The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

New F/M spanking stories Ebook

Just released.

Here we have a collection of six spanking stories, all about strict ladies and their naughty boys. At nearly 60 pages and over 20,000 words this collection is a great deal at only $1.99. Included are the following:

In The Pool Boy meet Cory, a young man cleaning swimming pools for a summer job. But while cleaning the pool for Mrs. Ashley Trent he makes a discovery. Peering through a window, he spies on a cabal of suburban women and their methods of keeping their young boy toys in line. Discovered by the beautiful Mrs. Trent, he finds that he too must join the party if he is to keep his job.

In Masters Thesis, meet Perry. He is writing his masters thesis in sociology, the subject of which is corporal punishment in schools. Who better to instruct him on the rules and procedures for the application of corporal punishment than his former middle school teacher, Nora Kincaid? Perry is grateful for her help but soon learns that as an instructor, Nora is definitely the hands-on type.

The Li’l Red Schoolhouse is the brainchild project of Julia Marsden. Imagine a place where clients are sent receive correction to wipe the slate clean of minor criminal infractions, settle civil matters and resolve marital discord. In this environment meet Peter Radix, an up and coming executive. The only problem? He must settle a sexual harassment lawsuit and the plaintiff’s demand is that he enroll in the Red Schoolhouse. His appointment is soon, and Julia has very old fashioned instructional methods. [Note: this is an excerpted chapter from “The Spanking Games”.]

Next up is The Health Club from the usenet classic of the same name. Meet John. He has joined this health club to lose weight. The workouts are hard, but the penalties for missing workout sessions are even harder, not to mention painful and a bit humiliating. So when John skips one workout too many it’s off to the basement for a “counseling session” with Sandra, a luscious red haired female instructor.

In Friend of the Family, when his parents go abroad, a young man is sent to board with a neighborhood friend, a woman he knew as a boy. All is well until one night when, after borrowing her car, he returns home in a drunken state and plows through her prized bushes. What to do with the young man? She does not want the police involved. What she proposes is both shocking and embarrassing. But a reckoning is called for and what must be done must be done.

Finally Birthday Auction Action brings us David, whose sister has recruited him to offer up for her charity auction nothing less than his twenty-first birthday spanking. The bidding is hot and it looks like an even hotter time for David thanks to some fuzzy math on the part of one Victoria Smythe-Hobbs, the voluptuous winning bidder.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Spank or Treat

Ok here it is. Read the story. Add a comment and click on the image in the right side bar. Our story today is MISS MARTIN'S ACADEMY. A rather odd school for young ladies as our intrepid male will soon find out.

                                                                 Miss Martin's Academy

No one seemed to know what I was talking about. The ad had been vague about exactly where it was, so I was asking.

 I'd stopped into this bar on the outskirts of Lelo, Mississippi. It was late August. August 29. Hot. Unbelievably hot. I had just about run out of funds. I'm ex-sergeant first class Sam Barlow. I'd mustered out of the Army three months ago and had been wandering aimlessly. All over. Midwest, Northeast, Appalacian states, but I was gravitating towards New Orleans. In Tupelo I'd seen this ad posted in the help wanted section of the paper--a private school was looking for a handyman. Miss Martin's Academy. I figured I'd pick up some work for a while then hit the road again.

I was on foot going in the direction I thought was right, when I ran across an old black fellow. He looked strange in a way--thin, white hair--I almost didn't see him there, but I sensed movement and looked. No one had been there before, but there he was--just standing by the side of the road.

"There is a school," he said with a faraway look. "Miss Martin's Academy. For the young ladies," he added. "Go that way. Go on
out Lost Mill Road about 5 miles-- there's a big pin oak an' a all weather county road off to the left. Follow that."

Weird. I hadn't asked him anything but he knew I was looking for a school. I did follow his directions and found, to my surprise, a large antebellum home with a wide veranda, white collonades---the works-- at the end of a long gravel drive. All it needed was Rhett and Scarlett sipping mint julips on the porch. It looked deserted. All was silent, except for some muffled banging coming from an old shed on one side of the house. Maybe a loose board flapping in the wind. What the hell. I pushed open the door and went in. I called out a "hello", hoping to attract someone's attention.

I was about to turn around and leave when a very attractive woman appeared the hallway. And I do mean "appeared"-- like one minute the hall was deserted, and then there she was. She had dark hair and a pretty face with small features and high cheekbones. She wore a white blouse that was tight across her full breasts, and a long grey skirt that flared out from a narrow waist. Very old fashioned I thought, but what did I know? Maybe it's the latest thing. I put her at about 30, but she could have been younger. She was very attractive.

"Ah, I understand you need a handyman?"

She smiled and looked me over for a moment. "Yes, we do. I'm...Miss Martin. Please come with me."

She looked kind of young to be a headmistress. I thought headmistresses were all stout, in their 50's and had their hair wrapped in a tight bun. But, I followed her to a small office. She sat primly behind a desk and explained their needs. Yes, there were a number of small repair projects that were required before the next school year began. She had a few boarders attending summer classes--otherwise she was the only staff except for one other teacher and her cook.

She hired me on the spot. There was an outbuilding on the other side of the house from the shed with the banging board, a barn really, but the upstairs had a room that had been used as quarters for the former janitor. I moved in and got to work on a list of things to do.

The next day while I was repairing some back steps on the main house I had to stop to allow some girls, the few Summer students, I guessed, get by me to go outside. They were dressed in a sort of uniform I had seen only in old photos--long skirts, white blouses and straw boater hats. A nineteenth century throwback, I thought. There were five of them, all between 18 and 21 I guessed, and all very pretty. I couldn't help but admire the maturing figures of these girls in the full bloom of youth. Such beauty could not be concealed, even under the antiquated clothing. For their part the girls blushed and giggled and appeared to give me the once-over.

Toward late afternoon I received a summons from Miss Martin. A pretty redhead in a long lacy kind of frock asked me to please come to the office.
Miss Martin was there with a girl seated in a chair in front of her desk. It looked like a student. I picked up on the conversation as I entered.

"...and as I told you, Celine, we do not tolerate such behaviour here. You will have to be punished."

Miss Martin looked suitably stern and Celine merely hung her head. Then she noticed me.

"Ah, there you are, Sam. I need your help in a matter."

"Sure," I said.

"This student has committed an infraction of our code of behaviour that, unfortunately, calls for punishment."

I looked at her quizzically, like, 'what has that got to do with me?'

"I have sprained my wrist in...a fall, ah, and it hurts to move my right arm. I would like for you to administer the punishment in my stead."

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Punishment? What was she talking about? She must guessed from the look on my face that I was still confused.

"We have a strict code here and corporal punishment is employed," she said primly. She let that sink in for a moment. "Celine has earned herself a good spanking, haven't you Celine?" Celine blushed and lowered her head.

"A spanking? You want, uh, spank this girl here?"

"That is correct, Sam. She needs to be properly chastised and I cannot do it myself. That is why I need your help."

"But, she's a grown woman almost and I..."

Miss Martin just put her hand up and interuppted my protest. "Mr Barlow, our students here understand and accept the consequences of bad behavior. Don't you, Celine?" she said turning to the still blushing schoolgirl.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Very well. And you know the penalty."

Celine peeked at me and blushed. I was watching her reaction. She was petite with long chestnut colored hair, dainty features, but big green eyes. A real knockout. "Yes, Miss Martin."

"Very well. We shall commence. Celine, prepare yourself."
Then she addressed me.

"Mr Barlow, please pull that chair out from the wall and be seated."

I did, not really knowing what to expect, but I was guessing that I was expected to put her across my knee, like a naughty child. That seemed odd for a girl of her age, and I was about to protest again when Celine rose quickly and before I could open my mouth, plopped herself face down over my lap. The skirt was thin and the feel of warm girl flesh nestling over my lap was instantly arousing. I was about to ask again if this was really proper, but Miss Martin spoke first.

"Now Mr Barlow, Celine has misbehaved and you must spank her soundly. You will continue until I tell you to stop. Are you ready?"

This was all happening so fast, I could hardly absorb it all, so I just dumbly nodded in agreement.

"Now, first raise her skirt in back."

I finally found my tongue. "Now wait a minute, Miss Martin, isn't this a little..."

She cut me off and said sharply, "You are in my employ, Mr Barlow. Celine knows what she deserves and this is the way we do things here. Do not question. Now, if you please, raise her skirt."

Before I could react Celine herself grasped the hem of her skirt and lifted it displaying a very pert bottom clad in tight silk bloomers-- I guessed they were called that--that clung to and outlined a behind that was definitely more womanly than I had expected.

"Proceed, Mr Barlow. Spank her naughty behind soundly."

I mumbled something about being sorry I had to do this, but after all, a job is a job and you do what they tell you. I raised my hand and gave the girl what I thought was a firm smack. The sound was shockingly loud and it stung my palm so it must have stung little Celine who yelped. I looked at Miss Martin and she nodded. So I proceeded to administer the spanking in a steady rhythmic pattern, placing the swats alternately on the right then left cheeks and then some squarely across both cheeks to even it out. Celine cried and drummed her toes on the floor but did not otherwise attempt to evade punishment. I must have spanked steadily for about two minutes when Miss Martin said, "Wait. Pull down her drawers and give her twenty more good stingers, Mr Barlow."

I gave Miss Martin a quiZzical look, but she just nodded, so with a sigh I slid down the pantaloons or bloomers or whatever. Celine really did have a cute little fanny, pert and round-- and it was getting very red. I then readjusted Celine to get a good grip on her and laid on twenty more good solid swats making these a bit harder. Celine let out a "yeowch!" at each one. Clearly those hurt. The rounded globes wobbled when my palm struck so they must have been absorbing a lot of sting. Then Miss Martin told me to let her up and I did, gently lifting her to her feet. She regarded me with tearful eyes and rubbed her swollen rear end while Miss Martin said,
"You will now thank Mr Barlow for correcting you."

In a halting voice Celine stammered, "Thank you for correcting me so thoroughly, sir. I did deserve it."

Miss Martin dismissed the chastened schoolgirl and addressed me.

"Thank you Mr Barlow. I may have need of you assistance in the future. You may return to your duties."

I stood up and turned abruptly, not wanting Miss Martin to see the rock hard erection that threatened to split my pants. Good God! I knew I shouldn't feel this way, but paddling that little miss had resulted in total arousal. I was going to need a cold shower.

But later that evening, before I could even do that, I was surprised in my room out back by none other than little Celine herself. Was she even supposed to be here? I said, "Now look, er, Celine--I'm sorry about giving you that spanking, but I just work here and that was what your Miss Martin asked me to do."

She didn't say anything. She just started taking off her clothes. My jaw dropped. What the hell? When she was down to her drawers, she started removing mine. I was so flustered I didn't even try and stop her. Instead I was looking out the window hoping no one could see in. But while I was doing that, she had dropped to her knees and had taken my swollen cock into her mouth. All I could do was moan. She got up, pushed me onto my bed and straddled me, inserting my prick into her slit which was so wet and slippery that I slid all the way in as she impaled herself. She rode me that way to one climax. But did she leave? No, she wanted it again, this time from the rear. Then on her back. We went on for hours, it seemed. After what seemed like forever she was finally spent. I nervously hustled her out. Good God, what if we'd been caught? And why had she practically raped me after I'd spanked her so hard?

A day or two later I was summoned again. This time I arrived at Miss Martin's office to find a scolding in progress. She was addressing someone named Amelia, a tall blonde. Amelia was standing before her desk, hands clasped behind her while Miss Martin berated her.

"We do not permit the reading of books such as this...this trash! It is wholly unacceptable for young ladies."

The book in question appeared to be laying on the desk. I could read the title upside down. It was "Lady Chatterly's Lover". Sort of old school for hot pornographic reading, but I guessed that they were kind of strict here. Still, I wondered, why so uptight about a book that by now was considered pretty tame?

This time I was asked to go outside and prepare a "rod". I said I had no idea what she was talking about.

"It is a bundle of switches, Mr Barlow, about three feet long---6 or 7 supple switches, peeled of buds and shoots, of course. The willow by the barn will do." She handed me a long ribbon. "Wrap the switches at the thick end in this and bring it back here. We will need it for Miss Amelia."

As I left, the girl Amelia began pleading with Miss Martin who was having none of it. The last thing I heard was "face the wall with your nose in the corner and we will wait for Mr Barlow to return."

I cut 6 green switches, about only a quarter inch thick. I mean I didn't want to hurt the poor girl so I figured this would mollify Miss Martin. I peeled them smooth and tied the whole thing together with the ribbon. I see why they called it a rod. It was swishy and looked like it would sting pretty damn good.

When I got back Miss Martin commanded Amelia to come out of the corner, and to bend across her desk, face down. She drew up amelia's long skirts revealing an attractive rear end clad in the same type of white bloomers worn by Celine. I awaited her command thinking she would have me apply the switches to the seat of Amelia's bloomers but she surprised me by ordering Amelia to take them right down. Amelia protested but Miss Martin said, "Nonsense, Amelia, the birch rod, as you know is always applied to the bared posterior."

I'd be lying if I didn't say I was well aroused by the sight of Amelia loosening her bloomers and dragging them down to reveal her luscious bare bottom. It was fuller than Celine's, but very shapely and stuck out prominently when she bent over.

"Mr Barlow, you are to give Amelia 12 hard strokes. Amelia, you are not to raise up or get out of position while Mr Barlow chastises you. You will then thank him for doing so. Do you understand me?"

Amelia managed to squeak "Yes, Miss Martin." Miss Martin nodded to me and said, "You may begin."

The birch made whooshing noise and contacted Amelia's bottom with a sharp sound like 'whick!'. I could see her rear cheeks ripple as it struck and she let out a cry. Red weals sprang up immediatly. I guessed it was hard enough, although I could have swung harder. Miss Martin nodded to me and I delivered stroke two. Amelia gave out a little yelp and wriggled her bottom. By the eighth or ninth stroke Amelia was whimpering and begging to be let off. Her bottom was bright red and her feet were drumming on the floor as she shifted from one foot rapidly to the other. I don't know if that helped her, but it made her bottom jiggle which was giving me such a hard on that I was worried that Miss Martin might see. I gave her strokes ten, eleven and twelve more quickly and this had her almost standing up and coming off the desk. Miss martin let her up and she readjusted her bloomers and turned to face me. Tears were running down her pretty cheeks as she faced me and said, "Thank you for correcting me, Mr Barlow."

That night as I tried to sleep there was a tap at my door. It was none other than Amelia who barged in, and like Celine before her, had her way with me before I could even react. I guess it sounds like I'm making excuses here, but both of these ladies were so determined and so brazen that I was unable to resist. Amelia at least explained that the spanking with the switches had made her hot, so hot that she was willing to risk another one just to be "rodded vigorously by a man to quench the burning desire in her loins". That was how she put it.

And she wasn't the last. Over the next several days I think I had them all. Penelope, a petite redhead got a spanking over my knee. Kate, a tall dark haired beauty got two dozen licks from me with a kind of split tailed strap. Elspeth, a honey haired busty blonde girl with a prominent derriere got the birch rod. And every time, that same night, I was ambushed by the same said girl and required to perform into the wee hours until she went away, satiated.

I was getting tired. This was wearing me out. Between the work and the disciplinary activities and being sexually jumped every night, my energy was being drained. And when I tried to fall asleep there was this infernal muffled mewling coming from that shed on the other side of the house. I decided to put a halt to it. One of these times I was going to get caught and there'd be hell to pay. I went to call on Miss Martin. I'd tell her, really, she had to handle this discipline thing herself.

She was seated at her desk in her office when I entered. I started to say, "Miss Martin, there is something we have to talk about, I can't go on..." But she stopped me and said, "Will you close the door, Sam?" I said ok and shut the door.

She got up from her desk and walked around it. "Please sit down, Sam. I have something to say to you." Oh, no, I was thinking. She knows. I'm getting fired. Their fathers are on the way. I'm done for.

But she said, "Sam, I've been thinking. You have been a big help to me with the discipline of the students." And I said, "Yeah, and that's what I need to talk to you about. You see,.."

But she stopped me again. "It's partially my fault. I have failed to provide them with the proper guidance. So I resort to spankings and switchings to keep them on their behavior. I feel responsible."She lowered her head, looking guilty.

I wondered where all this was going until she said, "I have to confess. I should have a spanking too. For failing them so wretchedly. It's only right." Before I could do anything she said, "Here. I want you to use your strong right arm. You must spank me very soundly so I will learn to be a better headmistress." And as she said it she lowered herself across my lap and pulled up her skirt. Underneath she was bare. No panties of any kind. She said, "Spank me Sam. Spank my naughty bottom until it is as red as a sunset. Go on."

Well, what could I do? I smacked her hard. I guess I was frustrated. She'd put me in this position and so maybe she did need a good tanning. So I smacked her behind pretty briskly while she gasped and wriggled. For several minutes smacks rang out in the otherwise silent office. Her bottom rippled as my palm struck it. And a very nice bottom it was---full, well rounded in shape, and now very red from absorbing quite a bit of steady spanking. It was really getting to be an angry red and I figured I'd stop. I let her up. She slumped to her knees and faced me, a look of pure lust in her eyes. She grabbed me and pulled my head down until our lips met, then she kissed me passionately. By now I was in full arousal, all my good intentions out the window. She tore off her clothes, then yanked down my pants to expose my throbbing cock which was now standing straight up.

Then she laid herself across the desk and said, "Now, Sam, now! Oh, put it in me." I did and we copulated furiously until neither of us could stand it any more and were both driven to climax. But close to the end, my consciousness began to pick up sounds. They were coming from outside the office. Footsteps. Heavy thumps growing louder.

I was in the process of hastily arranging my pants when the door burst open and a woman, stout, in her 50's, hair pulled back in a tight bun, barged into the room.

"What is going on around here?" She thundered. "Abigail Whitlow," she screamed, pointing at the girl I'd just soundly fucked, "Explain yourself, miss." At this point I felt I should interrupt and I said, "Ah, you see this is actually Miss Martin, who..."

"I'M MISS MARTIN, YOU DOLT!" She bellowed. Then she began to berate who I now guessed was this Abigail person. "And where is Mrs. Fenstermacker?" And I thought, who? It took a few seconds, but I'm really no dummy. So it was no surprise when Abigail pointed weakly toward the shed I'd seen. The one the thumping and mewling had come from. Good God. They'd locked her in the shed, and taken over the school. Holy crap.

Right about now seemed a good time to leave. So while Miss Martin was fully engaged in reaming out Abigail, I slipped out the door and hightailed it down the road. Then I got off the road and bushwacked it for a while, hoping my bearings would get me eventually to civilization again. I finally came out on a state road and managed to thumb a ride to Lelo.

Now I was still broke, but before I started hitching again, I had to satisfy my curiosity. So I went to the town library and asked to see the newspaper archive, thinking I might find something about Miss Martin's Academy. The librarian, a kindly grandmother type asked me what I was looking for, so I told her.

"Well, there once was a finishing school for young ladies nearby by that name. Now it's just a vacant field on power company land. Not many around here are old enough to remember it, though. It came to a tragic end. It was 1926, I think. It had been blisteringly hot that Summer and there was a fire. The students had played some sort of awful prank, the story goes. They had locked up an assistant administrator to the headmistress while she was away so they could have themselves a dandy time. But she came back and surprised them. There was a terrible row and a fire started in the main office and spread very quickly. No one survived except the handyman. A terrible tragedy." She shook her head.

My head was swimming. It couldn't be. I had not dreamt this. Then I chanced to see a newspaper. "Is this today's?" I asked. She nodded. I looked at the date. August 29.

The Question is: Should Sam have left before things really got crazy?

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

A Classic Reborn

At least some think it's a classic. They have told me so. Anyway, ISLAND JUSTICE is my latest ebook, now for sale on Amazon for $1.99.


                                The link is here

For those who don't know, this an 8 chapter novella written from a pseudo-autobiographical point of view. Originally posted to usenet in 2000 it concerns a young woman in trouble on a Caribbean island. She'll do jail time unless her two friends return and share in the blame. But then the penalty for all 3 is public corporal punishment. And that's what this book is mainly about---a future in which corporal punishment is the norm for a variety of offenses. And along the way we also have two girls punished for truancy, a secretary curious about spanking, and a colleague love interest who gets positively sexed up about it.

Even if you know this story now you can have it on Kindle or other e-reader for a very reasonable price.

Friday, October 19, 2012

Halloween Howler

A little levity here.

I have real affection for the old black and white horror classics from the 30’s made by Universal. The more you’ve seen these, the more sense this will make….


It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled, the thunder crashed and jagged shards of lightening illuminated the sign swinging in the wind marking the entrance to the Transylvania Bar and Grill. Inside three old friends sat at a table.

“Vampire walks into a bar,” said The Count, trilling his “r’s” in that thick Romanian accent. “The bartender says ‘what’ll you have? Gin and tonic? Manhattan?’ He says ‘no, give me Bloody Mary’. Next thing you know bartender brings drink with celery stalk in it. Vampire looks at bartender and says ‘what is this?’ Bartender says ‘it’s what you ordered, a bloody Mary.’ And Vampire says, get this—no, you fool, I wanted Mary--- to make bloody Mary. Now where is she?” And he laughs uproariously while the other two just look at him with deadpan expressions.

“I don’t know Count, maybe it’s a vampire thing,” said Larry Talbot, the Wolf Man. “To me it’s not that funny. What do you think, Kharis?”

The Mummy didn’t say anything.

“He never says anything, Larry,” said the Count. “Why do you even ask him?”

At the sound of approaching hoof beats, all three turned toward the door. The door burst open and a lean figure in a long waistcoat and fashionable hat strode in. He blurted out a cheery greeting.

“Hello, boys. How’s it hanging?” said Victor Frankenstein.

“Hello, Doc,” they chorused in unison.

“Is dull here,” said the Count. “They do not laugh at my jokes.”

Doc Frank, as they liked to call him, pulled up a chair. “Drac, that’s because your material is 500 years old. We’ve all heard it. The problem with you boys is that you’re outdated. This is the modern era.” The Doc looked around. “Hey Kharis, get us some drinks willya?”

Kharis was glued to the TV over the bar.

“He’s been watching the Discovery Channel nonstop,” explained Larry. “It’s a special on what they found in King Tut’s tomb. He was hoping it might be the Royal Princess Ananka.”

“Who did they find?” asked the Count.

The Doc threw up his hands. “King Tut, Count, who else?
He guessed the Count didn’t watch a lot of TV. “Kharis, a drink already?”

Kharis lumbered off of his perch and approached the bar, stepping first then slowly dragging his other foot. Thump…drag…thump…drag.

The Doc shook his head in amazement. “Slowest monster I’ve ever seen.” He turned to the others. “You wonder how he does it. He thinks every babe in a white flowing nightgown is this Royal Princess Ananka and so off he goes, right after her. He comes shambling through the fog and right through the French doors. She sees him and screams. Must be the bandages. Next thing you know, she’s taking off through the woods like she’s running a four minute mile. Kharis here is plodding along, dragging his foot after every step, that thump…drag thing. And then, of course, she trips.”

“There are a lot of exposed roots on those trails,” ventured Larry.

“Yeah, but as soon as she does, HE’S RIGHT THERE. Now how, I ask you, is that remotely possible? By the time she trips on that nightgown, she should at least be two miles down the trail ahead of him.” He slapped his hands on the table.

Larry shrugged. “Maybe he took a short cut.”

The Doc eyed Larry in disgust. “A short cut. Right.”

“Listen, Doc,” said Larry running his hands through his hair, an anguished expression on his face, “you gotta help me find that old gypsy woman. She can cure me. I can’t help myself. You know, ‘Even a man who’s pure at heart and says his prayers by night….’”

“….becomes a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the Autumn moon is bright,” finished the Doc. “Yes, yes I know all that. Let me tell you something, Larry---you’ll never find her. She’s off the grid. She drives a donkey cart, for heaven’s sake. No GPS, no OnStar, no nothing. She could be in the Carpathian Mountains anywhere. Or Scotland. Or Finland. Hell, she could be in Hoboken for all you know. Forget it.”

“And,” added the Doc, “if you could find her, you’d want her to fix you up with some hot gypsy chick, not cure you.”

“What do you mean, this ‘fix up’?” asked the Count skeptically.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you boys about. You need a new shtick. You’re old school. You’re your father’s monsters. This is today. You gotta get with what’s happening now.”

“Things are difficult,” acknowledged the Count. “Since that woman from New Orleans wrote that book; vampires are now, how you say, sensitive? They brood instead of biting throats, they simper, they sulk….”

“I know what you mean, Count. It’s worse than that. Now you got your Buffy, your Twilight, your teenage vampires and werewolves and they’re horny, not hungry. It’s all about this hot blooded sex. Kids!” The Doc snorted.

He looked meaningfully at them all. “So I had an idea.”

“Uh, oh,” mouthed the Count.

Larry was skeptical too. “Well Doc your last idea didn’t work out so well. I mean with that creature and all. Didn’t that end up with a bunch of angry villagers with pitchforks and torches storming your laboratory?”

The Doc put his hands up defensively. “Ok. Ok. I know. It got a little out of hand. But that was just a big misunderstanding. I got it all straightened out now. See what I did, I got the guy a bride---well, actually I made the guy a bride, but what’s the difference?”

“What does she look like? Does the creature like her?” asked Larry.

“She’s cute, but she has bad hair days,” explained the Doc. “But that’s not the point. The point is what he did to her.”

“And what was that?” queried the Count. “Did he strangle her?”

“No, no, no,” said Doc Frank. “Much better. See they were getting on ok, but she had this habit of hissing at him and he didn’t like it one bit. So one day he’s had enough. So he throws her over his knee, lifts her nightgown and wallops her bottom ‘til she can’t sit for a week.”

“Whoa,” said Larry. “wasn’t she really mad after that?”

“Mad? Mad? She loved it! She grabs him, drags him into bed and they have monster sex. Calmed the creature right down. It did wonders for that anger management problem of his. He’s mellowed out. No more villagers with pitchforks and torches.”

“So how does that help us?” the Count asked.

Doc Frank became serious. “Let me ask you a question, Count. When you entrap a maiden say, your Lucy or Mina, what do you want to do?”

“That’s easy,” intoned the Count, “I vant to drink their blood.”

“And Larry,” said the Doc, “how about you?”

Larry scratched his head. “Uh, rip their throats out, I guess.”

“And Kharis there, what does he do?”

“I’ve never seen him do anything but put them up on an altar,” said Larry. “Then some square jawed boyfriend shows up and there’s pushing and shoving and Kharis ends up sunk in the swamp.”

The Doc nodded. “And that’s your problem in a nutshell. Same old, same old. Now look,” he said lowering his voice and leaning in toward them, “the next time you’ve got some babe in your evil clutches, what you do is you flip them over, pull up their skirts, pull down their bloomers and paddle their little heinies red until they’re flapping around and screaming for mercy.”

“And this will help us how?” asked the Count a bit skeptically.

“It’ll rejuvenate you, make you feel alive again.” The Doc spread his hands enthusiastically.

“I have been undead for 500 years,” intoned the Count dramatically, raising an index finger. “I am dead yet alive.”

“Ok, ok, Count--- spare me the technical details. I was always fuzzy on that whole dead/undead thing. The point is,” he continued, “this spanking thing is a lot more user-friendly. Less wear and tear on the heroines than strangling, throat ripping or blood sucking. Besides they can take it. They’ve all got really nice behinds.” He waited for that fact to sink in, then continued, “You ever notice your heroines don’t have much upstairs? But below the waist, ba-boom! Am I right?”

All three nodded in agreement. They had noticed that.

 “And, as a big bonus, 15-20 percent of your heroines are going to actually like it.”

“Like it? Fifteen to twenty per cent?” asked Larry.

“Statistics don’t lie. They’ve done studies. And, it’s about thirty percent in the UK.” Doc Frank leaned back, smugly confident.

“And why would that be?” asked the Count skeptically.

The Doc shrugged. “Beats me. Boarding schools, six-of-the-best, Colonel Mustard in the library with the tawse? Who knows? Maybe it’s cold and rainy and they’re stuck inside with nothing better to do. If you ask me it’s not much of a stretch. Any country whose citizens eat kidneys in a pie and something called ‘spotted dick’ probably like getting their asses thrashed too. If you’re going to be miserable, go all the way.” Doc Frank paused a moment, reflecting. “Actually, come to think of it, the brain I used for the bride of the creature came from a graveyard in Newcastle…”

The three old friends looked at each other. Should they?

“Is worth a try,” said the Count.


“Well boys,” asked Doc Frank, “how did it go?”

The Count gleefully rubbed his hands together. “Doc, you are genius.”

“Tell me,” said the Doc with a wide smile.

“I lure Lucy and Mina to Carfax Abbey. Inside I place two trestles side by side. Lucy and Mina do my bidding and bend over the trestles. I tie hands and feet to trestles, then I raise long flowing nightgowns to reveal plump bottoms. I spank them a few times like you say. The rear cheeks wriggle.  I have bucket of brine with stout birch rods all prepared by Mr. Harker in advance. The girls turn their heads to look at me nervously. They want me to drink their blood but I say, ‘no, tonight you bad girls-- you must be punished.’ Then I strike with birch rod—swish!swish!swish! Red lines appear on bottoms. The girls wriggle bottoms and scream delightfully.”
The Count got a faraway look in his eye. “Like the children of the night---what beautiful music they make!”

“Ok, ok Count. Then what?” The Doc was on tenterhooks.

“I am giving girls sound birching. They squirm over trestles, their bottoms wobbling as I strike again and again. This is most fun in 500 years. Then Van Helsing arrives. He has hammer and stake, as usual. But he drops wooden stake. Asks me how I got into London townhouse to steal Lucy and Mina away. So I tell him, ‘they let me in’. He says ‘that does it’ and he unties Lucy and Mina.”

“He didn’t try and drive a stake through your heart?” asked Larry incredulously.

“No. He grab both Lucy and Mina by an earlobe and leads them away, squealing.”

“Well, what did he say?”

The Count thought for a moment then put up a finger. “He say something like ‘just wait until I get you home. For letting vampire in, I’m going to strap you until you can’t sit for a week’.”

The Doc was astonished. “And no stake in the heart. That really turned out well for you.” He turned toward Larry. “How about you?”

“It was really fine Doc,” said the Wolf Man. “When the full moon rose, all that hair sprouted and the fangs came out, but I remembered to tie a strap around my waist. Then I caught this girl I really like, Gwen, who just happened to be walking alone, out in the fog. You see I like her, and I think she likes me, but she’s got this boyfriend---anyway, it’s complicated. I grabbed her and threw her over my knee. Then I pulled up her skirt. You were right. She has a really nice behind. It was a little awkward with my claws, you know, but I got her panties down and started strapping her on her bare bottom. Boy! She howled louder than me. So I’m whacking her cute rear end with the strap and her bottom’s getting really red when her boyfriend shows up. He’s got this silver tipped cane, and you know I don’t like those things, so I let her go. Well, he grabs her and says, ‘What are you doing out here walking in the fog all alone? Don’t you see that Wolf Man over there?’ And he hustles her along down the path. I hear him promising to blister her good with his hairbrush when they get back to the manor.”

“You see?” said the Doc triumphantly. “You did a public service. Now she ‘won’t go walkin’ in those spooky ol’ woods alone’.” Larry grinned and said, “Ahhooo!”

“What about Kharis?”

“Same thing,” said Larry. “He had her on that altar face down with her nightgown up and panties down. He was paddling her bottom really hard with some kind of Egyptian ankh-shaped thing. She’s screaming and kicking and squirming, but Kharis keeps on paddling her backside. Then her boyfriend shows up. He asks her how Kharis got into the mansion, and she admits that she left the French doors open and he walked right in. The boyfriend seemed pretty mad. Said he’d show her out in the woodshed what a real paddling was like for not locking the house at night.”

Doc Frank threw up his hands. “See? There you go. I rest my case. You boys not only updated your images, you performed some valuable public services. These young ladies will think twice now about leaving the windows unlocked or running around on the moors at night.”

Larry scratched his head. “Yeah, Doc that’s great but how will we….?”

Everyone stopped. The room shook with the sound of pounding thuds, like giant footsteps. The pounding got louder and the bar shook violently. Bottles and glasses fell and shattered.

“Count and Larry, and Kharis, did you tell anyone else about this plan?”

Larry sheepishly admitted, “Well, yeah. I told The Creature from the Black Lagoon. He tried it on mermaids. Didn’t work, he said. The tails were all wrong.”

The thumping grew louder. “I got a bad feeling about this. The word must have got out somehow. I just hope it’s not who I think it is. Larry, look out the window.”

Larry peeked out the window into the gloom. “Oh no,” he muttered.

“Larry, is it…?”

Larry looked at the seated trio. With a heavy sigh he said, “Yep. It’s King Kong.”

“Criminy,” cursed the Doc. “What am I gonna do for him? Who do you fix up an oversize monkey with?”

King Kong’s face appeared in the front bay window, filling it completely. He did not look happy.

Then the Doc snapped his fingers. “I got it!” he shouted. “Barkeep, you got a phone? Quick, get me Tokyo.”

“Boys,” he said, eyes brightly shining, “We’re gonna be ok. I bet you didn’t know this--- but I think Godzilla is actually a chick!”

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Spank or Treat

The picture on the right contains a link to the details of the Spank or Treat contest. It looks like fun and I'm in. All you do is drop in between October 29-31, read the story, answer the question and follow the link embedded in the picture to play. That's all there is to it. There will be more details as the date approaches.

Friday, October 12, 2012

On Writing about TTWD

Every once and a while it is perhaps instructive to let everyone know what to expect from an author. So here goes. I write in this genre, but my work is not so easily classified. I don't write "romance" per se, but I do have some very romantic stories. I don't write exclusively about domestic discipline or schoolhouse discipline, but I do have stories in both settings. I have sci-fi stories, mysteries, ghost stories, thrillers and historical fare. But the main thing I have going is that first and foremost, I write stories. These are stories with plots that are external to any interaction between characters that may involve TTWD. There is a lot of that, but my stories are, for the most part, not about spanking. Oh plenty of characters do get spanked in my stories, but the stories are about something else. (There are exceptions, of course. I do revert on occasion and write a pure spank story.) But mostly I have a tale to tell. It's just that along the way someone might get their little backside tanned.

In the books you see to the right, available at Amazon, this is pretty much the case. I say this because some readers don't really want stories. They just want scenes. "Just gimmie the action and don't fool with all that other crap," some say. But with me you don't get that. What you will get might be an intriguing game, a clever schoolgirl's plan, an insurance fraud, a sting played on foolish wives, a spooky old house, a space opera, or a boy-meets-girl romance. Just so you know.

So go peruse the archives here. You'll see what I mean.

Friday, October 5, 2012

New Ebook

My novella, A VERY BRIGHT GIRL, is now live on Amazon.

                                The link is  here 

A Very Bright Girl is the story of Heidi Lawson, a very smart and very pretty eighteen year old senior who stages a one-girl protest over inadequate sports facilities for women. She does this by showering nude in the boys locker room. The reaction of the school authorities is predictable and that leads to the imposition of an old fashioned sanction for her behavior. Along the way numerous characters get into the act, including Heidi's parents, her boyfriend, the school secretary and a young coach. Everyone it seems, is curious about a return of traditional punishment.

 I have also included three other stories in this collection. All of them involve school settings. Dr Forbin's Method introduces Julie Doster, a newlywed who needs to finish her degree requirements to graduate. Fortunately the Forbin College is right up on the hill. But there is a catch. To enroll, Julie must adhere to the same code of conduct as the much younger students, including wearing the school uniform. What she discovers is that when it comes to behavior and correction, Dr Forbin had some very unconventional ideas.

In 31 Hours coach Rusty Clawson finds himself standing in for the principal of his high school. What a time to have to personally deal with a wayward girls' coach (his would-be girlfriend) who dealt with her equally wayward charges Texas style, much to the dismay of the girls' parents who demand an old fashioned retribution as payback.

Finally we have Friday Detention for two new high school seniors. What is the big deal they wonder? They are new. But nobody bothered to inform them that if you get detention, try and avoid Fridays.

Coming in at nearly 100 pages and over 30,000 words this one is a great bargain at $2.49

Thursday, October 4, 2012

The Dwindling Archive

It is getting smaller. The reason is that as I publish more ebooks I must eliminate any stories that are included in those publications. It's part of the deal with Amazon. So if there was something you were looking for, check out the ebooks. It might be in there. At some time in the future I may repost but for now if it is in an ebook, it won't be here.

In the meantime the novella, "A VERY BRIGHT GIRL" will go live soon on Amazon. I'll post details later, but it does have bonus stories as well.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

A Country Boy

Time to showcase another author from the early days of the internet. This time the author is "kfr" who sometimes went by the handle "kfr975". He was published on Laura's Spanking Corner and on usenet in the old ASS and SSS newsgroups. His orientation, like this story is predominantly F/M, but you'll find a considerable bit of F/F and a little M/F in his work. This story, an F/m tale, is one of my favorites. I took the liberty of doing a little editing.

Country Boy

Thank God I'm a Country Boy

It was only twenty yards from the house to the woodshed, but that walk always seemed like the "last mile" to me.

Glancing over my shoulder, I could see my aunt Dolly following close behind, her face set in an impassive mask that was designed to hide, but always betrayed her anger.
In true country fashion, she wore faded jeans (filled out pretty well for a late thirty-something farm girl), a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and worn but serviceable low-top work boots. Her dirty-blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, with stray wisps having escaped during the day's work. Dangling from her right hand was a well- worn and regularly used leather strap, the sight of which set my pulse to racing every time I saw it.

My aunt Dolores, "Dolly" to nearly everyone but her own mother, was all country; no nonsense and "you'd better mind, or I'll tan your hide" old-fashioned. She'd love you to death, and be as much fun as anyone could with three orphaned kids to tend, but break her rules, and she'd whip your bottom, but good.

At sixteen, I thought I was a bit old for a licking, but when Aunt Dolly got word of my skipping school, she declared I was in for a very hot time. "You just march your sorry fanny out to the woodshed, mister!" Hands on her ample hips, she glared at me, fire in her eyes. "If you won't be taught in school, I'll just have to teach you a thing or two myself!"

My mouth opened and closed a few times, and I thought about pleading my case, that I was too old to be spanked, but before I could get a word out, she had taken the strap down from behind the kitchen door.

"Don't you even THINK about telling me you're too old for this!" she warned, holding the doubled-up strap in front of my face. "You're not even old enough to understand how important school is! Now, march!"

As my face turned a flaming red, I pivoted like a soldier on the parade ground, scared to death to do anything but obey her. Down the back stairs to the yard, and a right oblique down the slight slope to the rickety old woodshed. All the way there I kept thinking of things I ought to say in my defense, like: "Please, aunt Dolly, I just wasn't thinking, I won't do it again, honest". The words were rejected just as soon as they crossed my mind. Aunt Dolly insisted on folks being responsible for their actions, and I clearly hadn't been. The reason didn't matter. Punishment was due.

"Is Jimmy gonna' get a whippin?" The rosy hue of my face deepened as my thirteen year-old kid sister Annie asked the obvious question, humiliating me beyond belief.

"Yes, darlin'" aunt Dolly answered calmly. "Now you go mind your business, you hear?"
With a broad grin, Annie grabbed my eight year-old brother's hand and went back to their game of jumprope.

As we entered the musty old shed, I thought about how unfair it seemed, to be punished on such a lovely spring day. Not that any day was a good day, it just seemed worse to wind up with a sore seat under beautiful blue country skies. The old bare light bulb lit up as aunt Dolly pulled the chain, its harsh glare casting sharp shadows everywhere. I took note of her etched silhouette, the evil strap dangling from her hand. Despite the warm stuffiness of the shed, I shivered.
"Turn around." She ordered, folding her arms across her chest. I turned, still not able to meet her gaze, my mouth dry, my face blushing at the thought of what would surely come next. "Look at me."

I forced myself to raise my head, but couldn't quite meet those deep blue eyes that had so much love in them, but could be ice cold at times like these.

"My daddy was a miner." She said, beginning the lecture as she always did. "He busted his fanny to get out of the mines and buy this little farm, so his kids and grandkids wouldn't have to wind up working in a hole in the ground." She paused a moment as my head began to sink down on my chest once more, and lifted my chin gently but firmly with the strap in her hand. "Listen to me, now. I took you in when your momma and daddy died, and I swore to their spirits I would see you got an education, so's you could make something of yourself. Young man, I won't let you make a liar out of me. If I have to whip the hide off you every week, you're gonna go to school and try your best, you hear?"

My eyes began to mist as I remembered my mom and dad, and how sweet aunt Dolly had been to all of us after they died. Suddenly, I felt about six years old, and wanted to cry. I just wanted to bury my face in her chest and bawl. "I - I'm sorry, aunt Dolly." The words came out choked and lopsided, and I had even forgotten about the impending punishment, I just wanted to make things better between us.

Her pretty face softened. "I know, James, I know. But you've got to pay the price, you understand?"

I waited, going cold all over, remembering how much that nasty piece of leather in her hand hurt.
The fateful words came so soft and easy that they almost didn't seem threatening. "Take your pants down and bend over the workbench."

My fingers stiff from fear, I undid my belt and let my jeans drop, then blushing wildly, I turned around and pushed my underpants down to my knees. The beat-up old workbench loomed before me, its surface scarred with a million encounters with tools of all descriptions. Its front edge caught me right at hip level, and as I leaned across it, served to bend me at the waist, presenting my quivering bare bottom as a perfect target.

I looked straight ahead, not wishing to see what transpired behind me, but I couldn't help but hear aunt Dolly's shoes scrape the chip-littered floor as she took up her position. I could just picture her determined face as she ran the strap through her hands before beginning my punishment.
I heard, or sensed movement just before the strap hit full across my bare bottom cheeks. It had been a few months since my last encounter with the leather, and the fire of it took my breath away.

"Ngggh!" I winced, suppressing a cry that yearned to escape my lips. Tears started in my eyes, as much from embarrassment as the terrible sting of that well-oiled strap.

Another whack, just overlapping the first, added fire to the spreading patch of heat. "Mmmmmmph!" My lips pressed together tightly, as did my bottom cheeks. I desperately wanted to grab the area with both hands, but didn't dare.
My legs did a little impromptu dance, hoping to alleviate the burning smart that was spreading fast.

The third swat landed just below my bottom on the upper thighs, stretched tight from my bent-over position. It was too much. The awful sting just broke my resolve. "Owwwwwww!" I howled, twisting around in vain, just in time to see aunt Dolly wind up for another whack.
The whistling strap caught me right across the sit-spot, flush, burning like a branding iron. "OWWWW! Aunt Dolly! Please!" I yowled, followed by promises of better behavior and pleas for forgiveness. My bottom burned like fire, and there was much more to come. I half straightened up.

"James, you stay right there. You're taking licks until I say it's enough. Now bend over and arch that fanny out."

For a simple, loving, country woman, Aunt Dolly knew how to get the most out of a strap. The sting is intense and it gets worse with every lick. They pile on top of each other raising the heat in your butt to intolerable levels. In her strong right hand, that supple piece of leather stung every square inch of my bare bottom very, very thoroughly, leaving no area untouched.

A dozen or so solid whacks later, I was completely dissolved in tears, with eyes and nose both running copiously. My hands, having been so unwise as to seek to protect my smarting bottom, had caught some of the leather as well, adding to my discomfort.
Thorough to a fault, aunt Dolly had turned my hindquarters a bright cherry red.
I sobbed like a child, and she leaned over me, smoothing my hair and comforting me.

"Now, you just think about this the next time you feel like skipping school, and I'm sure you'll do the right thing, hmmmm?"

Leaving me to my misery, she left the shed, and allowed me to eat supper standing up, while my brother and sister giggled at my obvious discomfort.
The whipping did little to diminish my teen-age appetite, but food didn't taste quite as good with my bottom still smoldering from its association with the strap.

"Mornin'" Aunt Dolly's bright smile and cheerful look made the previous day seem almost like a bad dream. I sat down tenderly at the breakfast table, set with hot biscuits and gravy, fresh milk and scrambled eggs, and dove in, eager to start the day.
As I finished eating, aunt Dolly put the younger kids on the school bus, and then returned to the kitchen. Her look turned serious. My eyebrows went up a trifle as I saw that look come over her face, that look of painful determination.

I swallowed hard, the fear starting to build in my stomach. "Not again!" I thought, my mind reeling with fright. Aunt Dolly crossed her arms, and said resolutely, "Before you go off to school, I need to give you a reminder, something that will help you to focus on your responsibilities."
A feeling like a cold dash of water washed over me. "You wait in the sitting room, while I go get my hairbrush. A few minutes over my knee will re-light that fire in your bottom, and help you keep your mind on the right path."

The words didn't come out, but my mind was virtually screaming "NO! NO! Please, aunt Dolly, NO!" I didn't know how I was going to bear the vicious sting of that old-fashioned wooden hairbrush when it smacked down smartly on my tenderized bare bottom.

Woodenly, I went to the sitting room, as ordered, and soon heard her steps coming down the hall stairs. My eyes widened as I saw the hairbrush; its wide oval back of polished caramel-colored wood, the dense cluster of blonde bristles that gave it weight and substance, the nicely curved hand-filling handle, designed for optimum control.

Aunt Dolly wasted no time, but took an old padded, straight-backed chair and set it where she would have room to work. Rolling up her right sleeve, she sat down and motioned me to her.
Like a zombie, I obeyed, and with tears beginning to flow, waited as she first took down my pants, then stripped my undershorts all the way down to my ankles. "Over my knee." She said simply, patting one denim-covered thigh.

Looking down at her, I wanted to beg off, but the words wouldn't come.
Seeing my discomfort, she took hold of my left arm and pulled me firmly down across her lap, drawing me down slowly into position. Shifting her thighs, she got my backside at the right angle, and laid her left hand across my back. "When you get to school today, James, every time you sit down you're going to remember what happens to those who don't behave properly, sooner or later."

"Please, Aunt Dolly, I prom.." My voice had finally begun to work, but too late. The hairbrush snapped down on my right cheek soundly, stinging like a handful of bees, cutting off my plea in mid-sentence. "AHHHHHHH! OWWW!" I yelped, as the varnished wooden brush punished the area that had been so well-strapped the previous afternoon.

My cries merged into one long litany of repentance and anguish as she spanked and spanked, and spanked. As my tenderized bare bottom grew hotter and redder, aunt Dolly deftly plucked my wildly questing right hand out of the air as it sought to protect my burning rear from the blazing sting of the varnished wooden hairbrush. Pinning it firmly to my side, she shifted position slightly and concentrated on smacking every square inch of my upturned bare bottom until it fairly glowed. Some time during the process, she found it necessary to adjust my position, winding up with me draped across her left knee and her right leg thrown across both of mine.
I stood bawling, pants around my ankles, eyes and nose leaking, frantically rubbing my blazing bottom.

Aunt Dolly, a crooked little smile on her face, regarded me with a bit of amusement.
I must have been a slight.

Crossing her arms, she said confidently, "I don't guess you'll be skipping school again any time soon, hmm?"

I managed to choke out a strangled "No, Ma'am!"
She smiled as I turned to go, still hauling up my pants. Aiming a swat at my retreating bottom, she said cheerfully, "Well, clean up and git, or you'll miss your bus and I'll have to paddle your rear all over again and drive you to school in the pickup."
My feet never touched the stairs.

1998 kfr975