The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Writing the Spanking Scene -- Captives of The Leather Lashers Pt 1

This is spanking story literature the way it was in the '60's. This particular excerpt is from a novel by Jack Warren, one of Paul Little's pseudonyms. When writing as Warren, Little's setting was frequently the ordinary American suburban neighborhood, all wholesome and squeaky clean on the outside, but harboring dark secrets behind closed doors. This particular book is about a wife spanking/wife swapping club, sort of a spanking version of "Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice." Notice how dated the dialog, the clothes and the attitudes are. As is typical with Little, the catalyst is a rather ordinary episode of familial domestic discipline.

Two blocks north of the Fairborn house, a teenage coppery-red-haired Cissie MacDonald was getting her first spanking since the day before her fifteenth birthday. Her father was administering it, and he was in a towering rage, not without some justifiable reason. Cissie's mother had told her that she was still too young to expect to have dates with boys, but just the same Cissie had gone ahead and defied both her parents on that score. It was Saturday morning, the July sun was already oppressive, but it was doubtful whether Cissie was too greatly concerned with the heat of the sun. What was bothering her right now was the heat which her father was infusing into her creamy skinned naked, saucily contoured young ass with the sole of a worn-out leather bedroom slipper. Yesterday afternoon, Cissie had innocently asked her mother if she might go over to Betsy Donnegan's house and play out in the Donnegan yard, and of course her mother had said yes. But what Agatha MacDonald hadn't known was that Betsy, a black haired hoyden, had taken advantage of her parents' quick weekend trip (to Freeport, Illinois to visit a sick relative) to invite two boys of her own age over to play softball with her. One of the boys she intended for Cissie, a towheaded, freckle faced youth by the name of Jimmy Pollock. Her own boyfriend was Mack Servy, stocky, with unruly light-brown hair, and he and Betsy had already done a lot of petting out on the gazebo, a white wooden-frame summer house in the middle of the beautifully tended Donnegan garden. Cissie and Jimmy got along just fine, and Cissie had even let Jimmy kiss her and slyly put his hand on one of her budding young titties which thrust invitingly against the pullover blue sweater which she wore over her sleeveless blouse, together with a pair of playshorts of white linen. Her legs were bare to the bobby socks which garbed her slim ankles, and she wore loafers, though she would have infinitely preferred to have worn high heels. Unfortunately for the red-haired culprit, a motherly old widow who lived across the street had observed Cissie kissing Jimmy Pollock, and had chatted with Agatha MacDonald that evening after dinner. In the course of that conversation, since she and Mrs. MacDonald were old friends, she mentioned that she had seen Cissie and Jimmy kissing.

 The redhead had put on her most innocent look, her eyes very wide, and had asked, “What's the matter, Mom?”

 “Since when do you go around kissing boys in Betsy Donnegan's yard?” had been the shattering answer. And Cissie's face had gone as red as her hair, she had gulped, and then looked down at her plate and had had hardly a word to say for the rest of her breakfast.
It was about an hour and a half after breakfast, and Mark had put away his suitcases, kissed his wife and told of her of his success on the trip, and now he was in Cissie's bedroom, seated on a straight-backed chair near the window, with Cissie across his lap, her playshorts and her little cotton panties yanked down to her knees, her legs crossed for about the twentieth time since the spanking had started, and her milky-sheened, saucily rounded naked seat already just as red as her hair and a good deal hotter.
The slipper sole was a very embarrassing weapon to be used by a young lady who thought herself more than grownup enough to kiss boys. But the noise wasn't bothering Cissie so much any longer, it was the ferocious heat which was permeating her squirming bare ass each time the slipper came down to make crisp impact with her tender virgin flesh. Her hands were gripping the rung of the chair, and her face was upturned, her eyes tightly closed, her teeth ground together, as she tried desperately not to yell for mercy. But he had already given her about fifteen spanks, and she couldn't control the squirmings and wrigglings of her bare behind, and besides it was getting so painful that she just couldn't stand it anymore. Her cheeks were already wet with tears, and once again as she waited for another spank, she uncrossed and then recrossed her lovely legs. Whackk! The slipper described an arc in the air, then landed right down the widening shadowy crease between Cissie's virgin asscheeks.

 “Oww ohhh, oh, Daddy, oh do please stop, you're killing me, I won't ever do it again, oh please let me off anymore, please, Daddy!” the culprit squealed. Now one leg kicked up in the air, and the loafer fell off with a thud onto the floor. She turned her contorted and tearstained face back to her father, who was a tall, stern-faced man of forty-one, with thinning dark-brown hair, and who was assistant regional sales manager for a variety of housewares which their Rochester plant manufactured.

 Mark and Agatha had been married sixteen years, and when the marriage had started, Mark was working back in Rochester on the assembly line of the plant itself. But he had shown such a keen administrative mind and an ability to get along with people that his company had soon promoted him, and now for the last four years he had been out in Northbrook in his present executive capacity. They had tried to have more children, but the doctor had told Agatha that it wouldn't be possible. They both loved Cissie very dearly, and she was probably spoiled because she was an only child. One might say that when one realizes that the spanking she was now undergoing was her first in three years, though certainly over that span, she had committed enough mistakes and impertinences to have earned her at least a dozen thrashings from less indulgent parents.

 “I don't like doing this any more than you like getting it, young lady,” Mark MacDonald growled at her as he adjusted his left arm around her slim waist, pulled her back to him and tapped her flaming naked ass with the slipper sole. “But what I really don't like is the deceitfulness you showed yesterday by telling your mother that you were going over to play with Betsy when all the time there was a boy there who was going to take a fancy to you,” he went on sternly.

“But, Daddy,” the red-haired teenager wailed, daring to rush one hand back towards her reddened bottom in a naive attempt to cover up her further spanks, “I didn't know Jimmy was there, honest I didn't! Betsy had her guy over, and he had brought along his best friend, and Betsy said he was for me.”

“And you ought to have gone right straight home, young lady. Actually, maybe I won't hold you responsible for arranging to meet the boy over there—or you would certainly get a worse licking then I'm going to give you now. But you didn't show very good judgment in staying over there, and still less in kissing that boy. So our neighbor has to call your mother and tell her what you've been doing—how do you think I feel about that, young lady?”

The sole rose in the air and then fell angrily, once on the base of Cissie's left buttock, and then on the outer edge of the left hip. She squealed and jerked forward, trying pathetically to get her hand back over her bottom. Her father caught it in midair with his left hand and pressed it down hard against the small of her back, and then he clamped his right leg over her calves to make sure that she would stay in place throughout the rest of her spanking. Now the sole came down rapidly, spanking all over the tossing, jerking, weaving naked globes, and Cissie began to cry and to plead for mercy.

“Oww—oh stop, let up a minute, Daddy, oh please! Eeeowwwouuu!! You're killing me, Daddy! Oh please, Daddy, I'll be good!”

 When he paused, Cissie's naked bottom and even the tops of her delightfully rounded thighs were a bright crimson, and the lovely red-haired teenager was crying frantically, the fingers of her free hand twisting nervously against the rung of the chair.

 “You had better not try that again, young lady, or you'll be back here for a good deal more. Now get off my lap and go put on your pajamas!” “My pajamas, Daddy?” Cissie wailed uncomprehendingly as she slowly and grimacingly clambered off her father's lap.

NEXT --- A unique club is formed

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