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Monday, 31 December 2018

My Diary — the misadventures of Christina Winchester 5

From Privilege Club 12
Extract from the Editor’s Letter:
What other goodies are in store this time? Well, one of the items shows the private thoughts of Christina Winchester concerning her very real experiences on the business end of a punishment. Ms Winchester is proving highly popular with spanking aficionados everywhere because not only is she exquisitely lovely in face and form, with a bottom to die for, but she so obviously relishes reaping the rewards of her mischief. In this edition she discusses her experiences on the receiving end of more of her favourite (?) implements, with photographs from her private stock that she is happy to share with us. There can’t be a hand in the land that doesn’t itch to spank that pert derrière — and doesn’t Christina just know it!
Our resident schoolgirl seductress continues her reminiscences of severe punishments applied to her superb bottom by a parade of effective implements:
TAWSE: A very spiteful piece of work which I was unfortunate enough to encounter when our crotchety, ancient Scottish neighbour caught me stealing a few prize roses from his front garden. He hadn’t had the pleasure of using the tawse since his days as a headmaster and was thrilled to find that he hadn’t lost his touch when it came to chastising the ‘pretty wee ass’ of a ‘wilful young lassie’. I would never have believed that a simple strap of flexible leather could burn so viciously. I pray that that was my last encounter with the tawse. And I haven’t been too keen on roses either since then!
BELT: Daddy’s belt and I go way back and have had a turbulent and bitter relationship. I was last put over his strong knee a year and a half ago (although he still threatens me to this day with a good bottom-warming when I show more than my usual amount of impudence!).
The flexible leather flicks against my skin; hard, cold and shiny greeting soft, warm and glowing. It shoots fire into my begging-for-it behind within a few slaps and has me squealing like a little girl.
HAIRBRUSH: I am put in an awkward dilemma when the hairbrush is concerned. It is a device I associate with both pleasure and pain. I love to sit on my bed each evening as Mother brushes out my long, shiny, dark hair. The feel of it gently pulling and massaging my head is divinity.
It is not so divine when applied to my other end! Sometimes, the brush catches on a tangle and I let out a less-than-ladylike word, forgetting, for a second, to be Mummy’s little angel. My pyjama-bottoms are pulled promptly to my knees. Both the hairbrush and I are flipped over so that the hard, smooth wooden side can chastise my upturned bottom for such rudeness with an onslaught of hearty spanks. The two-faced implement no longer-caresses me comfortingly but, like a Judas, betrays me with a painful kiss. It lands with full throttle on my pink, naked buttocks. It is sort of like being bitten by the hand that feeds you. And then, when the lights go out, I must lie on my tummy, rub the smarting away, and reflect upon my behaviour.
BIRCH: My first and thus far only encounter with this historical legend of an implement (courtesy of Aunt Bess a few months ago) still rings true on my poor, delicate derrière. Aunty had been saving it for ages, hidden away for a bottom worth waiting for — mine of course, the perfect specimen to test its effectiveness on.
I really hadn’t felt anything like it before. It doesn’t just give one bite to its target, as a cane or crop might, but a whole explosion of thwacking, red-hot sparks. It felt like a swarm of angry bees had landed on my unfortunate bum-cheeks in order to launch a full-scale and merciless attack with their stingers.
Traditionally, and for the best effect, the birch should be applied with the recipient completely naked. Oh dear, please don’t ask me to take my clothes off — please?
Thankfully, birches are rarely seen in this day and age. My pert and lovely teenage bottom could certainly do with not seeing it ever again!
AND MY FAVOURITE PUNISHMENT OF ALL? I guess it is boringly common but I think you’ll agree that there is nothing so effective as a simple, old-fashioned bare-hand-to-bare-bottom spanking! It is so enchantingly delightful to be thrown sturdily over someone’s knee, feel the cool breeze caress my beautiful bum as my skirt is flipped up and my tight panties lowered. My head and feet are tilted down and my bottom rests in shameless display in the air. I just adore being a tease. I know exactly what a gorgeously sensual picture my bottom presents in this vulnerable position as I have studied its Goddess-like shape so often in the mirror. I know fully well that mine is a peach of a bottom that just cries out to be spanked. How can I blame my punishers for bringing their hand sharply down across my enticing, curved globes over and over again? Owwww! Yes, it does hurt excruciatingly. Flesh moulds intimately to flesh. It arouses me to ecstasy and presents, for the punisher, a feast for the eye and the hand.

Sunday, 30 December 2018

New Girl in the Office

From Blushes 28
Congratulations, Miss Mingley,’ said Mr Halstock. ‘You did very well in the tests. High scores in typing and other office skills. And you seem to be a very attractive and personable young lady. Yes, very attractive. Would you stand up please?’
Mr Halstock himself was getting up from his desk and coming round to Charlotte who was flushing slightly at what he had said. Did this mean that she’d got the job?
‘Could you just slip off your jacket?’ he suggested. ‘So that…’
Charlotte, standing up, after a moment’s hesitation began unfastening buttons. ‘I want to see your shape,’ said Mr Halstock. ‘Just to make sure.’
Oh. Slipping off the jacket of her smart going-to-interviews suit. Was it normal to be asked to take your jacket off? Not that Charlotte had anything that would not stand up to scrutiny, so to speak. She was a very pretty brunette with an excellent figure, tall and slim-waisted but at the same time with a full, firm bust. It was this that Mr Halstock was now judiciously observing, as it thrust out the front of her ivory silk blouse.
‘Oh yes, very good indeed. And of course appearance is important in this position. You’ll be in the front office and a pretty face and what a girl’s got up front are bound to catch the clients’ eyes. Market research has shown that a nice pair of tits on a pretty girl can have a most positive effect on a client.’
Charlotte didn’t know what to say but she could feel a flush of embarrassment colouring her cheeks. She was not used to being spoken about like this, almost as if she were a prize cow… And she didn’t like Mr Halstock’s choice of words. But he was now saying something else.
‘Yes very good, young lady. All in all I think you’re quite what we’re looking for.’
Oh. Well. And the salary that had been mentioned had been very attractive indeed.
‘Just… ah… pull your shoulders back a little, Miss Mingley. Let those fine things assume their natural prominence.’
Somehow, thinking of that salary, Charlotte did it. ‘That’s better. That’s much better. That and a nice winning smile, how could any client resist? A nice smile, my dear.’
And somehow, standing there with her boobs thrust out, Charlotte produced a rather sickly smile as well. She didn’t like this kind of thing, not at all, but perhaps in the world of business… And she did need the job. She badly wanted to get a place of her own and get away from her mother’s tiresome criticisms — not least of the fact that at the moment Charlotte didn’t have a job. This position with Halstock and Boothroyd, property developers, was just what she wanted, especially with that salary that she was sure was well above the average for a secretary/receptionist. Yes, surely she could smile and let Mr Halstock see the shape of her bust if it meant she had the job.
‘However…’ said Mr Halstock. Ah. Even for pretty girls with large firm breasts life has its ‘howevers’. Indeed it might be said that at times they experience ‘howevers’ more often than the rest of us.
‘However,’ said Mr Halstock once more and still eyeing Charlotte’s splendid tits, ‘first of all you will have temporary status. For a short initial period. So that Mr Boothroyd and I can be sure the company has got exactly what it wants. I’m sure you can understand that.’
He gave her a big smile. ‘And in this temporary period your salary will be two-thirds of the full permanent figure. So that you can have something to look forward to as it were.’
Oh. That was a nasty little shock, when she had already been thinking what she could do with that nice big figure. But Mr Halstock assured her that it would only be for a very short period, if she came up to scratch as he was sure she would.
That was it. Charlotte had got the job so it was silly to feel disappointed. She put her jacket back on.
‘Oh,’ said Mr Halstock. ‘One little thing. Do you always wear a bra, my dear?’
What? Charlotte rapidly flushing again.
‘I’m sure those lovely things don’t need a bra, Miss Mingley. I mean for support. I’m sure they’re beautifully firm and well able to look after themselves. And market research quite clearly shows that a pretty girl with good boobs who doesn’t wear a bra is way ahead in terms of attractiveness to clients. No bra and quite a tight blouse. So that the nipples can be seen.’
Charlotte bit her lip. What could you say to that. She could feel herself trembling.
‘Anyway, my dear, just a thought. And we’ll see you on Monday.’
Maybe Mr Halstock had been joking? He hadn’t sounded like he was joking though. And Charlotte really did want the job, her mother was getting quite impossible. She wanted the job and she wanted that full, permanent salary. But to get that she presumably had to do what Mr Halstock wanted, to do what was good for the company as he would no doubt say. Those clients who wanted to see her nipples.
On Monday morning feeling more than a little apprehensive and wearing a blouse and full skirt and, yes, also a bra, Charlotte met for the first time the other partner, Mr Boothroyd. Mr Boothroyd, with a round, quite bald head, was not so obsessed with Charlotte’s tits as Mr Halstock seemed to be. But Mr Boothroyd was interested in something else. Right away he showed this interest. Right after introducing himself and then standing with Charlotte at the window looking down at the street, Mr Boothroyd put his hand on Charlotte’s bottom. Took hold of it. Took hold of the nearside full, firm cheek through her loose, quite thin skirt.
She involuntarily jerked forward. Not that Charlotte could jerk forward very far with the window close in front of her and then the street two floors below. Mr Boothroyd gave a little laugh. ‘You’ve got a lovely shape, my dear. A lovely figure. Mr Halstock was quite right.’
And then the hand which had been momentarily dislodged by Charlotte’s automatic shocked reaction, almost resulting in her banging her forehead against the windowpane, was back. A firm, no-nonsense grip of that same left cheek of her bottom, fingers reaching deep into the cleft.
It was all absolutely unexpected. Mr Halstock hadn’t made any reference to her bottom, though he had made her turn round when she had her jacket off. No, it was simply her tits that Charlotte had been concerned for and wondering what she was going to say to Mr Halstock if he said something like, ‘I thought we agreed no bra, Miss Mingley? Not of course that she had agreed that at all but he might easily say it and what would she do then? What if he told her there and then to take it off? With all this Charlotte hadn’t been able to give much thought to Mr Boothroyd or wonder whether he might also pose some sort of problem. Now his hand was suddenly, intimately on her bottom. Not just lightly touching it but really gripping the soft firm flesh. Whereas Mr Halstock hadn’t actually touched her boobs at all. Not yet at least.
Charlotte made a squealing ‘Eeek!’ sound and then, ‘Please…’ Trying to squirm away again. But this time Mr Boothroyd’s hand stayed with her. Mr Boothroyd was grinning.
‘Not shy I hope, Miss? We won’t want a shy girl in the front office. I’m sure Mr Halstock told you that.’
Mr Boothroyd’s hand slid down, to the undercurve of Charlotte’s ripe rear. Fingers reaching in… she gave another shocked squeal.
‘Mustn’t be shy, my dear. You know what I do to a shy girl? I take her knickers down and smack her bottom. That usually cures her of shyness.’
The fingers sharply pinched soft flesh. This was followed by a brisk slap across the trembling cheeks. ‘Just remember that, young lady.’
Mr Boothroyd went off, into his office. Charlotte felt like she might collapse at any moment. Someone came in. Oh God. But it wasn’t Mr Halstock, it was the office boy carrying a pile of letters. He introduced himself: Keith Banning. He looked about 18. Charlotte tried to produce some normal friendly chat but her mind was still full of Mr Boothroyd’s dreadful hand. Keith Banning she noticed was ogling her tits. Oh God.
Mr Halstock didn’t come in until an hour later by which time Charlotte had been given some idea of how things worked by the boy Keith and Mr Boothroyd. Mr Boothroyd took whatever opportunity there was to get his hand on her bottom again. Charlotte knew what she should do was tell him firmly to stop it, she wasn’t putting up with that sort of thing. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. But if you couldn’t do that all you could do was meekly accept it. Maybe after he had done it a few times he would lose interest, she thought hopefully. But that, she knew, was being very hopeful.
‘Getting on all right?’ queried Mr Halstock cheerfully when he did arrive. What with Mr Boothroyd and being afraid to stand anywhere near him, Charlotte had pretty much forgotten Mr Halstock, whereas up until an hour ago she couldn’t think of anything else. She made a nervous reply. Mr Halstock said would she come into his office.
Inside with the door closed he said exactly what she had feared he would say. ‘I thought we agreed…’ etc. Charlotte felt herself begin to shake.
‘I can’t,’ she pleaded. ‘I can’t do that. That boy…’ For it was true he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of Charlotte’s ripe boobs. But apart from that she anyway just couldn’t.
Mr Halstock moved in close and turned Charlotte round so that her back was towards him. She at once sensed what he was going to do but she was helpless. He did it. His hands came round under her arms and took hold of the splendid tits. A whimpering sound from Charlotte. Was it worse than what Mr Boothroyd’s hand had done? It was certainly just as bad. She had only a light bra on under her semi-transparent blue blouse. ‘Please…’ she whispered weakly.
Mr Halstock said, ‘Don’t worry about that youth, he is only the office boy and should be getting on with his work not looking at you.’ The cupping hands lifted the soft mounds up and down. ‘But I tell you what. I’ve got something I want you to do in here for half an hour. Let’s have it off while you do that. It’ll get you into the feel of it and you can put it on again when you’re through.
There was no point arguing because Mr Halstock was himself now unbuttoning her blouse. Popping open the little buttons and pulling the blue material apart. And then at her bra strap. Charlotte had a funny feeling, like being in a dream. Well, not funny, awful. Dreadful. Mr Halstock had discovered that he couldn’t take the bra off without first removing her blouse — and so he was doing that. Charlotte wasn’t struggling. That feeling of helplessness, and also the realisation that if she did struggle she would in all probability rip her blouse. The blouse came off, and then the bra. Mr Halstock pushing her hands away. It was just too unbelievably dreadful. Mr Halstock’s greedy hands at her nude boobs. Her nipples. Which were coming up, sticking out, aroused by this nightmarish but heady action.
Mr Halstock did eventually reluctantly let go and allow Charlotte to refasten her blouse. But with it tight and semi-transparent over her splendid tits they were as good as nude still, in a way they were more than nude. ‘Very lovely,’ said appreciative Mr Halstock. His hands roamed sensuously over the taut thin silk.
As he was doing this he suddenly asked: ‘Mr Boothroyd. Has he said anything about his cottage yet?’
What? All Charlotte could really think of were hands. Mr Halstock’s hands, Mr Boothroyd’s hand. What was Mr Halstock saying as he continued to grope?
Mr Halstock repeated his rather cryptic query. Well, no, he hadn’t said anything about a cottage.
‘Oh,’ said Mr Halstock.
But Mr Boothroyd did say something half an hour later, almost as soon as Charlotte was back out in the other office, her bra now mercifully on again.
‘Tomorrow afternoon, Charlotte, I am going to take you out for a little break. To my cottage in Essex. I need to go out that way on business and if I take you it will be an excellent opportunity for us to get better acquainted.’ And perhaps to give some idea of what ‘better acquainted’ might mean, Mr Boothroyd once more reached firmly for Charlotte’s bottom.
It was a pretty little place, a charming garden and all whitewash and beams inside. But Charlotte was in no frame of mind to appreciate any of that. She was alone with Mr Boothroyd, that was all she could think of. She had been alone with him for an hour in his car, driving out of London right after lunch, and now here. What was Mr Boothroyd going to do? He had said yesterday it was a business trip but what business could it be alone in his cottage with the secretary? Also…
On the drive down he had made her take her tights off. ‘You don’t need tights on a nice day in the country,’ he had said and made her take them off right there, driving along the A12. ‘Anyway,’ Mr Boothroyd said, ‘I don’t like tights on a girl. In future make sure it’s stockings and a suspender belt at the office. OK?’
Charlotte hadn’t answered, her head full of scary thoughts of what Mr Boothroyd might have in mind at his cottage. The scary thoughts weren’t made any less scary as he began fondling her bare thighs while continuing to drive at high speed. Yesterday things had continued more or less as they had begun and this morning hadn’t been any different. If it wasn’t Mr Boothroyd it was Mr Halstock.
In fact if all that wasn’t enough there was also young Keith. Charlotte had gone to the pub with him yesterday lunchtime when he had offered, thinking that at least he might be some sort of ally, but he had just kept wanting to put his hand on her leg. And also told her she had ‘really super boobs.’ That sort of behaviour was not at all what she wanted but he had merely grinned and said; ‘Don’t say you’re keeping it all for Mr Halstock and Mr Boothroyd.’ But at least Charlotte was sure she could handle him. Her two employers were undoubtedly something else. She had even thought of leaving — except that she knew how her mother would react to that. And anyway she would have to give notice: two weeks. And in that two weeks…
‘Would you like a drink?’ Mr Boothroyd inquired now they were in the snug sitting room of Primrose Cottage. ‘Then we can get down to business.’
Business? Charlotte said she’d have a sherry please if there was one. What business? Whatever it was a drink might help.
‘Discipline,’ Mr Boothroyd said after it was established that Charlotte would prefer medium sweet. ‘Are you familiar with discipline, my dear? I am talking of course of discipline of the physical sort.’
What? A blank look.
‘Spanking, Charlotte. Are you experienced in having your knickers taken down and your bare bottom spanked? That is what I am talking about.’
Oh Jesus. He had said something about that yesterday, but she hadn’t thought… Mr Boothroyd couldn’t really mean…
‘All girls need a taste, Charlotte. Discipline is necessary in any person’s life and for young women of your age it should definitely be discipline of the spanking variety. Although one can also use the cane or a strap as well to very good effect.’
Charlotte half-choked on her drink.
‘So I’m going to give you a little introduction. Drink up. Drink up and then take your dress off. And then your knickers.’
Charlotte didn’t believe this. He couldn’t. It was even worse than Mr Halstock making her take her bra off in his office. Charlotte hadn’t been able to believe that either — until Mr Halstock made her do it. But this… ‘No!’ she breathed. ‘No! You can’t.
‘Do you want me to do it?’ queried Mr Boothroyd calmly. ‘I certainly can. Though if you struggle you may well get those nice big buttons ripped off. Or even that smart dress itself ripped. Don’t you think?’
It was her favourite dress. Black and slim skirted, buttoning all down the back. Mr Boothroyd had said wear something smart and she had. Not knowing that he was going to be ripping if off her. Charlotte bit her lip, and then stood up. Feeling sick her hands went behind her, to the big black buttons.
‘That’s a good girl,’ Mr Boothroyd said smugly.
Charlotte didn’t look at him. Trying to close her mind, shut it all out. Not that she could. She had nothing under her dress except brief bra and knickers. No tights of course and she hadn’t worn a slip. Mr Boothroyd was watching her like some kind of creature waiting for its prey. The buttons were all undone now.
‘Slip it off,’ he said. ‘Leave it there on the carpet. And then come here.’
In just her skimpy bra and pants and high heels stepping over to where Mr Boothroyd was waiting, sitting on a low easy chair. ‘How lovely,’ he smiled. ‘What a lovely girl. Now the knickers please. Slip them off. Then get down here.’
The knickers were off. She got down, kneeling on the carpet at his side. Then made herself bend over his lap. Hands on the carpet at the other side. Think of that lovely little flat she would be able to rent when in a couple of weeks time she was on the full, permanent salary. Just think about that, Charlotte told herself. Mr Halstock had said probably two weeks. That was all. And then…
Mr Boothroyd was playing with her bottom. Jiggling the smooth nude cheeks. Playfully slapping them. Think about the flat. Think about being free of her mother’s nagging.
She gasped as his hand splatted down, hard and crisp. Causing her to lurch forward. A whimper.
CRACK!… Think about something. It would soon…
Oh please… It would soon be over.
It was nothing really. Only Mr Boothroyd’s hand slamming into her bare bottom. It really hurt but…
It wasn’t impossible. Think of something really impossible…
Something really impossible…
Afterwards Mr Boothroyd, eyes gleaming, said, ‘How about a little rest after that. A lie down. Upstairs. There’s a nice little bed, sheets all aired. Come on.’

Saturday, 29 December 2018

Every Other Sunday

By Cyrian Amberlake from Februs 2
I had been to tea several times with Judy and her mother, but on the Sunday after we had announced our engagement, as soon as Judy answered the door I sensed there was something in the air. She seemed nervous, almost skittish, as if we had something more important in prospect than tea and cakes.
In the sitting room Judy stretched her hands down in front of her, squeezing her breasts between her upper arms. She interlaced her fingers and looked down at them. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t been quite honest with you, Raymond,’ she said. ‘There’s something I haven’t told you. I hope you won’t be very cross.’
I embraced her and encouraged her to unburden herself. ‘We mustn’t have any secrets from each other now,’ I reminded her.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s Sunday, you see.’
I told her I knew that, and waited for more.
‘It’s every other Sunday,’ she said, and looked at me helplessly.
‘What is, my sweet?’ I asked.
‘The day I have my spanking,’ she said. ‘Every other Sunday, only you might not think I need it so much, that’ll be up to you. I didn’t want to tell you yet, but Mother said I had to and she wants to show you how, so you’ll know. There. That’s all it is.’
Judy works for an electrical appliance retailer. She wears a uniform of bluish-grey with a starched white blouse, very smart she looks in it. But that day, being a Sunday, she was in a pink cardigan and fawn skirt, with her hair up. The blood had risen to her cheeks while she was making that extraordinary speech. She was finding it difficult to meet my eye.
I was astonished, to put it mildly. The blood seemed to rush into my ears. My only coherent thought was that Judy had recently celebrated her 25th birthday. ‘Aren’t you,’ I ventured, ‘a bit old to be spanked?’
She gave me a troubled look. ‘Mother says nobody’s too old for a good spanking,’ she said uncertainly.
I shifted in my seat. My clothes seemed to have become very uncomfortable all of a sudden. ‘And what do you think, darling?’ I asked, trying hard to keep my voice steady.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ve never really had a chance to find out.’
‘Well, perhaps mother’s right,’ I said.
Judy’s shoulders sagged. ‘You’re supposed to be on my side, Raymond!’ she said, despairingly.
‘I just want what’s best for you, my sweet,’ I said, patting her hand. My beloved would not answer. She turned her head away.
At that moment her mother, a trim, well-kept woman in, I suppose, her early fifties, came in carrying a huge tray filled with teapot and cups and plates of cakes and biscuits. I sprang to my feet and helped her put it down safely and gave Judy her napkin and plate and so on, until Mrs Sharp said: ‘Judy, you should be helping me with this, not leaving poor Raymond to do it.’
But I said no, it was my pleasure, and I passed Judy the scones. She had gone very quiet. I handed her her tea. ‘Don’t spill it, dear,’ I said. She took the cup with a sad, guilty little smile.
Mrs Sharp asked me if Judy had told me what was going to happen, and I said she had, in a general way. ‘I must say I’m very honoured, Mrs Sharp, to be present at such an intimate occasion.’
Mrs Sharp beamed, and I would swear her cheeks went a little pink in turn. ‘Judy’s not a bad girl, Raymond,’ she said complacently, ‘but even a good girl is all the better for a spot of regular correction. When you’re married you’ll work out your own method, of course, but first I thought you’d like to see the way we take care of it.’
My heart seemed to be beating rather fast now. ‘I’m sure I will,’ I murmured truthfully. It felt strange to be speaking about my fiancée as if she weren’t there, on the couch beside me. ‘But if you’ll forgive me, I must ask, what has she done, to deserve a spanking?’
‘Oh, I don’t know specifically,’ said Judy’s mother easily. ‘She doesn’t tell me everything that goes on, you know! No — we find the easiest way is to have one good spanking every other Sunday and be done with it. What I always say is, nothing in the world can ever persuade a young woman to behave like a young lady all the time; but regular attention to her bottom certainly helps to keep her mind on it.’
The proposition was a new one to me, but I hastened to tell Mrs Sharp I was sure she was right. To my immense surprise she reached across and, in the most familiar way imaginable, patted my knee.
‘I knew we’d see eye to eye, Raymond,’ she said.
Then she and I talked about my work and the weather and the Boat Race, I remember. Judy didn’t say very much, nor eat much either, which was unusual for her. She sat on her hands, her feet crossed at the ankle, her head lowered. She glanced up at us from time to time under her eyebrows. How nervous she seemed!
Eventually her mother asked her if she had finished her tea, and my darling, with a sigh, said that she had.
‘Well put your cup down then and stop fiddling with it. I think it’s time we had you in the corner, don’t you? And you can take your knickers down first, please.’
Now I must admit that I had taken a peek up Judy’s skirt, once or perhaps twice, as the opportunity presented itself. I think any man would, if he got the chance; though of course I would not approve of anyone else doing it! But at that time, though I had seen my darling’s panties, that was all I had seen, and I began to feel concerned for her modesty. ‘Oh, surely that’s not absolutely necessary, Mrs Sharp,’ I said.
Judy’s mother was not to be swayed. ‘Judy,’ she told me, ‘is accustomed to taking all her punishments on the bare bottom, aren’t you, Judy?’
For a moment I thought my darling might be about to argue, to appeal to her mother or, worse, to me. She looked at Mrs Sharp’s expression and decided not to chance it. ‘Yes, mother,’ she murmured.
‘Take them down, then, please.’
Still Judy sat. She fussed with her hair.
I sensed her mother’s disappointment in her. I had to admit she was making a poor show. My poor darling was like a nervous colt, shying from the bridle she knows she has to wear, and wears every day. She was almost clinging to the couch.
Then — what a relief! — she stood up, without protest, and stepped towards her mother, lifting her skirt.
‘Face Raymond,’ her mother told her, and she did. The skirt was very full, and she was wearing it without a slip or petticoat. Her legs were bare. ‘Bare legs or stockings,’ Mrs Sharp said to me, from behind her. ‘It makes it easy to issue a swift reminder, whenever she needs one,’ and as she said that her hand flashed out and caught my beloved a smart smack on the back of her left thigh.
Judy’s lips tightened, and her leg jerked a little, as if she might lose her balance, but she did not; nor did she register any other reaction to this rebuke. I was proud of her then.
Judy pulled her skirt all the way up. I saw that the knickers she had on were pure white cotton, quite plain. With unwilling fingers she tucked her skirt up at the waist. She bent a little at the hip, taking hold of the elastic of her knickers. ‘I’m sorry about this, Raymond,’ she said, and then she pulled her knickers down, down around her knees. I could see it was not a comfortable moment for her.
‘That’s far enough,’ said her mother. ‘What do you think, Raymond?’
I thought she looked very fetching with her clothes in disarray and her pretty little vee of hair on show. ‘She looks a bit pensive, Mrs Sharp,’ I commented.
‘Pensive!’ said Mrs Sharp. ‘Jolly good! She’s got a lot to be pensive about!’ And she sent Judy to stand in the corner, facing the wall.
Without being told, Judy put her hands on her head. She had obviously done this before. ‘If we have the time,’ her mother said, ‘I always give her a few minutes in the corner first, to think about what’s coming. It makes it more effective, you see.’
She swilled the tea round in the pot and poured the two of us a second cup. ‘Another biscuit, Raymond,’ she said, offering me the plate.
I refused it. I was finding it hard to concentrate on my tea, or on Mrs Sharp’s conversation. We started talking about the Boat Race again. My attention kept drifting back to Judy, and in particular, I’m sorry to say, to her bottom. I thought it was the most beautiful part of her I had seen. I wondered if she knew I was staring at it. When I was not staring dreamily at her bottom I stared at her leg where her mother had smacked her. I had been amazed at the force of that smack; yet my brave beloved had barely flinched. The print of her mother’s fingers glowed clear bright pink. It had faded into view, like a photograph being developed.
Eventually my darling’s time was up. Mrs Sharp got to her feet, and so did I. ‘Come on, then, Judy,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Let’s show Raymond what you’re made of,’ — as if she had not been showing me that all along!
Judy came to her, in small steps hampered by the bunched-up knickers. She kept her hands on her head. I could see the fine soft hair at her crotch uncurling now where her knickers had flattened it. But of course it was not her crotch that we were interested in at that moment.
‘Hands on hips, please, Judy,’ said her mother. ‘Turn around.’ And she took her by the elbow, turning her as a dressmaker turns a model.
When her bottom was towards me, Mrs Sharp made her daughter take her knickers off completely and put them on the arm of her chair. Then she got Judy to show me a selection from her repertoire of suitable positions for punishment: touching her toes; bending over the back of a chair; kneeling on the couch with her head down, and lying on it on her back, with her knees drawn up to her chest.
I cleared my throat. ‘That’s quite an attractive position, Mrs Sharp, if may say so,’ I said politely.
‘Indeed it is, Raymond,’ Mrs Sharp said, ‘particularly with legs apart like that. But the best position of all is what, Judy?’
‘Nursery position, mother,’ Judy answered, colouring up again.
‘That’s what she calls it, Raymond, you see,’ said Mrs Sharp, and she sat down again. ‘Very well then, Judy. Over my knee, please.’
And at last, with what looked almost like relief, over my beloved went.
She went across her mother’s knee like one born to the position. She set her bottom neatly in the middle of Mrs Sharp’s lap, swaying a moment while she got her balance. Then she lifted her feet, presumably in case her mother might wish to avail herself of her thighs again. She twisted her head round and looked up at me longingly.
‘You’ve trained her well, Mrs Sharp,’ I said.
‘It’s kind of you to say so, Raymond,’ said Mrs Sharp. She rested her hand on Judy’s bare bottom, stroking it gently. The skin there was smooth and clear and pale. I thought about all the tiny nerve ends in it, waiting patiently to be awakened. I wondered how much of a spanking she was going to get.
‘Come closer, Raymond,’ said Mrs Sharp. ‘No need to be shy.’
I pulled a chair up. Between Judy’s legs I could see the lips of her vulva, a soft pale brown, but in between it was starling to glisten pink. It looked quite wet in there. I have to say, there was a distinct odour of female arousal in the room now. I looked up at Mrs Sharp, sitting there with her eyes half closed, and I must confess I wondered if some of it might be hers.
‘I’m going to punish you now, Judy,’ said her mother.
‘All right,’ said Judy.
‘All right?’ repeated her mother, smacking her bottom, quite hard. ‘I should hope it is all right.’ That little impertinence had earned her six straight away, and she got them.
The proceedings were well and truly opened.
After six, Mrs Sharp stopped. I had noticed that Judy had taken them without crying out, or swaying out of control. Her position at the end of them was exactly as it had been at first.
Her mother rested her hand a moment on her daughter’s bottom. She looked at me. ‘You get the idea,’ she said.
For a moment I was afraid Judy’s punishment was already over, which I would have regretted, not for her sake, obviously, but because it was all so new and fascinating to me.
‘I’m sure I will, Mrs Sharp,’ I replied.
‘It’s twenty-five past, nearly,’ said Mrs Sharp then, reading the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I’m going to spank you until half past,’ she told the girl across her lap. ‘Then we’ll see what’s what.’
I saw Judy shudder. She uttered a tiny, involuntary ‘Oh no…’
That earned her another two, firm ones, full-handed, one on each cheek. ‘You speak when you’re spoken to, my girl!’
‘But I was spoken to!’ protested my beloved, reasonably enough, it seemed to me.
Not to her mother.
‘Ouch!’ cried Judy. ‘Ow!’
Spanking her steadily, to me Mrs Sharp said: ‘Five minutes may not seem like much to you and me, Raymond, but you can start to make an impression in five minutes.’
I didn’t answer. I was too busy watching her technique. She seemed to hold her hand quite loose, and seldom lift it very high before bringing it down. Smack after smack re-bounded from her daughter’s flesh. ‘You can see how firm she is,’ she remarked. ‘She can take quite a lot of this. Can’t you, my love?’
She gave her a couple of fast ones then, with her hand held flat and rigid. Judy bucked, but refused to cry out. Her face was tense, her eyes and mouth shut tight.
Returning my attention to the other end, I noticed that her bottom was now blushing very pleasingly.
‘We’re just warming her up now,’ said Mrs Sharp.
She was being very thorough with her coverage. She didn’t mind smacking her quite high, at the top of her bottom, so to speak; but she kept returning very determinedly to the underside, along the crease where buttock becomes thigh. She landed a particularly crisp one there, and Judy let out a squeal. ‘Ah!’ Mrs Sharp said. ‘She’s beginning to take notice. Open your legs, please, Judy.’
Judy’s legs fell further open. A foot swiped gracelessly past my chest.
‘And don’t kick Raymond!’ said Mrs Sharp. ‘Dear me, whatever next?’ She paused a moment, shifting in her seat and resettling her daughter on her lap before continuing. She took full advantage of the untreated areas in the cleft between Judy’s cheeks that had been opened up by the new position.
‘Never smack the same place twice running,’ she told me. ‘Unless you have a particular point to make,’ and with that she promptly and deliberately broke her own rule, spanking the very crown of Judy’s left bottom cheek fast five times in succession. That got a noise out of her too. It was a very sorry wail. My darling’s self-control was beginning to break down. She even clenched her fist and thumped it against the cushioned side of the chair.
I had begun to feel sorry for her myself. Her bottom was now remarkably red, red as sunburn. I thought it looked very hot. I swear Mrs Sharp read my mind, for she stopped punishing her for a moment and said to me: ‘Have a feel of her if you like, Raymond. You’ve got to get used to it, you know.’
I put out my hand then and tentatively touched Judy’s left cheek. I had touched her bottom before, of course, but only through her clothes. She did not object then or now, though now she was scarcely in a position to.
Her seat was pretty warm. ‘Rub her well, Raymond,’ her mother told me. ‘It helps her bear it, doesn’t it, my love?’ And as gently as I could, I did.
I must admit by now I was completely and agonizingly erect. I would have given anything to be able to release my member from the confines of my underpants. It was with difficulty that I kept my mind on the business in hand, so to speak. ‘Is it very sore, love?’ I asked sympathetically.
‘Of course it’s sore!’ answered Judy, through gritted teeth.
‘Well!’ exclaimed her mother, shocked. ‘Such rudeness to our guest! Just for that, you can go and get your hairbrush.’
‘Mother!’ wailed Judy, as she got stiffly and a little clumsily to her feet. I noticed she clutched her bottom, rubbing it harder than I had.
‘Go and get it now!’ said her mother, opening the door and driving her out with a flurry of well-aimed spanks. ‘Go on, and be quick about it!’
Mrs Sharp closed the door with an apologetic smile to me, and catching sight of herself in a mirror that hung on the wall adjacent, put up a hand to tidy her hair. I could hear Judy hurrying up the stairs.
‘I must apologise for her, Raymond,’ said Mrs Sharp. ‘I expect she’s a bit nervous, having you here. It’s only natural, really.’
‘I think she’s doing very well, Mrs Sharp,’ I said. ‘And so are you!’
Footsteps passed overhead. There was the sound of a door opening.
Mrs Sharp and I looked at each other. There were a thousand questions I wanted to ask. Yet at that moment I couldn’t think of a single one of them!
‘Do take another biscuit, Raymond,’ offered my hostess.
‘No thank you, Mrs Sharp,’ I replied. My mind was no longer on our tea, if it ever had been. I said: ‘Your poor hand must be quite sore too!’
‘To tell the truth, it is, Raymond,’ she said, and she showed me the palm of her right hand. It was bright red — exactly the same shade as her daughter’s bottom. ‘Another good reason to send madam for the hairbrush,’ she told me, waving her hand briskly in the air to cool it.
Upstairs there was the sound of a door closing, a little more loudly than necessary.
‘It’s a wonder what a simple, ordinary thing like a hairbrush can do,’ Mrs Sharp said. ‘Applied carefully but firmly. In the right place at the right time. You’ll see.’
I thought it sounded rather painful. But what I said was: ‘Is it important, to use her own brush?’
Mrs Sharp looked pleased with that question. ‘It is rather a good one,’ she told me. ‘I bought it for her specially. Years ago!’
Judy entered the room. Her skirt had fallen down again where it had been tucked up at the waist. I thought her posture was not very good: her shoulders were hunched. She was carrying a hairbrush. I could see it was made of caramel-coloured wood.
Her mother sipped her tea. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘Come on, darling: show Raymond.’
Judy stalked self-consciously over to me and handed me the brush. I took advantage of the moment to give her hand what I hoped was a fond, encouraging little squeeze.
‘There you are, Raymond: the hairbrush,’ said Mrs Sharp. ‘Not Judy’s favourite. But she knows, don’t you, dear?’
I examined the brush. It was just as I had imagined it: oval, with a well-shaped handle and no edges to do inconsiderate damage to the subject’s bottom.
‘I hadn’t planned on using the brush this afternoon,’ said Mrs Sharp, ‘but I think it’ll do her good. Touch your toes, darling. That’s the way.’
Judy bent right over and her mother folded back her skirt. My beloved’s bottom was rather red, but perhaps not glowing quite as brightly as when she had left the room. I was interested to see how it lifted as she hollowed her back and raised her head.
The smack of the hairbrush was altogether stronger than the smack of the hand. Judy took only three before crying out. She took another three before her left leg buckled and she lost her posture. And after another three she did what I learned was the unforgivable thing. She reached behind her and put her hand in the way of her punishment.
Mrs Sharp stood back, letting her right hand with the brush in it fall to her side. ‘Well,’ she said sternly. ‘Now that’s not something I would have thought you’d want to let Raymond see you do.’
‘I’m sorry, mother!’ my beloved cried, and you could tell she meant it. ‘I couldn’t help it!’
Mrs Sharp lifted the brush and rested it in the palm of her left hand. ‘You see what we’re up against, Raymond,’ she said. ‘There’s a long way to go before this young lady can really call herself properly disciplined.’
At that moment I decided I could hold my silence no longer. ‘Forgive me for interrupting, Mrs Sharp,’ I said, with what I hope was proper deference to my future mother-in-law, ‘but might I make a suggestion?’
Mrs Sharp was quite satisfied that I should. So I told her that if she were to sit on the couch, and finish Judy off across her knee, I could sit beside her and hold Judy’s hands — ‘and then she wouldn’t be tempted to put them in the way, you see.’
‘What an excellent idea!’ cried Judy’s mother. ‘You see, my love?’ she said, as she sat down and helped her daughter into position. ‘Raymond understands exactly what a young woman needs! I told you so, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, mother,’ answered Judy, and now she sounded entirely crestfallen and very penitent indeed.
So then, with her hands warmly clasped in mine, Judy took the rest of her spanking from her mother, and I can assure you Mrs Sharp made it one to remember. All the while the brush was smacking down, she reminded her daughter what her duty would be when she became a married woman with a home of her own, and she concluded by making her look me in the face and repeat a promise, which she underlined with a smack for every word, to accept correction from me whenever it might be necessary.
Then she set her on her feet, and got up herself, shaking out her skirt, and gave Judy a long hug and a kiss. Resolute and self-controlled as Judy had been at the start of her punishment, I thought there was a tear in her eye now as she rubbed and rubbed at her poor bottom; and Mrs Sharp, to spare her feelings, turned aside and started to gather up the tea things.
‘Oh, let me help you, Mrs Sharp,’ I said.
‘Oh no, thank you, Raymond,’ she answered serenely. ‘You know how I can’t stand the sight of dirty dishes. You stay and keep Judy company. Sometimes,’ she confided as I opened the door for her, ‘she needs more time in the corner after a spanking, just to get her breath back. I’m sure I can leave her to you.’
As soon as the door closed behind her mother, Judy flung herself in my arms and kissed me. ‘Darling, rub me, please!’ she begged, and I did, marvelling at the way the supple curves of her bottom pressed against my willing palms, yielding some of their fiery heat. What a pleasure it would be if I could put some of that heat there myself, by hand or hairbrush or any other method that was permissible.
By now my fiancée was lying across my lap and writhing to and fro in what I was afraid might be a rather improper way as I caressed her. I cleared my throat. ‘Do you need to go back in the corner?’ I asked her diffidently.
‘Oh, no, Raymond, this is what I need,’ she said. ‘But I’m afraid — I know it’s very wrong of me, but sometimes being spanked does make me, well — rather horny!’
‘Darling!’ I said gently, dipping my hand down between her hot wet thighs. ‘I do know what you mean. That’s something else we’ll have to take care of, when we’re married.’
She twisted around on my lap, pushing herself up on her arms and stretching her blushing face up for another kiss.
‘And I think,’ I went on, having kissed her, ‘that at least until we’ve got it all perfectly sorted out, we really ought to step up the treatment!’
‘You don’t mean — every Sunday?’ asked Judy in dismay.
‘At least,’ I told her firmly.
Her face was a perfect picture.