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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.

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