The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Thursday, May 30, 2013

The Woodville Whipper

Now is the time for a little levity. Have you heard of the Woodville Whipper? Do you even know where Woodville is? You'd better be alert when you reach the city limits--slow down for God's sake!

                             THE WOODVILLE WHIPPER

If you travel to Woodville, an obscure little place,
And run afoul of the law, you might see my face;
Who am I, you may ask? My name's Freddie Lipper,
And I'm the official Woodville Town Whipper.

In the village of Woodville, there's no bars and no locks,
Cause we've got the frame and the post and the stocks;
In the village of Woodville, we don't need a jail,
The punishment's given right on your bare tail.

To the problem of crime we have a solution,
A spanking---we think that it's fine retribution;
For speeding and drinking and spittin' and swearing,
For all manner of sins it's your bottom we're baring.

You'll go into the stocks--those boards hold you fast,
Your skirt will come up, panties down at half mast,
Then I'll do my job, oh you'll feel the heat,
Applied most judiciously to your bare seat.

You'll see what I mean, that we mean what we say,
When I tell of a lass who wandered our way;
Now maybe she was wasn't aware of our laws,
But your hiney may pay, 'though your knowledge has flaws.

Now one morning in May when the buds were a'poppin,
This gal breezes through town without even stoppin';
She was speeding for sure, now that's very hurtful,
The proof of her crime, it was incontrovert'ble.

To Judge Tanner she went to determine her fate,
She said, "But your honor I was running so late;
The judge said, "Now, miss, that's no good excuse,
Ten licks you will get on your bare white caboose."

And she wailed, "But please judge, it should just be a fine;
All other towns do this, that should be the line;"
The judge said, "Well, miss, you may think we're brain addled,
 But mark me young lady, you're going to be paddled."

And then did he turn and he spoke to yours truly,
"Take little miss here, and go do your duty;
Take up a paddle, you best make it wooden,
Bare her behind and then give her a good 'un."

Now this gal was a knockout with fine golden hair,
A princess for sure, a creature so rare,
Long legs and firm breasts, she sure was a beauty,
But the job fell to me, to paddle her booty.

So to the town stocks, it was there we did go;
She put up a fight, good grief, what a row!
I got her locked in, all tight, snug and neat,
So next I commenced to baring her seat.

I lifted her skirt and pinned it quite high,
To reveal two fine cheeks clad in not much, oh my!
Her bottom was full and luscious and round,
And I knew right away it would wobble and bound,
When I commenced with the spanking, so firm and so sound.

So I took up my paddle, I got in my stance,
"Any last words, young lady? Now this is your chance;"
Hearing no words at all, I asked was she ready?
And finally she wailed, "Please don't paddle me, Freddy."

But now was the time for applying the sentence,
The hour was nigh to instill some repentance;
With paddle in hand I drew my arm back,
And delivered the blow with an earsplitting crack!

Her fanny, it wobbled, it must have been hot,
As I applied whack! after crack! after swat!
To those luscious rounds of this lady's fine bottom,
As I said, it's my job--- they pay me to swat 'em;

She shrieked and she howled with anguish and dread,
But I smacked her fair fanny until it was red;
But that's what I do, and I think that it's fittin',
My job is to make sure they have trouble sittin'.

So do your sales jobs, be a grocer, a logger
Me, I'm content to be the town flogger;
Some say the job's crude, some say that it's thankless,
But one thing's for certain--- it sure isn't spankless.

Yes, I've paddled bottoms, some fine and some fair,
I'm a right connoisseur of m'lady's derriere;
And if yours gets in trouble, I'll get around to it,
A tiring job, sure, but someone's got to do it.

So if you come to Woodville, now don't come careenin',
Your be-hind might pay, if you follow my meanin';
You'll meet up with me, my name's Freddy Lipper,
'Cause I am the official Woodville Town Whipper.

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

EBook news and an excerpt

The news today is that THE MILLS GOVERNESS,

will be released by Blushing Books tomorrow, May 29. This means that it will be available across multiple platforms including B&N, Kobo, iBooks and of course, carried in the Blushing Books catalog. Just go to and look for the "new from our publishing partners" tab.

Today I'm featuring a scene from the book, an F/m scene to be exact.

The background so far: Gordon Mills, an inventor has invented a time travel machine with which he projects his persona into that of a distant ancestor, in this case, young Richard Mills. Harriet Harwell is Richard's governess for the summer.

In many ways this novel is inspired by Glassco's The English Governess, one of my favorites. But I alaways felt a scene was missing from that novel. It needed an introductory incident that set the tone for the governess' control of young Richard that would occur later. It should have gone something like this:

Harriet Harwell stood on the bank, hands on her hips, glaring at Richard. She wore a severely tailored suit, a wide brimmed hat, and black gloves. At that moment Richard, in serious trouble, covered with mud looked up and had the idea that she was beautiful, even in her fury, which was evident.

"Well, Richard, " she said in a clipped tone. "It seems you have disobeyed me. Not only did you not tidy your room, but you came down here, which I forbade you to do. You are filthy and you have ruined a perfectly good suit of clothes. Get yourself out of there this instant."

Gordon felt a cold knot in the pit of Richard's gut. Miss Harwell had meant to be obeyed and now she was very angry.

"Get up and come with me to the house this instant," she ordered. Richard meekly pulled himself up. "I didn't mean to, Miss Harwell," he whined lamely, "I was going to clean my room...I didn't mean to get dirty I-I fell. You startled me."

Harriet whirled and faced the whining lad, fixing him with a withering gaze. "Master Richard, I don't care to hear your sorry excuses. You deliberately disobeyed me. I forbade you to play in that pond, and now look at you. You will have ample opportunity to make amends, sir. You will now follow me without delay."

At that she turned on her heel and marched off toward the house. Richard now completely cowed, trudged behind her, his steps plodding toward an uncertain fate. The girls were standing in the driveway as the pair approached. Their faces bore smirks at Richard's obvious discomfort, and Richard could overhear their speculation as he walked by.

"Oooh Richard is in trouble, Emily, what do you think Miss Harwell will do?" questioned Elizabeth.

"I fear our cousin may have a right good whipping for his disobedience. Serves him right, too," countered Emily.

Richard overheard the comments and involuntarily clenched his buttocks at the thought. That phrase--a right good whipping--resonated in his mind as he regarded Miss Harwell opening the back door to usher him in. He'd been spanked on occasion when his mother was alive, but she had died when he was ten. His father had been too distracted and busy to discipline the boy--hence Miss Harwell.

 She ordered the kitchen staff to heat some water. "As you can see," she told them as they regarded the sopping wet boy with some amusement, "he'll take quite a scrubbing." The cook, Edna, and Jenny, the maid, shook their heads with a smile as if to say, "Boys--wouldn't you know it--dirty, disobedient scamps."

"Come with me, straight to the upstairs bath, Master Richard." She took Richard by the elbow, pinching his nerve. He floundered along beside her. "Care that you don't touch anything," she admonished, but her grip controlled him so that they kept away from the walls. When they arrived at the large upstairs bathroom she ordered him in. "Now you will wait until the water arrives. I will return." And she left shutting the door behind her. Richard let out his breath in a big gasp and sat on a bench, dripping and cold. Shortly the water arrived courtesy of Jenny, a husky farm girl who was on the household staff. Behind her strode Miss Harwell wearing a white apron like nurses wear, a hefty long handled bath brush in her right hand. When Jenny had poured the steaming water into the tub, Harriet dismissed her and turned to Richard.

"Take off your clothes," she said flatly. Richard stared at her as if he could not comprehend. She still standing there, her lips pursed, her arms folded. Surely she didn't expect...

"Did you not hear me, Richard? I said take off your clothes."

"I-I... b-but with you here, I..." he stammered, blushing.

"I will tell you only one more time and I will then call upon Jenny to assist me, take off those dirty clothes at once, sir. I intend to scrub that mud off of you. You wandered into the pond like a disobedient child and now I'm going to bathe you like one."

Richard's blood froze. Gordon felt the sharp chill of fear and embarrassment. She was going to see him naked! And give him a bath like he was a six-year-old! He had never felt so humiliated. The look on her face meant business and Richard rose to slowly strip in front of the imperious mistress. He did not want Edna or anyone else to see him naked. He reached his under shorts and hesitated. "Please, Miss Harwell, I'll clean myself up. I'll bathe really well. You don't have to help me."

"Richard, I've had enough of your foolishness. I mean to bathe you myself and you will take those drawers off and climb in that tub this instant," she said pointing the wicked looking bath brush in his direction.

With a shiver he eased down his last scrap of clothing exposing his blushing body to the stern Miss Harwell. He felt completely humiliated having to strip in front of his governess. It was so shameful to be exposed this way to this young woman. And to his horror he felt his penis harden as he slid his pants down. He hastened to cover his private parts with his hands, but he knew she could see his stiffening prick. Her eyes narrowed and she glared at his reaction.

"That will be enough of that. Get in the bath at once," she commanded.

Richard hastily obeyed, but yelped as he climbed in, the water was so hot. Miss Harwell approached, a bar of strong soap and the bath brush in her hand. She sat on a bench beside the tub and proceeded to scrub the dirt caked boy. She was none too gentle about it and Richard thought she was going to scrub the skin off. He was especially embarrassed when she made him stand up while she scrubbed his legs, groin, and bottom. The harsh bristles hurt on the tender skin of his behind. She scrubbed him head to toe and when she was finished Richard thought she had surely taken off a layer of skin. She rose from the stool and fetched a towel.

"Get up Richard. I'm going to dry you off and then we must talk about your behavior."

Completely subdued, Richard rose, dripping. At Miss Harwell's command he stepped out of the tub. Miss Harwell sat on the bench and held open the towel for Richard. As he stood between her legs she vigorously rubbed him with the towel. Richard flinched as the harsh toweling chafed his skin now made pink from the bath brush. "Ow, Miss Harwell, ow..." he yelped.

 "Hold still, Richard. Don't squirm you naughty boy. I'm not of a mind to be gentle with you after your wretched behavior. Now then," she said apparently finished, "it's time to talk about your disobedience." A cold chill went up Richard's spine. He was naked and his governess was seated at a bench with a long-handled bath brush in her hand. "Turn around and face me, Richard."

Richard turned holding the towel in front of his body to face Miss Harwell seated on the bench. "What you did was in direct defiance of my orders, wasn't it?"

"Y-yes, Miss Harwell," admitted Richard.

"I specifically forbade you to go to that pond, didn't I?"

"Yes, but..."

"I will have no excuses, Richard. You disobeyed me and you will now be punished for it. Now put that towel down and place yourself across my knee."

"Oh, no, please miss, no," wailed Richard when he realized what she intended, his worst fears confirmed. She intended to spank him like a child.

"Do not add defiance of my command to your list of sins, Richard. Across my lap at once, you wicked boy. I'm going to teach you a good lesson in obedience."

Richard froze, which prompted a disgusted Miss Harwell to jerk the towel away. She gripped the blubbering boy by the earlobe and forced him, squealing, face down over her knee. She grabbed his right hand and twisted it up behind his back while simultaneously lifting her right leg. This forced Richard's nose toward the floor and raised his buttocks vulnerably pointing the unblemished cheeks upward. While Richard's response was one of deep shame at being upended nude over Miss Harwell's lap, Gordon's was one of fear. He had never felt a spanking before.

 Speculation about the physical sensation to be visited on Richard's buttocks ended with a swift volley of stinging smacks from Miss Harwell's capable right palm. She spanked hard, visiting alternate cheeks of the chubby boyish behind with sharp cracks that resounded off the hard walls of the steamy bathroom.

"Ow...ow...ow..." wailed Richard, squirming and kicking his legs in response to the surprisingly sharp pain. She was only using the palm of her hand and it stung like blazes. She spanked with a rapid fire arm motion that delivered smack after stinging smack to the tender seat previously scrubbed to a healthy pink by the brush. Gordon was quite overwhelmed by the pain. It stung worse than anything he had ever experienced.

"I mean you to mind me young man *smack!smack! smack!* So when I tell you *smack! smack!* not to *smack! whap!* play in that pond I mean for you to obey *smack! crack! whap!* Do you understand me?"

"Owwww....aaah...yes, Miss Harwell," bleated Richard. But Miss Harwell just kept spanking Richard's reddening buttocks with brisk smacks applied equally between the two bobbing mounds. Richard couldn't help but writhe and jerk, but Miss Harwell had him in a steely grip. Determined to administer a punishment that Richard would remember, she increased the tempo of the shamefully juvenile smacking, now concentrating on the very crown of Richards bottom cheeks. Richard pleaded for mercy, but the relentless spanking continued. Richard felt his eyes well up with tears, it hurt so much.

After what seemed like an eternity, Miss Harwell stopped, resting her palm on the summits of Richard's red and stinging bottom. Thinking it was over, Richard made to rise, but Miss Harwell held him down.

"We are not yet finished, Richard," she said. To his horror Richard felt her hand move away and heard a wooden clatter. She was picking up the bath brush! He squirmed in panic. "Hold still at once Richard. I mean this to be a salutary chastisement, sir, one you will remember the next time you are tempted to disobey."

Richard felt more than heard a whoosh of air and then CRACK! the brush landed on his buttocks flattening both cheeks and causing more pain than Richard believed possible. Richard screamed in pain and the tears began to flow in earnest as crack after crack of the wicked brush fell on his wriggling fanny.

Downstairs the household staff could hear the loud crack of the brush and Richard's piteous wails.

"The young Miss is giving Master Richard a good seeing to," remarked Jenny. "She was quite angry with him," said Edna nodding as the smacks and howls continued to emanate from the upstairs bathroom. "I wouldn't want to be in his shoes," remarked Jenny, "I had enough spankings myself growing up and this one sounds like a doozy."

Gordon had never in his life felt anguish like this. His seat was aflame and the intensity of the spanking layered stinging pain on top of stinging pain. He was aware that Richard was blubbering and babbling--pleading for mercy, wriggling over Miss Harwell's knee, crying salty tears. The last ten smacks were hard slow and deliberate. Each one carried with it a litany of repentance.

CRACK! "Will you obey my rules?"
CRACK! "Will you mind me?"
"Ouch....aaah...please, yes..."

Down the hall in their bedroom Elizabeth and Emily listened raptly to the shameful punishment being meted out to their cousin. Elizabeth's own tender bottom cheeks clenched in involuntary sympathy as she listened to the crack of the hard brush. Emily shuddered as she realized that Miss Harwell would not hesitate to treat her the same.

Harriet Harwell finally stopped and regarded her handiwork. The boy's bottom was a bright red, and swollen. She had punished him severely, but no more than what was warranted. She relaxed her grip and raised Richard to his feet. Richard was sobbing uncontrollably. He had forgotten he was standing nude in front of Miss Harwell. She lifted his chin as he rubbed his blistered sit spot and raised his eyes to hers.

"Now Richard, I hope you have learned your lesson. I will not tolerate disobedience. Well?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," sobbed Richard. God, his behind stung! Gordon was in shock. Never, never do I want to have that done to me again, he thought. I'll do anything. But what could he do? Richard was a kid, a young adolescent. In a few days he would forget about this and tempt fate again. He had to exert his will--control Richard.

"Now, you will be confined to your room for the evening. Supper will be sent up to you. Go," she commanded.

"Yes, Miss Harwell. I'm sorry, I really am," said the tearful boy. "I won't do it again."

"I'm sure you won't," said Harriet Harwell with a thin smile.

Much more happens, of course, to Richard and to his female cousins who are also under the tender care of Miss Harwell. The book features a little bit of everything as far as orientation goes--F/f, M/F, as well as F/m. But it remains primarily a femdom novel. The time travel angle provides a sort of war-between-the-sexes and I've always thought of this as The English Governess meets Back to the Future.

Saturday, May 18, 2013

The Countess and the Magician

Here is part 1 of a serial I wrote about a spy mission in WWII on the eve of the Normandy invasion. Now I know what you're thinking--what could this possibly have to do with TTWD? But trust me and read on.


Part 1

Saint-Die, France, March, 1944…..

The sleek black staff car pulled up to the entrance of the large French chateau. The driver got out and opened the door for the general who emerged, lifted his head, and looked around. Satisfied, he strode to the door. Someone knew he was coming because the door was flung open by a servant in formal livery. The general never broke stride. He stepped into the foyer and proffered his cap and broadcoat, never acknowledging the servant who took them.

“General Stok, how nice to see you.” An attractive and slender woman in a long black dress approached. Her blonde hair was held in an elegant coif atop her head. Her eyes were blue and her lips were painted a vivid red.

“Countess, the pleasure is all mine,” said the general, bowing stiffly at the waist.

“You have been at the front, have you not? Preparing to repel the invaders, I hope.” Everyone knew an invasion was coming. No one knew exactly when or where, but it was coming.

The general rubbed his hands together. “Preparing a surprise, Countess, a little surprise.”

The Countess took his arm. “But now is not the time to speak of that. Now is the time to relieve the stress of war, no? We have been expecting you, general, and we have a surprise I know a man of your refined tastes will appreciate.”

She led the general through the luxurious well appointed mansion. “We have made a special room, just for you.” She whispered in his ear, “You have always desired to be a schoolmaster, haven’t you? At a school for young ladies? Yes, I know it. So, for the weekend, you are one.” She smiled and the general seemed to positively shiver with delight.

Taking the general’s arm, she escorted him to his quarters, a large suite in the mansion’s west wing. “Relax, change clothes and freshen up, general. When you are ready, just call for me.” She departed and the general’s luggage arrived. He changed out of his uniform and selected a suit of the type a head master in a Prussian school might wear. That done, he sat at a desk by the window and looked out over the grounds while helping himself to a glass of the fine French wine that had been so thoughtfully provided. The grounds of the French country estate were perfectly manicured, and he took some time to let his eyes roam and soak in the ambiance. No use rushing things. He took some time to make sure his briefcase was properly secured in the safe he had had installed some weeks back. Being a regular at the chateau had its privileges. He was only the engineering corps head, but the information he carried contained allocation information, what went where and how much. Someone could glean much about Germany’s defense posture knowing such information.

After a pleasant respite he picked up the house phone and informed the staff that he was ready to see the Countess.


“Headmaster, this is Ilse. I regret having to trouble you with this problem, but Ilse has been most insubordinate and ill behaved.”

The Countess gripped the arm of Ilse who stood just inside the doorway of the “schoolroom”. The general noted with approval the gray schoolgirl jumper covering a white blouse, the sheer white stockings and the plain black shoes. The look was juvenile, the girl was not. Her blonde hair held in two pigtails, Ilse was a picture of seething sexuality masquerading as schoolgirl innocence. Stok noted the fulsome breasts straining against the blouse, the shapely calves, the peaches and cream complexion and the large blue eyes.

The general had been shown to a room in the East wing. It had all the furnishings of a schoolmaster’s study. A desk sat in front of overstuffed bookcases, while a plush sofa with a large roll topped arm rest at one end rested against a far wall. But what drew the general’s eye was the stool that stood in a corner. Four sturdy legs on a heavy frame supported a concave slatted top. Each of the legs featured buckling straps. Next to the stool was a tall cylindrical container, and Stok could see that it held slim wands, canes of varying length and thickness.

“I will leave her with you now, headmaster. I trust that you will correct her behavior appropriately.” The Countess smiled and took her leave.

Stok regarded the girl for a moment. The Countess had outdone herself. This one was a beauty, a heady combination of innocence and sexuality.
“Come here, Ilse,” he said. “Tell me, girl, what trouble has landed you in my study?”

“Oh, sir. I’ve done nothing…please sir,” she pleaded. Her anxiety seemed genuine.

“It was more than ‘nothing’, I suspect, Ilse. Students are not reported to me for trivialities. I fear I am going to have to punish you, Ilse.” He ambled over to the container and handled several of the canes. Selecting a thin yellow wand, he pulled it out and flexed it. It was very whippy. He found he could bend it in a full circle. Ilse viewed the implement of her impending chastisement with alarm. Her hands seemed to sneak behind her of their own accord, as if she could shield her tender bottom from the cane’s bite.

Stok dragged the stool to the middle of the room. “And now fraulein, you will disrobe.”

“Please, sir, must I? It’s indecent. I am innocent.”

“Obedience is required Ilse. This appears to be the problem. You will disrobe for punishment…now!” Stok emphasized this last command with a sharp whack of the cane against the seat of the stool. Ilse flinched at the sound. But then she obeyed. Stok watched with anticipation as she slipped the straps of her jumper off of her shoulders. She unbuttoned the skirt and let it fall to her feet. Next the blouse came off leaving her in stockings held by garters tied in bows, tap pants and a short camisole.

Absolutely lovely, thought Stok. She stood there, waiting, her teeth gnawing her upper lip apprehensively. “The rest of it,” said Stok, gesturing with the cane. The camisole came off, revealing perfectly formed breasts. Gingerly she slipped the tap pants down. A real blonde. “Turn around,” said Stok.

The girl turned slowly. Stok drew in a breath. Her buttocks were magnificent, plump rounded orbs with a sinuous crease between. Her bottom was set off by the stockings that ran halfway up her thighs, tied by cute bows.

“Come here Ilse, and assume the position. Over the stool with you, girl. Let’s see if a dozen good strokes of the cane will help you mind your manners.”

“Oh no, sir, please. I’ll be good in the future. I promise.” Ilse tried to cover her nakedness as she pled her case. It was to no avail.

“Now, girl,” said Stok, swishing the cane through the still air.

The girl jumped. She is genuinely frightened. Probably some hungry farm girl the Countess had promised a good meal. Then she is probably familiar with the switch. Gingerly, she came forward and prostrated herself across the stool. Stok placed the cane under his arm and secured her wrists and legs with the buckling straps. He felt the girl tremble as he cinched the straps tight. Stok stood back and contemplated his handiwork.

Ilse’s buttocks were a joy to behold, thrust out in readiness for the application of his whippy cane. Full, round and pert, they seemed to beg for the rod. Stok tapped her bottom a few times. “One dozen, Fraulein  Ilse, for your impertinence.” The girl’s bottom quivered as she shifted slightly.

Stok drew back his arm. The cane bent in the air as it descended with a sick whine. Whoosh…thwack! The rod struck precisely on the crowns of her buttocks. Ilse wailed and threw her head back. A red line appeared across her seat.


“Ow! Please, sir!”

A pause…again the cane descended in a blur.

Swish…thwack! A red weal appeared.

“Yow, oh, yow!” She vainly shuffled her feet.
“Ya, this is good German discipline, Ilse,” said Stok as he whipped the cane in a shallow arc, slicing through the air and landing with a sharp thwack!

“Oh, yow! Yow!” wailed Ilse. She waggled her buttocks lewdly trying to shake off the atrocious sting. It only inflamed Stok further.

Stok set out to stripe the girl’s seat with even, methodical strokes, pausing every now and then to inspect his handiwork. It was heaven. Each time the rod struck, Ilse’s bottom globes rippled from the impact. Another red weal appeared. She ground her hips in a lewd manner as if enticing a lover, but Stok knew she was just trying to shake off the awful sting.

By the time twelve strokes had been applied the girl was begging for mercy hysterically and her bottom was a mass of livid stripes. Stok put down the cane and came around to her front. He was beside himself. Caning the succulent behind of this tender morsel had inflamed him with lust. Unbuttoning his fly he pulled out a steely erection that he directed toward the girl’s lips.

“Now let us see how truly repentant you are Ilse. Be a very good girl and the cane will stay where it is.”

Ilse opened her mouth and engulfed the general’s prick, sucking as if her life depended on it. The general leaned back and closed his eyes. It was ecstasy. He would let her carry on for a time and then he would remove his hardness from her mouth. He wanted to take her from behind while she was still secured across the whipping stool. And it was only the beginning of the weekend…

An airstrip south of London…

The major and the man from MI5 waited for the plane to land on the runway in this out of the way airstrip in southern England.

“On time,” said the civilian, looking at his watch. The old DC-3 had seen better days, but it had made it. Good.

“So this is the man who can run La Fleur?” asked the major.

“Yes. We have every confidence. He ran several very ticklish operations in North Africa. They call him ‘The Magician’”.

“Why?” asked the major.

“Because he can move seemingly invisibly. He can get in and out of places others can’t. Don’t know how he does it. The man has an odd history. As a child he travelled with his missionary parents to the Far East. They died in some accident when he was ten. He was taken in by an old man in a fishing village off the coast of Japan, and he lived there until he was nearly twenty two. Then he traveled overland to the West, finally to Europe, working here and there, until he was nearly thirty. He eventually made his way to America. The war had broken out by then and he enlisted. During training, his rather special skills were noted and he was recruited into Bill Donovan’s outfit.”

“Hmmpf,” grunted the major. “We’ll see. Our agent La Fleur has been in place in Paris since before the war. She is a valuable asset. She has papers, a residence. A bona fide French citizen. She asked specifically for Caroline Grey for this operation. Why, we are not sure.”

“But now is the time to use La Fleur,” said Wycliff, the man from MI5. “She has identified a member of the German high command who carries valuable information with him. We think The Magician can get it. But he needs cover. That is where Caroline Grey comes in. The mission requires some unique personnel. We need a data analyst. Caroline Grey is a good one. We need a pretty girl who is fluent in French and German. Caroline Grey is very pretty and speaks both languages. And LaFleur had another reason she’s not sharing, but it’s enough for us. Caroline Grey it is.”

The man who emerged from the plane didn’t look all that special. Perhaps a shade under six feet tall, he was lean and fit, but otherwise ordinary looking, with a shock of dark unkempt hair and a three day growth of beard. Dressed in the rumpled uniform of the American army, Captain Marc Merlin was hardly impressive at first glance.

But Benny Gant was impressed. The American had absorbed all that he could teach him about safecracking in a very short time. They had been at the country house for two weeks now, and they’d been working at it twelve hours a day. Benny’s parole had been secured by MI5 in exchange for his expertise in certain activities that had previously landed him in prison. As long as he cooperated with the spymasters who had sprung him, he enjoyed quarters considerably more pleasant than those at his previous address.


Caroline Grey threw her luggage on the bed and sat, exhausted. It was now close to mission launch and she was finally ensconced at the air base near Dover. In a few short days she would board a plane and head for France…and her destiny. Why she had been snatched from her post in data analysis and put through an unbelievably difficult course of escape and evasion, unarmed combat, and parachuting, she still did not know. She had not been briefed on the mission details yet. Need to know, they said. It was all so tightly compartmentalized. They had promised to tell her everything in good time. All she knew was that she was going to parachute into occupied France to meet someone, and to travel with an American agent to provide cover and to analyze some data he was supposed to get. She spoke excellent French and German as she had been educated in Switzerland, at the exclusive girls’ school, The Academy of Saint Saen.

Saint Saen. The memory of the place sent a shiver up her spine---followed by a warm flush. Why was it the upper classes sent their children to study in the strictest, most demanding environments? If was as if a life of privilege required that they endure a right of passage to test their mettle. And a test it had been. The good sisters had been of the old school when it came to matters of discipline. There was Sister Bernadette and her martinet. It had hung on a hook in her office, and woe betide the unfortunate student sent to attend her for penance.

Caroline had had that experience. A frolic out of bounds had landed Caroline and two of her schoolmates in considerable trouble. After a proper scolding, sentence had been pronounced--- report to Sister Bernadette for correction. Such a sentence meant only one thing---a whipping.

The three had arrived at the office of Sister Bernadette at the appointed hour on wobbly legs, frightened out of their wits. Sister Bernadette had a small annex attached to her office. It was a narrow chamber with one high slotted window, but otherwise bare---except for the padded block…and for the martinet that hung from a hook on the wall. They had eyed it as if it were a serpent about to strike. Five thin strands of leather eighteen inches long hung from a dark polished wooden handle. Its efficacy as an implement of hellish sting had been attested to by all their classmates. She recalled that Joselle had gone in first, and that she and Celia were thus forced to hear what was transpiring. And they could, even through the oaken door. Every few seconds there was a swish…thwack! Then a wail of distress. Twenty lashes, they had counted, together with Joselle’s piteous sobbing.

Then it had been her turn. She had quaked with fear. It was going to hurt terribly, she knew it. She had heard the stories. She had entered as bidden, passing Joselle, now leaving, sobbing and rubbing her bottom under the schoolgirl skirt. As commanded, she knelt over the block. When given the command to raise her skirt, she did so. Then came the awful command to lower her drawers to her knees. As she slid the drawers down, she had felt a cool breeze on her exposed skin. Her bottom had been thus rudely bared and made ready for correction.

“Twenty lashes, Caroline Grey,” had been all that Sister Bernadette had said. She had sucked in a breath. A second later she heard the whip’s whine and a hot stinging sensation had exploded across her buttocks, literally taking her breath away. Lash followed lash, striping her bare bottom. With each stroke she felt the searing pain and had gritted her teeth. It had kept getting worse, sting piling upon sting as the relentless whipping had continued until all twenty harsh strokes had been meted out. She had emerged from the chamber weeping, her bottom swollen and red, a thoroughly punished schoolgirl. She’d taken care after that to behave.

And then there was Angelique Dubois, her assigned senior girl. Tall, lithe, beautiful Angelique with her golden curls and her aristocratic bearing. The seniors were each assigned a girl, like a little sister. Caroline was Angelique’s. She cleaned her room, polished her shoes, made her tea, kept her effects tidy. But she was not perfect and when she fell short, there were consequences. In her way, Angelique was as much the disciplinarian as Sister Bernadette. Prefects were permitted to discipline within reason, and Angelique, she discovered, liked to spank. So Caroline, at times, found herself face down across her senior’s lap, her bottom bare, while Angelique spanked her, the crisp smacks from her palm turning her seat a hot pink. Afterwards, Angelique would laugh and kiss and cuddle her, telling her she was forgiven. From there they had ended up in Angelique’s bed, where Angelique’s fingers and tongue had driven her over the edge with ecstasy. And under Angelique’s tutelage she had learned to reciprocate. It was a relationship that had lasted for two years, then Angelique was gone. Caroline never knew where and missed her terribly. Still, Caroline had lived in fear during that time that they would be discovered by Sister Bernadette and that the penance for such delights of the flesh would have been severe indeed. But no one ever knew.

She stopped her woolgathering long enough to reconsider the mission.

Even though the details were as yet a mystery, she’d jumped at the chance to go. To actually go into the field for MI5! Intensely patriotic, she saw this as a chance to make a real difference in the war effort. She had joined the service hoping for a field assignment, but thus far she’d been relegated to a desk. So, when approached with this mysterious request she had said yes and had doggedly endured the 4am morning training, the sixteen hour days, the bruising physical conditioning. She was a Grey after all. Her father and all her brothers were serving honorably in important positions. So she would too. She wasn’t just a helpless girl, despite what her brothers thought. She’d show them.

Her instructor in tradecraft turned out to be the American. The first time she laid eyes on him she had to catch her breath. He wasn’t really handsome. His face was too craggy and angular, the nose a bit out of joint. But those dark and brooding eyes. The man’s quiet intensity. He radiated male sensuality and Caroline found herself far from immune. He made her feel like an awkward schoolgirl in the throes of a crush on her professor. But he was all business.

“The thing you don’t realize,” he said, “is that you could be under surveillance at any time. Never get out of your role. Someone could be watching. You are a French schoolgirl and I am your uncle, escorting you. This is who we are until we meet with La Fleur in Paris. Then she, whoever she is, will brief us on the rest of it.”

“They say she asked for me specifically. Who is she?”

“I don’t know and better that you don’t either. We’ll pick up instructions at a dead drop in Paris. Remember,” he added, “do what I say without question.”

She said she understood. She seemed earnest, but Merlin wasn’t sure. The girl was green. She was eager to go, but was also dangerously naive. Why this agent, La Fleur, wanted her, Merlin didn’t know, but he promised himself he’d do whatever it took to keep her from blowing their cover. The girl was pretty, that was certain. Her chestnut hair hung to her shoulders, framing a round face with green eyes set wide apart, a dainty nose and a creamy complexion. The rest of her was attractive as well. At five feet six inches tall she had a trim but curvy figure and well shaped calves that hinted at even shapelier legs. When she walked ahead of him, Merlin could not help but note the shift of the rounded cheeks of her bottom that strained against the tightly fitted skirts she favored.

On the twelfth of April the mission launched.

Merlin tightened his seat harness. It was a choppy ride. He looked at Caroline. She was wild eyed with some mix of excitement and apprehension. After weeks of training, too little in Merlin’s estimation, the mission was a go. The La Fleur had radioed that the time was now, the weather had broken, and so here they were, flying low across the Channel into occupied France. They would rendezvous with the resistance who would help get them to Paris--- if they survived the jump, that is.

To be continued....

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Book News--Blushing Books

I am happy to announce that THE NAUGHTY WIVES COLLECTION VOL.1 is now available at Blushing Books. As you may know Blushing Books is the largest and oldest purveyor on the internet of erotic spanking fiction, featuring well known writers such as Renee Rose, Cara Bristol, Sue Lyndon, Ana Vitsky, Celeste Jones and many others. So I'm in very august company. The great thing about this is that it is available on multiple platforms now, EPUB, MOBI, and PDF. The link is

This book is just the first. Over the coming months I will be releasing all of the works that you see in the panel to your right in the Blushing Books online store. They will also be available from Barnes and Noble, e-Diesel, and AllRomance, just to name a few.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Guest Author Series--"The Card" by BCC

Here is a story by an author who wrote for a time on the old SSS newsgroup on USENET. The author's handle was BCC or sometimes BCCFafnir. This is a cute little story about some interesting coupons that fall into hands other than those for whom they were intended.


"I'll need your last appointment of the day. How late are you open?"

"Well, someone is usually here until 6:00. But, I can give you just
about any time you need."

"6:00 would be great, if it is not too much of an inconvenience."

"It's not an inconvenience. I'll see you at 6:00 on Thursday."

It was not an inconvenience, but it was damn passing strange. Sure,
it is possible. But it is unusual, and in my experience
unprecedented. Kids just do not think much about trusts and estates.


"Miss Worthington is here to see you. Are you sure you're not going
to need me?"

"No, that's fine. Please show her in, and then lock the door."



I think I recognized her. At least, I think so now. She was quite a
bit taller, but the face was the same as I remember. I rose to meet

"Please have a seat, Miss Worthington. I'm Michael Patel."

"Rebecca Worthington. Bekki."

"Your initial call did not give me a lot to work with. So, what can I
do for you?"

She took a moment and just sat looking at me. That was fair enough.
A client needs to have faith in the attorney, so a couple of moments
of assessment are not unwarranted. In this case, however, she was
entitled to take days.

"My mother died recently. Her name was Ellen Worthington. But you
knew her as Ellen Frey."

Ellen Frey. It had been almost twenty years since I last saw Ellen.
It had been almost eighteen years since I gave up trying to find her.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. She had cancer, and it was eating her alive."

We both sat quietly for a moment. I think Miss Worthington just
watched me. I do not recall what I was looking at, or whether I said
anything else. I was caught in one of those interminable flashbacks.
The night before I left for Chicago, we should have held each other
all night. Instead we fought. We fought over everything. But most of
all, we fought against our own unwillingness to compromise. If Miss
Worthington had not started speaking again, I would probably still be
reliving that last night.

"I was born Rebecca Frey. Mom married my dad when I was six. He
adopted me. He's a wonderful man, and I love him with all my heart.
But he isn't my real father. I've always hated my real father for
abondoning me. But when Mom died, she left me her diary. She never
told my real father about me. He never knew. So all the years that I
spent hating him were wasted. I have been feeling guilty about that."

"So, what can I do for you, Miss Worthington?"

"There was something else in her diary."

She reached into her purse and pulled out the card. It was a silver,
standard sized business or calling card, of exceedingly high quality
cotton paper. I had not seen one like it in over twenty years. She
passed the card across my desk.

"Do you recognize it?"

"Yes. I do."


I was at an estate sale. The deceased had been the last in a line of
family printers going back to the 1800's. The sale was winding down.
I was among the last rummagers. There were still reams of paper, some
odd typeset, and various assorted boxes and bags of miscellanies. But
at the back of a shelf was one long box of five hundred unprinted
silver business cards. The lady at the checkout took two dollars for
the box. I returned to my apartment with five hundred silver business
cards, and no clue what I was going to do with them.

We were not living together, yet. But we were lying, spooned, in
bed. I was lying behind Ellen. I was holding both of her wrists over
her head with my left hand. With my right, I was alternately teasing
her breasts, or massaging between her legs. We still were making up.

Up until a few hours earlier, Ellen had been in active pout mode.
She had been well spanked by hand first for smoking after she agreed
to quit, and then by the broad wooden hairbrush that we had bought
solely for that purpose, for lying to me about it.

"I've got it," I exclaimed, while pinching her right nipple.

"Yes, you fucking do! Now let it go!"

"Quit fussing," I warned her, as I released the nipple and cupped the
small, pert breast.

"I'm not fussing, dammit."

I released her breast, and gave her well marked bottom a smack.


"Be quiet for a moment and listen. You know that box of silver
business cards."

"You mean the ones that I asked you, 'What the fuck did you buy those
for' ?"

"Yes, those. I figured out the perfect use for them," I explained,
as my right hand drifted back between her legs. "When you leave, I'm
going to give you a stack of those cards. Then whenever you
misbehave, all you have to do is come over and present me with one of
those cards. You don't have to explain. Just mark down the appropriate
punishment. For example, you decide to sneak a cigarette. Then you
mark down, say, twenty-five smack reminder. If you do it twice, then
you mark down fifty smacks, and ten with the brush. You know, mark
down whatever is reasonable. If you don't get an assignment in on
time, mark down fifty with a belt."

"Oh, yeah. That's sounds really reasonable. Ohhh. Not so fast!"

"Well, I suppose if you're having trouble, we can work out an
appropriate schedule"

"Oh. A schedule, huh?"

"Right. And then there is the matter of fees."

"Fees. You want fees?"

"Absolutely. Fees are certainly appropriate, since I will be
providing such a valuable service."

"This is a service?"

"Right, a valuable service."

"Okay. So what, are, the fees," she asked breathily.

"Hmm. Let's see, for a simple over-the-knee reminder, one French

"Sounds reasonable."

"I thought so. For a serious infraction warranting more than ten
strokes with an implement, or for a second violation in a fortnight,
one blow job. And finally, for two serious infractions, or three or
more violations in a month, one full fuck," I explained spreading my
fingers so that my pinkie could tease her anus while I continued to
probe in front. "Client's choice, front or back."

"Fine, I'm a four time loser. Front then. Now!"

When she left, I gave her a dozen cards. She questioned my parentage.
I, in turn, threatened to wash her mouth out with soap, and give her
another twenty-five smack reminder. Ultimately, however, I settled for
a simple, off the shelf, good-bye kiss. I did not think about the
matter again until a knock on my door at 11:00 p.m., about two weeks

Her name was Cindy. I do not recall her last name. She was one of
Ellen's suite mates in the dorms. I knew her in passing.

"Hey, Cindy. What's up?"

She did not say a word. She walked past me into the apartment. As I
closed the door, I saw her shoulders twitch twice. Cindy burst into
tears. I had no idea yet why she was standing in my hallway crying,
but I went over to comfort her.

"Hey. Shhh. It's okay. C'mon in."

I led her into the living room, such as it was. I shoveled books and
potato chips off of the couch, and invited her to sit down. She did.

"What's going on?"

"I f-failed my midterm."

"Okaaaay, " I replied tentatively, still unsure how this pertained,
in any manner, to myself.

"E-Ellen s-said to give you this," she clarified, holding out an
unprinted, standard sized silver business card.

"Oh. Really," I replied as enlightenment spread simultaneously
through my brain and my groin. I turned the card over. In neat,
clipped hand printed letters, the following was written, "Fifty
cracks--Hair brush; Corner Time."

Now Cindy was not known for her sense of humor. Further, her major
was engineering, not drama. Still, I remained dubious. I excused
myself, and ran back to the door. I went out into the hallway, and
looked carefully both ways. I ran down to the stairwell, and checked
both above and below the landing on my floor. Ellen did have a sense
of humor, and a key to my apartment.

I walked back into the apartment and closed the door. Cindy had not
moved from the couch. She also had not stopped crying. I brought her
over a box of tissues.

"Look at me, Cindy," I instructed. She looked up as she wiped her
eyes. "Did Ellen put you up to this?"

"N-no. Since I got the test b-back, I've sitting in my room c-crying.
I know I have to get back to w-work, but I c-can't. Ellen said that
she knew s-someone who could help."

"Did she tell you what that card is supposed to mean?"

"Y-yes, she did. Everything. That's my handwriting."

I took her head in my hands, and kissed her on the forehead.

"Look me in the eye, Cindy. Do you really want me to fetch my

"N-no, I'm scared. B-but go g-get it anyway."

I went back to my bedroom and retrieved the brush. I returned to the
living room and placed the good chair, that was the untorn card chair,
in the center. I handed the brush to Cindy.

"Are you sure?"

Cindy handed me the brush and nodded. I sat down on the card chair.
Cindy rose from the couch, and came over and stood in front of me.
She unsnapped her jeans. I unzipped the jeans, and lowered them to
her knees. I took her hand, and pulled her over my lap. I started to
pull her undies up into the crack of her ass, but Cindy stopped me.

"No, please. Just take them down."

I did. I laid the hairbrush down on her bottom. She clenched both
cheeks. I raised the brush, and waited.

"Last chance."

She nodded. I smacked. Crack! I did not live in the best of
neighborhoods. But gunfire was still unusual. I was surprised that
the first crack did not bring the police. I think Cindy was surprised
also. As bad as she thought it was going to be, reality was much
worse. Crack!

After half a dozen smacks down the middle to warm her up, I settled
into a nice rhythmic left smack, right crack pattern. From the very
outset, Cindy showed her roseate appreciation.

After about a dozen of the alternating smacks, Cindy settled in for
some serious crying. The preliminary tears on the couch were just a
warm up. Screw Boardwalk. With each fiery crack, Cindy demonstrated
that she owned the Water Works. Crack! Smack! Whack! Hell, living on
the third floor, I never imagined that I might need flood insurance.

Crack! By the time I reached thirty, Cindy's bottom was glowing, and
her legs were kicking wildly. I hooked my right leg over hers. Whack!
I was tempted to stop. She certainly had plenty to think about. But,
then again, she had set the number. Smack! It was only fair and
proper to give her what she had requested. Crack!

After forty-five blazing whacks, I paused. I set the brush down on
her back. I ran my hand over her rubescent globes.

"Cindy, quiet down. We're almost finished. I want you to listen to
me." It took an hour or two, but Cindy was finally able to shut down
enough valves to reduce the tears to a trickle. "That's a good girl.
Now, before I give you the last five, I want you to take a moment to
remember why you're here. Then after I give you the last five, I'm
going to put you in the corner for half an hour to think about it.
Now I want you to count down these last five. Do you understand, me?"

Cindy nodded. I lifted the brush. Cindy tensed. I waited











I set the brush down. I lifted Cindy up off of my lap. I took her by
the ear, and walked her over to the wall. There was no way to get past
the clutter to the corner. I placed her facing the wall with her hands
on her head, then went to the kitchen to set the timer on the stove
for half an hour. I walked into the bathroom, and threw cold water on
my face.

The buzzer finally sounded on the stove. I turned it off, and
returned to the living room. I walked up behind Cindy, took her hands
off her head, turned her around and hugged her. After holding her for
a few moments, and letting her cry on my chest, I realized that she
was still bare bottomed. I reached down to help pull up her undies,
but Cindy stopped me.

"I told you. Ellen explained everything. I still have to pay."

Cindy took several cards with her when she left. For the next year
and a half, a couple of times a month, a lady caller would arrive
bearing a silver card. On two occasions, there were multiple bearers.
In the fall of my final year of law school, Ellen moved in with me,
much to the chagrin of her parents. Ellen agreed that I should
continue to accept cards, but insisted that all services be provided
pro bono.


"Do you recognize it?"

"Yes, I do."

"Mom's diary was very explicit. It explained everything about the
silver cards." She reached out, and turned over the silver card.
Neatly written on the back were two lines, "Twenty-five hand" and
"Twenty-five brush". Miss Worthington opened her purse and took out a
wooden paddle hairbrush. It was not quite the same as the original,
but it was damn close.

"As I told you, I've been feeling very guilty about years of ill will
towards my real father, when he never even knew I existed. Are you
still accepting cards?"

I did not reply. Taking my silence as an affirmation, Miss
Worthington rose, and unfastened her skirt. She removed the skirt,
and laid it over the back of her chair. She turned, and held out the
hairbrush across the desk. I reached for it, but she did not release
her grip on it. Instead, she pulled it back gently, drawing my hand
with it. Without releasing my grip on the brush, I rose, and walked
around the desk. Miss Worthington turned her chair around to allow
more space. I sat down in the chair. Miss Worthington finally
released her grip on the hairbrush.

Without further instruction, Miss Worthington placed herself over my
lap. I set the brush down on the small of her back. Although Miss
Worthington was a good head taller, the pear shaped buttocks under her
nylons definitely came from Ellen Frey. As I raised my hand, I heard
Ellen whining, "I said I'll be good." I closed my eyes, and gave Miss
Worthington a resounding smack across both cheeks.


I used my own handkerchief to wipe away the last of her tears.

"You said that Ellen's diary explained everything?"

"Yes, everything."

"And how will you be paying for this appointment."

"Actually, this one is pro bono. According to the diary, until I was
six, my mother only slept with one man."

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Mother's Day Promo--free eBook

Starting midnight PDT and extending through Mother's Day, LaFORGE, my novel length trilogy will be free in the Amazon Kindle store. So don't just give mom a Kindle, iPad or tablet for Mother's Day---load it up with a steamy supernatural thriller consisting of a trio of interconnected romantic, sexy stories featuring plenty of spanking action. The link to LaFORGE can be found in the panel to the right. Just click on the title cover to go straight to Amazon.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013



here is a bonus short story that is included in that collection


A lot can happen in 31 hours......

THURSDAY 4:35 pm---just outside the front door of the high school

Now what was she doing, thought Rusty? Keri Presley was just waiting, it looked like. Out at the edge of the parking lot. But waiting for what? A ride? The team busses had returned, so who was she waiting for? Ross "Rusty" Clawson would have loved to continue to gaze at the lovely Miss Presley, but he had other things to do. He was acting principal this week. His boss, Bob Campbell, Prairie High's principal, was down with flu. Ditto Stu Kantor the assistant. In seniority he was third in line. So the lovely Miss Presley would have to be left to her own devices. He wished he figured in them but so far no luck. She wasn't aloof, far from it. She was this hearty, gregarious thirty five year old Texas gal transplanted here to this small town in the Pacific Northwest to be with her ailing mother. That's what Keri had told him after refusing his offer of a date, that she was just too preoccupied to have a social life.

They were both coaches. He coached boy's baseball and basketball and taught history. She coached girls' volleyball and softball and taught math. And they'd clicked in a casually friendly way. It was all teasing and wisecracking. But she told him she didn't have a lot of time for socializing. She was a country gal, an earthy type, passionate about 'her girls' and their sports. She'd been a teacher/coach for the last ten years. So upon her arrival Rusty had befriended her and had helped her get settled in, to understand the culture here. The area was actually bedrock conservative, ranchers and lumbermen, but different from Texas.

So they were just friendly colleagues for now, but Rusty would sure like to take it to the next level. She was dressed in that tight white tank top and short athletic skirt that showed off those wonderfully shaped and toned legs. It was her usual uniform for coaching sporting events. The skirt flared, but that didn't hide the delightful wiggle in her walk. Oh well, back to work. The day wasn't over yet---not for Rusty.


THURSDAY 4:47 pm---high school parking lot

There they were, the little madams. Caught them! Wheeling into the back of the parking lot in a convertible with two boys---from a rival school yet. "You two," she shouted, pointing. "In my office. Now."

"Miss Presley," the girls gasped, surprised to see her.

"And you," she said, hands on her hips and glaring at the two boys, "get out of here and don't come back!" Damn! She should have checked both busses. Heather Foster and Jamie Benning had obviously slipped out and ridden back with those two delinquents. Two of her best players and state finals coming. Damn and triple damn!

"What were you two thinking?" Keri was boiling mad. Heather and Jamie huddled nervously in chairs in front of Miss Presley's desk while she chewed them out. It was a noisy scolding but thankfully no one could hear her raised voice in her basement office next to the locker rooms. Most everyone was gone for the day. "Suppose there had been a wreck? Wait..." she sniffed. "Let me smell your breath."

She stood in front of the girls. Took a deep breath. "Beer. You've been drinking beer. I can't believe this. State finals in our grasp and you go out drinking beer with boys instead of returning on the team bus."

She paced in front of them. "You know what this means? I have to suspend you both. I can't let this go." She threw up her arms in exasperation.

That made the girls sit up with alarm. "Please don't suspend us, Miss Presley. We want to go to state. Our parents will find out. Please, we're sorry!" They were both jabbering at the same time. Oh, yeah, now they were sorry. They hadn't been sorry when Butch and Sundance out there had lured them into the car with promises of booze and God knows what else.

She knew how this would have been handled back in Texas. Her old mentor and coach, Mrs. Lord, would have dealt with it her way. She would have sent them to the showers and told them to report back in nothing but a towel. She kept a pinewood paddle in her desk drawer, an unofficial "attitude adjuster". They would have been told to drop the towels and bend across her desk. A good dozen hard swats on bare girlish butts after the shower would have fixed this, and they'd have never done it again. Accept the punishment, stay on the team, that was her deal. Keri knew. She'd been one of those girls once.

But they didn't do that here. Frickin' hippie northwest. Well, it's about time they learned how we do it Texas style. But she had no paddle or anything like it. And it would have to be on the QT. But if she knew her girls, they'd take their licking and keep quiet about it. Maybe just a good old fashioned spanking like mamma would dish out----that would bring them down a peg. A little voice told her to be careful, but she was so damn angry, she didn't listen.

"Ok, girls. You want to stay on the team and not be suspended?"

At last, a ray of hope. The girls brightened up. "What do we have to do, Coach Presley?" asked Heather.

The girls were still in their volleyball uniforms. "I'm not letting you off easy. You'll have a choice to make. Hit the showers. Don't dress. Wrap up in towels and come back in here, then we'll talk." She watched them look at each other, question marks on their faces, but they left for the showers right next door. Both were pretty girls. Both were seniors. Heather was slender, Jamie short and buxom. But, they were getting a bit big for their britches.

While they were out Keri moved a chair out in front of her desk. "Just like momma used to do," she muttered to herself. "That's what these little princesses need." Keri had been no stranger to motherly discipline when she'd been younger. Even through her teen years willful disobedience had been punished by a trip across her momma's knee for a stinging session with a flat backed hairbrush on her bared bottom. She recalled those sessions all too well. The hot sting of those spankings had taught her to behave.

Heather and Jamie soon returned, their arrival announced by the wet slap of bare feet on the concrete floor. When they opened the door they were surprised to see Keri seated in a chair in front of her desk.

"Coach? Uh, here we are," said Jamie. They were wrapped up in towels, legs still a bit wet.

"Yeah, we showered like you told us, but why can't we dress?" said Heather.

"Because, girls, it's part of the deal," said Keri. "You violated a very important rule and according to official policy, you're off the team. But, if you accept my informal punishment, we'll forget about this little escapade of yours."

"Ok, coach, how are you going to punish us?" asked Jamie.

"Yeah, how? Do we have to do wind sprints or something?" asked Heather.

"No wind sprints. To stay on the team, both of you, right here, right now, take a good hard spanking. You drop those towels, come across my knee and take your licking. Then we forget about this. Well, what will it be?"

Both sets of jaws dropped. Eyes grew big as saucers.

"A...a spanking, Coach Presley?" Jamie was shaking her head in disbelief.

"You heard me. Or, there's the door." Keri pointed to the door. " Off the team."

For a minute they stood still, in shock, but thinking it over. Finally Heather spoke. "Wait. No one will know, right? Not the school, not our parents, no one."

"That's right. It ends here. So decide. I don't have all night and you girls have to get home."

The girls looked at each other. Heather turned toward Keri. She shrugged. "I'm in," she said, lifting her chin in an act of teenage bravado. "How do you want me?"

"Heather!" Jamie squealed.

"Oh, Jamie, don't be such a baby," said Heather. "I'm ready, Miss Presley."

"Come over here to my right side," said Keri, pointing at the floor. Heather moved over with mincing steps to stand at Keri's right. "Ok, Foster, drop the towels."

Heather let the towels slip to the floor. The girl was a young Venus. She put one hand at her crotch, the other vainly tried to cover her exposed nipples. She had smallish breasts, long legs and a slender torso with slim hips, but a cute apple-cheeked derriere prominently set off from her long legs. Keri aimed to thoroughly redden that pert butt to teach this young miss a lesson.

"Over my knee," said Keri.

Heather lowered herself gingerly over her coach's lap. Keri pushed her forward until her nose almost touched the floor, her bottom uppermost and well positioned to receive her spanking. Keri raised her right knee and hooked it on a lower chair rung, elevating Heather's behind a bit more.

"Ready, Foster?"

"Yes, coach," she squeaked, tensing her body.

"You'll be getting fifty swats with my hand. It would help if you counted."

She raised her hand to shoulder height and brought it down with a loud smack! Heather hissed with an intake of breath. Smack! Keri spanked the other cheek. Heather lifted a leg off the floor.

"How many?" asked Keri. "I don't hear counting."

"Ow...two," said Heather.

Keri launched into a rhythmic smacking of Heather's bouncing bottom, landing smacks on alternating cheeks at a rate of about one every two seconds or so. She carefully covered the full expanse of Heather's bottom, working from the top of her bottom to the lush underside, not missing an inch. Sometimes she landed crisp smacks right across the divide, right on the sit spot. Heather yipped softly but kept the count, waving her legs in the air, wincing, opening and closing her eyes, flexing her wriggling fanny as the spanks landed. At the count of fifty, Keri stopped. Heather's bottom was beet red. It looked like two stoplights on a white background. Keri let her up.

Heather hastily grabbed her towels and covered herself, only to find she couldn't cover up and rub the atrocious sting at the same time.

"Ok, Benning. Your turn."

Jamie took Heather's place. Her hips were wider, her bottom fuller, but well shaped. She was short and her feet came off the floor, legs fluttering. She was more vocal too. The sharp spanks rang out, echoing off the concrete walls in the enclosed office. Jamie yelped and had to be reminded several times to keep count. Keri's hand rose and fell, splatting against the soft rounds at a steady tempo.

"Youch...oh, youch, coach! Uh, 15!....16!....17!....owwww!"

It was a steady litany of distress that accompanied the noisy smacking. Her bottom cheeks were softer and they wobbled more than Heather's. By the time the count had reached fifty her rear end was also a vivid red.

"Both of you stand in front of me and turn around." Both girls had been duly punished, Keri could see as she inspected her handiwork. Two sets of glowing red bottom cheeks attested to the fact that she had meted out a very thorough spanking. "Now face me," she said.

"Never do that again, do you understand? Next time you will be off the team. Now get dressed and go home." The girls gathered towels and left in a hurry.

Whew! Thought Keri. I need a drink. Maybe Rusty is still here. But I can't tell him about this, oh no. In fact, she mused, I can't tell him about me---what I want. He's too nice a guy. The act of spanking the girls had brought back memories---memories of past experiences when she'd been the naughty miss. I need a man to take me in hand, she reflected. Like Ty, her ex, her rodeo cowboy lover. He had not hesitated to put her in her place when she got too full of herself, and that place was over his knee. Sometimes even, his belt came out if she'd really been difficult. Rusty just looks too easy going, she thought. A pity. The man is pretty hot. But this time I'm going to do it right, find the right guy out here for me---one who won't be off at the stinkin' rodeo and who will give me what I crave.


WEDNESDAY 6:22 pm---Heather Foster's home

Heather slipped into the bathroom and eased down her shorts. Owww. Her behind still glowed hotly. Coach had spanked hard. She'd practically been crying at the end. She looked over her shoulder. Her butt was still red and it burned. Still, that was better than anyone finding out. She reached for some cold cream.

"Heather?" Her mom burst in.

In the mirror she saw her mother staring in shock at her inflamed bottom.

"Heather, what on earth happened to you?"


THURSDAY 9:15 pm---home of Jim and Francine Benning, Jamie's parents

"We should sue," said Bob Foster. "Imagine. That coach taking it upon herself to lay a hand on our girls."

Seated in the living room were Bob and Dottie Foster, the Reverend Jim Benning and his wife Francine. Heather had spilled the beans under intense questioning from her mother. Jamie had corroborated her account. The parents had arranged a quick meeting to confer about how to handle this.

"I say we confront the principal first thing tomorrow about this," said Bob. "Then I'm calling my lawyer."

"Let's see what they have to say," said Jim, "before we get all worked up. We cause a big stink, the girls will be off the team."

Jim stood and paced back and forth a minute, thinking. "You know, there is a better way," he mused. "One more in tune with biblical teachings."


FRIDAY 9:15 am---office of the principal

"I'm afraid I'm only acting principal," said Rusty, as the four parents trooped into the inner office. "But maybe you can tell me why you wanted to see Bob Campbell and I'll brief him when he comes back."

Jim and Bob looked at each other. "All right," said Jim Benning. "Here is what happened yesterday afternoon."

Rusty listened as Jim Benning recounted the events of the previous afternoon. He struggled to control his utter amazement. What the hell? Had Keri Presley really done this? If so, this was a major scandal, not to mention the possibility of lawsuits. And the publicity! Rusty tried to keep his cool and not panic.

"....And so," said Jim, "as you might expect we are very angry about this. The school bears liability here."

"What Jim is saying," said Bob Foster, "is that we could sue the school district for all it's worth."

"I understand your position," said Rusty. "But let me get Miss Presley's version."

"That's fine, call her in, but before you do, we have a proposition, coach." Jim Benning was offering a way out, it seemed. Christ, if this was true.... Rusty's head was spinning.

"And that is?"

"We have no problem with corporal punishment," said Bob. "We are church folk. Jim here is a pastor, as you know. Our kids get lickings when they mess up. She messed up."

Rusty was curious now. "So what do you propose?"

All four parents looked at each other and nodded. Jim Benning spoke. "She gets what she gave the girls. An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth."

"You want to spank Coach Presley?" Rusty was dumbfounded.

Bob Foster laughed. Threw up his hands. "Oh, no. Not me. No siree. That would be the principal's job."

Rusty was stunned. What a development. Wait. He was acting principal.

"And we want to do it now. Today." Bob leaned forward. "Think about it. We just want to send a message. She screwed up. She needs to be taught a lesson."

Rusty' brain was going a mile a minute. "Ok, let me get this straight. We do this and you forget about any lawsuit."

"Yep," said Bob. Jim nodded.

"There's no publicity."


"It stays here. No one knows. It doesn't go beyond these walls. There is no public record?"

"That's correct. This settles it."

"Can you call me later? I need to talk to her."

"You do that,' said Bob Foster.


FRIDAY 10:00 am---principal's office

Keri nervously approached Principal Campbell's office. Damn! Had those little princesses squealed? Why would they do that? They'd wanted to keep it all secret.

When she entered she was surprised to see Rusty Clawson behind the desk. "Why, Rusty, what are you doing here?"

"Had to fill in for Bob and Stu. Both of them sick," he said. Rusty looked at her hard. "Keri, I'm going to be blunt. What happened yesterday with Heather Foster and Jamie Benning?"

Keri felt a sickening in her stomach. They did tell. Oh, God, how could she have been so stupid? This probably meant her job. She was done for. And Rusty. He was tight lipped, and stern, his eyes boring into hers. He was not at all the easy going colleague she'd been used to. He'd assumed the mantle of command and all of a sudden here he was, all alpha male---in control and in charge. Something fluttered deep inside. A flicker of both fear and excitement. Good grief, how could she think about how sexy that made him seem at a time like this?

"I, uh....." she stammered. Then she just spilled the whole story.

So it had really happened. Keri confirmed it.

"I was just so angry. We have a real shot at state and those girls just blew it. I figured....hell, I figured this might be sort of rough justice, quick and dirty. I'm sorry," she said, lowering her eyes.

"Well, it's a mess," said Rusty. He leaned forward. "But there is a way out." She sat in shocked silence as he spelled it out for her.

"With them watching?" Keri twisted her hands nervously.

"I think so."

"You and me?" She was having hot and cold flashes all at once.

"They say it's the principal's job." Rusty was very matter-of-fact.

"Oh, my. There really is no other way, is there?" The reality was starting to sink in.

Rusty raised his eyebrows and opened his hands in a gesture of surrender to forces beyond his control.


FRIDAY 12:37 pm---principal's office

"Keri has agreed,' said Rusty. "When and where?"

"I have a vacant warehouse out Rt.126," said Bob. Here is the address. Let's say 6 o'clock. We'll be there, but out of modesty's sake we'll go outside during the, ah, proceedings. Our wives will bear witness to see that it's done right."


FRIDAY 5:58 pm---- 12457 State Hwy 126.

Pins and needles all day. How she got through the afternoon, she did not know. She had put on workout clothes to coach softball, a t-shirt top and black tights. That's what she wore now. She was aware that the tights showed every curve of her figure below the waist, even the crease between her bottom cheeks was clearly delineated. She knew Rusty had noticed, walking her out to his car. And, she was wet with anticipation. Despite the humiliation of an impending public spanking, or perhaps because of it, she was wet with arousal. But Rusty couldn't know.

Damn, she is hot, thought Rusty. And something else is going on. It's like she's actually excited about this. She had been silent on the way out, licking her lips, her breathing short. He'd said he was sorry about this part, what was about to happen, but she waved him off.

"It's my own damn fault for being so stupid, Clawson. I guess I deserve this." Then she turned her head toward him, smiled ruefully and said, "You ever spank a girl before?"

He admitted he hadn't.

"You use your wrist and elbow. Hit the low part of the fanny, right on the sit spot. Not high up. Don't try and hold back, I can take it."

Rusty listened in amazement. She sounded like she'd had experience with this sort of thing, telling him casually how to do it.

The Fosters and Bennings had already arrived and were waiting inside. Rusty and Keri parked and walked across a gravel drive. Rusty wanted to hold her hand, she looked so brave yet so vulnerable.

"You sure you're ok with this?"

She brushed her hair back. "You just do your job and give me a good one so these people are satisfied, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Rusty.

He ushered her inside. The men acknowledged them and left. "We're going for a walk," said Bob Foster. "Coach, it was fifty hard smacks. Bare. Time to teach Coach Presley a lesson."

They left. It was dark and gloomy inside. Someone had arranged chairs in a rough circle. Rusty took a seat. The wives sat opposite him. Keri, her head held high, walked up to Rusty' right side. She put her hands on his thighs, eased herself across his lap.

The feeling of Keri's lush body making contact with his was electric. The gorgeous Keri Presley laid herself bottoms up over his lap. He had an erection that was threatening to burst out of his slacks. He bet she could feel it.

"Bare," he heard on of the wives say. "It's supposed to be on the bare."

Rusty said, "I guess you'll have to lift up Keri."

Keri blushed red. Her heart was racing. But she lifted up. Felt Rusty' fingers in the band of her tights. He tugged, one side, then the other, slowly dragging the tights and her panties down, exposing her springy behind. The cheeks had seemed to pop out of the confinement of her tights. She squeezed her legs together. She was wet. Could Rusty see? He peeled the tights and panties down to her knees. Her ass was nude now. It jiggled as he made slight adjustments in her position.

Rusty beheld the shapely bare bottom presented for his attention. Whew, a sight to behold, for sure. Two perfectly formed ovals, pertly set off from her thighs. The cheeks quivered slightly as she shifted to get comfortable. Get a grip and do this, he thought. What had she said? Wrist and elbow. He raised his arm, hand at head height.

Smack! He spanked the right cheek.
Smack! Another on the other side.

Keri flinched and drew air through her teeth.

"She should keep count," said Francine.

"Then that's two," said Keri in a muffled voice.

Rusty continued. He laid ten more what he thought were medium hard spanks on Keri's bottom, alternating sides.

"I think you need to put a little more steam in it, coach," said Dottie.

Rusty stopped, looked up. "It's ok," said Keri, breathless. "Harder."

Rusty brought his hand down harder. It landed with a satisfying crack. Keri's bottom cheeks flattened with the impact and she hissed.

"That's more like it," said Dottie.

Rusty settled into a rhythm delivering what must have been a stinging spanking at that same intensity. He marveled at the way Keri's bottom cheeks wobbled and bounced over his knee as his hand impacted the quivering globes again and again. The color went from pink to a dusky pink and finally to red. She squirmed, raising her hips in time to his spanks. It was an involuntary reaction, he was sure.

Oh my God, thought Keri. I want to pinch my nipples. It stings, oh does it ever. Each meaty smack delivered to her bare wriggling fanny stung hotly, but also sent a shock wave of pleasure-pain though her body. It was all she could do to concentrate and keep count. But she did. Rusty just kept a steady non-wavering tempo until all fifty smacks had been duly meted out.

"That's fifty, as agreed," said Rusty. He'd stopped and was absently resting his hand on her seat. Keri shuddered. Hot as her fanny was after that spanking, his touch was driving her to distraction.

"Yes, that will do," said Francine. Both wives were smiling smugly.

Rusty let her up. She turned away and pulled her tights back up. The women got up and left, only to return with their husbands.

"All right," said Bob, "it's done." He addressed Keri. "Next time coach, you bring it to us first. We might even get you a paddle to use, but don't take it on yourself, alright?"

Keri didn't say anything. She tossed her head and brushed hair out of her eyes. Rusty thought she'd never looked so beautiful.

"Well," said Jim. "We best be going."


FRIDAY 6: 35 pm-----------Rusty's car

"I'm sorry," said Rusty, looking over at her. "You ok?"

"Don't apologize. I'm fine. I deserved it." Then she smiled out of the corner of her mouth. "You did a very thorough job. The lady has been duly chastised."

They pulled up to her apartment. "Come in for a minute, will you?" asked Keri. Rusty was puzzled, but got out of the car and walked her in. She shut the door. Turned around. Keri walked up to Rusty and put her arms around his neck. She pulled him down and kissed him full on the mouth, held it there. She slipped her tongue in and found his. Despite his surprise, he responded.

"What's this?" he asked when they came up for air.

"I thought you were too nice a guy, but you know how to take a girl in hand. You know, Rusty, when you heat up a lady's rear end, the rest of her can get pretty revved up." Keri pulled her tank top over her head. "When I'm naked you can put some baby oil on my ass and then I'll show you how to really spank. Then I'm going to ride you all night."


FRIDAY 8:05 pm----home of Bob Foster, basement recreation room

"But daddy, I already got spanked. Like I said, Coach Presley punished us," Heather wailed.

Bob Foster unbuckled his belt and slipped it through the loops of his slacks with a snicking sound that caused a chill to run up Heather's spine. Dottie Foster stood there, arms folded.

"That may be, little lady, but now you're getting a licking from us. Boys. Beer.” Bob snorted in disgust. “Pants down. Over the back of the sofa."

"Please, no daddy. I won't do it ever again."

"And this will make sure. Pants down and bend over."

A distraught Heather Foster tugged her jeans down and bent over the back of the sofa. The posture arched her teenage buttocks out to receive correction, buttocks that now quivered with the anticipation of feeling the harsh kiss of the strap. Her mother came around to grasp her wrists. Bob drew his arm back.

The belt whistled. Crack! "!" A red stripe appeared across the cute teenage bottom.
Again the belt struck. Crack! Another stripe matched the first. "Yeoww...daddy! Please!" She looked over her shoulder, pleading.

"You hold still and take your licking," hissed Dottie.

Twelve times the doubled up belt whistled and cracked across Heather's tender bottom. With each one, Heather yelped in anguish and shifted from foot to foot. At the count of twelve her mother released her wrists and sent her to bed.


FRIDAY 8:37 pm---home of Rev James Benning

The Reverend Benning watched with approval as his wife, Francine meted out a noisy spanking to their daughter Jamie with a small wooden paddle known as the "family paddle".

Jamie squirmed across her mother's knee as her mom smacked the little paddle down on Jamie's bottom, eliciting shrill pleas for mercy.

"Ow, mamma.....ow, mamma.....please, not so hard." Jamie yelped as the smacks rang out in the parents' bedroom. Her body flopped over her mother's knee, vainly trying to shift any way possible to ease the atrocious sting of that wicked paddle landing on her bare seat.

"You just take this spanking, Jamie Lynn Benning. Imagine! Drinking beer with boys. You deserve every smack," said Francine as she peppered her daughter's bottom with a new flurry of crisp paddle smacks.

"Yeow....momma, please!.....owww." Jamie wailed and her legs fluttered.

Jim Benning watched with approval as his wife delivered a very thorough paddling to their daughter's squirming fanny. Yes, he thought. An appropriate biblical punishment.


FRIDAY 11:35 pm---------------Keri Presley's apartment

Rusty stared at the ceiling, exhausted. Keri slept next to him. All the lovemaking had worn them both out. Good grief---who knew? One minute he's wondering how to just get a date with her and the next he's spanked her bare bottom, stripped her bare, fucked her vigorously right on her couch and then.....

Oh yeah. She hadn't been kidding. She brought out the baby oil after round one and had him smear it on her bottom while she lay over his lap on the sofa. After that she had taught him all about spanking, both the sensuous and the punitive kind.

"You didn't really give it to me too hard back there," she'd said. "Do it again, just that hard, but this time stop and rub me a little. Or don't. You're the one in charge."

But he had, smacking her bottom again with firm hard cracks that made her delicious bottom cheeks quiver. The smacking was interrupted with rubbing and fingers massaging her quim that had made her groan with pleasure. He'd counted out 68 smacks, just like that before she'd finally begged for mercy. She got up on her knees, practically panting with lust and he'd entered her from the rear, his body smacking the hot red cheeks as he thrust into her. The mutual orgasms had been explosive.

"See," she explained later, as they lay on their sides facing each other, "I can be a bit of an impulsive brat. So when I get like that, I need a man who'll just put me over his knee and paddle my ass good and hard. That thing with those kids was a good example. I have poor judgment sometimes. I need a man who'll keep me in line. Is that man you?"

That's what Rusty was thinking about. How much had changed in just 31 hours. But, as he looked at the gorgeous Keri sleeping beside him, not a stitch on, exposed rear end glowing red, there was no doubt in his mind that he was up to the job.