The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Friday, May 30, 2014

Letters to MR. Magazine



 In the 1960's I, like many others, stumbled across Mr. Magazine in my obsessive quest for spanking material. There wasn't much back then besides the occasional adult bookstore novel. Janus did not even appear in the US until well into the 70's. Nu-West did not even exist until 1975. Pickin's were slim. Imagine then, finding this magazine that, month after month, featured spanking anecdotes in its "Letters" section. Forget that the letters were obviously fiction and outrageously over-the-top. It was like finding an oasis in a desert.


Dear Editor,

Although I have enjoyed reading your reports about spankings for some time
now, I never through I would be writing you about my experiences.  Now,
however, it seems I can no longer keep from adding my two cents.

I never knew what a spanking was until I had been dating my husband for
about six month.  I had a nasty temper and often got mad at him for no
reason and always regretted it later.  He warned me several times but I
never believed he would really spank me.  One night I threw a shoe at
him and that was it.  I was pulled over his knee in nothing flat and he
whipped my skirt up to my shoulders.  Even though I had panties on, they
were very thin and I knew he could see me right through them and I was
very embarrassed.  Boy, if I only knew what was coming, this would have
been a laugh.

He told me he was going to give me a tanning I would never forget and
that I was to pull my own panties down to my ankles.  I told him to go
to hell and with that he told me, “Baby, you asked for this.”  He
stripped my panties down and began to spank my bare behind with his hand
so hard and hot that I started to cry and yell like a baby.  With this,
he reached down and pulled my panties right off of me and stuffed them
into my mouth until I was only able to groan.


He continued then to really lay it on my exposed rear end until I
thought I was on fire.  When he let me get up I really knew I had been
spanked and believe me I knew it for days afterwards too.  He spanked me
once more before we were married but the next time when he had me over
his knee with my skirts up and he told me to take my panties down, I
didn’t waste any time getting them as far down as I could reach.


We have been married fourteen years now and I have become a different
person.  Oh yes, I still get my behind paddled regularly but I can truly
say that it has never been except when I deserved it.  In fact I really
get off pretty easy.  It is always the same way and he always doesn’t
the job right.  He is kind to me and we have had a wonderful life
together and all of my friends envy me very much even tho one or two of
my close friends know that I am kept in line and they know how too.

Some of your readers mention others seeing them get spanked but this
has only happened to me once.  My girl friend and I went to the races
not long ago and we not only both lost our household money, we stopped
on the way home and had a few drinks too many and when we got home we
were both a little tipsy.  When we came in I knew my husband was furious
and he told me right there that I would get it later after my girl
friend went home.

The drinks made me a little brave and instead of keeping my mouth shut,
I had to make a few smart cracks back to him and I finally made just one
too many.  All of a sudden I found myself being yanked over his knee
with my bottom sticking up in the air.  As I had slacks on I at least
thought I was safe on that score but the next think I knew he had the
slacks un-zippered and had them down around my ankles.  Next my panties
were coming right down behind them and there I was, bared to the skin.


Believe me, he really laid it on like he hadn’t done in years.  I could
feel my bare rear turning redder and redder and my face was red too from
having my girl friend standing right there and watching the whole
thing.  This was the first time since before our marriage that he had to
take my panties completely off and stuff them in my mouth to stifle my
cries.

When he let me up I just stood there in front of both of them and
bawled.  My girl friend felt terrible because the whole thing had been
her idea and said she really wished her husband would do the same to her
but knew he wouldn’t and her punishment would be worse because she would
feel bad for weeks to come.  My husband agreed that she needed it as bad
as I did and offered his services only if I approved.  I told him I not
only approved but that I would help him.  With this I grabbed her and
shoved her face down across his lap and then didn’t wait for him to take
her slacks down but I took them down myself. 


My husband said he thought she had better keep her panties up but I
would have no part of this as I was still standing there completely bare
from the waist down and with my bottoms burning like fire and felt that
if she was going to get it, it was going to be just the same way I had
gotten it.

I ripped her panties down off her so hard that I tore them so bad that
she had to leave them at our house when she left.  She has always
bragged to all of us girls about her perfect figure and how she is so
much better built than the rest of us and making fun of us that I almost
laughed as I looked at her lying there across my husband’s lap: Boy he
had the biggest, broadest target you ever saw and as he began to lay it
onto her bare behind, if it didn’t get broader it sure got redder.  She
had tears running down her cheeks in front and stripes running down her
cheeks in back but though she cried like a baby, she didn’t make too
much noise as she had just seen what happened to me when I yelled too
loud and she didn’t want her panties stuffed in her mouth like mine were.


After it was all over, we all had a drink together, and both my
girlfriend and I agreed that we had gotten just what we deserved and
would much rather have it this way and over with, than to have to listen
to a bunch of bitching for the next few weeks.  My husband covered my
friend’s race losses for her so she wouldn’t have any trouble at home as
she had already paid for that.

I wondered how my friend would feel in the morning but when we had
coffee together the next day, standing up I might add, she agreed that
she thought more people should use that method instead of the verbal
fighting and struggling that some wives get.  And this I think, is he
whole reason behind spanking and not a sex stimulant as some of your
writers suggest.  Sex has never followed a spanking at our house and my
husband doesn’t connect the two together at all and neither do I.

Believe me, I like it this way and just hope the next fourteen years
are as wonderful as the last fourteen.  And even though my husband has
never spanked anyone else again, my girl friend still mentions it
occasionally and says how lucky I am to have such a wonderful husband
and wishes so much that hers was just like mine.

Hope this adds something worthwhile and of interest to you other reports.

J. E. M., California



Dear Editor: 

This letter from W.S. in your October issue seems to take a very
reasonable attitude about corporal punishment, but anyone who is
“surprised that correspondents don’t have much difficulty in spanking
strong and lively teens” would appear to be confused about the purpose
of a spanking – which is to convey the idea that the laws and orders are
to be obeyed in this world, or the law-enforcers can call in all the
help they need.

If a spanking takes the form of a short but intensive crash-course in
obeying an extremely arduous and embarrassing series of orders, the
teen will find it MUCH easier, by comparison, to comply with ordinary
everyday rules and regulations in the future.

This applies whether the culprit is eight or eighteen.  The idea of
“too-big-to-be-spanked” is a mighty poor preparation for a world in
which the law enforcement authorities will fine, imprison, or even
execute a lawbreaker, without regard to age, size, sex, or anything else
of the kind.

The mere prospect of being taken to the spare bedroom is enough to
deter our four young ladies from most of the illegal temptation.  If and
when the prospect isn’t enough, she can get effective assistance in
learning to make up her mind in an improved direction.


For example, she can choose between obeying the order to bring her own
hairbrush to the punishment room or of having someone else bring a strap
for her.  And if the sentence was to be spanked with the strap to begin
with, she can choose between bringing the strap from my dresser drawer,
or of having me bring the rubber hose for her.

She can choose between getting the spanking stool from the closet (it’s
just and ordinary folding-type kitchen stepladder) and setting it up for
herself, or of collecting her spanking over the foot of the bed,
head-down with her father’s help.


She can choose between taking off her skirt and slip, or her slacks or
of having them taken off with her father’s help.  After outer insulation
is off, one way or another , she can choose between taking down her
pants at her mother’s order, or of having them taken down for her, and
having the strap substituted for the hairbrush, or the hose for the strap.


She can choose between keeping her grip on the far rung throughout her
spanking, and having the punishment distributed equally across both
targets, or of letting go in an effort to protect her bottom, and then
having the rest of her spanking administered on one buttock at a time,
with the full remaining count applied to each.  And she can always
insist on having her father needed to come in and hold her down.

She can choose to keep her feet together and on the floor at all times,
or of keeping them off the floor and pointed toward opposite walls at
all times – and having her father “assist” her to obey the order, if
necessary.


She can remember to interrupt her howling long enough to count out each
spank, loud and clear, or of having the omitted spank repeated until she
does count it.  (After just one experience in having a 24-swat sentence
extended to twice that number, for forgetting to count, all four girls
have remembered to count!)

She can elect to go directly from the stool to the radiator cover, and
present her sensitized bottom to it’s wood-mesh surface for a
five-minute mediation period, or she can have the spanking repeated and
then do her sitting – with her father’s “encouragement,” if necessary.

If she’d care to resist the sitting order twice, she can easily arrange
to have her father see her being spanked between her buttocks with the
rubber hose.  Each of our four daughters has had to have that happen
exactly once, and never again!  After that, they have learned to obey
the first time.


So, in answer to W. S’s question as to how it is possible to spank a
strong and lively teen without difficulty – one does this by
increasing the penalty, just as the penalty is increased if one resists
any law enforcement officer in the performance of his duty.

That’s the way it is in the world our girls will have to live in; they
might better find it out now than later.

B. C. D., Chicago

Dear JEM and BCD – Thank you both for taking the time to share your
experiences and opinions with your fellow readers. If past experience is
any guide, both of your statements are detailed and specific enough to
arouse considerable discussion both pro and con – among our readership. 









Sunday, May 25, 2014

F/M Sunday -- Paying the Piper by kfr

I've featured kfr's stories before. He posted mainly to the SSS group back in the day and also had a collection at Laura's Spanking Corner. Kfr wrote primarily in the F/m genre with a good deal of family domestic discipline material. This is a classic example, a story of a young man who is living with his strict Aunt Joan. Artwork by various artists including Barb, Benson, Paul Davies.
PAYING THE PIPER by Kfr

After his aunt Joan left the room, Danny flopped face down on his bed, trying in vain to quiet the choking sobs that welled up out of his throat. Tears flowed freely down his face as his right hand quested back to rub the source of his discomfort: the now cherry-red surface of his bottom. He had just spent the better part of the last ten minutes struggling across Aunt Joan's knees, his pants around his ankles, as she very soundly and thoroughly spanked his teen-aged buns with her hairbrush.
From start to finish, it had been a classic session: the march to his room, his aunt holding him in one hand and her wicked hairbrush in the other; the lecture, which was brief and to the point; and then the spanking, swat after hard, stinging swat as he lay across her lap, unable to do anything about it. 

He had started out draped across both knees, but his kicking and struggling soon forced his aunt, a strong and healthy woman, to stand him up and drape him across her left knee, while she placed her right leg across the backs of both of his legs. With kicking minimized, and escape impossible, the spanking continued, Danny's right wrist pulled firmly up behind his back and held there, keeping him from attempting to interfere with the fiery caress of that gleaming piece of polished wood that tormented his bottom ceaselessly.
Her pausing now and then to scold him was a two-edged sword: it gave him a moment's respite from the burning sting, but that was offset by the extra hard swats she used to punctuate her scolding, and then the redoubled effort as she resumed spanking in earnest.
As his bottom got hotter and redder, the hairbrush sought new territory to sting, finding it in the upper portion of his bare thighs. Aunt Joan knew how much her heavy hairbrush stung when applied to this area, and took satisfaction in the obvious increase in Danny's crying and squirming when she laid the brush on good and hard.

Tears streamed down the youngster's face as he sobbed softly, massaging the tender cheeks of his bottom, pants and shorts still tangled around his ankles as he lay on his bed in the late afternoon. The reason for his discomfort, he knew, could be found in his mirror. Distracted by the world in general, his adolescent mind had allowed itself to be spirited off by every diversion, resulting in a report card, which both dismayed and appalled his aunt. The memory flooded back.
 *****
"What's wrong with you?" she demanded, waving the dismal report card in his face. "How do you expect to go anywhere in life with a performance like this?"
Fuming, she folded her arms across her chest, glaring at the chagrined boy as she waited for an answer. Danny had none, just red-faced embarrassment, lowering his gaze toward the floor, where his aunt's shoe angrily tapped out a warning of things to come.
Tall, blonde and just about forty, Danny's aunt had taken him in at the age of ten when his parents split up and went their separate ways. She was a better parent than either of his naturals, seeing to all of his needs and giving him the love he'd never had previously. She believed in discipline, and insisted on obedience. The consequence of non-compliance was swift and sure: a long, hard bare-bottomed spanking that delivered an unmistakable message.....get with the program. He was no stranger to his aunt's hairbrush, usually feeling its kiss about once a month.

Now, Danny knew what was about to happen. As he stammered out a lame, "I'm sorry, Aunt Joan....", she spun on her heel and walked purposefully into her bedroom, returning swiftly with her old fashioned hairbrush. Despite his familiarity with it, the sight of that flat wooden object in her hand struck fear into his heart. His pulse hammered in his head as adrenaline pumped into his bloodstream. Mouth dry, he licked his lips, eyes wide and staring at first the hairbrush and then his aunt's determined brown eyes, which were usually warm and comforting, but now had a flinty aspect. Taking him by the arm, she led him unresisting to his room.
"You know what you're in for, don't you, Danny?" she asked rhetorically.
The sorrowful boy felt his eyes mist over as he looked up at the tall woman who was shepherding him toward a rendezvous with painful justice. Her face showed sympathy, but no mercy.
"Yes, ma'am." He said quietly, likening the click of her heels on the hardwood hallway to a doomsday clock, counting off the remaining seconds. Her left hand had a firm grip on his right arm, and he watched in helpless fascination as she held the large and heavy oval wooden hairbrush up to inspect it as she walked. A shiver went through him, and he wanted suddenly to hang back, to plead for mercy, promise to do better, to do anything if she would just not spank him. It would only make matters worse, he knew; besides, there would be plenty of time later, as Aunt Joan's strong right arm used the hairbrush, for begging and pleading aplenty.

She was seated on the corner of his bed, her skirt at about mid-thigh and the hairbrush held loosely in her right hand. Danny was giving her his full attention, no need to make her angry at this stage of the game. His knees quivered slightly, with his lower lip following suit as his aunt spoke.
"Life is full of consequences, Danny. Every time you make a decision, there is a price to pay, and a reward attached. Good decisions have good rewards, and bad decisions have punishments." She stated, patting her left palm with the back of the hairbrush. Danny's eyes widened in response, and he shifted from one foot to the other. Aunt Joan continued, "The decision you made, to not pay attention to your schoolwork, was a bad decision. Not only does it affect your present, but could seriously compromise your future. For that reason, I have to focus your attention on what you need to do from now on. You must pay better attention to your schoolwork, and to achieve that end, I'm going to help you."
She waited, looking the boy straight in the eye to make certain he understood, then went on. "In just a minute, I'm going to take your pants down and turn you over my knee for a long, hard spanking on your bare bottom."
Danny's heart thumped so loud he imagined he could hear it, as his aunt pronounced sentence. It was not a surprise, but it still produced a reaction of shock and excitement. Aunt Joan was still talking.
"You know I believe firmly in spanking you when you deserve it, so you're no stranger to this hairbrush," she said, brandishing it before him, "but this afternoon, and once a week for the next marking period, you're going to get a spanking that will really get your attention." She paused again, watching her nephew's face for signs of comprehension. Danny swallowed hard, his eyes fairly brimming at the gloomy prospect she had just described.
"When you show me some positive results in your grades, I'll relax the discipline somewhat, but not until I see real improvement, understand?" Joan finished, holding Danny's gaze and then setting the hairbrush down next to her.
"Y-yes." Danny managed to whisper, now really intimidated and embarrassed.
Motioning him to her, his aunt quickly unfastened his pants, letting them drop to the floor, and then skinned down his briefs past his knees, noting with a slight smile how he blushed uncontrollably as she bared his bottom.

"Over my knee." She ordered simply, helping him to lay across her lap, and getting him firmly settled in place. With no further ado, she picked up the hairbrush and put it to work, smacking the target soundly and briskly. His yelps, brave attempts to bear his discomfort, soon changed to more strident howls and pleas for her to stop, and then collapsed into wailing sobs and promises of good behavior as the hairbrush did its work. It was much harder and much longer than any spanking she had given him thus far, and well before it was over, Danny had pretty much made up his mind to buckle down in school, beginning the very next day.
 *****
Some of the fire in his hindquarters was beginning to abate, but the deep warmth and tenderness would last, remembered every time he sat down for the next twenty-four hours or so. That was not the worst of it, though. When his aunt had left the room, she had notified him that he had one half-hour to think over his behavior, and then she would return to repeat the spanking. A sob welled up in his throat as he realized that in about fifteen minutes he would be right back across Aunt Joan's lap, having his very tender bare bottom spanked all over again.
"Oh, Danny boy." He moaned, laying his head down. "You've done it this time."
His uncovered bottom had just begun to cool off when he heard the sound of doom: Aunt Joan's heels clicking on the hardwood floor of the hallway, and coming closer with every step. His head was turned away from the door, but he knew when she entered, as her footsteps were quieted by the rug. Heart pounding, he lay there, petrified by what lay ahead.
"No use playing possum, Danny. I know you're awake, so just stop pretending." His aunt said, more amused than angry.
Slowly, Danny turned over and looked at her. She stood with her hands on her hips, the hairbrush in her right hand, silhouetted against the light from the hallway. He couldn't see her face, but imagined the look it displayed; one of tired resignation, determined and firm, but loving.
"Let's go, young man." She ordered. "You've got another spanking coming to you, so come get over my knee."
Sitting on the bed once more, she looked over her shoulder as Danny got up and shambled over to her, not even bothering to pull up his pants, or even step out of them. As he approached, she said,
"I think it might be a good idea if you got into your birthday suit for this spanking."

Danny looked surprised, and hesitated. His aunt met his sorrowful gaze, noting his tear streaked face and how his eyes gleamed dully with liquid about to flow. She explained easily,
"The first spanking was to focus your attention on the problem, and this spanking is punishment for your actions. I think you'll remember it more vividly if you get undressed; every stitch of clothing, so you go over my knee like the naughty little boy you've behaved like."
Blushing furiously, Danny's mouth opened and closed a time or two, and then with tears of frustration trickling down his cheeks, he obeyed his aunt, slowly taking off all his clothes until he stood naked before her. She made him wait for a long moment or two, watching his discomfort increase, then gave the order he was dreading: moving her legs apart, she motioned to him to turn across her left knee.
"Turn over, young man." She said sternly, her face resolute.

Danny cracked. The prospect of having his bare bottom blistered again just broke his resolve to be brave.
"P-please, Aunt Joan!" he blubbered, now crying unashamedly, feeling like the lost little boy she had so easily turned him into, "I promise I'll do better, really, I will! Please don't spank me again, please!"
Taking the crying boy by his left arm, Joan pulled him gently but firmly down across her left knee, once more draping her right leg over his to place his bare bottom in the perfect position for an extended and very sound spanking.

The marvelous color which Joan's heavy hairbrush had produced on Danny's backside just a short while ago quickly returned, deepening in intensity and vibrancy as the glossy oval wooden back smacked bare skin again and again. This time, Aunt Joan did no scolding. The whole point of this spanking was punishment, and she dedicated herself to stinging her nephew's upturned bare bottom until she was certain he would remember it for a long time. She wanted to be sure that every time he sat down in school for the next couple of days he would recall this episode: being turned across her knee in his birthday suit to have his bare bottom blistered, but good.
For Danny's part, he wailed like a child, bawling and pleading as the brush stung him over and over again.
By the time his aunt left him to nurse his battered behind, Danny felt about six years old. She had kissed him gently, with words of love before leaving him to re-assemble his shattered ego. As the searing fire in his rump faded, to be replaced by a pervading warmth and throbbing ache, he realized how lucky he was to have someone who cared about him deeply enough to punish him and set his feet back on the right path.
He matured considerably that afternoon, taking on a new attitude. Oh, he'd feel the hairbrush plenty more times, as boys are boys and just can't seem to stay out of one sort of trouble or another. Still, it was a turning point for him. Many years hence, he'd recall the loving discipline his aunt provided, and grow to wish for those days to return.  


Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Telling Tales

  How do you spice things up in a slow burning narrative? Get three girls together and have them talk about the time they got spanked. Throw in a flashback sequence as well. That's how to inject more action into a longer narrative that requires some build up of tension.

 Here is an excerpt from The Scarlet Society and Other Stories that illustrates what I'm talking about.
The Amazon link is HERE




Over the following week Christine pondered whether to do this or not. She wanted to join the society, but did she have the courage? It was chilling to contemplate. Positively medieval. The Blanchettes might as well be The House of Usher. As a child she’d had no experience being physically punished. Her parents didn’t believe in it. Besides she was a good girl.

Except when it came to Johnny Burke, she reminded herself. They were an odd couple, she and Johnny. She was the good girl, studious, polite and refined. Johnny was a bad boy. He was rough around the edges, a bit rebellious, and had an aura of dangerousness about him. And that made her heart race whenever they were together. Naturally her parents didn’t care for him, but she was eighteen now. The thought occurred to her that maybe Johnny could help her make up her mind about the Scarlet Society.

For some time things between them had been moving in the direction of more intimacy. And while Christine was still a virgin, it was not her intent to remain that way much longer. Johnny’s hands had been all over her body and under her clothes, touching her, thrilling her. They frequently ended their dates out on the levee near the Mississippi River Bridge where they would repair to the back seat of Johnny’s car for some serious petting.

Tonight was no exception.

“So what if I was a real naughty girl, Johnny? What would you do?” asked Christine with a giggle as they snuggled in the back seat of his Chevy.

“Hmm,” mused Johnny smiling. “Real naughty? Well, young lady,” he said, affecting mock sternness. “Oh, I guess maybe I’d have to turn you over my knee and give you a good spanking.”

“Oh,” she said, pretending to be shocked. “But I’m too old for a spanking.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Johnny with a light laugh. “A real naughty girl is never too old.”

“Well,” said Christine slowly, “I have a confession to make. I have been real naughty.” She said the last in a throaty whisper. “So I guess you’ll have to spank me.”

What game was this? Johnny didn’t care. It was quite delicious. He pulled an unresisting Christine across his knee. He smoothed her skirt down and rested his hand on her firm backside. For a long-waisted girl she had an exquisite and rather prominent bottom. He brought his palm down square in the center of her behind with a loud smack! Then he gave her another. Then another.


To Christine it just kind of tingled. He was spanking her through her skirt. Not a good test. Taking a deep breath, she brought her hands back and gripped the hem of her skirt. Slowly she raised it until it cleared her bottom cheeks and rested in the small of her back.

Johnny could not believe his good fortune. Christine’s lush bottom was now exposed in all its glory. Her lovely seat was encased in flimsy French cut nylon panties with white lace trim. The panties covered about half of her bottom leaving the lower portion of her bottom cheeks quite bare.

“I’ve been real naughty, Johnny,” she said in a husky voice. “You have to really spank me. Do it hard. Pretend I did something to make you mad.” Christine had decided that if she were going to find out what punishment felt like, who better than her heartthrob boyfriend to dish it out?

“Ok, Chrissy. I hope you know what you’re asking for. Here goes, girl.”


For the next five minutes she found out what a real spanking was all about. Johnny’s hand cracked down on her nearly nude bottom, smacking the wobbly cheeks in a measured tempo. His hand alternated cheeks, covering the expanse of her satiny behind. The sound of sharp cracks in the closed confines of the car was loud. She was glad they were alone. Someone might have thought firecrackers were going off. Christine gasped at the intense burn created by his smacking palm, but she let it continue as long as she could stand it. She found herself clenching and unclenching her buttocks, gasping at the steadily mounting sting and fluttering her legs.

When it reached a point where she could stand no more, she yelped frantically, “Ooooh! Stop. Stop, Johnny. That’s enough.” Johnny, not wishing to displease his sexy girlfriend, complied.

“Sure, baby,” he said, turning her over and sitting her up. Then he grinned. “I don’t know what you did, but do you feel better now?”

Christine got on her knees and reached behind her to rub. “Oooh, wow,” she said. So that was a spanking. When it was happening she had wanted it to stop, it stung so bad. Now that it was over, her bottom glowed and she felt sexy as hell. She let Johnny unbutton her blouse, then reach behind her and unhook her bra. When her tits popped out Johnny’s eyes lit up. “Gorgeous, baby,” he said, and proceeded to suck on her nipples. She swooned, holding his head between her hands as his eager tongue swirled around the tips. But he was just getting started. Her panties were already down so her vaginal opening was within easy reach of Johnny’s fingers. When he put his hand there and ran his finger in and out she shuddered at the intense pleasure of it. Then she did a daring thing. She pulled back and unzipped Johnny’s pants, pulling out his rock hard erection. It stood straight up, a thick fleshy pole. Johnny moaned as her hand traversed its length, up and down, over and over. They both began to buck, making the car rock. Christine decided that tonight was it. She moved, draping one leg over Johnny’s lap so she could lower herself onto his erect penis. She was ready, she told herself. The impaling hurt for a moment, then pleasure began to build. Their bodies pounded together, fused in an ancient rhythm. There was no stopping now. It felt too good. Christine’s climax surprised her in its intensity when it hit, welling up like an erupting volcano. Johnny came in great gasping thrusts, like a wild stallion.

After the date, in bed at home, Christina marveled at what had happened. If a spanking could do that, she’d be naughty for Johnny anytime.

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

Later she talked it over with Jane and Anne. They shared some experiences that each had had at some point in their lives.

“I got spankings from mom up until I was fourteen,” admitted Jane. “If I sassed her I got sent upstairs to wait. That was the worst part, knowing what was coming. Then she’d come in with her hairbrush. After that it was over her lap, skirt up and panties down while she spanked my bare behind until I was in tears. Let me tell you, it hurt. It just builds and builds, one smack piled onto the next until the sting is just too much. Your eyes water up and you know you’re going to cry, but you can’t help it.”


“I usually didn’t get spankings,” said Anne. “But one summer I was with my cousins out on their farm in Lafayette. We all got caught smoking. My aunt took us all out to the barn and one by one we had to drop our jeans and bend over a saw horse for a good licking with a leather strap. We each got a dozen. I watched my cousins get it first. That strap popped on their fannies and it sounded like firecrackers. Then it was my turn, and let me tell you, that strap stung. It was over an old sawhorse and panties down, an it burned something awful. I never smoked again, that’s for sure.”


Despite these tales, they nevertheless agreed. “One for all and all for one, girls,” said Jane as they placed their hands out, stacking their palms. That same day they announced their decision to a grateful Headmistress.

After that it was pins and needles for the trio. A date had not been announced, but all knew it had to come soon. Christine tried to put it out of her mind but the thought intruded daily. What would it be like? She looked up “birching” in the encyclopedia. It showed woodcuts and old artwork of youths under the rod--- bared buttocks and headmasters wielding switches. Her own buttocks twitched with the memory of last Saturday night. With Johnny it had been sexy. The tactile sensation of a lover’s palm smacking her tender bottom. But this birch rod? She shivered at the thought.