The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Sunday, September 29, 2013

September Song

As the days dwindle down to a precious few.....

I'd like to reflect on My First Year.

The end of this month marks my first year as an indie publisher. It's the year I finally "went pro" and decided to publish and make my stories available to a wider audience. It's a good time to reflect and assess what has happened.So this is an account of my first year newbie experience.

Before Sept 2012 I was an amateur spanking story writer, posting mainly on LSF and a few other places, and that was fun. I'm pretty well known at LSF and it's a good community for aspiring writers. But one day I stumbled into Amazon's KDP site and everything changed. As I scrolled through the submission form, the user interface for KDP, I thought to myself, "You know-- you could do this." It amounts to submitting a manuscript (formatted a certain way, of course), uploading a cover(probably the most daunting aspect of this), deciding on pricing,  pushing a button and Voila! Instant eBook (well, about a day later). But there it was, right on the Amazon site, just like a James Patterson or Lee Child novel.

I had realized that the thing about a Kindle or tablet was this essential truth: no one knows what you are reading. No tell-tale lurid cover or title page announces your perverted tastes to casual passers-by. I know people want to read steamy stuff and that spanking erotica is a subset of steamy that has many fans. This has been a tremendous boon to writers of erotica of all kinds. People can download and read anywhere--in the park, on the bus going to work, in the office lunchroom. And no one knows what they are reading. They can tell Larry from accounting when he asks, that it's War and Peace when it's really The Menace from Mongo. Hell, Larry is probably reading gay porn on his own Kindle, but who knows?

I started with one book, an oldie, I think it was either Island Justice or The Spanking Games, which was "Fox and Hounds" renamed. (I mean, who would know "Fox and Hounds" was a spanking novella?) I priced it at $.99. And waited to see what would happen.

To my astonishment people bought it. I put out a few more books, again, old classics of mine. People bought those too. I increased the price to $1.99. In November Amazon sent me a check for the September sales for the princely sum of $138. I was floored. I made a deal with Paula Russell who allowed me to use her drawings as covers. As it turned out, this was both bad and good. Good, because everyone loves Paula Russell drawings. Bad, because the Amazon censors do not. Below are the ones that gave me problems with The Mighty Zon and, alas, I had to do a redesign of many titles.








By December I had 10 books in the mix. As 2013 dawned I added more books and made my standard price $2.99. Since I saw people selling 5000 word short stories for $2.99, I figured I could sell 15,000 word stories or collections for that much. And so my pricing model became based upon length, and that is what I follow today. I never sell any book under 15,000 words and my longest, at over 40,000 words go for $3.99

 By spring my original KDP Select exclusives had all run out and I published under the Blushing Books' banner and added Barnes and Noble and Kobo. My wholesaler, Draft2Digital, is working on Apple.

So here it is one year later. I have 26 books in publication. They are the ones in the sidebar. If you click on any title it takes you right  to the Amazon Kindle store. Some are short story collections like "The Romance of Spanking" series. Some are stand alone novellas like Atonement and LaForge. One recent development that seems to be popular is the twin novelette form, like Tumalo Bend 1895 and Lady Jayne.
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So a whole year has flown by. I think by the accounts I've read I've been moderately successful. Not setting the world on fire a la EL James, but doing ok. Not enough to quit my day job, but it is a nice supplement. Call it my moonlighting gig.

Things I've learned:
1. Sales of books are non-linear. By that I mean they vary all over the place for no apparent rhyme or reason. Some days it's good, some days it's awful. Weekends are better than mid week on average.
2. The rate of sales over a short period of time means nothing. You can never extrapolate based upon the first ten days or the month's first half or last month.
3. To stay ahead you have to release new stuff. Yesterday's best sellers fade over time.
4. You never know when something will suddenly get popular for no apparent reason.
5. Book sales appear to be seasonal. Winter good, Summer slow.
6. Romance sells.

So what's on tap for the future? Well, for openers a new dual novelette in October that could have been called "50 Shades of Downton Abbey" (but that's not the title), a fifth collection in the Romance of Spanking series in November, and by Christmas a sci-fi themed novel of spanking erotica that is sort of 'Star Trek meets Game of Thrones.' In 2014 I may go to real print with "big" books that are comprehensive collections of like-themed stories such as historical themes, school themes, and femdom themes.

And somehow, in all of this, I plan to keep on writing.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

The Menace from Mongo---an excerpt




This eBook novella is a recasting of the classic Flash Gordon adventures that appeared as serials on TV when I was a kid. But as you can see, I added a few things. As far as I know, spanking was not the primary means of behavior modification among the various races and cultures on Mongo. But so what? On my Mongo it is. That brings us to this excerpt in which Flash has rescued some village maids in Arborea (where Prince Barin is in hiding from Ming and is plotting an overthrow, with Flash's help, of course). Arborea is Mongo's version of a hippy commune, but they do have rules, one of which is 'don't go into the lake!'

                                       ******************************

Flash was later summoned to a council at the village center. It was held in what was apparently a communal lodge. The four girls were in attendance, Flash noted. They were older than he had thought at first, probably in their late teens or early twenties. They stood together in a line with worried looks on their faces. Serves them right, thought Flash. Wasn’t there some rule about not going out in the deep water? They’d probably been well scolded for this infraction.

Locrian stood. “First, Flash Gordon, all of us owe you a debt of gratitude. Without your bravery and skill our young women could have been taken by the gill men or the octopoid. We are forever in your debt.” The assembly applauded.

“It was indeed fortunate for these four that you came when you did. And,” he added with a tear in his eye, “especially for me----because one of them is my granddaughter, Bella.” A pretty maiden with rich coppery hair reacted to hearing her name and smiled wanly at Flash.

“But now, before we celebrate their rescue,” said Locrian, “these four must be chastised for their imprudent behavior. None are married. They must, therefore, either choose a man from among the rescuers and accept penance at his hands in a private setting, or she may choose to accept her punishment in front of the village.”

Locrian said, “Come with me.” Flash followed as Locrian led the way to a clearing. It was a village center of sorts, laid out in a wide circle bounded by dwellings and stalls for various crafts. But in the center of the clearing was something Flash recognized as a pillory. It was a wooden contraption that stood on two legs with a yoke that was meant to hold hands and neck secure.

“We are a society like any other, and we have those who disobey the law. But we have no jails or prisons. Serious offenses are punished by banishment, but crimes of a minor nature are dealt with in this manner. Those who transgress are placed in the pillory and lashes are applied.”

He addressed the four girls. “You have one hour to choose. If you have not made proper atonement within the hour you will present yourselves here.” Wearing woeful expressions the chagrinned girls nodded.

Flash watched the four young women disperse, anxiety plain on their faces. It was then that he observed Bella heading straight for him. She stood in front of Flash and looked up into his eyes. “I choose you, Flash Gordon.” She took him by the hand as if to lead him away. Flash turned to Locrian.

“I don’t understand. What am I supposed to do?”

“It is our way, Flash Gordon. You must go with her. She will tell you what she needs from you.” Locrian saw that Flash was still puzzled. “Sometimes our young people disobey rules made for their own safety. Sometimes others have to save them from their folly, often at great risk to themselves. In such cases we believe that the foolish one must do penance. If they are of age and married they would be reprimanded by their husbands. If not, then it is only right that the penance should come from the one who risked his own life. So go with my granddaughter and she will explain.”

Bella took Flash by the hand. He let her lead him through a path in the forest. The path meandered away from the village, leaving the sights and sounds of activity behind. Eventually they came to a grove of trees that had branches with long slender shoots that flexed and bent toward the ground.
They stopped next to one of the trees.

“May I have your knife?” she asked.

Flash handed her his knife. She selected a shoot and cut it to a length of about two feet. She peeled it, stripping off the buds and smaller shoots. Bella gave him back the knife. She faced him and knelt at his feet. She then raised her arms and offered the switch to him with both hands.

“I apologize for my very foolish behavior and ask that you punish me for it. This switch is to be the implement of my correction. It has been decreed by Locrian that I am to have the full measure of forty strokes.”

Flash was amazed. This lovely girl was asking him to give her a switching. He hesitated.

“Look, I know you have your customs but…”

“Please,” she entreated Flash. “It must be you. Otherwise my grandfather will be angry and I will be shamed. I’d rather be punished by you than by the constable in front of all.”

Flash sighed, but he had to admit, in a way it made sense. She did deserve punishment for disobeying like that. He could see that a trip to the woodshed would have been appropriate back on Earth. He took the switch. He looked around. There was a broad stump he could sit on. He took her by the hand and led her to it. Flash sat on the stump and looked at her expectantly. Bella blushed and lifted the skirt of her tunic. Underneath were leggings. She lowered these to her knees. Flash was taken aback. She wore nothing underneath. He saw the dark triangle of curly hair between her legs. Blushing, she placed herself across his knees.

The girl had a lovely plump bottom and shapely legs. Obviously he was meant to spank her with the switch. Forty times.

Flash thought, all right, if I have to through with this for this girl’s sake, I’ll do it. At the same time there was a part of him that approved. She should be punished. “All right, but I’ll do this as lightly as I can…”

“No!” she exclaimed. “You must strike hard. They will inspect the stripes and I will receive more if you do not make this a true punishment.”

Flash thought, all right, if I must. He raised the switch. “You said forty, right?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

Flash nodded grimly. “Then you count.”

Swick! Flash brought the switch down. A red stripe appeared across the pale moons of her bottom. She hissed, a sharp intake of breath. “One,” she choked.
Swick! “Two” Another red weal sprang up. She wriggled.
Swick! “Three…ahh!” The girl’s bottom quivered.
Huick!  “F—four! Oh!” Another sharp stroke fell, making her clench her cheeks.
Flash grimly set out to tan Bella’s lovely bottom with the switch. Each stroke was placed just so. He worked the switch down from the crowns of her buttocks to the tops of her thighs in a methodical pattern. The stripes sprang up, one after another. Her voice rose in pitch as she counted off the strokes. Flash knew it had to be stinging painfully, but it gave him some satisfaction that after this lesson it wasn’t likely she’d disobey again.

She sobbed and writhed all over his lap as Flash applied the switching, clenching and unclenching her buttocks. The lines of the switch melded into a diffuse red glow with a few lines at the edges still visible. The last five strokes made her cry out shrilly. Then it was done. Flash handed her the switch. She stood still in front of him for a moment then reached up and, hugging him hard, kissed him full on the lips. That was a surprise.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Do you forgive me for acting so foolishly?”

“Of course,” he said.

“You will tell them I have been duly punished?”

“Of course.”

She dressed, then took his hand again and they returned to the village.

When they returned to the village clearing, Flash could see that two of the girls were standing with Locrian near the pillory. Apparently they had failed to do penance within the prescribed hour. A man, who was some type of constable, Flash guessed, told one girl to step away. The other girl was apparently to be prepared for public punishment. A crowd had gathered to watch. The constable lifted the yoke and the girl bent forward obediently, placing her hands and neck in the yoke. He lowered it and locked her in. She wore an ankle length dress. The constable lifted the hem above her hips. Underneath were some type of thin drawers. He undid a tie string and allowed these to fall to her ankles revealing her shapely buttocks and thighs.

Someone handed the constable a long supple switch. As he swooshed it through the air the girl shivered visibly.

Locrian spoke to the girl. “You have chosen public punishment, Telena. I am sorry for you that we have to do this, but by going out in the sea alone you risked not only your life but the lives of others. This will be a sharp lesson, daughter of Arborea, but a necessary one. So be it.”

He addressed the constable. “Twenty strokes, Liet. See that you lay on well.” He clapped the man on the shoulder and stood back.

Flash now understood. You could choose to be punished in private, by a man of your choosing, but the bill was higher---forty strokes instead of twenty. A more harsh private punishment or a milder public one. But maybe not so mild. This switch looked longer—and thicker. It was an interesting choice. Bella had chosen him and had borne the forty strokes. She stood at his side as they beheld the switching of her companions.



Leit tapped the girl's bottom with the switch, then with a short arm motion and a flick of his wrist he applied a stripe that made her yelp in pain. He proceeded to administer a whipping with the switch that had her crying out and practically dancing at the pillory. It was a slow and deliberate switching. He carefully measured and lined up each stroke before drawing back his arm to deliver another stripe. The switch would land with a huick! sound. The girl would flinch and clench her buttocks. Red weals laddered her bottom while the watching villagers murmured approvingly. It was a proper punishment. She squirmed and bobbed in the stocks. Several times Leit had to stop and tell the girl to hold still and present her buttocks properly for the switch. “Lest more strokes are added,” he cautioned. She struggled to comply, and seemed somehow to settle down and stick her bottom out to await the next kiss of the switch. When all twenty strokes had been applied, he lifted the yoke to free the girl. Her hands flew under her dress and she rubbed furiously. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks.

Flash and Bella stayed to watch the next girl’s punishment. She was a tall red haired girl about Bella’s age. Her punishment turned out to be somewhat noisier than the first. Flash felt Bella shiver as her friend yelped and sobbed her way through her switching. He could imagine that Bella’s rump was sore and still swollen. He had given her a good one, nearly as hard as the ones Constable Leit was dishing out.


Flash sought out Locrian and told him that Bella had been duly punished. Locrian nodded approvingly at Flash’s report. He looked at his granddaughter sternly. “I’ll keep this switch for a while, just in case,” he said. Bella blushed, and put her hands behind her protectively. Flash had to laugh.

 The other girl appeared, accompanied by one of the rescue party, and rubbing her bottom gingerly. When all had gathered, Locrian announced that the girls had atoned and were now forgiven and a feast could begin. By nightfall there was dancing and music wafting through the trees as if nothing had happened at all. Flash stayed for awhile then made his apologies and turned in, climbing to the canopied sleeping platform he’d been given. Somehow he wasn’t all that surprised to find a naked and very amorous Bella in his bed.

Thursday, September 12, 2013

I guess It's F/M week

From "Tales from a Switch" here is an excerpt from The Paddling Booth. 



BARRY

As the woman in the flower print dress drew nearer, Barry tried averting his eyes, but it was too late.

"Barry Wilson, that is you, isn't it?"

"Oh, er, hi Mrs Hinckly," said Barry with mock cheerfulness.

Turning to Mary Ann she said, "You know, he was the naughtiest one in the whole 8th grade, weren't you Barry?" Barry gave her a hapless grin. Mary Ann saw a chance to get a donation.

"Well, then why don't you let me give this naughty boy his long overdue comeuppance then? Donate $10 and we'll take Barry in back and give him three hard paddle swats. Only $5 a piece for extras."

"Why that's a grand idea," exclaimed Mrs Hinckly. "I always thought Barry could have used a good spanking. Better late than never I say," said the spinsterish woman, fumbling in her purse for the money. "Here's twenty-five dollars. It's all for charity, right?"

"Every bit," said Mary Ann with a big grin. Wow-- $25 and they had just opened. "Let's go Barry," she said with a laugh, "time for that trip to the principal's office you never got to take." This last comment was accompanied with a broad wink directed at Mrs Hinckly who smiled with pleasure. Barry blushed and gave her a weak smile.

When they had closed the curtain, Mary Ann took charge.

"Ok, Barry, stand here," she said motioning to a spot in the center of the tent. "Now bend over, hands on your knees." Barry blushed at having to assume the juvenile posture in front of the two women, but he did as he was told. Hmmm...cute chubby cheeks thought Mary Ann. This was going to be fun.

"Now Barry," said Mary Ann, rubbing the paddle across his butt in slow circular arcs, "you keep count, Ok?" This question produced a muffled response. "Was that a yes, Barry? Good boy." Then she looked up at Mrs Hinckly. "What do you think, should I give this bad boy his spanking?" Mrs Hinckly just beamed. After all theses years the little brat was going to get it.

Mary Ann drew back her arm and brought the paddle down with a loud whoosh...Crack!

"Ahh," grunted Barry. "One." Jeez that stung, he thought. She can hit hard for a girl.

Whack! "Oww. Two." Mary Ann smiled at Mrs Hinckly. She patted the proffered cheeks and drew back again. She pivoted and swung through with a smooth forehand.

Crack! "Three," squeaked Barry. Damn! It burned. Hot. Hot. Hot.

Mary Ann took her time and tapped Barry's bottom, like she was looking for the right spot. Barry flinched. This hurt like fire.

Whack! Hardest one yet--right on the crowns of his buttocks. A sizzler. "Yeoww. Uh, four," managed Barry. No, no, no, thought Barry. His eyes were welling up. This stung atrociously in the tight spandex biker shorts--and all he had on underneath was a jock.

"Last one Barry. Ready?" Barry grunted in assent. Mary Ann wound up and delivered a blistering Whack! to the Barry's bottom that sounded like a firecracker.

"Yah....ow...five," sang out Barry.

"Bravo!" Exclaimed Mrs Hinckly, clapping. "Very good."

Barry rose, rubbing his buttocks and grimacing.

"Wait a minute," said Mrs Hinckly, reaching into her purse, "I think he could use a few more." After all these years, she couldn't believe how positively satisfying this was--to finally see Barry the brat get his seat well roasted.

Barry groaned inwardly. His ass was flaming hot. Mary Ann had really paddled him hard--just as hard, in fact, as he got it in pledge meetings from the upperclassmen.

"Well, thank, you, ma'am," said Mary Ann as Mrs Hinckly handed her a $20. "Well Barry, back over you go and hang on tight. Here we go, four real stingers." And she winked at Mrs Hinckly as she drew back her paddle. Barry cringed, but assumed the shameful position.

Crack! "Ow!" yelled Barry. Mary Ann's swat landed right across the fattest part of his behind. That was the hardest one yet.

"I think you should say 'thank you ma'am' after each one, Barry."

Miserably, from his bent-over position Barry repeated the shameful mantra. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you ma'am."

Crack! "Ah...ow...thank you ma'am."
Smack! "Yeow...ah, thank you ma'am."
 Mary Ann measured the distance for the last one. She drew back the paddle shoulder high and pivoted through, drawing the paddle in a smooth graceful arc.

Splatt! The paddle connected with Barry's bottom solidly. The cheeks rippled. "Oh..ow...yike!" squealed Barry.

"What do you say, Barry?" said a grinning Mary Ann.

"T-thank you ma'am," choked Barry. Oh, please, I'm not going to cry. But he could sense tears coming, it hurt so bad. He rose and massaged his tender sit spot. Mrs Hinckly took it all in with approval.

"Well, Barry, I'm glad to see you finally got your commuppance, you rascal, you. This has definitely made my day. Young lady," she said to Mary Ann, "you really know how to swing a paddle."

"Well, thank you," said Mary Ann, as Mrs Hinckly departed.
"And good job, Barry. Now let's get back out front and make some more, what do you say?"

"Ah, sure, Mary Ann," said Barry still rubbing. Wow! That sure stung.

JAMES

"Now, isn't he cute?" This comment was obviously directed at James from a trio of well dressed women in their thirties. They looked like career women slumming--or bored wives maybe.

"Imagine, Kate, finding something like this at a county fair. I had no idea." A buxom brunette eyed James like a cat eyes a canary.

"Come on in, ladies," invited Kirsten. "As you can see I've got a very naughty boy here who needs his bottom warmed." Kirsten spun him around and patted the seat of his tight shorts.

James blushed and tried to act calm, but the attention from three lovely women was unnerving, and Kirsten's pats on his bottom gave him an instant woody.

"Well, I can see that," said Kate. "He looks like a little boy in need of a good spanking. What do you say, June," she asked speaking to a second member of the group.

"I say we go inside and see this bad boy get a good sound paddling."

"You're on," said June. "So how much..." She had turned to the third member of their group, a thin blonde with short bleached hair.

"Hmmm...I have an idea," she said, musing.

"Carrie, you always have ideas...usually the wrong kind," laughed June.

"What'll it be ladies? Only 10 dollars and he gets 3 solid swats with my paddle."

"Well, I have more in mind than that," said Carrie with a sly wink. She huddled with her two friends, explaining her proposal. They giggled and nodded. Then she pulled Kirsten aside.

"Are those rooms private?" she asked.

"Yep. No one can see in. It's just us," Kirsten assured her.

"Well...we'd be willing to chip in $20 a piece..."

"Wow! That's great," Kirsten exclaimed.

"But what we want is to see you put your little boy there right over your knee and spank his bare little bottom for us."

"What? A spanking? Bare?"

"That's right," confirmed Carrie. "A good old fashioned bare bottom spanking. I'd say...since you're not using the paddle...about 100 smacks with your hand. What do you say?"

"Well, gee, I don't know. I'd have to ask..."

"Honey, you don't have to ask that pledge anything. The way he looks at you, if you asked him to strip bare and run around the parade grounds, he'd do it."

Kirsten smiled. "Ok, I'll do it. I'll give him the soundest bare fanny whacking he's ever had. You won't be disappointed."

Carrie turned around and gave the thumbs up to her friends.

Kirsten took James aside and explained it to him. He paled as she told him what the trio had requested. This would be embarrassing beyond belief, but at the same time he was feeling a powerful arousal. "C'mon, James, it's ok. You want to do your part for charity, don't you. You don't want to let your frat down...or disappoint me do you?" This last was said with a wide smile and a husky tone in her voice, filled with implied promises of delights yet to come.

James let himself be led like a lamb to the slaughter. Kirsten took him by the elbow and ushered him inside the room. Someone had thoughtfully left a chair against the wall and Kirsten let go long enough to drag it to a good spot away from the wall. The giggling trio took in James' embarrassment with glee and weren't above teasing him.

"Well, little boy, looks like you're due for a good spanking," said June.

"And on his bare little fanny, too," added Carrie.

"I want to see your sorority sister make you kick and squeal, sweetie," cooed Kate.

Kirsten seated herself. "Come here, James."

"Better go to mommy, James, or she'll spank harder," laughed June. It had turned into a delightful source of mirth for these attractive women to see James in his current predicament.

"Oh, look, he's blushing," observed Kate. She was right. James was so embarrassed he was red in the face.

Kirsten had to reach out and take his hand. She drew him close and undid the buttons on his pants. Deftly she yanked down the tight shorts leaving James in white cotton y-briefs. James could not have blushed redder, but to his horror he felt Kirsten's fingers in the elastic of his underwear. The problem was the raging hard in his briefs. He bent over in an attempt to hide it but Kirsten scolded him.

"Stand up straight, James, while I take your pants down. These ladies paid to see you get it on the bare, so stand still."

As the pants came down, his turgid member popped straight out, prompting renewed giggles from the trio of patrons.

"Nice buns," remarked June, admiring the white round contours of James as yet unmarked ass.

"And a nice big boner," laughed Carrie.

"And just what do you think that is?" said Kirsten, indignant, but clearly amazed at the fleshy muscle that was now bobbing slowly up and down in front of her. "Why, James Hubbard. I don't believe this. You are a naughty boy." Then her demeanor became stern. "You should have your bare heinie smacked. And good and hard too. You get right over my knee, pledge." Wasting no time, she pulled James over her knee until his body was positioned so that his nose was to the floor and bare bottom was poised properly right over Kirsten's lap, pointed at the ceiling.

The girls watching had practically cracked up, it was so funny. Kirsten realized too, that there was something quite humorous about James' coming down with a woody at the prospect of getting his bare bottom spanked in front of a group of women. Well, she was going to give him a good one, then she'd see if that didn't melt down his unruly cock.

The problem for James was that the contact with Kirsten's thighs was keeping his prick hard as a rock. She was wearing a thin cotton skirt and he could feel his dick pressing against her soft thighs right through the material. Squirming around made it worse. Oh, God! he thought. Don't let me come on her skirt.

He almost did come as Kirsten palmed his buttocks with her hand, rubbing in circles, testing the resiliency of the tender hind cheeks she was about to blister. "All I can say is, James, you deserve this, you naughty boy."

Smack! Crack! Whap! Smack! Kirsten smacked James' bottom hard with a barrage of spanks that landed on alternate cheeks at a rapid rate. To James it felt like the shock of being plunged into cold water, only it was hot. His backside tingled at first as he felt the repeated impact of her palm on his rear. Then his ass began to sting as Kirsten spanked relentlessly from side to side.

Smack! Smack! "Ow...ow...ow..." gasped James. This was starting to really sting. Kirsten could spank! He was really getting a hot one.

"Now that's what naughty boys deserve, don't you think?" asked Carrie. "Wasn't this a good idea?" Her friends argreed wholeheartedly. It was a delightfully entertaining spectacle to see James with his little shorts and underpants at his knees, held over the knee of a woman only a few years older than he, getting his nude fanny warmed. And Kirsten was doing a superb job of warming it. The first red handprints of James cute cheeks had merged into a red mass of blotches. He squirmed uncontrollably as Kirsten smacked his bottom with gusto, putting smack after smack across the fleshy summits. He couldn't help it, his legs started to scissor and he drummed his toes on the floor.

"Getting a little hot?" teased Kate.

"Spank him harder," urged Carrie, "he can take it. Punish him for waving that boner in your face." They all nearly collapsed in laughter at her comment.

Kirsten got into a good spanking rhythm, landing smacks on alternate cheeks about a second apart. She spanked hard, making each one count. Sometimes she smacked him across the dark crease between his hind cheeks right at the base between legs and ass. Those spanks seemed to produce a more pronounced wriggle. Then she varied it, smacking briskly and fast for six smacks or so, pausing and giving him six more. She could hear his hissing intake of breath. She marvelled at the way his bottom quivered when her palm landed. It was getting quite red now.

"Hold still, James." He was squirming and bucking on her lap. She wrapped her arm around him, pulling him closer and resumed the juvenile chastisement. "Stop struggling," she whispered in his ear. "These ladies paid to see you get a good fanny tanning and you're going to get one."

Smack! Crack! Whap! Crack! Kirsten's arm pistoned up and down splatting the quivering fanny.

"Oh...ow...yeow!" James yelped. He must look like quite a sight, bare bottomed over Kirsten's knee. He couldn't help it, he was wiggling and squirming as she spanked him like he was a 12 year old boy. It was even more humiliating with his pants down to his ankles. Ironically, with just his bare butt waving in the breeze he felt more bared than if he'd been naked.

"That's it," said Carrie clapping. "Spank that bare heinie. Go to it!" Her friends hooted and cheered at Kirsten's determined efforts. Her solid smacks continued to to redden James' bottom quite thoroughly.

It was really stinging now, but the more James flopped around on her knee the more aroused he became. Twin sensations of pain and desire were driving him now, and neither had gained the upper hand. The delicious sensations of pain and pleasure were poised in balance as James endured smack after stinging smack from Kirsten's capable palm.

She decided to give him about 10 more really good ones, so she paused. "I'm going to give you 10 more James, really hot ones. Are you ready?"

James was wriggling, breathlessly almost, but he managed to croak out a "Yes".

Kirsten patted his bottom and delivered 10 slow blistering spanks as hard as she could. It was all James could do not to howl as each one landed, but his whole body clenched and his head flew up. As tender as his buns were, those last hard smacks each felt like a fiery brand on his ass.

"Woo Hoo, way to go, sister!" There was laughter and high fives all around as the the watching girls enjoyed the blazing climax of James spanking.

"Well," said Kirsten, helping an almost sobbing James to his feet, "That's it, girls. Thank you for your contribution. I'll get James put back together here. Thanks again."

The lively trio exited the room babbling in animated voices. When they had left, Kirsten closed the door again.

"They can wait a few more minutes. Come here James, sit on my lap." James started to pull his pants up, but Kirsten told him to leave them down. Kirsten sat back down and motioned for James to sit on her knee.

"That's it, James, just sit down here." He winced as his hot buttocks made contact with her lap. As James meekly complied she said, "You were my very brave boy. I had to spank you pretty hard, I know, but for all that money they were entitled to a good show." As she spoke softly, James felt his erection returning. To his utter shock, Kirsten fondled his stiffening member with her fingers.

"I noticed this too," she said stroking the turgid cock. "You were a good boy--a good bad boy, I should say, So you get a reward. Besides it turned me on to give your naughty fanny a good smackbottom. I just loved the sight of your cute buns all bare and turning red over my knee--I think you liked it too," she continued coyly.

James nodded and groaned in exctasy as Kirsten stroked his penis with her soft hand, moving faster now. He couldn't control himself. Pleasure was washing over him in waves as Kirsten stroked faster. He bucked up and down in her lap, flopping like a fish on a dock. Then from deep inside came the explosion that had been building during the spanking and he spurted gobs of creamy white gism that shot straight up into a tissue that Kirsten had produced from a pocket.

"There now, there's my good boy," cooed Kirsten, who continued the milking as James shuddered in waves of climax. "Now we won't have that nasty old erection to deal with when the next customer comes in."

James jaw dropped in dismay. Next customer?


Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Writing the Spanking scene, part 8---"Charles II" by Ashlynn Kenzie

Today I present a formerly unknown author, Ashlynn Kenzie, who has graciously allowed me to use a scene of hers as another illustration in my "writing the spanking scene series." The original text has been edited by yours truly with Ms. Kenzie's blessing.

Now it turns out that King Charles II was a merry old soul, so merry that he had 9 mistresses that we know about, and one would have to speculate that there were more. After all, where there's smoke there's fire, and with 9 mistresses, well, that's a lot of smoke. Was Cheerful Charlie into TTWD? This being England and all, home of Le Vice Anglais (those sneaky French--pot calling the kettle black, says I), I'm thinking it's highly likely. And that is the delightful premise of Ms. Kenzie's novel-in-progress.

The following scene, which occurs fairly early in young Charles' life, provides some speculation on what might have fired such an interest. Folks, let me say that this is a very well written scene, both in concept and in execution, and Ms. Kenzie is a real talent. I can only hope that she will finish the novel of which this is to be a part.


      England, 1643
      
      It was Jacqueline who would live in his memory forever.
Jacqueline standing, head bowed, hands gently clasped at her waist, eyes downcast. The picture of submissiveness.
 "Charles!"
      He straightened automatically and turned toward Queen Henrietta Maria, proud daughter of the House of Bourbon. She was a Bourbon through French King Henry IV and Marie de' Medici, and wife and yet-to-be-crowned consort - thanks to her Catholicism -- of Charles I, King of England, Scotland, and Ireland.
      "Oui, Maman," he said with a slight bow and the French response that he hoped would put him in her good graces.  Try as he might, it seemed that he would always be found wanting in her eyes: not sufficiently French, not entirely devoted to her own interests, and  - most of all - not the first of her children to be blessed with that revered name.
      For the one with a claim to such a distinction -- Charles James and also Duke of Cornwall as first son of King Charles I and Henrietta Maria -- had died tragically almost 14 years before, prior to the birth of the troubled couple's second son Charles and the young Princes' several younger siblings. Charles the Perfect - the most handsome of princes, most keen of royal intellect, most courageous of soldiers, most dutiful and loving of children, most devoted son of the Church. Or he surely would have been, had he attained even his first birthday. Of that his still-grieving mother was very certain. She made it possible for all to share the royal assessment of her firstborn's attributes by reminding them how frequently young Charles  now  missed the mark. And none shared that parental disappointment  more  than the current Charles Stuart himself.
      "I have asked Master Whitnell to join us," the Queen announced with a summoning hand imperiously waved toward the screen over her left shoulder.
      Try as he might, Charles could not quite control the  trembling that ran through his body as his tutor stepped around the divider and took his place a few feet away from the Queen. In the Charles'  experience, nothing good ever came of having his mother summon his strict taskmaster..
      The stern gentleman  took his place and waited, unmoving.
      As for Charles, he stood  and observed with trepidation the triangular tableaux formed by his mother, his tutor and his first hint of forbidden fruit - Jacqueline, by name, and the apparent subject of this unfortunate exercise. The entire tension-filled structure now seemed  mysteriously and delicately balanced between these three, the penitent, the judge and the executioner. And who was he to be? Another penitent perhaps? A shudder ran through his body and he licked his lips nervously.
      
      The Prince forced his eyes away from the 18-year-old because to look upon her was to remember things he should not remember - things that could call down his mother's wrath on his own guilty head. The probability  that this was, indeed, what was about to happen, was so strong he felt himself reduced to the stature of a fearful child. It was another unfortunate impression he would have preferred not to have made on the beautiful Jacqueline.
      For in her eyes, what he wanted desperately was to redeem himself and rise to the level of young manhood; a man upon whom she might consider bestowing womanly charms of an intimate nature.
      Because to this point, what he knew of the maid he knew only because he was a common sneak - a "puking, pitiful spy" - as Jacqueline had hissed in his ear when she had discovered him crouched in the thick shrubbery on the far side of the palace's rose garden. From that vantage point, he had been witness to the lifting of her garments for one of his father's nameless courtiers who had rearranged them for his carnal advantage and then had used a panting, beseeching Jacqueline for the same.
      Charles had wished desperately, as the sun set that day, that he could claim innocence, but the truth was, he had overheard rumors that Jacqueline, the daughter of the woman who had been his mother's favorite servant, sometimes enjoyed dalliances in that location. So, he had followed her in that general direction more than once hoping to learn what he could not in Master Whitnell's classroom.
      But On that particular day, only Jacqueline's fury had confronted him and had caused him to file the matter under question for another day.
      Indeed, she had threatened him with all manner of unpleasant repercussions if he ever revealed to anyone what he had seen  and had reminded him that his mother would be appalled at his behavior.
      He could all too well imagine his staunchly Catholic mother's reaction if she knew he had spied on matters she made it clear were sinful in the extreme outside the bounds of the duty to procreate.
      Having expressed her extreme displeasure, Jacqueline had gone on to win him to her point of view that no good thing could come of his sharing his knowledge by softening her approach. She, who stood almost on eye level with the young man, though she was older than he by several years, had kissed away his mortification gently and hinted at future rewards if he guarded her privacy well.
      "It will be our secret, my young Prince," she had whispered as she traced the same lips she had kissed so sweetly with soft finger tips. "Some day soon, perhaps we shall meet here again, if you prove yourself trustworthy. And then, oh, then, beautiful boy, I will show you things you cannot imagine. But you must not betray me, or it will never be as it should for you with me - or with any woman. You will be cursed forever, I promise you."
      He had promised her. He had kept his promise. Partly from fear should his mother learn he had sullied himself with such worldly knowledge and partly so he could gain more such knowledge in some glorious future with Jacqueline.
      So there must be some other reason they were all here. But what could it be?
      Charles stole another glance at Jacqueline's pale face as the silence surrounding them first stretched and then began to tighten uncomfortably around him like drying leather.
      "Master Whitnell." The Queen's voice was stoked with the hot fury to which Charles was all too accustomed, and he knew the mystery was about to be revealed. He could not stop himself from praying whatever happened next would not serve to humiliate him in Jacqueline's presence, whether it was related to their guilty secret or some other infraction. He marshaled his forces and prepared to accept with dignity and bear with fortitude whatever punishment his mother was, undoubtedly, about to call down on his head. He only hoped he could emerge from it a brave and resolute young man in Jacqueline's eyes and would not disgrace himself as a foolish child, trembling to accept  payment for some foul deed his parent had detected and summoned his tutor to correct.
      His worst fears as to his immediate unhappy future were confirmed when the Queen spoke again. "You are prepared to dispense discipline for the shameful sin which has been committed?" she demanded of the pedagogue. All hope that the Queen was somehow ignorant of his  behavior  was certainly now lost. She knew; somehow, she knew, and she was clearly horrified that he had behaved this way, spying on a maid for carnal purposes..
      "I am, Your Majesty," Matthew Whitnell of the strong right arm responded. In the time it took to utter the words, he raised his left hand - concealed until that moment - and displayed the supple, wide leather strap with which the future King of England was more than familiar.
      "Two dozen. Well laid on," the daughter of France ordered. Charles set his jaw and drew back his shoulders. Clarification as to how the Queen had come by her knowledge shrank in importance as he prepared himself to pay the price for his sin stoically. He only prayed Jacqueline did not think he had broken faith with her and thus placed himself in this unhappy circumstance.
      "Here," ordered the Queen pointing to her own wide, skirted lap. "And bared. I wish to see the full effect and to make certain the strap teaches a valuable lesson to all concerned."
      Charles felt the blood rush to his face, detailing shame that he was about to be cast into the role of a naughty child, still fit for bare-bottomed discipline across his mother's knee. Could a more unjust and mocking punishment be devised for a sin so anchored in the adult world? he thought rebelliously.
      The maid kept her eyes down, but Charles caught sight of the tear trailing slowly past Jacqueline's nose and settling in the corner of her perfect mouth. His heart lifted, somewhat, that she wept in sympathy for him already. Perhaps she would offer sweet comfort and proof of her concern when it was all over. He only knew he would bear what he had no choice about, and he would bear it so nobly this one he now felt he loved fiercely would never forget it and would see it - and him -- elevated to some higher level than his mother planned. For once, Henrietta Maria's noble parental goals would be stymied, if his own strength of will played any part.
      "Is there something you wanted to say, Charles?" the Queen demanded in her heavily accented tongue.
      "No, Madame. Except that I have been true to my word and will continue to be so." He said so with backbone stiffened, head raised as proudly as possible, and a strong gratitude willed toward the beauty who had shown him what it could mean to be a man.
      "What a pretty speech, Charles. A pretty but empty and foolish speech. Does it comfort you, Jacqueline?" the Queen demanded.
      For the first time the maid, who well knew her mistress' temper and devotion to discipline, spoke in English accented with her own lilting native French. It was somehow more gentle and appealing than the Queen's outraged pronunciations in the same tongue.  "It comforts me only in so far as it does not displease Your Gracious Majesty," she said.
      "Then it comforts you not at all, for it offends me greatly. Do you see that you have not only introduced my son to the most hideous of venial sins but you have encouraged him to deal dishonestly with that knowledge and to wound his mother?"
      Charles' freshly discovered sense of honor demanded that he speak, but he could think of no words that would not make a grievous situation far worse, no defense for Jacqueline that could not be diminished by his mother's scorn. Best, perhaps, to let his parent finish the tongue lashing of her maid and turn her more damaging intentions on his own shrinking flesh. At least the lovely girl would know, then, what he was willing to bear for her sake. His mother could not diminish that gift, he was determined.
      "Enough of this foolishness, then. We shall see who wants to play again at this game of 'romance,'" -- uttered with formidable scorn -- "when Master Whitnell has used up his supply of sting." The queen gestured to Jacqueline. "Come here, girl. Come here now, you miserable creature."
      Charles attempted to swallow through a bone-dry throat, stunned at the sudden turn of events.  "Yes, my Queen," said the maid. It was then that Charles realized that all eyes were focused on the voluptuous beauty as she moved toward her fate. By this  time his brain had finally made sense of the scene. The tantalizing maid was standing beside his mother, raising with her own hands a  skirt that he suddenly noticed was not supported in usual fashion by a rich array of stiff undergarments.
      Charles watched in  horrified fascination as his heart's desire  bunched the simple outer garment and the linen chemise against her sides at waist level, framing the pale and perfect mounds he had seen far too little of that afternoon. What he wanted, and now wanted desperately, even more than in his fevered night time imaginings since then, was to stroke, fondle and squeeze those fulsome globes.
      The fierce hunger gnawing in the parts of his body to which Jacqueline had fully awakened him were at war with the sudden shift in circumstances his brain was trying to process. He wanted to protest, to gallantly reclaim the punishment he had thought would be his, to become Jacqueline's bright knight. But relief and lust grappled with each other in such war-like manner within his youthful body that he could only gulp noisily and with complete lack of refinement and try to minimize his body's all-too-observable reaction to the stimulation stretching out before his gaze.
      For Jacqueline, with one swift sidelong glance at him through tear-glazed eyes, was placing herself across the limitless expanse of the Queen's gown and grasping both a front and back leg of the simple, armless chair where her sovereign was seated.
      Her long legs anchored her on the opposite side nearest Charles, at least until the Prince's mother gestured irritably toward a small footstool across the room and the tutor hastened to fetch it. When he slipped it beneath Her Majesty's left foot, it had the effect of elevating the tightly clenched domes resting uneasily on Henrietta Maria's royal petticoat-padded knee and, at the same time, causing the unfortunate Jacqueline to lose touch with the floor. Still not quite satisfied, the Queen urged her new maid into an even more precarious position and, with her own hands, draped the girl's garments so that they afforded a clear field of operations for Master Whitnell.
      Pleased with her efforts, she glanced at her son and her gaze fastened on his hands, cupped over the manhood whose arousal he could not successfully hide.
      "Shameful," she pronounced. He felt the blood rise in his cheeks and throb through his penis.
      "How many times have you watched this maid's sinful behavior?" she demanded.
      "On-only o-once," Charles quavered, praying it was an answer that would meet with her approval.
      "And did you then think yourself a man when it was over?"
      "I don't ... I m-mean ... that is, I d-didn't ..." The self-justifying words did not actually stick in his throat because they never made it that far, his brain having refused to supply any acceptable response.
      "Well, this is where your searching in sinful places has brought you, boy." His regal mother rescued him imperiously, spreading her bejeweled hands wide above the lengthy expanse of Jacqueline's pale beauty as though he needed help in focusing his attention.
      "It is well known that males lack sufficient self-control to turn aside from sins of the flesh, especially when that flesh is presented so freely and is aided in the effort by the very talents of Satan himself . That a young woman of my household should so forget herself as to tempt that degree of control is beyond understanding, however. I knew your mother well, Jacqueline du Furnier, and I can assure you she would beg me to chastise you well for your shameless behavior. If she knew that punishment would not only drive you away from such additional folly but also serve as a constant reminder to the future King of this realm of the need for self control and the ugliness of its loss, she would urge me to make this not a single instance of justified punishment, but a daily reminder."
      There was a soft moan of protest from the young woman bent so unceremoniously over her lap.
      "Indeed, I advise you to think well on that possibility while you undergo correction, Jacqueline. Your attitude will help me determine whether that might prove to be the best course of action for the good of your soul. And as for you, my son, I can assure you that before we are done here today, the sight  of Jacqueline's charms that may have excited your fleshly appetites these past few days will become, instead, a constant reminder of the depths of degeneracy to which some have shown themselves willing to descend. And I promise you, such sights as this," and here she skimmed a hard hand across the crest of Jacqueline's twin nether charms in such fashion as to set the cheeks wobbling gently even as she produced a mingled sound of crisp smack and surprised squeal, "will never serve to enflame you again, but will always remind you of your obligation to limit yourself to no fleshly contact, even with your future Queen, except for the purpose of getting children on her for the good of your kingdom."
      Charles had never had cause to question his mother's wisdom or word on any matter in his short life, and yet, his body was adamant that this was one instance about which Henrietta Maria was either totally ignorant or completely dishonest. He committed himself to obscuring all traces of suspicion from Her Majesty's mind, however, willing the trio simply to move through the scene being played out in his presence before he totally disgraced himself.
      The Queen might be loathe to air her son's dirty laundry - and increasingly stained it had become of late - and his tutor would certainly hesitate to call attention to bad behavior he should have anticipated and prevented.  The unfortunately erotic Jacqueline would surely not be foolish enough to attract disciplinary attention twice by sharing any details of the morning's scenario, but his mother's sitting room buzzed with the constant, faceless presence of any number of other servants and court members who would be only too delighted to replay the entire disciplinary scene for appreciative friends.  Charles desperately wanted to provide as small a part in the story line for himself as possible.
      The Queen, who justified  what took place in her own marriage bed by the uncomplaining, orderly and plenteous delivery of royal offspring on a regular basis, was determined to recall her erring son to a position of purity and piety, beyond any of her other responsibilities. Happily, she felt she might accomplish that goal, along with bringing the wayward daughter of her dear former first maid to repentance for her disgusting behavior -- behavior being discussed in virtually every corner of the scandal-hungry palace -- by stripping away Jacqueline's allure as a young woman and reducing her to the status of a disobedient child.
      No stranger to such correction in the Bourbon court of her own girlhood, she had gained new respect for its effectiveness as her own innocent babes grew into willful and rebellious children who would be under her influence for all too brief a time.
      Let Charles get a good view of Jacqueline reduced to a naughty, squirming, squalling, red-eyed, striped-bottom child; let him consider how easily he might find himself in the same condition. Henrietta Maria doubted problems of such a nature would surface in his own young life any time soon.
      Intent on impressing every facet of the scene upon her wayward son, the Queen stiffened her shoulders and caught her son's eye.
      "Come here, Charles," she ordered.
      The boy started, tearing his guilty eyes away from Jacqueline's creamy white, tightly clenched bottom and trying to understand what his mother wanted of him.
      "Do not test my patience, mon fils, and do not make me repeat my instructions."
      Charles took a half dozen steps toward the trio, his heart hammering.
      Close enough to view the landscape upon which his tutor would shortly begin to paint broad stripes of stinging pain, he noted the perfect symmetry of the promiscuous girl's twin globes. But sight was not a sufficient sensual reminder for the Queen. She reached across the unfortunate maid's back and, seizing Charles' hand, drew it down firmly until his palm made contact with the servant's plump right cheek. He made to draw back, horrified and fascinated at the same time, as Jacqueline uttered a surprised and shamed squeal of protest, but Henrietta Maria maintained a firm grasp on his wrist and kept his hand in contact with the smooth expanse of guilty flesh.
      "Touch her naughty bottom, Charles. Yes, that's it, both sides. How does it feel?"
      "Like the softest, smoothest silk," he was almost foolish enough to say aloud as he fought the temptation to pat and squeeze and even press his lips to the fulsome expanse that was cool to his touch.
      "Well, Charles," the Queen demanded.
      "I d-don't know - that is, -- she - it  -- she m-must be very c-cold ..." he mumbled miserably.
      "Indeed. Well, that is a circumstance that will not long trouble her, I can assure you. You will count, Charles. There, Jacqueline, you wicked girl. You see how merciful I am that I spare you that task. But it is only because I fear you cannot go above three or four, or nine or ten, at most. For if you could, you would surely have counted to thirteen and realized my son is not yet a man to be privy to your shame or seduced by your charms. Is that not so?"
      Charles' eyes slid to Jacqueline's face, turned ever so slightly toward him, though on the level of his knees, as she fought the humiliation to which she had been reduced. He sensed that further contact with her could only work to their detriment and withdrew his hand guiltily, using it to shield the hints his body was offering up about the ineffectiveness of his mother's methods. The girl remained silent, yet that faint air of rebelliousness still draped her like a cloak, Charles marveled. The Queen's eyes narrowed.
      "It seems you must count to thirty then, Charles," she said, "since Jacqueline declines to give us her opinion."
      Jacqueline shook her head frantically, causing her enticing bottom to jiggle most alluringly. "No, n-no, I beg you, I b-beg your par-pardon," she quavered.
      "Oui. And you shall beg with even more enthusiasm, and soon, I am quite certain."
      The Queen gestured again, waving Charles a few steps back and Master Whitnell a few steps closer, in a signal that she was weary of the preliminaries and ready to get down to business.
      "With as much vigor, as though this were Charles' bum and him at his most sinful," she instructed the tutor, who smiled and dipped his head to indicate his willingness. Angling his body perpendicular to the target and letting his gaze sweep from the artfully framed nether charms toward the delicately slippered feet of the first female he had ever disciplined. Taking a stance, the teacher raised his right arm enough to allow the twin tongues of leather, secured one on top of the other by a wooden handle that fit his grip perfectly, to trail across his target. He was unaccustomed to the disciplinary arrangement and realized he must practice extreme caution in applying the double strap, lest he endanger the Queen herself. Taking that into account, he adjusted his stance somewhat and, this time, with a word of explanation to his sovereign, allowed the leather to snap against pale flesh with only half the strength he was prepared to use, just to be certain where the lash would fall. It was enough to cause Jacqueline to stiffen her limbs and take a firmer grasp on the chair legs.
      "Come now. Get on with it," the Queen ordered. "I have other matters to see to today and so does Jacqueline. You realize, Charles, sin such as hers must be atoned for by pain and shame to the body and the mind. When Master Whitnell is finished here, Jacqueline will spend the remainder of her day as a living lesson to other worldly young women in my court and the foolish boys who allow themselves to be tempted by them. She will display her well-striped and very sore bottom by standing in the corner outside my chamber door, where all may take note. And she will recite her sin, thank me for spanking her bare bottom and add to it her plea for forgiveness at every chime of the clock until I dismiss her this evening."
      If possible, Charles thought, Jacqueline's body became more rigid than before and her jaw set more determinedly, even as tears trailed down her ashen cheeks. He was no stranger to the fires his tutor could light with a flick of his wrist, but even at his worst, Master Whitnell had never thought of such a fearsome and humbling refinement as the one the Queen proposed. He dreaded it for the girl he lusted over, and yet the very idea was, in some strange fashion, adding to his shamefully eager anticipation of the very event.
      The tutor trailed the simple twin leather tongues languorously across his left palm, and then, with no further warning, drew back his arm and brought the fire-etched strips down with a loud thwack,  scalding a path across Jacqueline's bottom, marking perfectly the upper limits of his work space with a two-inch-wide stripe of pain.
      Charles tensed as though his own body had absorbed the blow, and Jacqueline stiffened across his mother's lap and only just succeeded in biting back a gasp. The young Prince watched the pain mark the surface of flesh and saw the one he was prepared to love for the rest of his life draw her full cheeks into the tightest target possible. Gradually, the maid willed her body to relax and she draped once more over his mother's lap.
      "I was impressed, but apparently Charles was not," the Queen observed. "He thought your efforts not even worthy of a count. Try again," she advised the tutor, who had completed her instructions, in virtually the same place, before the boy found his voice.
      "T-two," he stuttered at the same time Jacqueline drew in a sharp breath and tossed her head of curly ringlets.
      "I think not," Henrietta Maria decided. "But I am sure Jacqueline will forgive your insistence on seeing her punished most thoroughly. At least this once. If you determine to repeat it, however, she may come to harbor less than pleasant memories of you."
      She pulled the girl a trifle more closely in to her body and leaned out of the way of the tutor's strap with a nod, indicating he should continue.
      As for the one undergoing correction, she turned huge brown eyes, sparkling with tears, on the future sovereign. He could not tell if the look was beseeching of mercy or scornful of his failure that  was too late to correct. Then her eyes squinted and her jaw clamped, her body jackknifed as the strap struck and her bare bottom registered another distinct band of fiery red attention. There was not another sound in the room as Charles repeated the number, this time in French, "Deux."
      Whatever pretense  had been at work in the rest of the room, whatever idle chatter had passed among occupants of the space - all was swept away now and every eye was focused on the punishment taking place across the Queen's very lap.
      When the lick Charles would count as "Trois" bit deep, it also bit farther down, hugging the two rapidly-coloring mounds together in a pain-filled embrace at their crest. Opposing arms and legs flew up in a reflexive effort and Jacqueline moaned deep in her throat. The whipping continued at a methodic pace.
      By the time Master Whitnell had stretched out his leathery friend thirteen times, there was no area of the trembling, swollen, ruby globes that had not been treated harshly.
      Jacqueline's moans had given way to shrieks. With each lash  she was quite certain the leather tails were stripping away a swath of protective skin and leaving her bottom raw and aching. She had not fallen off the Queen's lap, though she had certainly thrashed about enough in an effort to escape the pain.. Yet, Henrietta Maria managed to keep a firm grasp on her midsection and had even secured her hands at the small of her back  when they sought to provide protection.
      "You must rest, Master Whitnell," the Queen commanded and the tutor took himself off to taste the wine that had been poured, liberally, for him earlier. He also divested himself of his coat and then proceeded to roll his cuffs in such manner that his arm might, conceivably, perform even more effectively, although Charles did not see how he could possibly strike with additional force.
      He would have given a great deal for wine himself, but while his mother nodded at a page to bring her own glass forward, she gave instructions that he should taste only lukewarm water, lest he forget his numbers again and create another unfortunate situation for Jacqueline.
      The wine presented a dilemma for the Queen, however, who was discovering the young woman lying across her lap was quite determined to free her hands from the royal grasp, still, and use them to provide some comfort for herself.
      She considered this for a moment, while the room collected itself and Jacqueline's wails turned to piteous moans and persistent efforts to shake off the sting by dent of squeezing hard together and then frantically wriggling her nether parts.
      The young Prince heard his name called again and managed to raise his eyes from that particular fascinating activity in progress before him..
      " Mon fils, fetch the scarves from my table and bring them here. And be quick about it."
      He stumbled, almost blindly, toward his mother's sleeping chamber and found, with great good fortune, the supple, soft silk scarves she desired in careless profusion on the tabletop where her maid would have been assisting her with her morning's toilette.
      Gathering up a handful, he hurried back to her sitting room and approached the Queen from behind, stepping around Jacqueline's feet, which were now quite bare - her shoes having been kicked off as the strap found its mark on the fat and tenderly quivering little pouch of flesh at the base of her derriere moments before.
      "Kneel there." His mother indicated a position near the sorrowful face of the wicked girl she held captive. He scrambled onto one knee and the girl yearned toward him, begging him wordlessly and then with soft little moaning pleas to help her escape further punishment. He could not bear to look into her pitiful eyes, so he glanced at his mother again, who nodded her approval.
      "Now, take Jacqueline's arm and secure it to the chair leg with a scarf. How many did you bring ... ah, yes, enough, I think, to devote two to the task, and they will be needed, I am quite sure, once Master Whitnell has revived himself. Then secure the other arm, as well. I am quite exhausted with the effort of restraining her stubborn limbs.. I think, in the end, she will thank me that I prevented her foolish efforts to avoid the full penalty for her sins and kept her from earning additional punishment for herself."
      Charles reached for the girl's slender arm, twisted in his mother's grasp against the small of her back, and drew it down, silently praying Jacqueline would understand he had no choice in the matter.
      Unhappily for him, her eyes burned with fury and she did her best to break his hold before he could bind her, but he was a determined future King, and he finally accomplished the task, for her own good.
      When he arose, his mother was casually rearranging Jacqueline's skirts to once again more artfully frame a landscape that now glowed as though lit from within by a fiery sunset.
      "We will begin again," she announced and Master Whitnell took up his strap and returned to his former position.
      "I am not so knowledgeable as you, good sir, in the best way to proceed, but I think it possible you must make a slight alteration in your approach. First, bring me a pillow," she directed with a nod toward the chaise lounge drawn up before the sparkling window across her chamber. When the school master returned with it, she gave new instructions. "The stool is helpful, but I require more height. I pray you, help me make use of the pillow after you have placed it atop the stool."
      The effort, awkward in the accomplishment since, under no circumstances, must the male commoner hand come in contact with the royal foot itself, was finally completed, and the hapless bare-bottomed maid found herself bent even more sharply in two, with her tortured and defenseless bottom turned as much skyward as possible. In that position, the deliciously plump twin mounds revealed a thin band of hitherto-protected skin where, technically, buttock became thigh. It was a stretch of territory Charles could testify was sensitive in the extreme.
      His mother's fingernails traced suddenly white paths through red bottom flesh from top to bottom as Jacqueline gasped tearfully at the new assault and tightened every muscle in her body. Then, using one digit only, Henrietta Maria moved back and forth across that vulnerable and pale path from one side to the other.
      "This is the place where instruction tends to be most effective, I believe, Master Whitnell. See that the lesson is not wasted but is driven home in such fashion that it shall be remembered for some days --, no, let us rather say 'years,' -- in the future."
      "Wait," Jacqueline pleaded on a frantic scream and a swift upward bend of her knees. It was a defensive gesture that had to be undertaken by anyone with a sense of self-preservation but one that clearly fell short of the goal. The move tested his mother's patience, however, and Charles' eyes widened while he licked his lips in appreciation as the Queen grimly and briskly spanked the flesh held captive over her lap with her hard hand. Jacqueline protested with a full throat and a vain effort to free her own hands, but Henrietta Maria only increased the energy she brought to the task.
      "Stop that immediately, you ungrateful girl," she commanded, punctuating each word with a half dozen lightning-fast, sharp smacks, but Jacqueline continued to kick her feet back frantically toward her arched bottom.
      "Bind her, lest she add the guilt of striking her Queen," Henrietta Maria ordered Charles and he stepped forward, once again. This time he managed to wrap the trim ankles together and then to connect them, with a long leash-like use of a scarf, to the cross piece holding the legs of Her Majesty's chair together.
      There was nowhere for the frantic Jacqueline to go. No escape she could make. No defense she could offer. No sting she could diminish. And she could thank Charles for her helpless condition. He knew it was true and was shamed in the knowledge, almost as much as he was excited by it.
      "Concentrate your efforts, Master Whitnell. Just there. At the crease that is still so white and clearly undisciplined. And do not be deterred by any sound this foolish girl makes. She knows precisely what she deserves."
      The tutor was as obedient as though he feared he might experience the same fate if he faltered in any way. As a result, Charles had to shout the numbers leading to twenty to make himself heard over Jacqueline's shrieks and pleas and empty promises. His earlier pity for her began to dim and he wondered, forgetting past performances of his own, if anyone with so little self-control might not deserve the punishment she was receiving. Indeed, it struck him as quite miraculous that his mother countenanced some of the sacrilege the girl screamed as Master Whitnell's strap came down eight times, in that most tender of spaces, with all the vigor and determination he could call to the task.
      Charles could only assume it required all Her Majesty's concentration to keep the girl pulled in tightly enough to inhibit efforts that otherwise might have sent them both tumbling to the floor. 
      When the young prince shouted "Vingt," his mother signaled for respite, once more, and Master Whitnell traded hands with the strap and wiped the sweat from his forehead and upper lip with a small square of linen generously supplied by another of the Queen's maids.
      "You must be weary, sir, but I pray you, continue on as you have begun and let her have a fresh taste now from that division of her bottom in two down to her knees. Can you accomplish that in ten stripes, think you, Master Whitnell?"
      "I am quite certain of it, Your Majesty," the tutor said with a bow and took a step closer, the better to inspect his handiwork. "It might be best to have salve and bandages ready. Her cheeks seem ready to weep if she insists on fighting the strap and causes me to apply a fresh lick to a vulnerable spot," he said. "See here," he pointed to a particularly tender area in the crease that had seen more than its share of attention in the last few moments. Immediately the Queen's sharp-nailed fingers scraped across the area and Jacqueline's sobs, which had been scaled back to some degree during the respite, rose to a piercing shriek and a babble of fresh pleas. Charles' pulse raced and he felt far too warm.
      "Not th-there," Jacqueline wept piteously, shaking her head wildly and trying to sink down into the Queen's lap and away from her merciless finger. "I'm s-sorry. Pl-please."
      The queen sighed and withdrew her hand, then reached down to grasp the girl's chin, slick with tears and the additional moisture from her mouth and nose, and turn it to the side and up toward her in an awkward stretch.
      "Have you had enough, my dear?"
      "Y-yes, oh y-yes, Your Maj-majesty," she sobbed pitifully.
      "Then bear these last you earned by you stubbornness with dignity and gratitude and you may escape more. Show me you welcome chastisement for your sin, rather than trying to escape it. Ask Master Whitnell to spank you again and encourage him to do his best job."
      The young woman's body shuddered at the fresh assault on her pride, and Charles took note, realizing she was broken and studying every hint of that new attitude.
      She was, finally, submissive. He was fascinated.
      It took a moment for Jacqueline to complete the process of yielding, to abandon  her defenses while acknowledging her fault, but as the clock on the Queen's bureau chimed the hour, the maid won the battle to relax her taut muscles, allowing her scalded, freshly blistered bottom to open fully for well-merited punishment. Her voice, raw from her shrieks and pleas, framed the request in a childish whisper and she obeyed: " Pl-please spank my b-bottom h-hard, Master Wh-whitnell."
      He complied with the request and Jacqueline sobbed piteously, but she no longer fought and she even managed to request the next strokes. In return, the Queen and Whitnell were kind, allowing her time to find her voice, particularly when the strap found the most tender line  and she found it impossible to omit pleas for mercy from the request for punishment. That occurred at Charles' mouthing of "Twenty-five."
      Her young skin held firm, although it was as swollen and puffed up and angry a red as anyone in the room had ever witnessed, and the final five were delivered on virgin territory down her snow-white thighs.
      There was a moment of relative silence after the final stripe was added and Jacqueline had given herself over to sobs that shook her body but were held captive in her raw throat.
      "Release her," Henrietta Maria ordered, but when Charles would have hurried to do her bidding, she turned cold eyes on him and he withdrew, trying to contain his own shiver and shudder as Master Whitnell bent to the task.
      "Touch her," the Queen ordered. The young Prince closed his eyes and prayed for a steady hand, then took the requisite steps to his mother's side and laid his palms, as gently as possible, on the scarlet crowns of Jacqueline's bottom. "Do you think her still cold?" his mother demanded.
      He shook his head and mumbled a negative, wishing desperately that he could somehow soothe the girl and yet wondering what it would be like to press his beardless boy's cheek to her freshly bruised nether one. He throbbed afresh under garments that offered scant  disguise for his interest and forced his hands to withdraw, stepping back
      His mother's imperious voice continued. "You will never touch her again; or she, you. You know well that part of the sin is yours and I promise you that should I ever hear of another such scene, it will be you who suffers most. Do you understand me?"
      Charles dropped to one knee, head bent, and raised what he hoped was a penitent face to his mother, just as Whitnell loosed Jacqueline's final bond and helped her to her feet. Her trembling hands hovered over her well-punished bottom for a moment as she found her balance, but she had learned her lesson well, and those same hands gathered her skirts more firmly at her waist as she turned a shamed face to the Queen and even managed an unsteady curtsy, with the tutor's aid.
      "I beg your pardon, most humbly, Your Majesty, and thank you for calling me to account for my sins. They - they will not be repeated," she promised as new tears streamed down her cheeks.
      For just a moment, the Queen's visage softened and she reached out to wipe away the new salty drops. "Your mother would be proud," she said. "Pray to be delivered from new temptation, and busy yourself far away from my son. He has learned an important lesson today, as well. I trust neither of you will ever forget it."
      And indeed, Charles did not.
      He was a man changed forever.