Story from Swish Vol.3 No.11.
That strange, long summer began when I took up lodgings on the outskirts of a town where I had just got a new job. One that would last, I hoped.
I remember the certain feeling I had when Mrs Angela Smith (yes, she really was a Smith) opened the door to me. She was smallish, plump and blonde. The type you often see enjoying herself in a pub on a Saturday night. The moment she let me into the hall we weighed each other up. It was like that. I remember thinking that even though she was in her early forties it was ‘all there’: the firm, large bum and the equally firm large tits. Women who have had only one child seem to keep their figures better. Her curves bulged, and when she moved I could see the outline of her suspender clips. I wondered what colour panties were sheathing those large pale bum-cheeks of hers and what it would feel like to put a woman like her over for a good spanking.
As I say, it was like that from the first moment. We got on. She made me a cup of tea in the small kitchen of the terraced house and we talked about this and that. She had a daughter, Susan, who had married when she was eighteen, regretted it, and had returned home fourteen months later.
‘She wasn’t ever disciplined, that was the trouble,’ Mrs Smith said. Yes — I always called her that and she always called me Mr Harrison. It was the same with the daughter. Considering what happened, I got a special kick out of that.
‘Girls nowadays are not,’ I said and asked — as if the thought had just struck me — ‘were you?’ There was a little toss of her head at that and she looked at me rather searchingly and ran the tip of her tongue over her lips as if trying to decide whether or how to answer that. — ‘Oh, I got put over, all right. I’ll show you the bedroom, shall I?’ she asked, and I wondered if running the two things together was a coincidence or an unconscious slip of the tongue.
We got up and I watched the wobbling of her bum-cheeks under her suitably tight skirt. The stairs being narrow in such houses, I had an even better view under her big plum as we went up. She was conscious of that, I could tell. None of the rooms were large. They never are in those cottage-type houses, and her hips touched mine as we surveyed the bed, the wardrobe and the single unit. Her hip was warm and my prick was already getting a tingle.
She had always lived there, she said. It had been the family home once. She had returned to it (after letting it for years) when she got divorced. Now — what happened next was the result of one of those irresistible urges that come to one a couple of times in life. The bed was only a foot or so away from us, and maybe I only imagined a tension of waiting in her. The next thing I knew was that I had circled her waist and asked her, ‘Was it hard, when you got spanked?’
She didn’t tug away. Instead she turned her face to me (small bedrooms do have this effect on people!) and asked, ‘What do you mean?’ I thought of how she must have looked when she was her daughter’s age. Cute, bouncy and curvy, and everything getting early development, as it were. Tits that would tingle when a hand got to her bottom properly.
I felt I couldn’t breathe. — ‘I mean like this,’ I said and bent her over. As I say, the side of the bed was close to us and to prevent herself from toppling forward she put out her hands on top of it and said, ‘No you don’t!’ but not in what you’d call a panicky voice. — ‘I think so,’ I said and gave her rearing bum a first Smack! through her skirt. The usual ‘Ouch!’ came from her, but not a screech. — ‘Don’t pull my skirt up!’ she squealed. I said, ‘All right, not yet, but stay over. You’ve needed this, haven’t you?’
‘No,’ she gritted, but there was no struggle. I had ringed her waist and she was incredibly passive, not trying to force up. I smacked her plump checks again. It was a stinger. A louder yelp! I said, ‘Come on now, Mrs Smith’. Well, yes, one always says the same things. Maybe they want you to; maybe it’s a real part of it. I think it is. Her bum felt fantastic. I could feel her knickers through her skirt.
‘Yow-wer!’ she gasped at every smack that followed. Her hips jolted but her feet remained steady. Yes, she’d really had it before — but how long, long ago? The heat of her bottom came to me as I awarded her her sixth and then — as if she knew, as if she had counted — she sobbed, ‘Stop it now!’ and wrenched away from me and fell on her back on the bed, legs hanging over the side. The receiving position, I thought. The ‘afterwards’ position, with the curtains drawn.
I fell down beside her and ran my hand straightaway up under her skirt, feeling those plump creamy thighs and the suitably high tops of the tan stockings she wore. I felt the suspender clips that I had seen through her skirt. — ‘Nah! Don’t!’ she squealed and made to grab my hand as it found the well-filled crotch of her panties. And she was damp.
‘No, Mrs Smith!’ I literally barked at her and at that I smacked her hand away and she threw that arm over her eyes and said ‘Oh!’ in a wobbly voice. In a way she was like a plump doll then. Oh, the feeling of those matronly legs and peeking down at what I’d uncovered! I cupped her quim through the nylon of her knicks and felt her hairy pulsing there. Again she made a fretful movement of her hand but again I said ‘No!’ sternly.
I wanted it to be as I like it to be. I kept my face close to hers and pushed her legs wide apart. ‘Stay!’ I said. — ‘I want to get up,’ she mewed, but I replied, ‘I said, Stay!’ A whimper from her, but she did. I gave her a minute to remain like that, then pulled her upon to her feet. — ‘You can tell me about the rent now,’ I said, ‘downstairs’. I think she was surprised at that — surprised I hadn’t mounted her after the short spanking, but that was going to happen in my own time.
‘I believe in training, Mrs Smith. Maybe you need to be re-trained,’ I said as we descended. — ‘What?’ she asked, as if it were all a surprise to her. I didn’t answer. I felt her bottom through her skirt as she preceded me into the kitchen. — ‘Now tell me about Susan,’ I said when we sat down again at the table. ‘She was only spanked once — no, I tell a lie, twice,’ she said. She knew what I was talking about.
‘That won’t do, will it?’ I said. She ran her tongue out again at that and began, ‘Mr Harrison…’ — ‘I’ll take the room,’ I interrupted her, ‘Before I go and collect my things, though, show it to me’. It was a long shot, but it worked. She argued, of course, that she didn’t know what I was talking about. Finally she stared at me, got up and said defensively, ‘I don’t know about you,’ and went out, upstairs, and was back again soon enough coyly holding an old tawse in her hand. I made her continue to hold it while I touched it.
She stood blinking, flushed, uncertain. ‘Now, Mrs Smith, go and fetch the other one,’ I said. — ‘What d’you mean?’ she asked and was more flushed. — ‘Now!’ I snapped, and she threw the tawse down on the table like the petulant girl she had once been and stomped out. Half a minute later I was looking at a nice, whippy cane. The bend in it told me how well it had been used.
I got up, holding it. She made to back away. They always know. — ‘Skirt up, knickers down, and over the table, Mrs Smith. You lied to me, did you not?’ — ‘No, please! It’s been…’ — ‘It’s been too long for you? You came to it once, when you were told to. You will do so now. Down with them and over!’
There was a bit of wrestling then, but in about three minutes she had finally put it up to me. And what a moon! You’ll gather from this that I have a slight preference for mature ladies — and I have. She had a good, prominent ‘fig’ that showed nicely under the inviting cleft globe, and her furrow was nice and deep, and tight.
She clutched the sides of the table. I wondered again how many long years it had been since she had done that. — ‘No-wer!’ came her cry even as I raised the old bent cane slowly, for she sensed it. Hooo-Wittt! it sang, and oh how her knuckles whitened and what a thin, strangled screech she uttered as it bit into bum-cheeks which were probably half as plump again as when she had last received it! Alongside that screech, as it were, came the thin pink streak which stained the pallor of those half-moons.
‘You bad girl,’ I said softly and she whimpering, ‘I’m not, I’m not!!’. There was a comparative silence then as I let it ‘sink in’ — the cane-strike, I mean. You have to. A lot of little choking sounds came from her. Her stockings were nice and tight. I eased her legs apart. She didn’t resist. — ‘There’s a good girl,’ I said (the old routine!), and then after another waiting period… Swooo-issssh!
‘Nooo-oh!’ came her cry. She did made to rise then, groping at the same time for her scorched bottom, but I pushed her hand away, growled at her, and pinned the nape of her neck. — ‘You stay over when you are told!’ I said, and I gave another but lighter stroke for that, bringing a very surprised ‘Ah!’ from her. — ‘You understand, Mrs Smith?’ I demanded. Her legs, quivering as they were, had begun to inch together, but she had to show both nest and bottom, and she knew it. — ‘Show!’ I barked, and she did, sobbing.
‘That’s better. Two more now and I’m finished with you for the moment,’ I said. — ‘Please no! I’ll do anything, I’ll… Yeeek!’ That was an interesting piece of information. — ‘Afterwards, yes, not during,’ I said and placed my palm flat against her throbbing bottom from which so much heat exuded. The pink streaks had spread, forming a jammy splurge over the bulging half-moons, but the streaks themselves — the old tramlines — showed beneath. Her bum wriggled, hips jerking. Ready for entry, I thought — the waiting head of a cock ready to slip up between those pouting love-lips.
But not yet: not from me. Training first, or retraining in her case, as I had said. Her cheek lay sideways on the table, tears visible. She was sobbing pitiably, or at least she hoped it sounded like that. — ‘Spread legs, please,’ I told her evenly. Uneasily she obeyed. How ripe she looked!
‘What did you say just now?’ I asked and poised the cane. — ‘I s…said I would d…do… Neee-aaaargh!’
It was the most biting one, but she needed it. Working on instinct I knew she needed it. For a moment longer as the thin howl left her throat and her superb arse screwed around so temptingly, her knuckles whitened more. That moment was like an eternity. And then her fingers released the sides of the table and her arms flopped. She was a doll again, big-bummed now, but still yielding, submitting, offering.
‘Up now!’ I said, maybe to her surprise. She had expected cock. I pulled her up and turned her and she flopped into me, sobbing, saying ‘Don’t, don’t!’. — ‘Hold it,’ I said and took her hand down to my prick, unzipping myself quickly until she could grab my banana, which she certainly did. — ‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ I murmured. Her clasp was warm, possessive. She sobbed and nodded into my shoulder. Then maybe I surprised her again by pulling away and standing with my very visible cock-stand.
‘Pull your knickers up,’ I said. She looked a bit lost at that and obeyed almost mutinously. It was a surprise for her, that. I wanted it to be. ‘I’ll be back in an hour,’ I said and she called after me, plaintively, ‘I’ll get something ready for you to eat.’ — ‘Yes,’ I said and was gone. She had a lot to think about now, and so did I.
I said nothing to her about the caning when I got back. She waited on me. I liked that. I asked her when Susan would be in. In an hour, she said, and looked surprised and asked why. Stupid question. — ‘Because I shall want to see her,’ I said and put a little emphasis on ‘see’ which made her flush. She watched me eat. That was good. She didn’t eat herself. — ‘There are two of you, Mrs Smith,’ I said. I had that feeling of growing certainty about it.
‘M…Mr Harrison!’ she stammered. I wasn’t going to say anything more right then. I finished and I stood up. She took my plate and turned to the sink. Very confused she was, I think, but I was going to change that. — ‘The first lesson was obedience, wasn’t it? You remember that,’ I said and went out into the living room to let her mull that over.
Susan came home earlier than expected and showed surprise to meet me. She hadn’t expected they’d get a lodger so soon, she said. She called me ‘a gentleman’ actually, not a lodger. Just as I had with her mother, I weighed her up quickly enough. Slightly weighty in the right regions. I like a full bum smacking hotly into me afterwards and a full pair of tits to grasp.
Mrs Smith whimpered in the dark of her own small bedroom that night. I had told her flatly, ‘I’m bringing the cane into you tonight, Mrs Smith. No noise, please, unless you want Susan to hear.’ I guess Susan did hear, even though her mother bit into her pillow as I made her get silently on to her knees, head and shoulders down, with her nightie rucked up under her armpits. — ‘Can’t!’ was her single whispered plea. I ignored that.
Susan must certainly have heard the first cry, for I brought the cane right up under her mother’s lovely fat bum, making her hips lift until she was really on all fours. — ‘Na-Haaar! Oh, please, not now — she’ll hear!’ she sobbed and got a real, hot-biting Swooo-isssh! for that while I said flatly, ‘Yes, she may. Now lift it, Mrs Smith!’ — ‘Pleee-ease! Nee-yooooh! Haaaar!’
‘Mum!’ then came a wail from the adjoining bedroom and at that Mrs Smith slumped down on her belly, wailing softly. I hadn’t meant to finish with her as yet, but that cry interrupted our little session. — ‘Now stay!’ I gritted at her while her naked bum-cheeks clenched and her face buried itself with seeming shame into a pillow, her pink bottom orbing beautifully in her prone posture.
I guess she didn’t have any option in that moment, anyway, so I strode into Susan’s room, she sitting up and clasping the front of her nightdress which was pretty sheer. I liked the look of her nipples through the nylon.
‘What are you calling out for at this time of night, Susan?’ I asked and closed the door. She looked bewildered. — ‘But… but Mum…,’ she blathered. I was still holding the cane. Had she ever seen it before or had it been kept hidden? I moved the short distance across to her single bed and she said ‘No!’ at that, quickly, and backed up against the wall, sitting on her pillow.
‘You know it’s naughty to call out in the night when you are supposed to be asleep, Susan, don’t you? And what do naughty girls get for that?’ I asked, and she staring up at me, open-mouthed. — ‘I believe you need to be spanked again, Susan,’ I said and took her wrist and literally yanked her out. Oh glory, as I did so her nightie — which must have been pretty high about her waist, anyway — rucked up, and that lustrous cleft peach of hers came almost immediately under my palm as I got her over my lap.
Oh yes, they always say the same things — always make the same pleas in the same words. I wasn’t listening, though. I grabbed her left arm and brought it behind her back, and Smack! my palm went down into those firmly-bellied cheeks of hers, making her yelp and making her mother call out (pretty feebly), ‘Susan?’
That was a good cue from Mrs Smith. I liked it. ‘Be quiet in there — immediately!’ I called back and, with a cry of ‘Mum-meee!’ Susan received another bum-blaster that brought a loud — very loud — ‘Oh!’ from her. Her bottom went a rich, deep pink immediately. She tried to slide forward off my lap. I liked that, too. It gave me a better view under her bottom. She was nice and furry, her pinky-purple quim offered to my fingers as well, if I wanted it. I did. But later. Smack! Smack! Smack! and a cry from her with each and much fierce squirming of her hips, but I had her waist tightly.
Then maybe I surprised her. After the next, when her bottom was really cherry-red, I said sternly, ‘Now go and stand in the corner, Susan, showing your bottom or you’ll get another six. Now, girl!’
She scrambled up, sobbing, wriggling — believing that she would get another dose — and obeyed me, hanging her head. Nice legs. All the way up to her hot bum. Her shoulders were bowed. — ‘Take your nightie off and let it fall, Susan, I want to talk to you,’ I said, still sitting on her bed. There was a momentary hesitation then, but with a sobbing sigh she did that, too. Oh richness of young curves, her knees coyly together!
‘When I deal with you, Susan, I want quiet, please, not lots of silly screeching, or you will get it again. It’s not your first, so don’t try kidding me. Turn round now and face me!’
Slowly, coyly, she did, putting one hand down over her Venus mount, but I shook my head and she uncovered it doubtfully. — ‘That’s better, Susan,’ I said, ‘And now come here, please, and stand in front of me’.
It was only about six steps for her. Her full young tits wobbled nicely. The brown points were perky. Expectantly so, perhaps. As she stood quivering and sucking in her lower lip I ran my hands gently up the sides of her creamy thighs, moulded her nice hips and then ran one finger speculatively down the slight curve of her belly until it was able to forage in her brown curls. There was a little jerk from her at that, but I said softly, ‘No, Susan,’ and she stilled herself.
You work carefully at such times, and I did. Little by little my finger found its way under her curls, under the nice plumpness of her cunny and touched the moist lips. Honey, I thought, and passed my other hand comfortingly around her stung bottom, saying quietly, ‘Now, that’s better — that’s better — isn’t it?’ I asked a little menacingly. Lower lip still being bitten, she nodded dumbly and hissed out a little as I worked her legs apart.
I stroked her and murmured to her, and I guessed that her mother had her ear pressed to the wall. There was a dewy moisture where I wanted it to be. Susan’s mouth relaxed. She licked her lips, her breathing quickened.
‘I have to cane you after this,’ I began and she started and jerked her hips back off of my insinuating (and sticky) finger. — ‘No!’ I snapped and, swallowing, she came back on to it, letting me feel the rolled lips again. — ‘In the morning — not now,’ I said, ‘Do you understand? Do you?’
There was nothing left for her but to nod. Tomorrow was long hours away. Tomorrow was also Saturday, and that was useful. A little pleading, blubbering sound came from her. — ‘And after I have caned you, we shall see, won’t we?’ I repeated. At last a hesitant yes came from her and I let her get into bed, wriggling quickly and self-protectively under the sheet.
‘I want you to be a good girl in the morning just as you used to be,’ I said as I opened the door. A quick nod came from under the sheet. We had settled something at least, I thought. Mrs Smith lay huddled on her bed when I re-entered. She hadn’t pulled her nightdress down. I rolled her over on her back and cupped her plump quim. She stared at me, not endeavouring to push my hand away. — ‘I heard,’ she said, as if in wonder.
‘There are two of you — I told you that. Lie still now. Obedience, remember?’ — ‘B…but Susan…,’ she moaned and then gasped out an ‘Ah!’ very sharply. I had her button under my finger and was exciting it. That and her hot bottom did the rest. She groped at air, arched her back, floundered, grabbed at me and came — came in endless torrents so it seemed until my fingers were coated with her spraying emissions and she slumped down at last, her bottom still gently working.
I pulled away from her. She lay as if in a faint, but I knew she was listening — ‘I will deal with Susan while you are making breakfast, Mrs Smith. Then I will bring her down. Later I will bring you up, or it may be the kitchen table for you again if there is any truculence’. — ‘Oh, Mr Harrison, oh no!’ she gasped and turned her back on me, showing her fat bum deliberately, I knew.
‘There is no argument then,’ I replied and made my exit.
Maybe I surprised myself by going back into Susan’s room. Maybe she surprised me by not making a noise or seeming surprised when I slid down beside her and groped the bedclothes down. — ‘You need seeing to after a spanking, Susan, don’t you?’ I whispered. Maybe it was the thought of the cane in the morning that made her cuddle into me.
‘Show me what a good girl you can be, Susan,’ I murmured. Her face was a pale oval in the gloom. She lay on her back, staring at me as though it were all a surprise. Then her legs began to open very slowly and I knew I was home and dry.Or home and very moist, maybe…