The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Close the Door---A Snippet




 This little snippet was written for a contest of sorts in which the challenge was to incorporate the phrase “close the door.” There was a 250 word limit, but for this version I ignored that.


This was going to be rich. Finally miss goody two shoes herself was going to get it. That Derek had had enough was obvious from the frown on his face and the set of his jaw as he grasped a surprised Anita by the elbow and tugged her into his bedroom. Beth and Lori giggled. It was about time. They had run afoul of Derek’s house rules before and both had paid the price. That little wooden paddle of his could really set a girl’s bottom on fire, as both could attest. Each had been across Derek’s knee for a hot session with that paddle. As always, it was on the bare which stung like crazy, not to mention the embarrassment of being over the man’s knee with skirts up and panties down. But it was Derek’s house and he made the rules. Now the haughty Anita was in for it as a result of their clever ruse. The surprise on her face when Derek found the empty scotch bottle in her dresser drawer was worth a million bucks.


“That’s not mine!” she had protested when confronted by Derek.


“I know,” he had growled. “It was mine.”


So now Beth and Lori gleefully followed behind as Derek pulled Anita along, her fate determined. He pushed open the door to his room and relaxed his hold on Anita for a split second to fetch the paddle from its peg on the closet door. That was all she needed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Anita trying to escape.


 “Close the door,” he yelled at Lori and Beth.


They slammed the door in Anita’s face. They heard a struggle. Then, cautiously, they opened the door and peeked in. There was Anita, over Derek’s lap, skirt up, panties down. His arm was up, the paddle poised to deliver the first of many crisp smacks that would impart its stinging lesson.


“For God’s sake, at least close the door!” she wailed.


They wouldn’t close the door now. Not for a million bucks.




Thursday, February 20, 2014

Market Day on Pendragon

The planet Pendragon can be a cruel place. On market day the ecclesiastical authorities administer public punishments in the town square for all manner of offenses deemed sinful in the eyes of the church. On this particular market day, two principal characters in the novel Pendragon's Lash, Rhys Hollander and Elana Courset find themselves in the square to witness Pendragon's brand of civil justice....





They arrived in Kingsdown on what appeared to be a market day. The streets were swollen with activity. Narrow lanes meandered through stalls set up for selling food, produce, and goods and artifacts of all kinds. But Elana noted the crowd seemed to be generally drifting toward the center of town.

“What’s going on?” Elana wanted to know.

“Unless I’m wrong, it’s a Day of Justice… a day on which public judicial punishments are carried out by Church authorities. Come on,” he said. “You should probably see this. It will help you understand New Norfolk’s theocratic culture. It’s much more severe than what you find anywhere in Westlyn, and in Port Sarum in particular.”

Rhys knew someone who owned a tavern that fronted a large square in the middle of town, so they could see everything clearly from a second floor balcony.
There was a scaffold in the square, elevated so people could have a good view. There was a post on one end with a ring at the top. At another end was a pillory. Another taller post was in the center. Between the two ends were some benches.

Elana could see a procession coming from an official looking building adjacent to the square. They looked like priests in robes, wearing odd pointed hats, and between two columns of them there marched five couples. The man in each couple held the woman by the arm, as if leading her along.

“These are the domestic cases,” said Rhys. “Women may be charged with minor offenses like rude gossip, lewd behavior, swearing… things like that. The Church authorities hear these cases and pronounce sentence. Their husbands may elect to carry it out. They atone publicly by submitting to public punishment.”
“What will happen?” said Elana.
“The men will take their wives up on the scaffold, sit on those benches, and upend the women over their laps. Then they will spank them for as many turns of the glass as has been decreed.”
“The glass?”
Rhys pointed to a big hourglass that was supported on a gimbal. “It runs for several minutes.”

Elana winced, feeling for the women in view of her own painful experience across Rhys’ knee with that awful switch. And indeed, that was exactly what happened. Elana watched in amazed silence as the five men sat on the benches. The women knew what was expected of them, although they were all blushing or looking about, clearly embarrassed. No doubt some of their own friends and neighbors were witnessing this.
They stood by their husbands and lifted their skirts to waist level. The husbands whisked down undergarments, then pulled the wives across their laps. Five plump bottoms were upended across husbandly knees, awaiting the word to begin. Elana marveled at the public humiliation of it all. Her heart went out to the women. She almost thought, I’d never let a man do that to me. They she remembered. I already have. And she blushed at the memory.

It was announced that the punishment would be applied for two turns of the glass. This was about seven minutes total, explained Rhys.
Then it began. The men produced spanking implements—small paddles or strips of leather. With them they smacked the bottoms of their wives… hard, it seemed to Elana. There was much wriggling and pleading as sharp retorts of husbandly paddle or strap meeting wifely bottom resounded across the square.
How can they allow their men to do that to them? she wondered. The kicking and squealing intensified the longer it went on. Several times the priests had to admonish a husband who was not being severe enough.
“If he doesn’t punish his wife properly,” explained Rhys, “they’ll have her turned up in the pillory, and the Church deacon will do it—with a birch rod.”
There was a momentary respite when the sands ran out the first “turn”. Elana could see that the behinds of all the wives were turning very red. There were red faces, too, and tears aplenty. Some wives were sobbing quietly while others bawled unabashedly.

Then the glass was turned again and the punishment resumed. This time the cries were sharper as the cacophonous sound of leather or wood randomly smacking bouncing buttocks filled the square. By the time it was over, the wives were writhing shamelessly, trying to find relief from the repeated impacts of straps and paddles on their bare bottoms. There were cheers and catcalls, too, as the spankings continued. Finally, the sands ran out. The authorities allowed the women to cover themselves and be led away by their husbands.
Next, a pair of women were escorted out of the Justice Building toward the platform. One, a tall dark-haired woman, wore a dress in the style of an upper class citizen. It was red with expensive looking embroidery and boasted lace at the collar and cuffs. The other, a fair-skinned blonde woman, who to Elana seemed very beautiful and aristocratic in bearing, wore a long white shift. They ascended the platform. The brunette was smiling, but the blonde looked worried.

An official read from a ledger. It was something about one of the women making an election of apology. Elana didn’t catch it all.

“They are settling a dispute,” said Rhys. “The brunette has accused the other one of slander. It sounds like the blonde has admitted guilt. Maybe a priest got her to confess. Anyway, to avoid a large fine and to settle the matter, she will publicly admit that her gossip was untrue and will submit to punishment from the victim.”
There was a post in the center of the platform with a pair of handles at eye level. The blonde, one Dame Margetta, faced the crowd and made her confession. She said she was sorry for spreading rumors that Dame Fenn, the brunette in red, was unfaithful to her husband—apparently a serious charge. She admitted that the rumors were false and that she had spread them out of envy. She then requested that Dame Fenn punish her. Elana’s jaw dropped as the woman pulled the shift over her head and handed it to an attendant. Underneath, she was stark naked.

“This ritual of atonement requires that the penitent shame herself before the citizenry,” said Rhys. Elana watched as she turned and gripped the handles. She bent forward slightly, thrusting a plump and shapely pair of buttocks toward the crowd. An official handed the brunette a birch rod. It had a cloth wrapping for a handle that encircled a bundle of six or seven long switches.

“She must hold her position and not let go of the handles for the duration of her whipping. The dark-haired woman may whip her as hard as she wishes for one turn of the glass.”

“What happens if she lets go?” Elana was fascinated by the scene. The one called Dame Fenn swished the rod. The one called Margetta shivered.

“A fine is assessed and the Church pronounces punishment—and it will be worse than this. Probably a severe whipping. This is a way to make amends, but fortitude is required. Dame Fenn will no doubt try and make Margetta let go. Then she’ll get the whip and it will be worse. It looks like there is some bad blood between these two. But she must strike the buttocks only.”

The official announced that the chastisement would begin. The glass was tipped, and Dame Fenn wasted no time. She drew back and brought the rod down square across Margetta’s buttocks with a loud thwack. The blonde’s buttocks flexed with the impact and red lines appeared. Being fair-skinned, she marked easily. The brunette delivered another hard stroke. Margetta flinched and let out a small cry. Having established the correct stance and distance, Dame Fenn launched into what Elana thought was a thorough and painful birching. The lashes fell at a fast and furious pace. Dame Fenn had a smooth delivery; it was a coordinated movement, drawing back her arm to shoulder height, taking a slight step forward, and delivering a smooth downward stroke that gathered speed on its descent. It enabled her to land a stroke per second.
The steady sounds resounded through the square. Swish… Thwack! The blonde moaned and flinched as the withes scored her quivering bottom, painting lines that gradually merged into a livid red hue.
Dame Margetta heaved and stamped her feet. Clearly, she was fighting not to let go. Her body shook, and her bottom jiggled non-stop as the rod struck, over and over again.
The sands fell through the hourglass, but it was agonizingly slow. Elana saw the penitent woman’s eyes watching the glass. After her experience, she could certainly appreciate how Margetta was hoping it would go faster.

Meanwhile, her rival had redoubled her efforts and was whipping Margetta as hard as she could. Margetta began to cry and plead for mercy. She was shown none. Her bottom was now a livid red, almost purple.
For a moment her hands seemed to relax their grip, and it looked as though she might let go. Dame Fenn appeared to sense this and struck harder and faster. It was a dramatic moment, a duel, one trying to conquer her pain and hold on, the other trying to make her let go.

It looked as though Dame Fenn might succeed. The crowd grew silent, breathlessly awaiting the finish. But just when it seemed as if the shaky Dame Margetta would lose, the sands ran out. An official had to step forward and grab the arm of the punisher, lest she keep birching her victim after the allotted time.

“I think she really doesn’t like her,” said Rhys dryly.

The blonde was allowed to dress, and both women were escorted off. After that there were various other punishments meted out. A man was tied to the post and lashed on his bare back for theft. A single-tailed whip was used that left vivid red stripes.
A woman was birched in the stocks for cheating a customer. Her hands and neck were fastened into the yoke. It forced her to bend at the waist. Her skirts were raised and her drawers were lowered. A liveried constable took up what looked like another sheave of switches from a tall jar. A Church official read the sentence: thirty-six strokes. The constable or beadle laid on the stripes with a measured deliberate pace. Elana winced. At each swish of the rod, the woman’s buttocks quivered. She cried out in anguish and tried to wriggle as her bottom turned red under the intense switching. But she could not move much. The stocks held her securely.

“Why are the women punished on their, er, bottoms but the men are whipped on the back?”
“They call it upper discipline and lower discipline. Always been that way, I guess.” Rhys shrugged and turned away. “I think we’ve seen enough. Let’s go. We have to find the dead drop used by your agent, Julia Rogan. She’s a novitiate in the Benefice Sisterhood, right?”

Elana nodded. The strange frisson was back due to what she had witnessed. Somehow, watching those women being disciplined in such an intimate and shaming way had actually begun to arouse sexual feelings. Their bare bottoms so rudely exposed, their sex clearly… accessible.

And, she had to admit, there was her growing attraction to Rhys. It arose despite her resolve to confront the barbarian about his attitude, the idea that he was the dominant half of this arrangement, not her equal, but her master. It all made for an odd stew of feelings and emotions that gave her butterflies in the pit of her stomach—especially whenever Rhys stood close or touched her, even casually. She had to get this under control, dammit.


Amazon link to Pendragon's Lash

Sunday, February 16, 2014

F/M Guest author---James Sondance

 James Sondance is another one of those authors who wrote in the early days of the internet. He probably posted to SSS on Usenet, but I can't be sure of that. He was at any rate, one of those writers of F/M material who had an instinctive feel for the genre. His characters are adults but there is a distinctive age-play vibe that permeates his writing. He is all about domestic discipline. There are no leather-clad dominatrices in any of his stories.
James stopped writing years ago, probably around 2000, but I'm not sure of the dates either. At any rate you cannot find him at LSF or on any of the storyboards at least as far as I know.

This story is a real gem and concerns the sexual awakening of a novice disciplinarian doing a favor for a friend.

TAKE YOUR PANTS DOWN, DARLING! by James Sondance

Angelica was all dressed up to catch the airplane so I'd made breakfast. She really looked good. A black suit matched the shoulder length hair. Frilly blouse to disguise Angie's weak point, -- small breasts, and a skirt which was enough to reveal her best, -- the long shapely legs.
I got up to pour more coffee. Angie had pushed her chair back and my eyes fastened onto pretty knees. Angie saw me stare, gave me a smile, but then very calmly said, "Go get the paddle. There's just enough time before we leave for the airport."

I could not believe I was to be punished for a glance at nylon. I was her live-in lover. But in the 16 months I had shared Angie's house trailer, I had learned that domestic discipline was her department. Angie's mother had taught her that in her own house a woman is boss. Angie had had frequent reminders of that, not as often as her brothers maybe, but she still treated her mother with deference when we went over there to supper, and I had a strong impression that even her dad knew what it was like to be put over his wife's fat thighs. At any rate, the trailer was Angie's house. I shared it only on the understanding that I mind her, submit to the same kind of discipline her mother imposed on any kid of any age who still lived in her house.
I find it horribly humiliating to be required to drop my trousers and lie across pretty knees for a spanking. Angie does that as conscientiously as she does everything else. She has never been able to find an old fashioned hairbrush like her mother's but she has a little paddle with which she effectively makes me resolve to behave.

 Sometimes also the resolve is to find another girl friend with a more modern outlook, but Angie is a lovely woman, a fabulous cook and an exciting companion in and out of bed. Thoughts of leaving are confined to a few minutes during and after a spanking and vanish as soon as Angie commences her special brand of comfort. However, when Angie announced a paddling that morning, I was not aware of any wrong doing, had a wild thought of stalling until there wasn't enough time before we left for the airport. But instantly thought better of it. Angie always claimed that her mother NEVER relented after pronouncing sentence, and Angie never did either. Arguing with her only meant I would still get the licking and it would be much harder when it came. If I managed to delay until she could not take time to do it before leaving, my lady would merely push it back two weeks on her agenda and take care of the matter, with interest, when she returned from New York. So I resignedly headed for our bedroom and the lingerie drawer where she kept the paddle. When I returned Angie had taken off her jacket, was sitting with skirt pulled up so I would not wrinkle it. I noticed that in her hurry she had neglected to close the window behind her.
Angie patted her thigh as sign I was to take the naughty boy position. I flopped over her lap and mindful of the open window, resolved to make no noise.

As a general rule Angie will wait until I am across her knees and then scold for a long time before she spanks. It is extremely effective. I LISTEN to what she says, start good resolves before the punishment even begins. Not this time. The paddle smacked down at once. Then a slow rain of hard cracks to one side then the other. You never get used to it. The terrible singeing burning of that little piece of wood always comes as a shock. As always I started a frantic recitation in foolish hope of mitigating the punishment. "I'm sorry, Angie. I won't do it again. I'll behave. I won't be naughty any more." The paddle elicited helpless OWS and OUCHES each time it descended. I had no idea why I was being reprimanded, assured Angie, "You're killing my bottom. I won't be able to sit. Please stop spanking me. I'll be good! I won't upset you any more." There was neither explanation nor surcease. Angie's remorseless paddle kept on punishing my cheeks. My howls got louder. I did not care who heard what. The trailer echoed with my cries and the urgent spick spack spick of the paddle.

When satisfied that she had done her customary thorough job, my girl friend put the paddle down. "That was to make sure you behave while I'm gone," she said. "You won't be in any hurry to flash your bottom at some hussy. You may get up and dress."
"Angie, what other woman would I want?" My voice was tearful and sincere.
"None! You'd better not!"
"I won't."
"That's right.......I asked Bertha to come over and cook a few meals for you. Be nice to her. Don't give her any trouble."

What trouble would I give fat Bertha? Bertha is our next door neighbor and Angie's best friend. The girls are forever visiting one another. I always found Bertha pleasant enough but certainly not sexy, never paid much attention to her. I suspected that Bertha knew how Angie "managed" me. My girl would invariably have to go over and confer with Bertha after punishing me. I even imagined our neighbor eyed my backside on a day when Angie had reddened it. Of course women tell each other everything but it embarrassed me to think of Angie telling Bertha just how loud I'd howled when over her lap and how I'd kicked and all the little details. If anyone over the age of five is going to be spanked, they should be entitled to know the ceremony is private at least. But getting the licking in front of the open window, just a few feet from Bertha's trailer, made it about as private as if Angie had done it out on the sidewalk. I hoped Bertha would not be home, grabbed Angie's bag and took it out to the car so I could sneak a look at her trailer. Bertha's little car was on the driveway, front door open to the screen. Without any doubt Angie's spinster friend had heard the whole thing.

Angelica drove on the way to the airport, leaving me to try to find a comfortable position. As was her way there was no mention of the humiliating pre-departure scene. Angie stopped at the sidewalk baggage handler, gave me a quick kiss and slid out from under the wheel. A minute later all eyes were upon her trim figure disappearing through the electric doors.

I had an urgent appointment on the way home. I'd promised myself a secret treat as soon as Angie left and several days ago had made a date with a favorite masseuse. Ten minutes later I parked in front of Fiona's Health Parlor and Fiona greeted me with the usual kiss. Fiona is almost Medicare age but boasts a still lovely figure and a beautiful face. I've known her a long time and we have no secrets from each other. She tells me about her boy friend and is the only person in the world I have told how Angie disciplines me. Fiona led the way to her massage room, stood watching with professional detachment as I removed all my clothes. "Not the usual today, Fiona," I said.

"How come?"
"Angelica did it again." I turned my back. "I can hardly sit down."
"Don't know why I should comfort a naughty boy. I should spank you myself instead." But she was smiling and in a few minutes I was face down on the table with a hot wet towel on the sore place. Fiona followed the towel with a stroking massage. More towel; more massage. She wound up with a liberal application of skin cream which felt wonderful. I thankfully paid her and left.

Back at the trailer there was a visitor: Bertha. She was dressed up like she was going to church. Bertha is the same age as Angelica and about the same height but there the resemblance stops. Where Angie is slender, Bertha is stocky: Big breasts which need no padding; imposing behind; legs shapely with full calves; a plump, blonde, blue eyed, German girl.
Bertha looked excited. A faint blush on the fair complexion made her quite pretty for once. Of course the crisp blouse, snug skirt, dark heels and hose helped. "I made lunch for you," Bertha said. "Angie said you would come directly home from the airport."

"I had to make a stop, Bertha." I wasn't about to tell Angie's friend where I'd stopped.

"Sit down. I'll serve you. I've had my lunch." Bertha's heels clicked back and forth from the kitchen. I watched the tight skirt as she withdrew. Ample buttocks jiggled excitingly. On the way back unfettered breasts bobbed and gave me outlaw thoughts of big mammaries and large nipples. She stood close to serve me and once, bending over to mop up a spill, unconsciously afforded a view which made me want to reach down into that warm valley. Angie had told me her friend was an unused virgin or I might have been tempted to try my luck.

When the meal was over I leaned back and paid a sincere compliment. "That was delicious, Bertha. Thank you." The harmless compliment deepened the blush. Bertha was nervous about something. She cleared the table, came back, turned beet red and said, "Angie asked me to look after you."

"Thank you, Bertha. I can cook. I'm still a bachelor."

"She didn't mean cooking."

"What did she mean then?"

Bertha blurted it out. "I'm supposed to see that you behave."

Looking at Bertha's serious face I had an uneasy feeling. Wonder if the open window that morning had really been an oversight? Could Angie have wanted to show her friend just how to "see that I behave?" And that the reason for the pink complexion? But the thought of a spanking from Bertha made me laugh out loud. Even a cloistered virgin would know that kind of punishment had to be on bare skin. If she had ears she'd be able to tell from the sound that there had been nothing between Angie's paddle and my bottom that morning. There was no way to expose my rear for a licking without putting some very private male anatomy on view. I was safe from that kind of reprimand from Bertha. No bashful virgin lady could ever be that immodest. Reassured, I started to tease. "What will you do about it if I don't, Bertha?"

"I know what Angie does," she said soberly.
"I thought Angie had been telling you."
"She wouldn't have had to tell me."
"You've heard her?"
"I've heard YOU!"

I knew what she meant. I was never silent when Angie applied the wood, and thin trailer walls are no proof against yells. "You heard this morning?"
"Certainly I heard. I heard a naughty boy promise Angie to be good too."
"Angelica makes me mind, Bertha."
"You are supposed to mind me the same way you do her."
"Yes, Bertha." My tone was mocking.
"And address me the same way you do her."
"Yes mama." Sarcastic!
"Yes, Aunt Bertha!" She said.
"Yes, Aunt Bertha."
"Or you'll be sorry!"

I did not reply. Bashful neighbor was making threats of a very specific nature. Could it be that even virgins have maternal instincts? Bertha blurted out her next speech as if rehearsed. "I want you to drop your trousers and show me your heinder. So I will know how red Angie turns you!" Blushing maiden had turned into self assured woman! She was giving me orders,expected to be obeyed! Was that her idea or Angie's? Bertha answered the question. "Mind me. Angie said you had to."

Hoping it would thoroughly shock the lady, I, rose, turned my back, boldly dropped pants and shorts to my knees, lifted shirt tails to provide an unimpeded view. There should have been embarrassment. A shriek. Abrupt retreat maybe? Instead Bertha calmly said, "Why you're not even red! Back up here to me!"

Damn! I'd forgotten Fiona's efforts. They always dissipated both burning and redness. I reluctantly reversed and questioning finger tips touched me. "What is this smeared on your skin? You didn't have a chance to put it on. Who did?" There had been an error in my assessment of the situation! A serious one! I was just as bare to Bertha as ever for Angelica and it didn't upset her one bit. Her voice sounded like Angelica's and she was asking sharp questions! What she called my 'heinder' was beginning to tingle in expectation. When Bertha learned about Fiona, she might even think she should put me across her lap! I couldn't even think of a plausible lie, confessed like a school kid, "Fiona did."

"Who is Fiona?"
"A masseuse I go to."
"Does Angelica know about her."
"No."
"Angelica wanted your bottom to stay red. You deliberately disobeyed her."
"I guess so, Bertha........I mean Aunt Bertha."
"You promise to behave and ten minutes after Angie leaves your pants are off! Get dressed. We're going to my trailer. Maybe you don't keep promises but I do! I promised Angie to keep an eye on you."

So I was to be taken to the German lady's trailer so she could keep a maternal eye on me! Probably not let me out of her sight? Better than another licking anyway. Could be a lot better. Bertha is a pastry cook. A weekend of German chocolate cake and I would waddle off to work on Monday morning. Anyway there was no doubt Angie would get a full report when she came back. Maybe I could charm Bertha out of telling her about my masseuse? I sheepishly resumed my clothing, then she led the way. Neighbors may have thought I looked like a little boy being taken home by his mother? I felt like one. Bertha's back was stiff. The generous buttocks which were so inviting as she'd served lunch now pounded out a different message: 'Shame....on....you! Shame....on....you!' Bertha was not going to put me across her knee but it did look as if I was to be restricted to quarters. It wouldn't be on bread and water anyway.

In her trailer Bertha closed and locked the door. She got busy checking that windows were closed, drew the curtains and turned on lights. I fully expected to hear, "Can I offer you something to drink?" But she wasn't smiling. Maybe I'd be sent to 'my room'? I'd never been in her house before and looked around with interest. Apparently the rig had been custom made for her. There was a breakfast bar but instead of being the usual 3 feet high it was more like four. And wide. Bertha must use it for meals, working, everything. The polished oak surface gleamed. As did everything else in that immaculate home. Trying to placate my hostess, I paid Bertha a compliment which was perfectly sincere, "It's lovely in here, Bertha."

She smiled and returned the politeness. "Thank you. Will you excuse me for a minute? I'll be right back." She withdrew to her bedroom.

It was obvious enough that the lady intended to keep me under close surveillance but was going to make it as pleasant as possible. She'd come out in a few minutes wearing some kind of negligee and offer to play gin rummy. I could think of another game I'd rather play in the privacy of her house and smiled at the thought. But just then she popped right back out. She was carrying a whippy little cane. "I don't see what you have to be smiling about. Have you forgotten that you have to mind me or get in trouble with Angelica?"

"I've done it haven't I, Bertha? I came here when you told me to." The cane chastened me. She could bend me over and stripe my butt without any more exposure than she'd already seen. I hadn't thought of that.
"You don't seem to know why you're here?"
"So you can keep an eye on me? So I can't visit my friend? I wasn't going to anyway, Bertha."
"But you already have. That's the point."
"Yes I did."
"You have to be punished for it."
"You mean when Angelica comes back? You're going to tell her?"
"No I am not going to tell her. I am going to punish you myself."
"Bertha! You don't mean it!"
"I certainly do mean it. Either that or you'll be looking for a new girl friend when I tell her how you couldn't wait to see her off and dash over to your nasty friend."

That part was undoubtedly true. Angelica would not consider my venture a harmless peccadillo. The dark Italian eyes would flash. I'd find my clothes on the street. I made a plea bargain. More plea than bargain. "Keep my secret, Bertha, and I will submit to whatever punishment you see fit."

"How would you like me to bend you over that counter and whip you with this cane?"
That was what I had been afraid of hearing. I became desperate. "Not with the cane, please, Bertha? Do it with your hand? Or a hairbrush even? I'll mind you. I'll do everything you say."
"Take your shoes off. And your pants and your shorts."
"Off, Aunt Bertha?"
"What did I say?"
"You said off."
"Do it then."

Clad only in socks and a shirt I felt horribly vulnerable, wished I had not so confidently challenged Bertha. I stood in the middle of the small living room not knowing which way to turn. Shirt tails covered me front and rear but I was getting the impression that modesty, my modesty at least, was of no import to Bertha when discipline was on her mind. A bare bottom had not impressed her and she had not averted her eyes as I was undressing. I heard Bertha sit on the couch behind me, half turned in expectation of being ordered over her knees. Instead a calm voice asked, "Where else did this wonderful friend of yours massage you? Turn around here so I can see."

In the narrow aisle Bertha matter of factly lifted a shirt tail and inspected a flaccid member. "I thought penises were hard and stuck out in front," she queried.
"Not when I'm about to get a spanking, Bertha." But just then the inspection began to take effect. My penis swelled. Bertha hastily dropped the shirt tails, acting like a bashful virgin for once. Stern guardian became a curious little girl. "What made it do that?"

"You did, Bertha."
"Just looking at it?"
"Somebody like you looking at it." It was meant as a clumsy compliment. Maybe Bertha could be diverted into something which would be a lot more fun than a spanking? But that foolish hope died you. "Will it still be like that after I spank you?"
"No it won't, Aunt Bertha." I was back in the naughty boy role where she wanted me.

"Go lie across that counter on your stomach."
I am not overly tall. But Angie and Bertha are. I had to pull myself up over the counter and feet did not touch the floor. I reached out and took a firm grip of the edge, closed my eyes. "Not with the cane, aunt Bertha," I begged.
"Are you going to mind me?"
Yes mam, I am. I'll do whatever you say." My Guardian was hipped on obedience.
"You have to be punished for being so naughty. I want you to stay right where you are until I say you may get down."
"Yes mam. I will."
"You are going to get a sound spanking."
"Yes Aunt Bertha."
"Then you are going straight to bed."
"Yes aunt Bertha."
"Right here. I'm going to keep an eye on you."
"Yes aunt Bertha."
"Stay there. I will tend to you in a minute."

Bertha walked around to the kitchen side of the counter. My bare buttocks were handy and waiting. I heard her open a drawer, rattle implements. I expected to feel a stirring paddle on my behind any second. She left me and went into the bedroom. To put the cane away I hoped. She had not said she would not use it. But she couldn't claim I was refusing to mind. After an agonizing wait her heels approached. She put a hand on the small of my back and played a new role. "Auntie does not like to have to spank her little nephew but you have been a very bad boy."


It was confusing. I'd thought a licking from her was out of the question but here I was bare and ready. I'd been reduced to hoping only that it would not be with the cane, did not know but what it would. I was perilously perched on her high counter with no recourse but to obediently accept whatever came. And Bertha was playing games! One role after another! First she had been Stern Guardian; then it was Gracious Hostess; Curious Virgin when she looked at me; and now Fond Aunt Who Hates to Punish! I had no option than to play my part, responded with a dutiful, "I'm sorry I was bad, aunt Bertha."

There was no reply. Bertha carefully lifted the shirt tail which had been inadequately covering me. I was nude from waist to toes with the spanking part presented to her on a platter. Legs were free and I knew they would kick wildly when Bertha began. I could not see her, could only hold on and wait. I hoped I would not disgrace myself but was much afraid I would be bawling and kicking when the stern lady started with whatever she was holding in her hand.

"Are you wishing you had not been so naughty?"
"I surely am, aunt Bertha." I wondered if she knew how sincerely I meant it? Right then I wished I had never heard of Fiona.
"Are you going to obey me just like you do Angie?"
"Yes mam. I'll mind you. I'll do everything you tell me to. I will obey you, Bertha."
"Very well. Then I'll spank you across my knee this time. Get down."

It was a relief to slide off the high perch. Somehow the position seemed made for application of canes, stirring paddles etc. Bertha might do it just as hard over her knee but it would not be so impersonal. At least the big lady would be holding me even if it was on her lap to be punished. By the time I was back on my feet, Bertha had pulled out a kitchen chair and was sitting on it waiting. She had swept her dress up and I saw big thighs, stockings held up by straining garters. The confident way she had taken me in hand dispelled any notion that the virgin lady would be either unable or unwilling to punish me in a memorable fashion. She pointed an imperious finger to her lap. Wishing to prove I was a model of obedience, I immediately spread over the big lap and scooted forward until my bottom was well up in the air. I was as handily presented for correction as over the counter. Staring at the carpet there was a much different attitude from the laughing defiance of a few minutes before. My only hope was that Bertha would respond to my tractability by doing it with her hand and maybe not too hard.


Bertha began to spank. Her gentle reprimand was not in it with Angie's. She landed a few slaps on my behind, paused, said, "Bad boy," and landed another dozen pats. "Unruly child," she pronounced and another twelve. "That was very naughty of you," more mild spanks. "Aunt Bertha is very disappointed in you," and her palm came down. There was a series of questions, each one followed by more spanking so that answers were superfluous. "Do you think you can behave? Isn't it a shame that a big boy like you has to be put over Auntie's knee? Does it take a red heinder before you can be good?" Then Bertha switched to statements of fact, again each punctuated by more licking so it would sink in. "Don't think aunt Bertha won't spank you. I'll give you what a naughty boy needs. I'll put you across my knee as often as you need it. You won't be able to sit down when I finish with you." The comments sounded more like something she had read than what she really believed. The spankings she interposed were hardly more sincere. But they went on and on....

The lengthy reprimand was more effective than Angelica's quick dust-offs. Being on Bertha's lap, scolded and spanked, was convincing even if the spanking was not dreadful. Bertha kept me over her knee and continued the reprimand for a long time, - ten minutes probably, or even more. The longer it went on the more I felt like a little child. Not punished boy friend as with Angelica. A little boy who had been bad and was being justly whipped for it. I whispered regrets and apologies to the carpet and they were sincere. It HAD been naughty to secretly visit Fiona. Bertha said so. I deserved what I was getting. I would not do it again. I wondered how long Bertha was going to keep me on her knees?

"Are you going to be good?" Bertha had stopped to hear the answer.
"Yes, yes, Aunt Bertha."
"Mind me?"
"Yes, yes. I will aunt Bertha."
"You may get up. Go lie down on my bed. Leave your trousers here. You will not need them again today."

Lying on Bertha's clean bed sans trousers, I fell asleep. I half awoke aware that Bertha was sitting on the bed and I had snuggled up against a motherly hip. She saw that I was awake. "I'm the one who needs a spanking now," she said mournfully.
"How come?"
"Spanking you gave me terribly naughty thoughts."
"What naughty thoughts, Bertha?"

There was no answer. Bertha hung her head. Her face got red. As if such wantoness was unheard of. I gently pulled her down on the bed beside me, lay down with her and held her close. It was an unerotic hug,-at first. She did not stir and I let my eager hand pat the big rump. Before long it seemed only natural to reach under her dress and pat panties, and soon the other hand was gingerly touching big breasts. "Stand up, honey," I said at last. "Let me help you undress." Bertha obeyed as if in a daze but when two nude figures were back on the bed, instinct took over. I had not intended to let it go further than touching but half an hour later she was making it clear with words and actions that we were to finish the game. I was gentle and slow but the virgin became a wildcat. In a few minutes her face suffused in silent climax and I followed within seconds.

Monday, February 10, 2014

Guest Post--A Housewife's Tale

First person accounts are the stock-in-trade of spanking literature. I have tons of them scattered about on my hard drive, and I have no idea when or where I got them. I just troll through my collection from time to time looking for something interesting.This one has the feel of what could have been a true account.

I have no idea who authored this piece or when, so if the author sees it and comes forward, I will give him/her full attribution.


A Housewife's Tale

Raised in a fundamentalist Baptist household I was familiar with corporal punishment from a very young age. My parents, more so my mother, believed to spare the rod was to spoil the child and the truth be known, I was just one of nine children who were never spoiled. I got my last spanking with a hairbrush on the bare at age 13 from my mother and from that point forward figured I was too old to be spanked. I was party to what some would say a shotgun wedding at 18, divorced at 22, and looking for a good man, a more mature guy who was financially capable of supporting my 4 year old daughter and myself. I first started dating a guy I had dated for a short period in high school and thought he might be the answer. He was two years my senior and also recently divorced. That never took hold but if I hadn't dated him a couple of times I never would have met his older brother, four years my senior, very mature, never married and financially well set. He had a house, two years left on a mortgage and had recently converted from Catholic to Pentecostal Christian.

My parents were definitely against me getting involved with a Pentecostal for various reasons but even my mother agreed he was much better looking and more responsible than the geeky and spiritually weak bachelors in our church. My father was surprised at the strength of Jake's faith, his resolve to defy his Catholic family and his knowledge of the bible. While he couldn't quote chapter and verse there was no denying his understanding and insight and fundamentalist foundation.

Well we got married within a year, the wedding far more lavish than my first, and my daughter served as flower girl. Long before we got married I was aware that Jake believed in spanking, not as discipline but foreplay, which I found somewhere between obscene and demented despite the fact that he did spank me occasionally and the result was ... well ... in some ways pleasurable and exotic but at the same time I always felt later or the next day it was demeaning, him putting me over his knee as if I was a little girl. Other than this strange kink I never could find any fault with Jake. He handled my daughter better than her real father, teaching her to tie her shoes, write her name, taking time to bake little cakes with her in her Easy Bake Oven and took her to his office where she happily beat at the keys on a typewriter while he attended to business.

The first three months of our marriage were great, then it began to unravel mostly because I now had the chance to do things I never did before I met Jake. I had money, charge cards, and a car he bought for me. I was out shopping during the day, partying with old friends at night and took full, I must admit unfair advantage of Jake's big heart. It also cost me dearly. I missed my daughter's first day of kindergarten because I wasn't home yet when school started at noon. In fact I missed the first two weeks of her introduction to education and by the time I showed up and tried to assert my maternal authority I learned quite a few things had changed. First my daughter refused to wear pony tails or braids and Jake just brushed her hair straight and sometimes added a single ribbon. She ate breakfast every morning without complaint, though I had to admit, scrambled eggs, French toast or pancakes were more to her liking than cold cereal. She sat up late nights with Jake, sharing his chair watching movies on cable. I was mortified to find that in two short weeks my own daughter had become more attached to Jake than me and not only did she respect him. she doted on his every word.

Things got worse. I refused to be reined in and one night I came home about four in the morning. Thankfully my daughter was asleep but I was angry because Jake was waiting up for me and saw that I hadn't been dropped off by a girlfriend but a guy. We were at the five and a half month mark of our marriage and hadn't had sex in more than two, mostly because I was always absent. I accused Jake of spying on me, saying he had no right and his response was quite simple, then why come home at all and to be dropped off by a man besides. I didn't care. He was wrong. I was right. I was old enough to do as I pleased. Jake quickly reminded me I was not living with my parents and I had responsibility to a four and half year old daughter who I had been neglecting for sometime. How dare he! But I knew he was right. I had been using Jake as a free babysitter, ignoring the fact she was more my responsibility than his, and her father who had weekly visitation rights hadn't seen her in more than two months either. Jake said something about calling a lawyer and getting custody from two wayward parents. I hit him. Big mistake. Physically I'm anything but petite, five seven, 140 pounds and I pack it well, full C cup, which never interested Jake all that much and a full round but firm bottom which did. Jake is five ten and 185 pounds of muscle, a former athlete with coordination, reflexes and strong hands and forearms. When he grabbed my wrist the second time I tried to hit him he caught it easily and with so much force I was instantly terrified. My first husband had hit me and I hit back, knocking him down. He tried to strangle me once and I swear I almost killed him. Confronting Jake was entirely different. As he picked me up as easily as he might my daughters Cabbage Patch kid doll and carried me to the bedroom all sorts of thoughts ran through my head. He'd kill me. Maybe rape. Something awful to be sure. When he sat on the corner of the bed and flopped me over his knee I knew. Spank me!

I protested wildly to no avail. His grip was too strong and with both hands and my toes on the floor, my skirt covered flanks raised in sacrifice I was in a terrible position to fight back. Then my skirt went up and when his fingers deftly found the elastic band of my panties I screamed NO! in real terror. I didn't want to find out how much anger and frustration had built up in him over the past three months and I knew I was about to find out. I was like a little girl about to have her bottom warmed by her disappointed father. Only problem, I knew Jake relished spanking where I don't think my father did. I was also quite aware that this spanking was not going to be like any previous, all three in number, made of moderate, considerate slaps which had turned my pale white cheeks a light pink.

My panties came down and I gasped. I felt helpless, terrified, mortified and began praying for a miracle. My panties went down past my knees, slipping to my ankles and the cool air caressed my bare butt. Jake didn't wait to explain or anything. The first smack landed on one bare cheek and while I gasped for air his hand landed on the other with equal force. These smacks were nothing like anything I had previously experienced from Jake. The fire was immediate and it didn't stop. Smack .. Whack .. Smack .. Whack .. Smack .. Whack .. Like an echo in my head as his hand just kept landing without respite. There were no warm caresses in between, just Smack .. Whack .. Smack .. Whack .. Smack .. Whack .. I was finally conscious of my breathing which must have stopped for the first twelve or so and as felt tears welled up in my eyes and the burning sensation spread I wondered how long, how many more. I don't think my mother ever gave me more than forty and at most twenty with the brush at any one time. My dad, never more than ten, usually one or two good swats and that would be the end of that. My father terrified me but I also knew he loved me. I was wondering if Jake did. If the only reason he married me was for moments like this when he could find any excuse to spank my full round ass to his hearts content and as the spanking went on I was wondering what his heart's content might be.

Fifty, sixty, seventy ... 100! and he just kept going revealing no signs of letting, easing up or stopping. My ass was shaking violently from the violent force as the flat of his whole hand made hard solid contact each and every time and that Smack .. Whack .. Smack .. Whack .. echoed through the room, off the walls, through my head and off my now smarting ass. I was begging for him to stop and my voice was hoarse. I don't think he could hear me over the repeating sound of his hand against my raw naked flesh. It was like a machine gun, non stop and unrelenting. Smack .. Whack .. Smack .. Whack .. Smack .. Whack .. I tried at some point to block the blows but with ease Jake grabbed my wrist and pinned it behind me and just kept on spanking without missing a beat. The spanking must have lasted four of five minutes and in that span I would guess Jake landed at least 300 forceful blows to my bare shaking flesh, perhaps more. He let me up and asked a question which I didn't hear, but stormed off to the bathroom where I rubbed my aching flesh as it throbbed and felt like two balloons swelling. I wiped the tears from my eyes. I didn't want him to know I had been crying. I felt ashamed like a little girl and angry because he could make me feel that way. I was also very conscious of the fact that I was wet and ready for sex, but I would never tell him that. I took off my clothes and still my ass was throbbing. I stepped out of the bathroom and in front of the full length mirror to view the damage. I was aghast! My ass was as red as ripe tomatoes! The dark red hue spread from the crease at the top of my thighs almost to the top of the cleft between. I hadn't realized Jake was watching me. He asked me if I had learned anything. My response was defiant. I called him a sick bastard and again told him he had no right. Wrong answer and I knew the second the words left my lips.

I was now naked and again at his mercy as he pulled me and then pushed me onto the bed, face down, raw red flesh up and exposed. I couldn't believe it! He spanked me even harder, driving my pelvis into the mattress with every smack. Within a minute or so my ass went numb. I could hear the Smack .. Whack .. Smack .. Whack .. and feel the impact as his hand took turns flattening out one cheek then the other, but pain ... I knew it hurt but couldn't really feel it but I knew my ass felt bigger and bigger, the throbbing continued as did the spanking for another three minutes.

Then he took me from behind, so easily. Never was penetration that easy or so quick. I was mortified I could be so ready and willing after he had abused me, treated me like a little girl, and the next morning I was equally ashamed because I came so quickly and three times in a couple of minutes.
Unfortunately that spanking, the worst I had ever endured in my life did nothing to curb my free fall from grace and lead to a repeat performance and then another, but that will have to wait until next time.



   
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