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Sunday, 28 July 2019

Grandma’s Rocking Chair

Story from Fessee 5 by Paul Blakeney
Susan and Roger stood outside the pretty country cottage which for so long had been home to her Grandparents. It was a lovely English summer day and the quaint cottage garden, which Grandfather had spent so many years tending with loving care, was looking at its best.
The air was thick with the rich smell of the blooms and the whole garden, dominated by Grandfather’s pride and joy, his prize-winning roses, was ablaze with colour in the bright sunshine.
For Susan, standing there for the first time in ten years, the memories it brought back to her were overwhelming. She had spent so many childhood summers staying at the cottage and she had so many happy memories of harvest-time and blackberry-picking and picnics in the meadows with fully-laden hampers.
But her most vivid memory was of the last time she stayed at the cottage ten years ago when she was 21 and those few fateful weeks she had spent with Grandma and Grandpa in the summer holidays.
She was at university then, her parents had gone to America and rented out their London home. She could have stayed with friends but she needed money and Grandma and Grandpa had said Mrs Jenkins needed an assistant in the village grocery store for the summer weeks. She could stay with them and earn enough money for a holiday in Greece before returning to university.
How perfect it all seemed! She so loved to spend long summer days in the country she had no hesitation in accepting.
But times change, children grow up and the 21-year-old girl who went to live with her grandparents that summer was quite different from the little girl who had visited them before. Her grandparents found their favourite granddaughter, who they loved to the bottom of their hearts, had grown into a self-centred selfish wilful young woman who they found extremely hard to handle. Until, that is, Grandpa had started to take matters in hand with some old fashioned timeless and well-tried remedies…
And it was chiefly the memories of Grandfather’s remedies which he had practised so vigorously on her bottom during that long hot summer ten years ago which were flooding back to Susan now and making her tremble as she stood on the doorstep of the white cottage with her husband Roger and watched him insert the key in the little front door.
She had never really forgotten the extraordinary events of that summer of course. How could she? In many ways it had changed her life. If it had never happened it would have been unlikely, for instance, that she would have married Roger, or indeed Roger would have married her. She might have remained the same selfish, vain, self-centred person for the rest of her life. But in the passage of the years she had perhaps pushed the memory of the events to the back of her mind. Now, returning to the cottage for the first time, the details of Grandpa’s punishments were becoming as vivid as if they were happening now.
She had been thinking of little else for the last few days, ever since her mother had broken the news of Grandma’s will to her on the telephone.
‘She’s left you a half-share in the cottage. ‘To our favourite and only granddaughter because she spent so many happy times here,’ the will says. Isn’t that nice? And oh yes at the end she’s also left you her rocking chair, apparently it was the express wish of Grandpa that you should have it. I think they mean the one in the kitchen parlour. There’s no other explanation of why they want you to have it although it’s the only piece of furniture she has specifically left to anyone. I don’t think it’s worth anything you know, as far as I remember they bought it second-hand themselves. Rather extraordinary. Did you say something darling?’
Susan could not say anything in reply at first. The news of the gift of the rocking chair had so jolted her she was speechless.
‘Er, I don’t think so. I may have done, perhaps I did,’ she stammered in confusion.
But clearly in her mind she saw a vision of herself kneeling on the rocking chair, her bottom stripped bare and lifted high in the air awaiting her punishment from Grandfather’s cane.
After putting the phone down she went upstairs to her bedroom and lay on her bed recalling the events of that summer in detail and the more she thought, the more she remembered of how the punishments came about, of the boys in the pub, the row with Grandma and Grandpa and the sessions on the rocking chair.
She remembered she kept a diary and dug it out of a box in the loft and, yes, there in black and white were the dates and times and details of her canings:
JULY 4: Grandfather caned me again today on the rocking chair. As I write this my bum is still stinging but I am still going to see the boys down the pub on Saturday and go to the disco with them no matter what Grandpa says. A girl’s got to have fun while she’s young, Grandpa is just behind the times.
SUNDAY JULY 8: Twice in a week and real stingers tonight. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Grandpa so angry when he lectured me. I must admit I howled like a baby when he caned me but I couldn’t help it. Grandma has just bought me a cup of milky chocolate to help me sleep but I don’t think there’s much chance of that. My bum feels like I’ve sat on a hornet’s nest.
The same night after the telephone call from her mother she told Roger about the will. He was delighted at the unexpected bequest and suggested they look over their new property at the weekend. She tried to put him off — another weekend perhaps — but nothing would dissuade him and she could think of no valid reasons for not going, so it was agreed.
For two days Susan was in turmoil, strangely withdrawn. Every spare moment when Roger was out she got out the diaries and re-read them recalling fresh memories. How many times had she knelt on that rocking chair? It had seemed only a few but perhaps it was obviously more. Some of the punishments she had simply forgotten.
Saturday came and they packed their bags to stay the weekend at the cottage. As Roger drove his powerful Granada, which came with his executive job, through the country lanes Susan remembered more and more, recognising the countryside, villages and meadows where they had enjoyed picnics. The sun was shining just as it had always seemed to be shining when she was young.
She hadn’t visited since Grandfather had been taken ill. He was sent to hospital and never returned. Grandma had stayed on in the cottage for a while but later went to live in a home. Susan regretted now she had not visited them more often after that fateful summer. Perhaps she had taken the canings too much to heart. Grandpa probably had every justification to cane her the way she had behaved. Looking back now and reading those diaries she was a tart little madam. Roger would certainly never have been interested in such an immature little girl and it was only a year or so later she had first met him.
‘Why exactly have you been left the rocking chair?’ Roger’s question broke her reverie. She had never told Roger before about the chair and its purpose. She remembered Grandpa saying ‘This is between you and us. I won’t tell anyone not even your mother, if you don’t.’ And she certainly hadn’t told anyone. It wasn’t the sort of thing you rushed back to university to tell your friends about.
And it was one of her only secrets from Roger.
There had been no need to tell him up to now of course but she loved and respected him more than anything in the world. Perhaps he ought to know as her husband and in any case she hated lying to him. She took a deep breath and began telling him the story of that summer as he drove the powerful car through the country lanes towards the cottage.
Now standing outside the cottage Roger noticed her fingers were trembling as he inserted the key in the lock. He had to admit he was rather surprised that the memory of the events which took place ten years ago was still having such an obvious emotional effect on Susan. He had listened to her story with an amused detachment at least at first although he could not deny that as she told her story the image of his beautiful wife kneeling up on the rocking chair pushing out her gorgeous bared buttocks to be punished was arousingly erotic.
Susan was the most fanciable woman he had ever met. Blonde, with stunning looks and clear light-blue eyes, she radiated class and style. Roger was proud to boast that having such a beautiful woman on his arm gave a powerful boost to his ego. She not only looked gorgeous with an almost perfect body, she radiated taste and style. She was, as the Americans he dealt with in business would say ‘One classy dame’. And her devotion to him was absolute. She was in no doubt that Roger was the best thing that had ever happened in her life and their love, driven by intense and passionate sex, seemed to grow stronger every day.
Roger pushed open the green front door of the cottage and as Susan stepped inside it was as if she was stepping through a time zone. Inside, the cottage was almost exactly as it had been ten years ago. The staircase, with the red floral-patterned carpet, rose abruptly in front of her.
The familiar black wooden beams of the ceiling ran across the open lounge to the right. By the side of the front door, ticking loudly in the quiet air, was the old grandfather clock. Susan was surprised to hear it still going, then she remembered Mrs Greenaway had been coming in and cleaning once a week to keep the cottage tidy in case Grandma returned.
The rooms were tiny, slightly smaller than she remembered, but it was the smell which really brought the cottage back to life for her. It was an odd mixture of mothballs, floor wax, garden vegetables, must, pastry, leather and blossom drifting in from the garden outside. She had forgotten the smell but tasting it again now it was as if Grandma and Grandpa were in the room with her.
She walked past the stairs and down the step to the kitchen parlour, closed off by a wooden door. She pushed it open and walked inside, her heart thumping, just as it had been when she had been summoned from her bedroom ten years ago for an appointment with Grandfather’s cane.
And there, resting on the stone floor, by the fireplace where it had always been, was the rocking chair. It looked so innocuous, so ordinary unless you knew the purpose to which it had been put, but Susan was staring at it as if every moment she had spent kneeling on its cushions was running through her mind. For three days she had read and re-read her diaries imagining this room and recalling as much as she could of every detail of those canings. But now, with the rocking chair in front of her, she had no need to close her eyes and dig into her memory. She could remember as if it was happening to her all over again. And for the first time she really felt the anxious fluttering in her belly and the tingling anticipation in her buttocks as her body recalled the nerve-wracking moments before the canings began and the stinging smart as the cane left its fiery red imprint across her cheeks.
‘Is that the chair?’ asked Roger from behind her.
‘Yes,’ she said walking forward and tentatively touching its soft cushions. One cushion was tied by four ribbons to the seat of the chair and another, with the same silky yellowy-green colouring was attached to the upright bars at the back. Over the top of the chair there was an extra rectangular cushion which acted as a head — or as Susan remembered — hip rest.
As she fingered the material lightly she remembered how she had climbed onto the chair under the stern gaze of Grandpa. She hadn’t told Roger everything in the car, only how she had been caned on the chair and what for — staying out late and throwing herself at the rough boys down the pub.
Within days of arriving in the village she began gaining a reputation for being fast and was seen disappearing into the woods with first one boy and then another. Of course she hadn’t gone all the way, it was a game to her, she loved to tease the boys, they were so thick compared to her clever university friends. But to the sex-starved boys in the village pub, who had little to look forward to except a life of labouring and drudgery, just putting a hand up the skirt of such a gorgeous creature or fondling her naked breasts was a pleasure they could boast about for weeks.
It was all a bit of a shock to her grandparents when they heard the stories circulating the village about her, but they kept their peace and tried to be tolerant until the vicar came round and told them things had really gone too far and the girl needed taking in hand. She had laughed at Grandfather at first when he confronted her and told her she needed a good spanking but when she was caught stealing sandwiches from the village shop for her current favourite boy Grandfather decided it was time to act.
He went to see Mr Joyce, the local village schoolmaster, and came back with one of his spare crook-handled canes and that night an astonished Susan, instead of drinking down the pub, found herself bent over the rocking chair bare-arsed with panties round her knees while her apoplectic Grandfather, red-faced with anger, delivered six smart stinging strokes to her timorously presented backside.
Perhaps he hadn’t caned her hard enough that first time because she was soon out with the boys again but eventually she began to learn her lesson and came to respect Grandpa. It was as if she grew up in those two months.
Grandpa was a real man, you could look up to and depend on. She could never after that have married a wimp. Roger was strong, he protected her, supported her, guided her. She needed a man like that, a man she could truly love, honour and obey, that was the real lesson Grandpa had taught her with his cane.
As Susan rocked the chair back and forward she wondered how many other grown women, as she had been physically at least ten years ago, had been bent over and had their bare arses spanked to teach them a lesson. Perhaps more should… and suddenly a half-formed idea came to her which sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach and she heard a voice outside of her say to Roger: ‘Shall I show you how Grandpa caned me?’
A beam of sunlight was shining through the window lighting up the flecks of dust floating in the air which was now thick with erotic tension as husband and wife looked at one another. After a pause he said, clearing his throat: ‘Go on then.’
She dragged the chair out into the centre of the room. Grandpa always did it rather ceremoniously as if to indicate to her the punishment was about to begin.
Standing in front of the chair Susan then began slowly to strip.
She had deliberately worn one of her best suits with neat jacket and tight-fitting skirt because she wanted to show the vicar and Mrs Jenkins and any of the boys from the pub she might meet just how far she had come in the last ten years. They knew her as a wild and immature girl. Now she was an attractive and rich woman with an executive husband and £250,000 house. She wanted them to know how well she had done.
She slowly undid the buttons of her jacket and slipped it from her shoulders placing it neatly on the table. Then she moved her hands to the side of her hips and loosened the zip pushing her skirt and then her slip down her legs and stepping out of them. Next her fingers, with slow deliberation, reached to the tiny pearl buttons of her cream blouse one by one in descending order and with a shrug slid the silky material from her, placing it with the rest of her clothes.
For Roger the sight of his wife performing her striptease in broad daylight before him was unbelievably erotic. Anybody could have walked past the window at any moment but the daring nature of her strip only made it more arousing. She stood now in her underwear — white bra and pants, suspender belt and stockings — and paused slightly as if deciding how far to go. In the next moment she had made up her mind and pulled out a kitchen chair placing one stockinged foot on it, unclipping the suspender clips and rolling the stocking down her thigh in almost classic striptease fashion.
Then the other leg and the superfluous suspender belt was also slipped off.
She paused again, but once more carried on, her fingers reaching behind her back to unfasten the bra clips and her milky white breasts, their red-pink tips hard and erect, fell forward. She stood before him, her gorgeous body almost naked except for her white panties stretched across her hips, her long blonde hair resting lightly on her bare shoulders.
She turned to Roger and said: ‘At this point Grandpa would say something like: “Right Susan, up on the chair,” and I would climb on.’
She gingerly put one knee on the chair seat holding onto the back to keep herself steady and then lifted the other leg from the floor. As his wife knelt before him Roger could imagine the scene 10 years ago. She would have been thinner then but looking at the magnificent sight of his wife’s curvaceous form now he thought he would prefer the present. Over the years her hips had swelled slightly, even though she had not borne children, yet her buttocks were still firm and trim and she exercised to keep herself in shape.
‘As I knelt here Grandpa would lecture me all about how I had let him down, how my mother would be disappointed, all that. He would go on for about five minutes. I remember I used to hate him for it. I just wanted to get the caning over with. Then eventually he would say “right Susan over you go” and I think you will see now why he chose the rocking chair.’
She pushed her weight forward dropping her hands down the back of the bars of the chair. As she did so the chair slowly rocked backwards and the special quality of the chair for punishment became apparent. For as she went over so her head was taken down towards the floor and at the same time her buttocks were lifted into the air so that the soft underside of her buttock-cheeks where they each joined her thigh were now raised up.
Now the real beauty of the chair became recognisable. For Susan’s buttocks were not only raised high but they were still soft and relaxed because of her kneeling position. Ordinarily to raise her rear so high would have meant bending tightly over stretching and tightening her cheeks. By letting the chair do the work her body was simply tipped up and her buttocks kept their softly-moulded shape.
The erotic image Roger had imagined in the car as Susan had confessed about the canings was nothing compared to the reality before him now as his beautiful wife with her gorgeous body lay bent over before him, her proffered behind simply begging for a hand to spank and redden the pale bum-flesh. Apart from a few playful smacks to her bottom-cheeks during lovemaking he had never spanked Susan but as he gazed at his 31-year-old wife so submissively presenting her behind to him now he could not help thinking it was a sorely missed omission.
As for Susan, she had intended simply to show Roger the caning position she was made to adopt on the chair but as she tipped forward and the chair pitched her into this most vulnerable and submissive position it was as if she was really back in time ten years ago and she was about to be punished. The only difference was that instead of her Grandfather, her husband stood behind her. Ever since she had read and re-read her diaries she had been in an emotional turmoil. She had no need of course to tell Roger about the rocking chair in the car. She certainly need not have offered to recreate the punishment or to have stripped. She did not have to kneel upon the chair or to allow herself to be pitched forward.
But now as she lay upturned and vulnerable in the chair she felt the same flutterings of apprehension in her tummy, the same tightening anticipation in her bum-flesh. She had not planned this scene before her husband, it was as if something outside her was leading her on, a force which she was unable to resist. And this feeling was reinforced by another characteristic of the rocking chair which she had forgotten. As her weight was pitched forward with her head low down by the floor she was virtually unable to move her weight backwards. Nothing tied her to the chair and yet she was pinioned in position by her own forward-tilting weight. Grandpa had known that once the chair tipped back it was virtually impossible for her to get up until the punishment was over.
And now kneeling in the chair in the same way she felt just as vulnerable and helpless and submissive before her husband. And that voice, which seemed to be dictating events beyond her control, returned again and she heard it say: ‘Grandpa used to keep the cane in the cupboard by the fireplace.’
It probably wouldn’t be there after all these years, Grandpa would surely have got rid of it, but as Roger put his hand inside the cupboard and felt the hooks round the side he pulled out the three-foot-long yellow cane which Grandpa had ‘borrowed’ from the schoolmaster ten years ago.
There was no turning back now. Roger took the cane out and bent it between his hands, testing its flexibility. Then he whipped it a couple of times through the air, making the dust in the sunlight whirl upwards and he saw in the comer of his eye his wife’s buttock-cheeks involuntarily clench as he smacked the cane into the palm of his hand.
He took up position to the left of the chair in the exact spot where Grandpa had stood. She remembered how she had always stared at Grandpa’s boots. But she looked up at her husband now and said: ‘Grandpa always caned me bare-arsed.’
He was shocked by her language which was quite unlike her. Putting the cane on the table by her clothes he reached forward and grasped each side of her white pants stretched across her cheeks and pulled them off.
Now she was totally naked before him. The beam of sunlight shining through the window warmed her back and illuminated the tiny blonde hairs on her fair skin. He placed the cane against her bum-flesh, the two smooth pale mounds presenting a perfect target.
At that moment he would be the first to admit he did not know what had been going through Susan’s mind in the last few days yet perhaps now he was beginning to understand. For three days she had been imagining herself bent over this chair before her Grandfather. When he had punished her ten years ago she had been to all intents and purposes a woman and the discipline she had received had changed her life.
Buried inside her she knew that it was having the immaturity caned out of her which had made the difference and now she wanted to show Roger, her husband, that he too had the right to discipline her.
She was not attempting to simply re-live Grandpa’s canings but to show Roger he could take Grandpa’s place. It was because she had been caned by Grandpa that she felt Roger, her husband had an equal right to discipline her. And Susan, now feeling the light tap of the cane against her bared buttocks was experiencing exactly the same mixture of dread and vulnerability as ten years ago when Grandfather had stood behind her about to deliver another caning to her.
Roger took his time as she told him her Grandfather had done. He glanced at the window. If any of the villagers walked past now, as they were quite likely to do if they saw his Granada parked in the drive, what would they make of the Saturday morning scene in the parlour? Susan, a mature young wife, stripped naked, kneeling on the rocking chair with Roger, her husband, standing behind her, cane in hand obviously about to give her an old-fashioned thrashing just like she used to get off her Grandpa.
But Roger was not Grandpa and he felt a strong need to impose his own authority as a disciplinarian over her. He was being granted the same privilege — and it was a privilege — to punish her as her Grandpa but he also wanted her to know his love-caning was not simply a re-enactment of her Grandfather’s punishments ten years ago but a second, separate caning happening now. He wanted her to realise it was him, Roger, caning her and he decided to make the first two strokes as hard as he could so that she would know from the start that he was in charge of disciplining her now.
Taking careful aim at the pale moons of his wife’s behind he drew back the cane in the silence of the parlour and whipped it down through the dusty air across her white submissive cheeks.
Whurrp. Smack!
The yellow wand cracked across the centre of her proffered rear. Susan let out a yelp and tossed her head back, at the same time wriggling her arse to try to absorb the smarting pain. As she did so she leant back in the chair pulling it on its rockers so that it plunged back towards Roger. But almost immediately the balance of the rockers threw it forward again taking Susan with it. Back and forward she pitched in a crazy motion with first her head raised and then her buttocks which now had a single red stripe glowing across the centre of her twin orbs.
Gradually the chair stopped rocking as she steadied herself once more, hardly able to believe she could have taken six such strokes so regularly from her Grandfather. Just because she had volunteered for this punishment obviously did not mean her husband was about to treat her more lightly. He waited for her to stop clenching and unclenching her buttock-cheeks and to be absolutely still on the chair again before raising the yellow wand high once more.
Smack. Yow!
And once again her buttocks began their crazy backward and forward motion as once again the chair plunged and rocked on the stone floor. For three days she had been imagining being caned on the rocking chair. Now she had no need of her imagination. The two smarting stripes glowing and tingling across her bum were real enough.
There were differences, of course to ten years ago. Then she would not have dared to defy her Grandfather’s authority. Once he had decided to punish her she had to submit to the caning. Now she could get up and call a halt anytime. Or could she? Although she had the choice and the stinging smart of the cane was more painful than ever she imagined it to be, she had no desire for the punishment to be over. She wanted it to go on. She felt a kind of relief that the emotional turmoil she had suffered over the last few days was being resolved. Far from thinking of getting up she was calmly counting off the strokes and thinking: ‘Roger is caning me far harder than Grandpa’, whilst preparing herself for the next stroke.
For eight years she had kept the canings she had received from Grandpa secret from Roger. Perhaps that was reason enough for her to deserve this punishment from him now.
He stood behind her, cane in hand, confident now in his authority.
‘Arch your back Susan, push that lovely arse out.’
Instantly, she obeyed.

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