The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Saturday, June 13, 2015

My latest -- The Colonel's Woman by Jordan St. John

While my new blog is at Wordpress,, I am still maintaining this site for announcements and one of them is my new western spanking romance with me writing as Jordan St. John. Details at:

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

A New Release -- Uncle Henry and His Girls

Details here:

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

This Blog is Moving

Blogger has made a major change to its terms of service. As of March 23 no nudity or partial nudity of any kind may be depicted on any blog. For the past year I have featured illustrations in the stories I present for your reading pleasure and some of them show people in various states of undress. Rather than remain here and purge my blog of all images, my choice is to hit the road. Moreover, if today it's images that are censored, tomorrow it will be content. This is no doubt just the first wave in an all out assault on adult oriented content.

 I expect this to be a fairly quick transition and the new link will be posted here, so with the click of a mouse you'll be re-directed to my new space.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

His Landlady's Knickers by Nate

Today's story is an illustrated story with panels by an artist named simply, "Nate." According to the Spanking Art Wiki ( Nate had a web site that closed down in 2007. The Wiki doesn't have any other information on him so if anyone knows more, let me know.

I think most F/M aficionados would agree that Nate's art is certainly evocative. He manages to capture the essence of the older dominant woman/younger male spanking fantasy so prevalent in the genre. Another hallmark of Nate's is the presence of witnesses. If the naughty boy is bared and over someone's lap, you can bet witnesses will show up in the next frame or two.

So here is a typical story line, the hapless young man caught rifling around in the lady's panty drawer.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

The Acme Paddle Company at School

The saga of the Acme Paddle Company is something that I wrote on one of those "what if" whims of mine.
So what if there was this guy, very attractive to women, who started this business making spanking paddles, only he does it all himself, including making sales calls to demo the products? The book is in three parts. First he visits a sorority house, next he visits a rich widow who is having trouble with her granddaughters. Finally he visits a girls school in the middle of nowhere, where students and teachers alike are starved for male attention.

This, then is an excerpt from part 3, chronicling the adventures of Colin Masters at the Hawthorne School for Young Ladies. 


As it turned out, the next day sales call to the Hawthorn School for Young Ladies had to be postponed. Other business had called Colin Masters back to the city after his visit to Edith Fontaine’s country house. Emma Pearson was indeed winding down her employment with Aunt Edith and would join him at Acme as soon as a suitable replacement could be found. Where the relationship would go, Colin didn’t know, but it’s start had been intense indeed. Time would tell. As for the Fontaine sisters, Tanya and Brittney, they were now consigned to the tender mercies of Greta, Aunt Edith’s stout Swedish housekeeper, and now the proud owner of several Acme paddles.

Colin had to chuckle to himself as he the negotiated the curves of the state road that meandered through the valleys in the foothills of the coast range. He could just see Greta enthusiastically enforcing Aunt Edith’s edicts.  The robust Swede would have no trouble at all putting either Fontaine sister over her knee for an application of the paddle to a deserving posterior. He could visualize the kicking and the squealing as the big blonde housekeeper dished out a sound spanking to the culprit while held securely across her lap, bottoms up and probably bare at that—with an Acme paddle made specially for that purpose. Well, maybe they’d mind Aunt Edith after a few appointments with Greta and the paddle.

The Hawthorne school wasn’t far from the Fontaine house, at least as the crow flies, and Colin wondered if this was where Tanya and Brittney would be enrolled. Located in Maryville, a town of around 1500 in population, it was mid way between the valley and the coast. Maryville turned out to be one of those sleepy country towns, pleased with itself that it offered a slower pace of life. Colin passed a number of wineries. That seemed to be the local industry. It was a good place to put a girls school if you wanted to keep the girls away from the temptations of the big city. Not a lot to do on Saturday night though, Colin guessed. The school was a few miles out of town off of a long driveway. Surprisingly, it consisted of a group of fairly modern buildings. There was an administration building, several halls that probably held lecture rooms, a dormitory, and an athletic gymnasium with soccer and hockey fields.

The head mistress was one Clare Vickery, an attractive woman in her early forties. Colin had been expecting a dour harridan with gray hair held in a bun and black horn rim glasses on a chain, so the sight of Ms. Vickery was a welcome surprise. Light chestnut hair framed a pleasant face and large brown eyes. Colin could tell that the lady had a nice figure. She wore a suit that featured a tight skirt that ended just above the knee, displaying curvy hips and nicely toned legs. With her were three other ladies, also very attractive. In fact, one was a knockout.

“Thank you so much for coming,” said the headmistress, once he had been ushered into her office. “Mrs. Fontaine, who sits on our board of directors, recommended you most highly.”

Colin had to chuckle to himself about that. He had merely demonstrated his wares for Mrs. Fontaine. But to do so he had taken charge of her wayward nieces by putting each one over his knee and administering a paddling they would not soon forget. Maybe the corporal discipline of misbehaving young ladies was a new skill destined to be in high demand.

“I appreciate that, Ms Vickery. What can I do for The Hawthorn School?”

“We have a problem, Mr. Masters, and I’ve called in several of my staff who are to be involved in how we go forward on this. First, this is Sandy Grimes, our athletic director and coach for the girls’ sports teams.” Clare Vickery extended her hand toward the lean blonde with the closely cropped hair. Colin extended his own hand and shook hers. She had a strong grip.

“Another team member is our school nurse, Tammy Lynn Hunter…”

This one was the knockout. At five-six with lush red hair and a figure that could have walked right out of a Playboy centerfold, she cut quite a figure. If she were the nurse in a boy’s school, half the student body would be permanent residents of the infirmary.

“Ah---m pleased to meet you, Mr. Masters,” she said. There was a definite Southern twang there, and Colin raised his eyebrows upon hearing that sexy languid drawl.

Claire Vickery chuckled. “Tammy Lynn is our southern transplant. She’s from Mississippi. And our third team member is Betty Crane. She is the house mistress in our dormitory.”

Colin shook hands with a dark haired woman in her early forties with a pageboy hairdo. An imposing and voluptuous woman, she looked like a housemother type, probably very motherly with the girls, but no nonsense when it came to girlish shenanigans.

“I should explain a bit more about who we are, and then maybe you will understand better. Hawthorne is a new breed of junior college. Actually we are one of many such schools scattered across the country. This is good for you because if we recommend purchase of your company’s wares, our sister schools will follow our lead.”

Colin nodded appreciatively. This could be a major account.

“Hawthorne Academy is a junior college for young ladies who have had some difficulty at other institutions. Our clientele are reasonably wealthy, and many of the young ladies who attend here have been sent by their parents to ‘clean up their act,’ so to speak. This is more the case with our students who board with us. So you see we have potential discipline problems, from the get-go, as they say. At any rate, we have discovered that maintaining discipline can be a challenge. And our ladies, to their credit, agree. They actually admit that behavioral lapses should have consequences. But of course, they hate the consequences. We have detentions and writing lines and extra chores and such. All of that works after a fashion, but there are still problems. We have announced that our disciplinary regime may change and that instituting a return to corporal punishment is under consideration. The reason, frankly, is that we need an ultimate deterrent.”

Colin nodded in agreement.

“Of course the students are aghast at the mention of corporal punishment. They think it too childish. So it appears they want it both ways. They acknowledge the need for discipline but don’t want it enforced. Our staff see it differently. So a vote was taken to do a study. The board approved and we called you.”

“Well. Ok,” said Colin. “How do you want to proceed?”

“Each of our team members comes at this from a different perspective. So, we will have each of them interview you and get your recommendations. Our understanding is that you have implements which can be very effective without injuring the girls. What they most often need is a short sharp shock, just enough to smarten them up a bit if they misbehave. Nothing serious, but something definitely to be avoided.”

Colin lifted his sample case. “In here I think you’ll find just what you need.”

“Splendid,” said Ms. Vickery. “I’ll give you first to Sandy. Tammy Lynn will also be along for each interview for health and safety reasons.”

Tammy Lynne flashed Colin a big eyelash-fluttering smile.

Colin followed Sandy Grimes as she and Tammy Lynne led him to the gym. Sandy was slim and athletic with really great legs. It was warm and she wore track shorts and a pullover. Then there was Tammy Lynne, who, in a tight short skirt, was spectacular from the rear.

“Do you run, Miss Grimes?” asked Colin, as they made their way to her office.

“At least two miles every day,” she said. “You?”

“I swim.”

“That’s good too. I think it important that our students exercise. We have teams too, and we play neighboring schools who have clubs or intramural teams. But our girls really want to win. And,” she said, giving Colin a pointed look, “they are prepared to do what it takes.”

Colin wasn’t sure how to take that, but by that time they’d reached the gym. Sandy’s office was in the basement. Colin noticed that two girls, both wearing what looked like volleyball uniforms were waiting outside her office. These featured t-shirt style tops and tight short-shorts made of some stretch material as bottoms. The tight shorts left little to the imagination, the stretch fabric molding itself to the girls’ bottoms.

“We’ll be with you in a minute girls,” she said. The three went inside and she shut the door. “That’s Jenna and Brandy, two of our sports team girls. They sort of…volunteered.”

“Volunteered?” Colin was surprised, even though he figured what they were here for.

“Yes. News of your visit has been the buzz around here for weeks,” said Tammy Lynne.

“Weeks?” Yes, he had cancelled his original appointment. It had been about two weeks.

“We don’t get many visitors, especially of the attractive male variety,” said Tammy Lynne, a coy smile flitting across her face.

Colin exhaled and ran his hand through his hair. “And they know why I’m here, and what I do?”

“Yes,” said Sandy brightly. “They have been admonished both by me and their teammates for slacking off at practice and other violations. Like I say, the girls want to win and these two have been ‘volunteered’ to try a new regime. Let’s call them in.”

Before Colin could say anything she opened the door.

 “Jenna, Brandy, you can come in now.”

Brandy was a medium height slender brunette with her hair in a long ponytail; Jenna, a shorter but more voluptuous blond haired girl with a light complexion. Both looked to be about nineteen or twenty. Jenna looked almost stocky with short muscular legs, a pinched waist that flared into wide hips and a prominent rear end. Definitely a girl with lots of curves. By contrast Brandy favored the look of a slim tomboy, but she too had well formed athletic legs and a pert derriere. Colin assumed that both girls played on the coach’s athletic teams, volleyball or soccer players perhaps.

“Girls, this is Mr Masters of the Acme Paddle Company. Like we discussed, we are going to consider purchasing his products. So today, you have agreed to try a new system by assisting us. Right, girls?”

Both girls eyed Colin and his sample case nervously.

“Uh, yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Well, let’s get started then.”

Colin opened his sample case and went into his presentation, pulling out sample paddles, explaining the relative merits and drawbacks of each. As he talked, the eyes of Jenna and Brandy grew larger and larger and hands unconsciously drifted to the rear of their shorts as if to intercept a swat from the implements being described.

While the unfortunate students were visibly apprehensive, the blonde coach was enjoying every minute of the girls’ discomfort. Then there was Tammy Lynne. Colin felt her eyes on him, like a lioness sizing up a gazelle. He’d have to watch himself with this one, but she was so hot he didn’t know if he wanted to.

When he had finished Sandy said, “I like two of them. The varnished one with the holes and the short one that is made of---what was it?---composite?”

“Yes. Composite. It means that it is considerably lighter.”

“That means you have to swing harder?” asked Sandy, a thin smile on her face as she eyed the two nervous miscreants.

“That is one possibility. But also it means there could be less protection in the way of clothing.”

“So you could use this one on the bare butt even, without much risk of harm?”

Colin looked at Jenna and Brandy apologetically. “Yes. Yes, you could.”

Both girls grimaced.

Colin hastened to add, “As long as you moderated your force a bit.” That seemed to do little to assuage the girls’ nervousness.

“Well, then, Mr. Masters, you can show us. Let’s start with the varnished one. What would you recommend in terms of clothing and positioning for this to be effective?”

“I always believe that the less force that is used, the better. But this means thinner clothing covering the, er, target area. So gym shorts or tights would be fine. As for position, over the desk, hands on knees or bending over with hands on the wall are all good.”

“All right then, you two,” said Sandy, obviously keen to chastise her wayward charges for whatever it was that they had done wrong, “step up to the desk. Brandy, you first.” She turned to Colin. “How should she stand?”

“She should bend over the desk, elbows flat and perhaps grip the opposite edge.”

Sandy narrowed her eyes at the young woman and pointed. “You heard him Brandy. Over you go.”

Brandy bent over the desk as instructed and in the process thrust out a very attractive seat that caused her athletic shorts to mold the fabric to her bottom globes. Pink flesh peeked out from the bottom edges of the brief shorts.

“So with this paddle,” said Sandy picking up the varnished one, “ how many should she get?”

“With that model, I’d say six is a reasonable number.”

“All right. Brandy, you will get six strokes.” She handed the paddle to Colin. “You give her three to show me how hard, then I’ll take over.”

Colin took the paddle. He came around to Brandy’s side. She was quaking in her shoes, literally. “Try to relax, Brandy. This will sting but it won’t kill you. It is important that you do not move. I don’t wish to hit any part of the body but your buttocks. Do you understand?”

“Y—yes, sir,” stammered Brandy.

“Good girl,” said Colin, tapping the paddle on Brandy’s seat. “Here we go.”

He drew the paddle back and there was a whoosh and an loud crack! as the paddle impacted the girl’s bottom.

“Yeowww!” Brandy’s arms flew up and she started to stand.

“Back down,” admonished Colin.

Sandy raised her eyebrows. It had made an impression. The other two whacks were delivered firmly causing Brandy to flinch and yelp, but she stayed in position. Colin handed the paddle to Sandy and she delivered her three with a smooth athletic motion, hitting the target square each time. At the last one Brandy shot straight up, rubbing her bottom furiously while she danced on her toes.

Brandy was dismissed to stand in the corner while they discussed the other model. It was an oval shaped paddle twelve inches long, four inches wide and only a quarter of an inch thick.

“This one is lighter. It’s a wood composite with carbon fibers,” said Colin. He handed it to Sandy.

“It feels like a toy,” she said. “They won’t feel this through clothes.”

“Ah…yes,” said Colin. “You probably want the minimum in covering for this one. Also, because it is shorter, it can be used in the nursery position if you want that.”

“Nursery position?” said Sandy.

“Yes. With the punishee across your knee. It’s more intimate, there is more tactile contact. In some cases that is preferable.” Colin stole a glance a Tammy Lynne and noticed that she licked her lips and appeared flushed. “It’s more suited to delivering a spanking in the traditional sense. About 20 to 30 smacks is about right.” Colin continued, “The paddle is light but it still packs a sting. All it takes is a flip of the wrist.”

Sandy smiled at Jenna, the shorter of the two girls. Jenna’s face wore an expression of dismay. She had listened to every word that Colin had said and had guessed what was coming.

“No,….no,” said Jenna waving her hands and backing up.

Sandy folded her arms across her chest and spoke sternly. “Now, Jenna. We discussed this and you agreed, along with Brandy to pay off your demerits this way. Now Brandy has already been paddled, so now it’s your turn. Are you going to tell me you’re chicken?”

Jenna slumped, shamefaced. “This is so embarrassing,” she wailed.

In the meantime Colin had seated himself in an armless chair that he pulled out to the front of the desk.

“You get right over there, young lady,” said Sandy, “and take your medicine. Did you think you’d get off easy for volunteering for this experiment?”

Colin took that as his cue. “If you will, miss, come over here and stand to my right.”

Jenna reluctantly stood to Colin’s right. Colin looked at Sandy. She nodded. He looked Jenna in the eye. “Give me your hand, Jenna.” She offered her hand. Colin took her by the wrist and guided her face down across his lap. When he had adjusted her position so that her bottom was well centered, he took up the paddle.

“Just a minute,” said Sandy. “Take her shorts down.”

“What?” exclaimed Jenna with alarm.

“This is a light paddle, right Mr. Masters?”

Colin nodded affirmatively.

“Then I want to see its effect on a nearly bare bottom. You can keep your panties, Jenna.”

Colin said, “Lift up, Jenna.”

With a moan and blushing wildly the young woman lifted her hips. Colin dragged the athletic shorts down to her knees, exposing a very attractive bottom clad in briefly cut white nylon panties. A cheeky expanse of flesh peeked out from the lower edges on each side. Jenna writhed nervously over Colin’s lap. She looked over her shoulder apprehensively as Colin took up the paddle. He tapped it on her bottom several times. The flesh wobbled. Jenna had wide hips and a soft well fleshed pair of orbs that jutted up in stark relief from the tops of her thighs.

“You said twenty to thirty swats with this for a good lesson, is that right?” asked Sandy.

“Yes,” said Colin.

“Ok. Give her twenty-five.”

It was clear that Jenna had never experienced a real tanning before. Colin plied the paddle briskly with a snapping motion of his wrist. Jenna began kicking her legs and squirming from the start, her head raised up and her eyes wild with surprise at the amount of sting generated by the light paddle. It was no toy! The steady crack!...crack!...crack! echoed noisily off the bare concrete walls of Sandy’s office.

“Ah…ah…ow…oh!” exclaimed the wriggling girl as the paddle set her bottom cheeks on fire. “This is awful! Ow!” She fluttered her feet as if that would help alleviate the stinging heat of the sharp paddle spanks.

Colin kept a silent count, delivering a sharp spank with the paddle about once every two seconds. Her lush bottom quivered with each swat and soon the lovely seat took on a red hue. Her squirms grew more desperate.

“Keep still, Jenna. You know you deserve this,” said Sandy, her eyes bright and her chest heaving. Out of the corner of his eye Colin saw her lick her lips. Whether she was eyeing him or the girls Colin didn’t know, but he was betting it was the girls.

“Y---yes, ma’am,” said Jenna. “But, oh, it stings so, ma’am.” Jenna writhed involuntarily as the paddle cracked against the smarting globes of her behind, fighting to stay still as commanded without much success. Colin observed that the back of her neck was flushed. She must be blushing furiously with embarrassment.

Colin spanked from side to side, making the flesh quiver with each wrist snapping pop of the paddle on the wobbly bottom cheeks. At twenty-five he stopped. Colin looked up. Sandy nodded. “Let her up,” she said. Jenna hopped to her feet and began to rub her inflamed bottom, dancing from foot to foot while Sandy eyed the spectacle with apparent satisfaction.

“Well. Very good, Mr. Masters. That seems to have delivered a good lesson.” To Jenna and Brandy she said, “Now I’ll bet there won’t be any more acting up in the locker room.”

Looking at the girls she said, “I’m impressed. I think these paddles will make a welcome addition to the athletic department. Aren’t you impressed girls?”

Both Jenna and Brandy grimaced but said “Yes, ma’am,” all the time rubbing their hot bottoms.

Colin and Tammy Lynne took their leave after Sandy had once again expressed her approval of both Colin’s wares and his proficiency at using them, and left for the next appointment. As they made their way out of the basement Colin could hear Sandy scolding the girls for whatever it was they had done. He could imagine their dismay when he heard Sandy say something about a repeat session.


“I’d say those gals will think a bit before misbehavin’ again,” said Tammy Lynne. “You do know how to use those paddles, don’t you Mr. Masters.”

“You can call me Colin, Miss Hunter,” said Colin as they made their way toward the dormitory and an appointment with Betty, the house matron. “And yes, it’s sort of an art. The idea is to teach a sharp lesson without actually causing injury.”

“Well I’ve never had a spankin’. You’d think that growing up in Mississippi, I’d get taken to the woodshed, as they say. But my daddy was a surgeon in Vicksburg and he never laid a hand on me. What do you think about that?”

Colin smiled. “I don’t know what to think. Were you a good girl growing up?”

Tammy Lynne smirked. “I was daddy’s spoiled little princess. What do you think?”

She was flirting with him, Colin decided.

“I think you probably got away with a lot,” said Colin. “With daddy twisted around your little finger

Tammy Lynne laughed softly. “You’d be right about that, Mr. Colin Masters. I got away with things where other girls would be eatin’ supper off the mantle piece, standing up.”

“Better hope that the past doesn’t catch up with you then,” said Colin, shooting a meaningful look her way.

“Like the time I played a joke on daddy by hiding the distributor cap on his car. My boyfriend showed me how. Daddy was going to play golf but I wanted him to take me to the mall so I could go shopping. The car wouldn’t start and he missed his tee time. He was so mad when I admitted what I’d done. I thought I was gonna get it then for sure, but he just chewed me out and grounded me. I think I’d have just as soon had that spankin’ than not be able to meet my friends at the mall.” She raised her eyebrows in a flirtatious gesture.

“Pulling a distributor cap? Hmmm, yeah, if I had been daddy that might have merited a trip across the knee,” said Colin, firing right back.

The exchange ended because they had reached the dormitory. Tammy Lynne led Colin to Betty Crane’s quarters, an apartment on the lower floor of a four story dormitory.

Sunday, February 15, 2015

F/M Sunday -- Aunt Sylvia's Rules by Stephen Peters

Here is something unique. I found this story on my hard drive and it came complete with its own illustrations. So I'm posting it here complete with the artwork. I have not run across this author before so I can't tell you any thing else about this. It is by no means original in terms of plot or ideas, but as a typical piece of work in this genre it's pretty good.
by  Stephen Peters
Our Aunt Sylvia played a large part in our family life. A small but well-built woman, of strong character. She knew how to impress her will on the rest of us and did so.
Being the richest member of the family gave her the advantage.
We were reasonably well off but depended on her to help out if we wanted any of those small luxuries which make life worth living.
She was very generous to us but in return required us to acknowl­edge that she ruled the roost. What we did not know at the time was that she was a sadist. Not that we would have known what it meant anyway. However much later we realised that she got a sexual lift out of beating people.
My father had died during the war, leaving my mother to look after my sister and me whilst working to make a living. Our mother was not the maternal type. Above all she was a highly successful business woman and was away much of the time. This meant that for a lot of the time my sister and I were unsupervised. We didn't object to this at all. We enjoyed our freedom and got up to enough mischief to gain a bad reputation in the area.
When Aunt Sylvia became aware of this, she took decisive action.
By chance there was a large house for sale, whose garden backed onto ours. She bought this and moved in. She had a gate put into the garden wall so that she had direct access to our house. Then she an­nounced that she was taking over responsibility for the children whilst her sister was not at home.
We were to go to her when we came back from school, instead of our own home.
It so happened that my mother was offered a lucrative job at that time. However it entailed working at abroad much of the time. She did not see how she could accept it with two children to look after.
Auntie Sylvia immediately decided that we should sleep with her. She had plenty of space and we could each have our own bedroom in her house.
We were to go straight back each day after school. We were not too pleased with these arrangements but Aunt Sylvia being who she was we had to accept it. However to show my independence I con­fided in my sister that I did not intend to hurry back that evening. In fact I met some friends and went off to swim in the river with them. I had no trunks with me so swam in the nude. Eventually I reached Aunt Sylvia's house two hours after my sister.
She was not pleased. After a good telling off, she said, "I shall deal with you at bedtime!"
She had kept some food for me which we ate in a charged silence. Apart from saying, "I think she's going to spank you!" my sister maintained a discreet silence about the matter. However it was obvi­ous that she was bubbling with curiosity and excitement. I guessed that that she would not be far away whilst I was being 'dealt with', if she could help it.
At ten o'clock my aunt announced that it was bedtime. "Stephen, go to your bedroom and change into your pyjama trousers," she said ''then come to my bedroom door, knock and wait until I tell you to enter."
I started to argue, but she cut me short." Do as I say immediately or I'll make it much the worse for you!"
Very reluctantly I did as she had told me. A little later, clad only in my pyjama trousers, I knocked on the door of my aunt's bedroom. I could hear her moving around inside. She kept me waiting for about five minutes. Then I heard her approaching the door. The door opened and there she stood. "Come in Stephen, I'm ready for you now." she said. When I was inside she locked the door, took hold of my arm and led me to the centre of the room.
She had taken off the rather tight dress she had been wearing and put on a short skirt, leaving the top of her black

petticoat showing above it. She pulled me over to a chair and told me to stand in front of it. Then she picked up a red wooden backed hairbrush from the bed and seated herself on the chair and began, "You know why you're here, I intend to teach you a lesson Stephen. Instead of coming straight back from school you sloped off with your friends to go swimming in the river. That is dangerous in itself. Also it has not escaped my notice that you had no swimming costume with you so you swam in the nude, didn't you?"
I admitted that I had.
"If you want to swim you will in future come to me first for per­mission. Having got it, you go to the swimming baths where it is safe. You must always wear a costume or trunks in a civilized manner too. Now I am going to take you over my knee and put my spanking brush across your behind until I am quite sure that you are sore enough to remember my words.!"
. She then told me to come round and stand at her right side. When I complied, she pulled the string of my pyjama trousers and pushed them down until they slipped to the floor. Then she pulled up the hem of her skirt as far as she could. "Right Stephen, get right over my knee, bottom up in the air and hands flat on the floor." she com­manded. It took a little time before she was satisfied with my position but finally she was ready to begin.
"Are you ready? I'm going to begin and it will be a long time before I stop!" she said.
I grudgingly replied that I was ready. I felt the movement of her body as she lifted the wooden brush high above her head and then, "WHACK!" down it came. I gasped but before I had time to recover my breath, "WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!" the second, third and fourth strokes fell on my behind! So it went on.
I had made up my mind that I would not cry or yell but my aunt was determined that I should! She knew that she had got to reduce me to tears if she was to subdue me and was quite set on so doing. The battle of wills that followed

.. a red wooden-backed hairbrush ..
was completely one-sided. There was no way I could win. My aunt only had to go on long enough to get her way and go on she did. She whacked me without pause and appar­ently without tiring an iota from her efforts. By the time I had re­ceived the wooden back of her "brush" on my bum a hundred times, my gasps had become very close to yells. Sensing victory within her grasp she seemed to redouble her efforts. It wasn't long after that I began pleading with her to stop.
However she whacked on until finally I burst into tears. Her object achieved, she did not stop immediately, but continued for another forty strokes whilst I lay snivelling over her lap. Finally she stopped. She told me to get up.
Tearfully I rubbed my sore backside.
"I haven't finished with you yet Stephen." she said to my dismay.
"Come around to my left side and bend over the other way. I want to make sure that both sides of your bottom are equally sore."
I began to plead with her not to spank me any more.
She sat in silence for a couple of minutes then" The longer you keep me waiting, the more you'll get. I want immediate obedience. I intend to have it. Now get over my knee before I lose my temper!"
There was nothing for it but to obey. When she had me lying over her lap to her satisfaction, "WHACK!" off she went again.
I was already tearful. It wasn't long before I bawled my head off. Although I was fourteen years old I had never before experienced any sort of corporal punishment before and it came as a nasty shock!
Eventually it was all over. I stood in front of her with a throbbing bum which I rubbed feelingly. "Well Stephen, now you know what to expect if you ever disobey me again. Now put your pyjamas on and go to bed!"
I lay on my stomach in bed that night!
The next morning was Saturday so we didn't have to go to school.
As soon as we were alone my sister, bubbling with suppressed excite­ment, asked me if it had been as bad as it sounded. It showed that she had been listening, as I had guessed she would be.
"What did she do, did she put you over her knee?" she asked. She wanted to know what my aunt had used on me and how hard she had spanked. I told her about the wooden brush and assured her that it my aunt had used it very hard indeed! Still she was not satisfied. Was it on my bare bottom? How was my aunt dressed? Was I still sore? I was still sore and stiff.
She said she had guessed so from the way I walked. "She spanked you twice," she said, "for five minutes each time!" It had seemed much longer to me, but I suppose that's what Einstein would call the relativity effect!
At last she got to it. She wanted to inspect the damage. We re­treated to our own house. My sister suggested that we went up to her bedroom where she would put some cold cream on my bottom and of course have an opportunity to examine the damage. I agreed and her curiosity was duly satisfied. I also derived some benefit, as the cold cream and the good rubbing served to reduce the soreness.
Life carried on in a rather subdued way for some weeks after this.
Not that we were particularly unhappy, but we were being made to live in a more organized manner than we were used to. There were specific times for doing homework and going to bed. Homework it was that had me standing outside my aunt's door at bed time on the second occasion. We were expected to complete our homework be­fore being allowed to play or whatever else we wished to do. On this occasion I was very keen to go and see a cricket match on the village green. I wasn't making much headway with my homework. I realised that unless I went immediately I would not see anything of the match. I told my aunt that I had finished it and got her permission to go. I met my friends on the cricket ground and passed a pleasant time with them. However when I got back home my aunt was waiting for me.
Apparently my sister had asked to go to a friend's house. On being asked if she had finished her homework she admitted that although it was almost done there was still a little bit left. My aunt told her to complete it first. My sister had said that it wasn't fair as she'd let me go out before I'd done even half of mine. It sounded very innocent. She claimed that she didn't know I'd lied to my aunt. It may have been so. However she'd so frequently referred back to my spanking in past weeks. Every time with bated breath and a gleam in her eye as she thought of new questions to ask. It seemed clear that the whole subject fascinated her. I couldn't help wondering if she'd grassed on me, to have the pleasure of hearing those magic sounds again.
However speculation did not help. My aunt told me to come to her bedroom in ten minutes, again in pyjama trousers only. After a few minutes she opened the door and pulled me in. She was dressed as before.
A few minutes later I was looking at her gleaming black nylon tights and high heels upside down whilst she worked on my bottom with her wooden brush. The WHACKS! echoed round the room ac­companied not long after by my cries of complaint. For a moment I thought of my sister listening avidly to the sounds that seemed to give her such a thrill. However more immediate happenings soon brought my mind back inside the room as my aunt continued to castigate my behind with energy and the wooden brush! I spent a very unpleasant five minutes in the lap top position before she allowed me to get up.
"That was for not doing your homework Stephen." she said.
"Tomorrow I shall punish you at the same time for lying to me."
The next day my sister was full of sympathy and apologies but I was a bit short with her. I knew that she'd been enjoying another thrill at my expense. That day our aunt went up to London to do some shopping. She came back with a number of parcels which she took up to her room. The knowledge of what awaited me at bedtime did noth­ing to alleviate the boredom of doing two lots of homework. My aunt insisted that I complete the stuff I had skipped the night before as well as that day's. This left no time for leisure. Shortly after I had finished the dreaded words "Upstairs Stephen" were uttered.
When I was inside her room my aunt, seated on the seat of judge­ment, said, "Last night I was compelled to punish you for not doing your homework. Tonight I have to punish you for lying to me. That was a far worse offense. Consequently your punishment must be more severe. Hand me the parcel on the bed."
I did so. She unwrapped it and extracted a heavy leather paddle!
"This is an article especially made for dealing with errant boys, by an expert." she continued. "I intend to test it to the full on your bottom tonight!"
She undid my pajama trousers as before and pulled me round to her right hand side. "Over my knee!" she commanded.
Soon I was once again in the lap top position.
"Now to see if this is really effective. Are you ready?"

It certainly was effective! She had me howling after the first twenty strokes. Five minutes later a tearful boy was told to get up and bend over the other way. I pleaded with her but all to no avail.
"Shut up and get over my knee or I'll deal with the other side again afterwards!" was the only response.
Over I went and the whole horrible business was repeated before I was allowed to get up. My aunt made me thank her for punishing me and kiss the paddle before putting my pyjamas on and leaving the room.
The next morning my sister was full of remorse and we made it up.
After all I had no proof that her faux pas had been deliberate. Again it was obvious that she had been listening avidly to my punishment. Again she wanted to see the damage and rubbed my bottom with cold cream. When she heard about the new spanking paddle she made me describe it in detail. This spanking thing obviously thrilled her.
A few days later she had the opportunity to assuage her curiosity in the most convincing way. She had left her bedroom in a mess. Our aunt had told her off about this a couple of times already. After dinner Aunt Sylvia said, "Anne, I've told you several times that you would get into trouble if you left your bedroom in a mess. You did it again this morning. You will come and knock on my bedroom door when you have changed into your night clothes at bedtime."
To say that my sister was in a tizzy after this announcement would be an under-statement.
She was beside herself with apprehension! She repeatedly asked me if it would hurt very much. How long I thought our aunt would spank her. Many other such questions which I couldn't answer. Yet behind it all I sensed a certain excitement.
Ten o'clock came and with it bedtime. Anne clung to my hand as we went upstairs. She was almost in tears. I tried to comfort her, say­ing that although it would hurt it would not last long. I went to my bedroom and Anne to her's. As it happened my bedroom was next to my aunt's. No doubt she had put me in this room in order to keep her eye on me! In any case I was to hear quite clearly what was going on there. It was a pleasant change to be the audience instead of one of the cast!
I heard my sister come along the corridor and knock on the door of the next room. I heard the door opened and closed and my aunt lecturing her. I couldn't make out all that was said, but heard quite distinctly the command, "Bend over my knee!"
A few seconds later a WHACK! followed by a howl of distress.
The WHACKS! and howls continued for about a minute and a half with the howling reaching a crescendo and then dying back to uncon­trolled sobbing. Then the whacking ended but not the sobbing. I could again hear Auntie Sylvia's stern voice as she delivered another scolding. I quite expected to hear a resumption of the whacking but Auntie Sylvia was satisfied. The door opened and my sister's sobbing receded down the corridor to her bedroom.
The next morning it was my turn to extend sympathy to the suf­ferer. To my surprise, Anne was eager to tell me all about it. Despite the fear and pain she had suffered she wanted to re-live every minute of it! Our aunt had treated her relatively leniently. She had used nei­ther the wooden brush nor the new paddle, but a flat heeled leather sandal instead. As I already knew the spanking had been shorter than those I had experienced. However Anne was two years younger than I was. On the whole I was glad that she had been let off lightly. As soon as an opportunity came she insisted on displaying her wounds and having the cold cream treatment. From then on this became rou­tine, whenever one of us was punished.
My school had a system of report cards which we had to take home every fortnight for signature by our parents. This was a source of misery to those of us who were not inclined to devote too much time to academic matters. When Auntie Sylvia became aware of this she insisted on seeing this report. The report had five grades ranging from very good, good, satisfactory, poor, to very poor.
My aunt decided that anything less than good should be rewarded by punishment, on a graded scale. Satisfactory would merit thirty strokes across her knee. Poor got fifty and Very Poor a hundred. As seven subjects appeared on the report card at least this meant that there was a potential sentence of seven hundred strokes with what­ever instrument she chose to use. Even if there were no optional sub­jects included!
Of course it was not likely ever to be that bad. I was hardly likely to score VP in all subjects, but it was bad enough. I could not remem­ber ever having less than two Satisfactories on my card and Poor appeared quite often. This meant sixty strokes regularly every fortnight with a fair chance of a hundred and ten every so often. This on top of anything I got for any behaviour my aunt disapproved of! The report card was due that weekend. There was nothing I could do in the few days remaining to improve the position.
Sure enough when the cards were distributed, I had three Sats. and a Poor. Even my mental arithmetic was good enough to work out that that qualified me for a hundred and forty strokes. I had little doubt that my aunt would elect to use her new paddle! I thought of just keeping quiet about it, forging my mother's signature and taking it back.
However my aunt had done her homework and rung the school.
She demanded to see it as soon as I got in. I handed it over with resignation knowing that my sister would have something to listen to at bedtime!      .
Over dinner Auntie Sylvia pleasantly discussed my report card, with my sister listening agog. She explained to Anne what she called the agreement we had come to. "Well, Stephen," she said, "how many do you calculate you have earned with this performance?"
I had no trouble answering that. The figure had been in my mind all afternoon!
"Well then, I think it would be convenient to deal with the matter straight away. You wouldn't want it to be hanging over you to spoil your weekend, would you? We've finished dinner now so when we've done the washing up, we'll go upstairs and get it over." she rejoined.
The washing up took less time than I could have wished.
"Right Stephen, go up and strip to your underpants and then wait outside my door." came the order, "I'll be with you presently."
All this was said as if I were looking forward to the next quarter of an hour!
I was waiting there when my aunt came up. She patted my bottom, as she went into her room saying, "I won't be long, Don't worry it will soon be over." She was evidently in a good humor!
As the door opened my sister passed by to her room, evidently having decided that there was something there that she needed ur­gently.
I disappeared into the bedroom where my aunt had prepared for me by stripping off her dress leaving nothing on but her bra, knickers and tights. She had changed the low sandals she had been wearing for high heels, "It's a warm day and I shall be using a fair deal of en­ergy." she explained.
She was a good looking woman and looked superb in her black lace underwear, gleaming tights and high heels. It was almost worth being spanked just to see her like this. But not quite! She had her leather paddle in her hand. As usual she sat on her chair and told me to stand in front of her.
"Well now we've agreed that three Satisfactories and one Poor amount to a hundred and forty strokes, haven't we?" she said. "I shall require you to count them for me to make sure that you get the agreed ration. Don't lose count or I shall have to begin again. To make it easy for you I'll deal with each subject separately. Come round here."
She pulled me round to her right and putting the paddle down on her lap, slipped her thumbs inside the elastic of my underpants and pulled them down to my knees. She took up the paddle again. "Bend over my knee!"
I took up the lap top position with which I was now familiar. She made me move around a bit as usual until she was satisfied with my position. Then as I gazed at her upside down black shoes and tights, she opened the proceedings with a question. "Well Stephen, mathe­matics poor. How many strokes is that?"
I replied that it was fifty.
She wasn't satisfied with that. "You must say fifty please Aunt Sylvia."
When I had complied she continued "Don't forget to count! I'm going to start now."
WHACK! The first blow fell as she finished the sentence. I wasn't ready for it.
I gasped and she got the second stroke in before I managed to say, "One!"
"You didn't count. I'll have to start again!"
I was careful to count from then on but as I grew more sore and began to gasp it became more difficult. However I managed to keep the score until I'd paid for mathematics.
"English." announced my aunt "Satisfactory. How many strokes for that?"
"Thirty, please, Aunt Sylvia." I replied.
"Right I'm about to start."
Again I managed to keep the score amidst my gasps. "Latin, Stephen, how many?"
"Thirty please Aunt Sylvia."
"Right, here they come!"
The WHACKS! started again.
I was getting sore by now but somehow between the gasps I managed to keep count.
"Geography, how many?" I repeated the formula.
"WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!" The blows fell so hard and fast that I hadn't a chance of counting them. I was too busy shouting! I must have had at least the ordained thirty before she stopped.
"You weren't counting, I'll have to start again!"
I complained that if she spanked me so fast it wasn't possible for me to count the strokes.
"Very well, I'll spank more slowly." she replied, "But to compen­sate you will have to accept more strokes. Another twenty would be appropriate. I give you the option. The agreed number delivered as I think fit, or fifty given slowly."
I chose the fifty slow strokes. The other option gave her the chance to carry on spanking me all night if she felt like it, just by spanking so fast that I lost count and she could start again. My hundred and forty strokes had already become a hundred and ninety and I wasn't taking any chances.
"Right fifty slow strokes it is." Whack!
I had no difficulty counting now but the strokes were markedly harder. She was taking her time and putting every ounce of strength she had into each one. I was soon shouting with each stroke. It took her a good five minutes to finish the sentence. I was very sore by the time she allowed me to get up. I was now required to kneel and thank her for my correction. Finally to kiss the paddle.
"Well let's hope that will help you to get better marks next time.
Otherwise I shall certainly mark you well!"
With that I was allowed to leave.
The next morning the ritual examination of my wounds took place. Anne had crept into my bedroom in order to hear the spanking better, sitting with her ear to the wall. She had counted the strokes. She knew that I'd had more than the figure agreed over dinner. She was agog to know why I'd got the extras. I explained that Auntie Sylvia had invented a way of cheating by striking so fast that it wasn't possible to keep count. Then insisting on starting again because I'd lost count.
"DOH!" said Anne "She could go on spanking you all night if she felt like it!"
Then pensively, "You get a report card every two weeks, don't you?"
I could see the way her mind was working. I had got there long ago!
Every two weeks I could expect to be thrashed across my aunt's knee for as long as she saw fit. By now it was obvious that nothing gave her more pleasure! So it turned out to be.
When as a result of my aunt's treatment I gradually improved, she merely moved the goalposts. The required standard moving from good to very good. A very poor now qualifying for a hundred and fifty. It was virtually impossible to get VG in every subject. Even a G in all seven would mean a minimum of two hundred and ten strokes. Even if she didn't cheat to push the number up! As long as I was at school I spent at least ten minutes across my aunt's knee on alternate Fridays.
Of course the school reports were not the only source of beatings.
Any other delinquencies brought a session in the lap top position if nothing worse, for both my sister and myself.
My friends at school had started experimenting with smoking and persuaded me to try. I didn't think too much of it but bought a packet of cigarettes from a machine so that I could offer them around. It was the big thing to do. When I got home that evening, I realised that I'd got to hide them. I went up to my bedroom to find a safe place. Whilst I was so occupied, Anne came in for a chat. Seeing the packet in my hand she asked excitedly whether I had tried smoking a cigarette as yet. Whether I liked it and so on. In the end she persuaded me to let her try.
We decided that we'd go into the shed at the bottom of our own garden next morning and experiment with this new adventure. The next morning was Saturday so we were free of school and left to our own devices. In the late afternoon we slipped into the shed and pro­ceeded to light up. Neither of us liked it very much, but we coughed and spluttered until we were half way through our cigarettes. Sud­denly the door was flung open and there stood our aunt.
To say that we were appalled would be a gross understatement.
We were scared stiff.
One look at her livid face was enough to convince us that we were going to suffer as never before! She ordered us into her house in a rasping voice. When we were there, she told us both to go to our rooms, change into our pyjamas and wait until she called us.
It was at five o'clock that the summons came. Our aunt collected us from our rooms and marched us to her door. "You stay there," she said to me, in a grim voice. "I'll deal with your sister first." At that she pulled Anne into her room and closed the door.
As I stood there I heard our aunt scolding Anne loud and clear.
Then the questioning began. Who had bought the cigarettes? Where had they come from? How long had this been going on? etc. I could see where all this was leading and wasn't very happy about it.
Then I heard a drawer opening. I knew precisely which drawer that was. Evidently Anne was not going to get away with a slippering this time! A few more words of reproof, then, "Over my knee!"
A few moments whilst my aunt adjusted her night-dress to clear the target, then, "WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!" The sound was that of the paddle that I knew so well!
Anne was already gasping. Before long shrieks were coming from the other side of the door. It went on for about five minutes. Then I heard My aunt tell her to get up and come around to her left. Again "Over my knee!" The whole business was repeated, with Anne screaming her head off.
All this time I had been thinking "If she does this to Anne, what will she do to me!"
Anne was always treated more leniently. Both because she was younger. And I believe too, Aunt Sylvia preferred beating a male. Finally the door opened and a very tearful young woman emerged. She was rubbing her eyes with one hand and her bottom with the other. The door was closed behind her.
I had to wait a little while longer. I guessed my aunt was resting her arm before dealing with me. I was extremely apprehensive. Al­though I had become to some extent inured to punishment by my aunt's frequent exertions, I realised that this was going to be some­thing special! Every minute spent waiting outside that door made it worse. I had no doubt that Auntie Sylvia knew it.
After what seemed an age I heard the sound of that drawer opening again. It puzzled me. She already had the paddle out. She had used it on Anne. Then it struck me. She must have something worse con­cealed there!
A few seconds later the door opened and there she stood with a long heavy strap in her hand. It was split into two tails for about half its length. The mere sight of it made me sweat!
She called me to her. As soon as I was within reach she grabbed my arm and pulled me into the room. Then she locked the door. A cane was lying on the bed, next to the paddle. On the chair standing in the middle of the room there was a pair of leather wrist cuffs joined by a short chain. She pulled me over to the chair, put down the strap and took up the cuffs.
"Stretch out your hands towards me." she said. When I did so, she fastened the cuffs around my wrists. She then picked up the strap.
"I don't intend to spend much time talking about it Stephen." she said, "You have earned a thorough thrashing and you're going to get it. Not only have you broken the law by buying cigarettes under age and smoked them yourself, you have induced your younger sister to try this filthy habit, endangering both your lives. I've got all the detail I need from Anne so I don't need to waste time questioning you."
She pulled at the string of my pyjamas and pushed them to the floor. "Now stand in front of the chair, bend over and grasp the back of the seat." she commanded.
I obeyed and she moved to my left hand side. She placed her left hand firmly in the middle of my back. "Now I'm going to flog you until you scream." she said. "What's more, you'll scream for a long time!"
With that she placed the strap across my bum. Then her hand flew up and with a swish and a 'CRACK!'
The strap exploded into my bum. I gave a loud cry. I'd never felt anything so painful in my life, but before the cry was finished the second CRACK came as the strap burnt into my bum again.
I held my position for a further six strokes of that fearsome strap, but the sixth was a particularly vicious swipe. With a loud shout, I stood up and begged my aunt to stop. She was wholly unimpressed. She went to that infamous drawer and came back carrying another strap. This one was equipped with a buckle and holes. It was, in fact, a belt. She stood at the back of the chair and told me to bend over again.
After some argument, she said, "You can't get away. The door's locked. If you don't obey me I'll just have to thrash any part of you I can reach!"
With that she gave me a vicious slash from the front around my thighs. "Bend down!"
I did so. She fastened the strap around the chain of the wrist cuffs and a horizontal strut on the chair. The only way I could now stand up would be to pick up the chair.
"Now I'll continue." she said. She brought the heavy strap down once again.
I received a further seventeen blistering blows from the strap.
Each one of which made me yell. Then, crossing to my right she gave me another dozen! By that time I was howling continuously. She went to the bed, put down the strap and took up the cane.
"Now let's see how you like this." she muttered grimly, as she stood beside me, flexing the cane between her hands.
She tapped my bottom lightly a couple of times. Then SHW ACK! I heard the swish and felt the pain almost simultaneously and let out a howl. If I thought the strap painful, this was a wholly different dimension! It felt as if a red hot wire had been laid across my bum! A dozen times my aunt slashed me with that cane.

Then she changed sides to even out the score with another twelve.
My aunt went over and seated herself on the bed and surveyed her handiwork, leaving me tied to the chair. She still had the cane in her hands. I was scared that after she had rested, she would start again. However after about five minutes she came over and released me. I held out my hands expecting her to remove the fetters, only to hear. "Oh I haven't finished with you yet! You're going across my knee now to get what Anne got."
I begged her to call it a day but she merely picked up the paddle and caught hold of the chain of the cuffs. She pulled me around the chair, on which she seated herself.
"What you have received so far was for introducing cigarettes into the house and leading Anne to smoke. For actually smoking I have given Anne a very thorough spanking. It seems only reasonable that you should get the same."
I didn't think much of her logic and said so. I argued and pleaded for five minutes or so.
She sat there saying nothing, tapping the paddle against her left hand. Quite hard enough to make a suggestive sound. At the end of my pleadings she said quite quietly, "Unless you want me to give you another dose of the cane, you'd better shut up and get over my knee."
I capitulated at that. I had no desire to feel that cane again!
I got exactly the same ration as my sister, five minutes each way.
I know that I was by now used to being beaten with the paddle. How­ever three hundred strokes on a bum that had already suffered thirty eight strokes of the strap and two dozen of the cane was a different matter. It was a very contrite and tearful boy who emerged from his aunt's bedroom that evening.
Life continued in much the same way. I was always sure of a ses­sion across my aunt's knee every fortnight, when the report card ar­rived.
There were intermediate punishments as well for both my sister and myself, whenever we displeased our aunt sufficiently. This hap­pened fairly often in my case and it seldom happened that a week went by without a visit to her bedroom that always ended with a ses­sion of bouncing on her nylon clad thighs. Whatever else had pre­ceded it. Because, as she said, I was getting older the strap and cane became a common prelude to bending over her knees. The duration of the spankings increased too.
I was late in growing and until the age of fifteen was small for my age. Then I began to shoot up. At the same time strange things were happening in my body and mind. In short I was in the process of changing from a boy to a man. My sessions over my aunt's lap were beginning to produce strange and exciting sensations. The feel of her nyloned thighs, accentuated every time her paddle landed on my bum. Together with the visual stimulation of her gleaming black ny­lon clad legs and black patent leather high heels. These now made the pain worth while. Even if she caned or strapped me first!
It even got to the stage where the desire to suffer over her knee would sometimes cause me to deliberately commit some offense to incite her. She was always glad to oblige!
It required some judgement to do just enough to get a spanking without anything more serious, but as I had learned by experience the intimate lap top position was her favorite as well as mine. It was never painless but it was thrilling!
So it went on until the day arrived when I left home to go to uni­versity. The night before I left I had what I thought would be my last session over Auntie Sylvia's knee. She kept me there for half an hour and used every implement she possessed, which was short enough to use in that position, from the slipper to a strap, then various paddles. She even took her thinnest cane. Holding it about a foot from the end, she applied that to my bum. It was a glorious farewell to spankings. Or so I thought.
As she was financing my time at the university she claimed the right to, "Help me with my vacation work." She kept in touch with my Tutor, during term time. Any poor report received from her was paid for on my next visit home! But that is another story.