanor throws her arm across her forehead and turns away. “Unhand me you Viking oaf!”

Then the page was blank. “What now?” said Arthur.

“Now you put me over your knee and spank me; then I write the rest of it.”

“Eleanor, now really, I mean…” But Eleanor had dragged Arthur over to the couch and pushed him down. He sat down in the middle of the long couch.  Eleanor hoisted her skirts and climbed down across his lap. Arthur’s gaze was immediately directed to the twin plump mounds of Eleanor’s delectable behind, now covered by the thinnest of panties. She looked back at him and said, “Now Arthur. Spank me like I’m your naughty slave girl. Be Thorgar.”

Arthur rested his hand on Eleanor’s satiny bottom. He felt an immediate charge in his lower regions. Hmm, this is interesting. He brought his hand up and gave Eleanor’s bottom a little slap. The flesh quivered. He slapped the other side.

“Not like that, Arthur. Harder. Like you mean it. I’m Daisy, the slave who ran away. Punish me.” Arthur reflected that maybe Thorgar should have just let her keep on running, but he raised his arm and gave ‘Daisy’ a crisp spank that cracked noisily right on the crowns of her bottom cheeks.

“Ouch! Yes, yes. Like that.”

Well, ok, thought Arthur, and he proceeded to apply a series of crisp spanks that echoed in the study like rifle shots. He alternated with spanks delivered to both cheeks and was mesmerized by the way Eleanor’s bottom would wobble upon impact. Eleanor kicked her legs and begged “Thorgar” for mercy. Clearly she was still playing a game, so Arthur kept on spanking, one brisk spank after another until “Daisy’s” behind was uniformly red, like two bright stoplights. He paused a moment to rip “Daisy’s” panties down, now revealing his wife’s cheeky bottom in all its fully nude glory.

“Oh, my!” Gasped Eleanor.

By now the feel of Eleanor’s bottom under his hand and the vision of her shameless wriggling was giving Arthur a ferocious hard on. By God if she wants Thorgar I’ll give her Thorgar. Arthur kept it up, laying on stinging spank after stinging spank. Finally he became aware that Eleanor had stopped calling him Thorgar.

“Arthur! Arthur, Stop, Please!” She wailed.

“What? Oh…” He paused, arm upraised. “Sorry, dear. I got a bit carried away.”

“Let me up. I think that’s quite enough, darling.”

“Are you sure?” asked Arthur. “Wouldn’t your Thorgar want to make doubly sure that his slave girl wouldn’t be tempted to run off again? Perhaps a few more…”

“No, No, Arthur that’s quite enough,” said Eleanor quickly. Arthur let her get up. Eleanor looked at Arthur wide eyed as she knelt upright on the couch and rubbed her burning bottom. But then without further ado she grabbed Arthur and toppled him backwards. By then she was smothering his face with kisses.

Arthur was nonplussed but he responded. Clothing flew off and before long Eleanor was straddling Arthur and riding him like a cowgirl on a bucking bronc. When it was all over Eleanor confessed that she’d been quite carried away, that his masterful spanking had awakened something quite delicious and that she couldn’t help herself. She rearranged her clothing and bustled off to write about Thorgar and Daisy, now absolutely sure as to how to describe it.

Arthur sat there numbly, a survivor (barely) of hurricane Eleanor. Still, it had been most interesting and pleasurable. Maybe there was something to this torrid romance tripe after all.


And, as it turned out later, astonishing as well. Eleanor acquired a publishing agent through a friend. The agent liked the novel and got it published-- in hardback of all things. It sold well. It sold well enough in fact that Eleanor acquired a publishing contract with an option for her next three novels.

A few weeks later Arthur came home to see a delivery truck parked in the driveway and some boxes and a large object being carried into the basement. What now? What is all this stuff?

Eleanor was inside directing the placement of the items. There was a strange contraption like T-shaped wooden frame. When the deliverymen left, Arthur asked, “What in the world is this?”

“It’s for my new book, Love’s Passionate Frenzied Fury,” said Eleanor. “I’m writing about a daughter of an English nobleman. You see her father has promised her in marriage to Lord Foulweather who is a villainous rogue, but she wants to marry Sir Percival who is her true love. So she runs away. Anyway Lord Foulweather is the nephew of Henry, the King and is a staunch royalist and his minister the evil Oliver Cromwell captures her and delivers her to Lord Foulweather. He conspires with Cromwell to have her tried for treason unless she marries him but she refuses, so he sentences her to be flogged and…”

“Wait, wait. Which Henry is this? Henry V? Henry VIII? Henry II?”

“Yes, one of those Henry’s.”

“Yes, but my dear,” began Arthur slowly, “there was no Oliver Cromwell in the reign of either Henry II or Henry VIII, or Henry V.”

“There was a man named Cromwell in there somewhere, I read it.”

“Yes, but it was a Thomas Cromwell in Henry VIII’s day and well, Oliver Cromwell was much later and certainly no royalist and…”. Arthur knew a little bit about English history.

Eleanor stamped her foot. “Those are unimportant details. What is important is that Lady Elspeth has run away to find Sir Percival, but was caught and is now in the clutches of Lord Foulweather who is determined to flog her until she agrees to marry him.”

Arthur sighed. “But then what is this, this…thing?” He was pointing to the wooden construct on the garage floor.

“It is a stocks. I bought it in a catalog. On sale for only $599.00.”

“What on earth is it for? And $599? That’s a lot of money.”

“It’s for the new novel, Love’s Passionate Frenzied Fury.”

“You need a $600 wooden pillory to write a novel?”

“Do I have to remind you of everything? This is the way I write. I live my characters. Lady Elspeth is to be flogged. I must place myself in the pillory to be flogged by Lord Foulweather until Sir Percival arrives on his stunning white horse and saves her.”

Arthur mused, “Let me guess. I’m to be Lord Foulweather?”

Eleanor beamed. “Yes, precisely.” Her face glowed with excitement.

Arthur surveyed the apparatus. “So this Lord Foulfeather…he puts you in that and he flogs you with…”

“It’s Lord FoulWEATHER, Arthur. Don’t you listen?” She said in exasperation.
“He uses this,” said Eleanor pulling an object from one of the boxes. To Arthur it looked like a cat-o-nine-tails that he’d seen in old seafaring movies like Mutiny on the Bounty and such. It had a handle and seven or eight strands of thin supple leather.

“It’s made of deerskin, Arthur. Here, feel. It’s soft.”

The strands were light and supple. “But won’t this hurt?” The thing did have some heft to it.

“It’s deerskin and it will sting some, but Miss Cadivec says we must be prepared to suffer for our art. I was assured that it will leave no marks. I’m prepared to take the whipping Elspeth would take. I have to know what she feels, her fear, her emotions when she is stripped and locked in the pillory. The sting of the whip on her naked behind, the…”

This really did have possibilities, mused Arthur. Eleanor had certainly turned passionate as a result of their last encounter, but then she had locked herself away to write for, it seemed, days on end. Now she wanted to play another scene. Suffer for art, she said. She’d also suffer for spending $600 without asking him.

“…heat of the lash and the response of her quivering sex.” Eleanor was getting worked up enough just by talking about it.

“So will you do it?”

“Do what, now?” Arthur was startled out of his reverie.

“Be Lord Foulweather. Strip me. Put me in the stocks. Lash my bare behind with the whip.” Eleanor eyed him breathlessly. “You do remember what happened last time?” She asked coyly, a little come hither twinkle in her eye.

“Of course, dear. Where do we start?” Arthur was a bit more enthusiastic this time.

“Wait here. I’ll get the clothes.”

The clothes? thought Arthur. But Eleanor pulled  a costume out of the box and handed it to Arthur. “Go put these on. I’ll dress here. Don’t be long,” she cooed, smiling.

But it took Arthur quite some time to figure out the damn costume, what with all the buttons and cuffs and frilly frou frou. Did they really wear this ridiculous outfit back then? He supposed that he was intended to look like a 17th century cavalier, but to Arthur it looked like he was Captain Hook sent over from central casting.

When Arthur arrived in the dungeon, i. e., the basement, Eleanor had changed into something that looked like a lady’s gown pilfered from the set of Shakespeare in Love.

“Eleanor, I feel ridiculous in this outfit. By the way, how much did all this cost?”
“Arthur dear, it’s all in the furtherance of art. But if you must know,” she sniffed,  “it was a mere $ 850. These are very authentic.”

Arthur cringed. So this little set up was now running close to $1500. And it was just so they could act out a scene and be ‘authentic’. Arthur sighed. “What do we do now, dear?”

“Well,” said Eleanor, handing him a manuscript, “you read what Lord Foulweather says, right here.”

Arthur skimmed the page. Then he began, “Well, you disobedient little strumpet, what do you say now that I have you in my dungeon? You will marry me or suffer the consequences!”

“I will never marry you, you swinish oaf! Lord Percival will hear of your mistreatment of me and he will bring an army to rescue me.”

It seemed to Arthur that he’d heard this dialog before, but he continued, “Ha ha! I will tame you, you cheeky doxy. I think you require a sound whipping for your insolent behavior.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, wouldn’t I? I’ll show you. Strip out of that gown. Strip, I say, or I’ll call the guards and tear it off you.”

Eleanor, now fully into the part of the captured Elspeth, put her arm across her forehead and said, “You beast. You would ravage a young maid. You are indeed foul, Lord Foulweather. I have no choice but to obey.” Slowly she shucked out of the gown, and took off several layers of petticoats to stand before Arthur in a chemise and stockings. She looked quite lovely. Arthur stared rapturously, not moving

“Arthur,” she whispered, shaking him out of his reverie, “Now you must put me in the stocks.” She pointed to the wooden contraption.

“Hunh? Oh. Ok,” Then Arthur whispered back. “But why are we whispering?”

Arthur saw that the pillory had a hinged top and pried it up. Eleanor put her neck and two hands in the indented lower half, then Arthur gingerly lowered the top and locked the clasps. This left Eleanor in a quite vulnerable position. Bent over like this her shapely posterior was presented for what Arthur guessed would be Lord Foulweather’s evil ministrations.

“What do I do now?” said Arthur.

“You must pull down my drawers and lash me with the whip. It’s what Lord Foulweather would do.”

“All right, dear, but this might hurt, you know.”

“We must be prepared to suffer for our art, Arthur. Please go ahead.”

Suffer for art. Well, ok. He picked up the whip and tucking it under his arm approached Eleanor and tugged down the white pantaloons or whatever they were to reveal Eleanor’s full and curvy rear. The rounded moons were plump, but well proportioned. Arthur now felt a genuine stirring in his lower regions. He took the whip and swished it a time or two. Then taking a stance beside her, he drew back his arm and lashed her bottom. The whip went swish…thwick! Eleanor seemed to jump at the impact. A series of tiny red lines appeared across her rump. Drawing back, he lashed her again. This time she hissed and contracted her buttocks. He settled into a slow tempo, carefully drawing his arm back and whipping it forward so the strands landed evenly across her bottom. The tails would fan out for each lash. Eleanor would flinch and her bottom would wobble as the whip hit, but she remained silent through ten lashes.

“Er, Eleanor, how many lashes does Lord Foulweather give her?”

“Just keep going, darling, I’ll tell you when it’s enough. Oooh, it’s hot and stingy, but please continue. Miss Cadivec says we must really feel it to appreciate the true emotional state of our heroine. I must feel her pain.”

Arthur mused that a recent president had said much the same thing. He probably did not have this scene in mind—or maybe he did, who knows? Then Arthur decided that this was one way to get a little satisfaction for a $1500 outlay. Hopefully there would be several novels with this kind of scene so it would at least be a bit more cost effective. He went to work with the whip.

Arthur set about to give Eleanor her money’s worth. The lashes fell on Eleanor’s quivering rear end in a slow but steady tempo, impacting the soft cheeks and drawing more red lines across the wobbling rounds. Eleanor began to make little gurgling noises, but did not beg Arthur to stop. Arthur felt like a grim executioner of old, standing beside his prisoner, drawing the whip back with his arm and then striking a blow to the reddening cheeks. After a while he thought that his form became pretty smooth.

Swish….thwick! At each lash now, Eleanor shifted from foot to foot which only made her bottom cheeks dance lasciviously. Eleanor began to give out little stifled yelps. After about 30 lashes she implored Arthur to stop.

“Oww…oww, darling. That’s quite enough, dear,” she said hopefully. “I think I have the feel of it now.”

Arthur stood back. He could not stop thinking about the $1500 worth of stuff.

“Well dear. Lord Foulweather would not stop just because Lady Elspeth asked him to do so, would he?”

“Well, no, I suppose not,” came Eleanor’s muffled response.

“And so, I think he might lay on another dozen or so ---real sharp stingers, wouldn’t you think?”

Eleanor was silent for a moment. “No, no. He wouldn’t, he…..well, maybe. But not too hard, darling.” Eleanor was pleading now.

Arthur chuckled. “Oh, I think they’d be hard. After all, she is a naughty wench.”
By God, this was exhilarating thought Arthur. He drew back the whip and resumed, lashing her with a volley of deliberate, stinging strokes delivered right across the fullness of Eleanor’s backside. Eleanor yelped, all pretense of bearing it stoically cast aside. Now she was getting a taste of it. Now she knew what it meant to be whipped, the little baggage! The whip bit. Swishh…..whick! Eleanor’s bottom quivered in response. Refuse to marry him, would she? Swish….whick!  He’d show her obedience, he’d….

“Arthur! Arthur! Stop!” Eleanor was practically shrieking.

Arthur stopped himself. Whew! What had he been thinking? Eleanor’s rear was a bright red with little striped tracings near the side. Arthur dropped the whip and caressed his wife’s glowing cheeks. Eleanor moaned, “Oh…Arthur, that feels so good.” He had moved his fingers down lower into her cleft. The slit of her vagina was slippery wet. She moaned and rotated her hips, responding to his fingers which continued to stimulate her sex. Without thinking Arthur stood behind her and unzipped his pants, letting them fall. Eleanor heard the sound, but could not see him.

“Arthur, dear, what are you doing?” But before she even react she felt the probing of Arthur’s maleness at the entrance to her vaginal slit. “Oh, my….Arthur, ohhh….Arthur,” she gasped as it slid all the way in. Arthur stroked Eleanor, slowly at first, but then built up speed, his mid section spanking the red globes of her bottom as he thrust repeatedly deep inside her. Eleanor screamed as she was ridden to climax and Arthur seemed to go completely rigid as he was wracked with orgasmic spasms.

Later, in bed and out of the period costumes, Eleanor confided that it had been a most thorough whipping Arthur had meted out, but that his manly conquest of her had made it worth the suffering endured by her poor bottom.

“Well, as you said dear, we must sometimes suffer for our art. I now feel almost like a co-author of these novels of yours. I’ll be happy to help, anytime, dear. Really.”


The novel was a smashing success. Love’s Passionate Frenzied Fury, it seemed, was all the rage in romance circles. So it was with some anticipation that Arthur observed the latest of Eleanor’s props being loaded off the delivery van and carried into the basement. Oh, say, he thought. What’s this? School desks. A blackboard. A teacher’s desk, the kind that sits in front of a classroom. A school scene, she’s writing a schoolroom scene. At once Arthur conjured a picture in his mind of an English boarding school, and a classroom. A stern headmaster wearing a black gown and one of those flat hats with the little tassel on it, flexing a switch, or what?---a cane. That was it. They called it a cane, but it wasn’t a walking stick, no. It was bendy and swishy. All the better for striping girlish bottoms. And Eleanor, clad in a cute pleated skirt, very short of course, her hair in pigtails, called to front by a stern schoolmaster, played by yours truly, there to be reprimanded most severely for some fault. I wonder what the plot is, he thought. Does the schoolmaster give her good spanking and then she falls in love with him? He was getting aroused already.

Arthur positively beamed at Eleanor’s intrusion into his study. Now he was expecting her and all too happy to assist.

“Arthur I’m afraid I need your help again.” A look of consternation on her face.

Arthur spread his arms and smiled. “Of course my dear. I’m all yours. I will gladly assist you in any way I can.”

“Oh, I am so relieved to hear you say that, Arthur. I’m having a devil of a time with my current book, Love’s Frenzied Furious Passion.  It’s my heroine, you see. I have trouble understanding her feelings and I rather thought you and I could…”

“Sort of act it out?” Eleanor nodded hopefully. Arthur replied, “Of course, dear. Whatever you require.”

“Oh, thank you dear. This may be difficult, but…”

Arthur held up his hand stopping her. “I assure you Eleanor that I will do whatever it takes and I will not shirk away from what needs to be done so you can understand your heroine. You have my pledge. As your Miss Cadivec frequently says, ‘we must be prepared to suffer for art’s sake’, so if suffer we must, so be it.”

Taking her arm he said, with a twinkle in his eye, “I saw the schoolroom equipment being carried into the basement. Shall we?”

Arthur followed Eleanor into the basement observing the twitching of her hips under the tight skirt. He wondered how she would look bent over for the cane, panties lowered, lush bottom bared. How many, he wondered? Didn’t they give them in multiples of six or something?  For some reason the phrase ‘six of the best’ came to mind. Well, they’d be the best all right.

Eleanor turned to Arthur and smiled, “Now,” she said, hugging Arthur and giving him a big hug and kiss, “I’m so glad you are enthusiastic about this one. I’ll tell you all about it. You see in my latest book, my heroine Elizabeth is in love with Lord Rockwell. But she is only a tutor in his household, hired by Lord Rockwell to tutor his favorite nephew Billy of whom he is very fond. She thinks that he may be warming up to her and she wants the relationship to go further. And also she is very fond of Billy, but Billy is a bit of a rogue, you see and has run off to play instead of attending to his studies.”

“And so Lord Rockwell is put out with her for failing to tutor Billy properly?”

Eleanor cocked her head, “Well….not exactly, but yes, sort of. You see Elizabeth is torn, she is anguished. She knows what must happen and she fears losing both the affection of Lord Rockwell and Billy. And what I need to do is to feel her anguish, the awful wrenching of her soul, the pain…”

“That she feels when Lord Rockwell canes her?” said Arthur hopefully.

“Well….not exactly. You see she must cane Billy. Severely. Imagine her feelings. She must severely punish the boy she is so fond of for his own good, and imagines that Lord Rockwell will hate her for it, but it is her duty and she must. I need for her to feel the remorse for every stinging swish of the cane that she applies to Billy’s tender backside. The two conflicting emotions of solemn duty and tender sympathy along with her fear that she may lose Lord Rockwell forever. I need to feel that it truly hurts her worse than it hurts Billy!”

“But…But what about Lord Rockwell? Don’t you want me to be Lord Rockwell when he finds out and…?

Eleanor looked at Arthur sharply. “Lord Rockwell? Who said anything about Lord Rockwell? I need for you to be Billy, of course.”

Arthur was stunned. He stood frozen to the spot as the awful realization dawned. “You mean you want to cane…”

Eleanor nodded, beaming. She strode over to a box, fished around in it, and pulled out a yellow crook handled cane about 3 feet long. Arthur stared mesmerized as it quivered back and forth in her hand like a snake about to bite. She held it in both hands flexing it. She could bend it almost into a circle. “Yes, of course dear. And I’m so glad you so enthusiastically agreed to help. You do understand what Miss Cadivec means when she says we must suffer for our art. It won’t be easy. I intend to give Billy a bakers dozen with this swishy wand. Hard, too. I must feel her pain as she delivers each excruciating stripe. Billy’s howls of pain will sear her soul.” She swooshed through the air for effect. It made a scary whine. “You will howl for me, won’t you dear?” She asked expectantly.

Arthur stood there, dumbstruck.

“Now hurry up.” She pointed the cane at him meaningfully. “Your clothes for the scene are in the box. I’m afraid the short woolen schoolboy pants may be a little tight, dear. All I could get was a ‘small’. But don’t worry,” she added with a wicked grin, “they will come down soon enough. I intend to cane naughty Billy completely bare.”

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Kilahara Library of Spanking Fiction

The Kilahara Library of Spanking fiction is a repository of over 16,000 stories, serials, poems and essays all about spanking. It covers all genres and orientations. For authors and readers alike it has a treasure trove of features including search engines for finding exactly what you are looking for and informative information about the scene in general. Authors interact with readers and vice versa. Each author has his/her own page. There is a robust comment section where readers can review and comment on an author's work and there is a messaging function for members to communicate privately. In short, Februs, the web master has created the perfect web site for spanking fiction aficionados and authors.

 The site's URL is a bit odd. it is  That's right, ".tk" not .com or .net.
If you like fiction it is THE spot on the web. Check it out.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

A Very Nice Living Arrangement



I have a very nice living arrangement. I share a house with 3 exceptionally attractive women, and , lately certain fringe benefits have manifested themselves. How this came to be is a study in very interesting social dynamics. As for me, I couldn't be happier.

I'm Jack--An attorney, 40, single and fairly well off. The only negative is that  I do have to travel a lot.
I recently decided to buy a house. It was really too much money, but it was a great house, and I was looking for an investment that could also double as my residence. The way this house is laid out, it has a set of 4 independent suites which are bedroom-sitting area-bathroom suites sharing a common kitchen, living room and family room. It sits on a one quarter acre lot close to downtown Hill Valley.

I put ads in the paper for lodgers who would rent out a suite. That way I could live there and cover the mortgage, living essentially, rent free. The ad had barely run for a couple of days when Cindy, Helen, and Laura showed up, literally on my doorstep. They knew each other from this health club downtown where they worked out, and they were looking for a good place to live where they could share expenses.

They were, as I said, very attractive. That health club must have been a factor. Laura was a short haired brunette, slender with long legs, about 5'8". Helen was auburn haired, almost red in fact, straight, shoulder length---5'9" with a voluptuous figure. Cindy was a perky blonde, about 5'4", with a bright smile and an almost perfectly proportioned body, like a dancer's.

We chatted a bit. The girls were in their late 20’s, although I think Laura was pushing 30, single, and worked at various professional jobs downtown. They seemed polite, amiable and serious about finding a living arrangement that would save them money. And, they loved the house. They oohed and ahhed over the spacious suites, the large kitchen and the comfortable family room.
We had a deal, it seemed. Several days later they were all moved in.

At first all went smoothly. Everyone understood that the common areas had to be kept clean, and that we all needed to pick up after ourselves. Also, privacy had to be respected and the noise had to be kept down when people were trying to sleep. Little by little, however minor irritations began to crop up. I didn’t see a lot of it because of my travel schedule, but I heard second hand about complaints. Helen couldn’t sleep because Cindy played the stereo too loud. Laura made a meal for herself and left everything out on the counters. Helen borrowed a pair of earrings from Laura without asking. The list went on and on it seemed.

One night we all sat down to dinner and this topic came up. Everyone agreed that they all liked the arrangement but that everyone needed to be more responsible about things that got on other peoples nerves or made work for someone else.

“Except Jack”, said Cindy, “He’s never here”.

It was true. I just wasn’t around much, so I  didn’t contribute to the mess. My cases were keeping me on the road. We were all getting a little tipsy when Laura opened a very interesting discussion.

“Well, in my old sorority we had a system for dealing with this”, said Laura, after we had uncorked the third bottle of wine. Everyone was all ears.
“We kept a demerit chart and if you broke a house rule, that was one demerit. There was a reckoning every other week on Friday night, and if you had more than 5 demerits, you got it.”

Got what we all asked?

“A really good spanking, that’s what!” said Laura.

Everybody said you’ve got to be kidding.

“No lie”, said Laura, “ We would appoint a sergeant at arms for the night, someone who had no demerits, and she would do the honors. It was then skirts up and pants down for a bare fanny licking with a thin paddle that stung like blazes. Five demerits got you 10 swats and each one after 5 got you 5 more. Nobody ever had more than 7 and I only saw that twice in 3 years.”

We were all dumbfounded. Really?

“Really, its not such a bad idea”, said Cindy. “We had house chores at my house, and if you repeatedly failed to do them, or if you were rude or snippy to the point where mom or dad had had it with you, it was off to the rec room ”.

What happened in the rec room we all wanted to know?

“A date with the ping pong paddle, over mom’s knee, with panties at half-mast, and boy, could mom spank! She did quite a job on me, my sister Sally and Tom my brother until we were about 16.”

“Hey, you’d never know it, but I grew up on a farm,” said Helen.” The chores had to get done and I had to mind, or I’d be cutting my own switch.”

Cutting your own switch? We said.

“Yeah. I’d have to take a knife and go out back and cut a switch off of the peach tree. Then it was into the barn to meet mom. I’d peel down my jeans,
bend over a stool, and mom would switch me until I was bawling.”

What about you, Jack? They all wanted to know.

“Sorry girls, no lurid tales of childhood punishments. My parents didn’t believe in that stuff and I never joined a fraternity. So I guess I am as yet, unspanked”.

“We could fix that”, said Cindy. They all giggled.

“Seriously though,” said Laura, “the problem is us girls—Jack’s almost never here.
We do need to do something. We like living here but we need to pick up after ourselves, be a little more considerate. And we need some kind of sanction if we don’t. Otherwise we’ll all end up at each other’s throats.”

“Do you have a suggestion?” offered Helen. Laura thought for a minute.

“Yes I do…a modified version of my old sorority system.”

“You mean….spankings?” said Helen.

“Yes I do”, said Laura. “It sure worked at the Sigma house. A well warmed  bottom was a real incentive to proper behavior. And I think we should elect Jack as  sergeant-at- arms.”

“Well…we could try it”, ventured Helen.

“I know a licking never did me any harm.” Said Cindy, “Sometimes I actually felt like I just needed one, you know ,sort of an emotional release.”

I was incredulous. Here were my lodgers talking about a very juvenile punishment for adult women like it was the most natural thing in the world!

“Well,” Laura continued, “Lets ask Jack.
 Jack, how about taking the job of sergeant-at-arms and keeping three sometimes flighty girls in line? We’d settle on demerits by consensus and in the event of a conflict you could decide. Once every two weeks we’d meet and settle up.”

“Settle up how”? I asked, nearly choking on my wine.

“How about with a good old fashioned spanking. Just your hand and our butts. Nothing too brutal, just a sharp shock to the system to keep harmony in the house.”

“I think it might work”, said Cindy. “We would all be more responsible if we knew what the penalty was for sloppiness and rudeness.”

“I’m willing to try too”, said Helen. “We need more cooperation around here, and any system has to have some teeth in it to make it work.”

“Well, Jack,” they all said, “what do you think?”

“Let me get this straight. You all are going to draw up a list of house rules. If somebody breaks one you will tell that person and she will either accept a demerit or not. Once every two weeks we settle accounts by me giving anyone who has more than, say, 5 demerits, a good spanking. In contested cases I decide if the demerit is justified. Is that about it?”

“That’s what I had in mind,” said Laura.”There are a few details to be worked out, like, clothing perhaps.”

“ would be embarrassing to get a spanking from Jack” said Cindy. “We should at least be able to have on PJ bottoms or workout shorts.”

“No good”, said Helen, “he’s only going to use his hand, he’s got to see what he’s doing.”

“I reluctantly agree,” said Laura. “My mom said spankings were not really effective unless given on the bare bottom, and she was an expert. Girls, looks like we will have to just grin and bare it.”

Wow, I thought, this was really intriguing. I hoped the girls didn’t notice the beginnings of a bulge in my pants. I had definitely noticed the nicely rounded derrieres of all three girls before, and the prospect of having them bared and across my knee for a spanking was arousing, to say the least!

“I accept, girls. If this is what you want, so be it. Here’s how we’ll work it,” I said, feeling like I should take some control.

“You 3 decide on a list. I may add some things ‘cause its my house. When somebody breaks a rule, you call it to that person’s attention, and they will mark it down on a special board that will hang in the kitchen. If there is a dispute about it, each party will write down a note about it, and I’ll decide what’s to be done. I may award demerits for frivolous accusations, so don’t try to game the system.
Every two weeks, my travel permitting, we will settle up. We will dine together on Friday night—by the way the “condemned” should be limited to 2 glasses of wine—and after that we will go to the family room. Anyone due for a spanking should change into, oh lets see, a short nighty, and present herself for a tanning, which everyone else will witness. Everyone ok with this so far?”

Three heads nodded yes.

“Whoever gets it will lay across my lap. When she is in position, I will pull her panties down and start spanking.”

“Uh, Jack, how many smacks will we get?” said Cindy.

“Well, I don’t know,” I admitted. “how many spanks are there in a good sound spanking? Does anybody know?”

The girls thought for a minute, then Laura said,
“Since you are using your hand only it should be more than 50 or 60. Probably more than 100. I don’t know. My mom used to spank me too, but she did it by time. We had a three minute egg timer. When any of us kids were due for a licking, she’d put us over her knee, pull down our pants and start the timer. She’d spank us until it timed out. That three minutes seemed like forever but it wasn’t so severe that we weren’t laughing and playing again a couple of hours later.”

“That sounds reasonable to me,” I said. “If there’s no objection, I’ll go invest in a three minute timer. Now what about the number of demerits? It seems to me that 5 over a period of two weeks is ok for a threshold, but there should be a penalty for more.”

“I think Jack should use more than just his hand if there are more than 5 violations,” ventured Helen. “How about this…6 demerits and you get 10 with a belt on top of the spanking…7 demerits gets you 10 with a paddle on top of that.”

“I’ve still got my sorority paddle,” said Laura.

“It sounds fair to me,” said Cindy.

“I’m in,” said Helen.

“We’re all agreed then?” Serious nods from all three indicated assent.

Like any new venture, a diet, an exercise plan, a new resolution, the system worked perfectly for a month. There were a few demerits here and there that the girls graciously agreed to, but everyone toed the line and there was peace in the house. But little by little the dike began to crack. A few weeks later  I arrived home from a week’s worth of depositions in Dallas on a Thursday to find the board littered with demerits. Cindy had 5 and Laura had 6. Helen had 7—but there was a note contesting one. It must have been a rough week. 

“Ok, tomorrow  night,” I reminded everyone. Heads nodded glumly at this news and a few hands unconsciously reached behind as if to protect tender buns from the approaching chastisement.

When I arrived home from the office Friday night, I was surprised to find the table set for a candlelight dinner. On the coffee table in the family room was a broad leather belt and Laura’s sorority paddle. As if on cue the girls entered the room. My jaw dropped. All three were clad in shorty nightgowns made of silky or sheer material that left little to the imagination.

“We thought we’d dress for the occasion,” said Helen, “hope you don’t mind. What do you wear to a spanking anyway?”

Did I mind ? What to wear indeed. Apparently, not much.

To my surprise, dinner was cordial. No one would have guessed what was to transpire later. I worked hard to keep my eyes off of lovely breasts with hardened nipples visible against the sheer nighty tops. I even admonished Cindy when she reached for that third glass of wine.

“Remember my rule, only two glasses. We don’t want to dull your sensitivity  to what is about to happen.”

 Cindy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Yes, sir” she said in a small voice.

When dessert was winding down, Laura finally spoke.

“Well, I guess its time to pay the piper, girls. No use delaying.”

Helen and Cindy sighed and said something like we might as well get it over with. We rose from the table and I followed three twitching pairs of bottom cheeks barely concealed by sheer thin panties into the family room.

“The first item of business is Helen’s contested demerit for leaving the kitchen a mess on Sunday. Sorry Helen, my ruling is that a last minute date does not absolve you of  having to clean up after yourself. That makes 7. Looks like you get the full treatment. We will proceed in order, fewest demerits first, I guess.

Seating myself on the sofa and patting my thighs I said:
“Cindy, if you please”.

Cindy meekly approached my right side and climbed across my lap, stretching out on the sofa. This allowed me to position her bottom squarely across my lap so that her pert rear cheeks jutted up delightfully. I flipped the nighty high up on her back and slipping my fingers into the waistband of her panties tugged the flimsy garment to her knees. She was now nude from shoulders to knees and what a sight it was. For a small girl Cindy had a full peach-shaped bottom that now quivered in expectation. I patted her buttocks a few times and said to Helen:

“Start the timer.”

Helen flipped over the hourglass timer and I delivered a hefty smack to Cindy’s right bottom cheek. Smack! Left cheek. Smack! Center. Cindy’s bottom wiggled with each smack which left a red handprint. I got into a rhythm. Smack! Crack! Smack! Crack! Whack! Spank!

Cindy wriggled and oohed  and aahed as I administered smack after stinging smack to her bare sit spot. I varied the tempo, sometimes smacking in a steady cadence, sometimes pausing and delivering a brief flurry of spanks.
Cindy’s bottom turned pink, then hot pink, then light red as my hand continued to smack the jiggling fanny. She began to yeouch! with each spank and flutter her feet. Smack! “Owww!” Smack! Right across both cheeks. “Ouch!” Smack! Left cheek. “Yeowwww”. As the sands were running out, she  seemed to droop, relaxing her upper body and pushed her bottom up to meet my descending hand. With a last smack! Smack! Smack! The sand ran out.
I patted her fanny and said, “ok  you can get up. You’re done.”
To my surprise she threw her arms around me and kissed me full on the lips. She said “Thank you Jack” and kissed the palm of my hand with which I had chastised her.

As Cindy got up and pulled up her pants, I motioned to Laura. Laura gulped and climbed over my knee. Another pair of flimsy panties descended to knee hollows. Laura was slender but she had a very nice butt, well proportioned and round. I gave her a sound spanking that left her gasping and wriggling and that cute hiney bobbing up and down and glowing red. When I let her up she jumped up and down rubbing her rear end for a moment before giving me a kiss. I decided to finish the spankings before proceeding to the more serious punishments.

Helen was last. Helen had a slender waist but a gloriously full pair of very shapely bottom cheeks. Those cheeks wobbled with each stinging smack as I spanked her just as hard as the other two. Because she was a redhead, her creamy white skin reddened quickly as my handprints merged into a fiery hue on her delicious sit spot. Helen ouched! and yelped as my hand smacked her wiggling bare fanny with gusto. When I was done, she knelt between my legs and placing her hands on my face, pulled me to her and gave me a deep and passionate kiss. I was surprised at this reaction from all three. After all, I had just given each of them a pretty stinging spanking in a humiliating position and they seemed almost passionate about it. And, we were not done yet.

The three girls stood, rubbing the sting out of their bottoms amid a chorus of gasps and ooohs.

“We will now move to the next phase,” I said. “Laura take down your pants and bend over the back of the sofa. I think you should count each lick. Its going to be 10, just as we agreed.”

“Yes, Jack. I’m ready for the rest of my licking”, she said bending over and slipping the little panties to her ankles.

Smack! I laid the belt flat across both fanny cheeks. “One..ouch!”
Smack! A little below the first. “Yeoww!….Two!”
Smack! “Three!…oooh…ooh”
I laid each smack of the belt right across the fullest part of her sit spot which rippled with each impact. She yelped at each one but kept the count. At 10, she jumped up and did a little dance rubbing her cheeks.
“Wow, that was a good one Jack. Ooh, I don’t think I want any more demerits for a while.” Her eyes were bright with tears but she was smiling.

“Helen, please assume the position. Panties down, bottom up.”

“Yes, sir”, said Helen submissively, and bravely bent over the sofa back.

I lashed Helen with the belt slowly, letting each stroke be felt. She counted every one. Maybe I took a little off toward the end because she was due for the paddle too. When it was over I let her stand and rub for a few minutes, then I picked up the paddle. It was a thin wooden paddle, about 15” long and 3” wide made of a hardwood that was highly varnished. SPK said the inscription. Seems like I had heard something about Sigma Pi Kappa, but I let it go. Back to business.

“Ok Helen, back over the sofa.”

With tears starting to form, Helen complied, once again thrusting her beautiful bottom high into the air for chastisement.

SMACK! The paddle rang out like a shot and Helen squealed.
SMACK! Again. SMACK! Again right across the fullest portion of her rounded fanny. Each swat caused the cheeks to flatten then wobble, leaving a red band in its wake. At each smack Helen wailed. When all 10 were done, I let her stand and she tearfully rubbed her reddened hiney. Nonetheless she threw her arms around me and gave me another kiss.

Later we had another drink, standing, of course.

“Wow, Jack, you know how to light up a girl’s hiney,” said Laura.
“Yes, I feel that was a very thorough spanking,  Jack “, said Cindy. I know I’ll try harder to keep our house rules”

“Yeouch, Jack!” said Helen, “That sure got my attention!”

“I’m here to help”, I said with a chuckle, “Maybe this will hold you all for a while.”

Later, we sat around, the girls dressed and things seemed almost normal. Just another Friday night at home. Cindy and Laura went out for a latte.

I was downstairs on the couch, recalling the events of the evening when
Helen called to me from her room. I went upstairs and Helen asked me to come in. She had been in the shower and was wrapped in a towel.

“Jack, could you rub some cold cream on my hiney? It still stings, you brute. It’s the least you can do after that paddling you gave me!”

I said I would. She directed me to sit on her bed, and to my surprise, she dropped the towel, leaving herself completely naked. She stretched across my lap and handed me back a jar of cream. I took the jar, smeared some on my hand (which hurt a bit as well) and started to rub it into her delectable fanny. She relaxed and sighed as I kneaded her bottom cheeks with the cream, rubbing away the sting. She moved her hips as I massaged her bottom and I couldn’t help but notice a glistening on the lips of her labia and the way she started to hump her body when I came close to the spot. She seemed to push the opening of  her vagina toward my hand, and I finally touched her there between her legs. She gave a little moan.

“Yes, Jack, ohh, please keep going, right there.”

My fingers slid into her wetness and I started to slide them in and out. She began to hump even harder impaling herself on the two fingers I had inside her. I found her clitoris and started to massage it. She pumped her bottom up and down, squeezing and relaxing her buttock muscles, her breathing quickening. I kept it up and she pumped her hips furiously. In a final flood of pleasure she stiffened and shuddered as an orgasm washed over her. When her spasms had died down, she slipped off my lap and knelt between my legs. She unzipped my pants and took out my hardened member. Caressing it softly, she slipped my turgid penis into her warm wet mouth and started drawing her lips across its length. The pleasure was indescribable. She swirled her tongue around the head and alternately sucked greedily. I ran my fingers through her beautiful hair and tried to hold out, but it was too much. I came in a blinding orgasm that she took into her mouth.

When we recovered she explained that she did not know why, but the spankings had turned her on, both her own and watching the others. It was if the ritual, the anticipation and the nudity had liberated some primal sexual force, not to mention the stinging pain and the flood of emotional release that came with it.

That scene came to be repeated over the next few months. Not all the girls were down for a spanking every time—it varied. Sometimes there was only one of them with 5 ticks on the board. Sometimes there were two, and rarely, all three, but it happened. And afterwards it seemed there was always someone who needed the “cold cream treatment.” I noticed it was always someone who did not have a date that night. The treatment got hotter too. I recall in particular a breathless Laura who slipped a condom on my aching hard-on, post massage, and rode me to multiple climaxes until I collapsed in a heap.

One night I even remember checking the board. No one had the requisite 5 demerits. Cindy and I were the only ones home. So, I was stunned when I found the table set for two and Cindy in a sheer baby doll nighty. A ping pong paddle lay on the table, the rubber removed and its surface varnished.

“I know I only have three demerits but I feel just awful about how I was snippy and rude all last week. It would make me feel better if I could be punished. This ping pong paddle is like the one mom used to use on us kids. It stung like blazes but afterwards I used to feel better, if I had been rude or mean or bitchy. Promise me that after dinner you’ll use it on me like mom did.”

What could I say?  Cindy wanted a good thorough paddling that would have her legs kicking and her eyes watering. After coffee, Cindy rose and handed me the paddle. I took her by the arm and led her into the family room. She went over my knee willingly and I slipped her brief panties down to her kneehollows. She put both hands behind her back and I held them there. She acknowledged that she was ready.

For the next several minutes the room resounded with the crack of the ping pong paddle and Cindy’s yelps. I administered what I thought was a good
sound paddling to the quivering bare buns perched over my knee. Her bottom bounced and bobbed and wiggled as smack after stinging smack reddened her curvy seat. She fluttered her legs. She “ouched!” and “yeowwed!” with each crack! After about 80 smacks her cries became frantic and I stopped for a moment. I told her that she had wanted a real punishment and that meant we stopped when I said. She tearfully agreed, and I gave her 10 more slow hard spanks with about 10 seconds between each one. Then it was over. She cuddled in my lap for a moment then stood up and stripped naked. Without another word she undressed me and then turned around and knelt on the sofa. I wasted no time and entered her from behind, reveling in the feel of her hot red tush against my groin as I thrust in and out driving us both to a mind blowing orgasm.

“Oh my God, Jack”, said Cindy later, “That was so intense, I won’t be sitting for awhile, and my legs feel like rubber. You really did me good! Just like good ‘ol mom, only much better. That should hold me for awhile.”

Then there was the time 2 months later that they all had 4 demerits and they dressed for dinner in schoolgirl clothes, complete with pleated little micro-skirts, white blouses, socks and hair ribbons (Helen was in pigtails). They had agreed among themselves that they each deserved 10 good smacks with the sorority paddle for being so bitchy to each other and that they should all dress up like schoolgirls to get it. So after dinner it was into the family room where one by one each of my three naughty schoolgirls bent over with hands on knees, skirts up and panties down for 10 good solid cracks with that thin stingy paddle on each jiggling female fanny. Amid tears and hugs afterward they all forgave each other.

Laura once tried to explain it to me. She said girls get in emotional ruts and sometimes they just need a shock to their systems to get them over it. It’s a catharsis, she said. Also there is a sense of justice being done and guilt being purged. Well, I don’t know about all that but I do know that it is a very nice living arrangement.

Well, I do have to go. It’s my birthday and the girls are taking me to a special party at the home of a woman they say owns that health club where they all work out. They have promised me a big surprise…..



Thursday, July 14, 2011

Revamping my blog

This site is now under construction. What I am going to do is to rebuild this blog. I have deleted all new stories. I will rebuild by filling in legacy stories written 8-12 years ago and then add the new material written in 2010 and 2011.