‘Naughty erring wives chastised, hairbrush or cane. Moderate charges. Contact Benny Silman after 7 PM’ and the address. That was enough to start off a chain reaction all right! Most of us treated it as a joke, but we were slowly finding out that our husbands didn’t and that was when it started. I think Susie was the first to go, at least, she was the first to talk about it. Jack had sent her along to Benny one night and she told us all about it at the supermarket next morning.
‘He’s big,’ she told us with huge eyes. ‘He’s bigger than any of our husbands and must weigh half a ton! So good-looking it isn’t true, and he treats you so nicely – “come in, sit down” - and then he reads the note. He said, “Oh dear, you have been naughty, haven’t you?” and didn’t listen when I protested. All he’s interested in is the note you take.’
‘What happened then?’ asked Gina, wriggling excitedly.
The baked bean mountain was in danger of going over as her elbow almost jogged the middle tins. I swear she had damp knickers or something. Susie had a quick look round to make sure no ears were straining in our direction; you know what shelf fillers are. Gossip magnets. Well, they are in my supermarket.
‘He led me over to his big settee and asked me to lie down over the arm, which I did. I was scared silly. I was shaking so much my knees almost gave way! He pulled my dress up out of the way and then picked something up.
‘“Just a hairbrush spanking,” he said. “Ten should do you.” And it did! Oh it hurt! I forgot all about being tough and dignified, I just bawled like a baby. When you’ve got that hairbrush smacking your bottom, you don’t think about anything else!’
It was the general opinion of us all that we’d better tread carefully. All of us, that is, except Mary who shyly confessed that she got spanked or caned at least once a week anyway, so Benny’s arrival didn’t make any difference to her. We all looked at Mary with surprise but said nothing. She looked so quiet and shy, now we knew why.
I resolved to be very good. I wasn’t having any strong-armed man spanking me!
But of course I didn’t and it wasn’t that long before ended up on Benny’s doorstep, shaking from head to foot as I rang the bell. This blond giant came to the door and smiled so nicely at me that I felt a lot of my shaking stop. I handed him Tom’s note and he invited me into the beautiful lounge, filled with heavily-stuffed, comfortable furniture and elegant tables and chairs. There were lovely paintings on the wall, really nice. I fleetingly wondered if Mrs Silman was there, waiting upstairs for a frantic lovemaking session when Benny was through spanking errant wives for the evening. After all, that was surely what he was getting out of it, wasn’t he? Surely he wasn’t only doing it for the money! I longed to ask but didn’t dare.
‘You’ve been getting out of hand, Anne,’ he observed quietly, looking at me as he read Tom’s note. ‘I think twelve with my hairbrush will stop your games, for a little while, anyway!’ He led me with quaking knees to the old-fashioned armchair. ‘I’ll collect the hairbrush while you make yourself comfortable over the arm of that chair, all right?’
I think I muttered something. I can t remember. I laid myself down over the arm of the chair and buried my head in the thick cushion. I was going to tough it out, not give him the pleasure of having me cry and fuss. I felt silly and childish, which is of course, what he intended. And he gave me time to think about it. I felt my bottom muscles tightening and relaxing, the fear quivering through me like a fever of some kind. Where was he, where had he gone?
Then I felt Benny lift up my dress and slip and smooth down my frilly nylon knickers. I remember sighing silently with relief when I realised he didn’t intend to take them down, that would have been too much. At least I had a little protection!
Just as I was beginning to feel even sillier lying there, my bottom was on fire - the first of my twelve. It felt like a solid thump against my cheeks and a flame shot through me; it stung and burned at the same time, and all I wanted to do was yell. Everything Susie said was right, you did forget about being big and tough, you just cried because it hurt. It hurt a lot. Each one hurt more than the one before, because they all landed on top of one another.
My struggling to get up resulted in him crossing my wrists in the small of my back, which hurt even more; I couldn’t fight like that! He carried on as though I’d done nothing. No one, but no one escaped Benny’s punishments, and he let you know it as well!
By the time Benny had counted twelve with that unrelenting hairbrush I was sobbing helplessly, hot and sore, and ready for absolutely nothing. He let me get up, handed me a tissue and escorted me to the door. ‘Tom can settle with me later.’
The door opened, and I was outside, crying like a baby, my bottom on fire; so hot I thought everyone could see the red glow through my clothes.
The car was there, I could just see it through my tears and Tom was waiting for me. It hurt just sitting down in the car.
Now I’ve got to go back to Benny again. I don’t know what I’m going to get. And, having annoyed Tom in the morning, I have to wait for nine hours before I get my punishment! That means there’s time to be nice to Tom, he might relent if I’m lucky.
It’s nearly seven and he hasn’t relented; in fact he has hardly spoken to me all day. It’s been one of the longest most miserable days I can remember. Tom mad at me and me scared. I really will be glad when it’s over. Tom glances at the clock.
‘Time to be on your way, Anne.’ He is so cold, so hard. ‘Here’s the note for Benny.’
I pick up my bag slowly, hoping all the time he’ll say it doesn’t matter. But I’m at the door and he hasn’t called me back - I suppose I’d better go.
It’s a long walk to Benny’s house, it takes me ten long agonising fearful minutes to walk it; every minute I wish to turn and run. But I daren’t.
Benny’s door is open but I ring the bell anyway.
‘Come in!’ he calls. Trembling, I step inside. ‘Go in the lounge, I’ll be with you in a minute.’ The lounge is empty and immaculate. Mrs Silman must be kept busy. I can hear muffled voices from another room. Someone else is here before me, perhaps more are waiting. I wonder why they’re not in here? I came in this room last time. The yell startles me, whatever is he doing to her? The screaming is too much, he must be caning her! Oh God, what if Tom’s asked for a caning for me! Oh, no, I’m not staying here, listen to her! Oh no, I’m going home, Tom will understand, he must!
‘Anne, what are you doing back? Is it all over?’
‘There was someone there, she was screaming. Oh Tom, I can’t go back to that!’
He looks cold again, cold and hard, just like he’s been all day.
‘Please Tom, don’t you understand?’
‘I understand you’ve run away from a punishment. Come on.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Benny’s, where else?’
Tom has a tight grip on my wrists and is walking back along the street I just ran along. I hope no one is looking out of their window. It’s all I can do not to cry. I steal a look at Tom’s face and realise there’s no point in arguing with him.
‘What’s the matter, Tom, Anne?’ Benny actually looks concerned.
‘I sent Anne along with a note, someone was already here, making a fuss. Anne ran back home, thinking I’d take pity on her.’
‘I wondered why there wasn’t anyone here when I came out,’ said Benny, looking sternly at me.
‘What were you doing to her?’ I have to ask. I have to know.
‘Oh, she’d been specially naughty, Anne. She had to have the cane and she made such a fuss! I was asked to make sure she went home well and truly punished - so I gave her twelve. Took me a while, she wouldn’t stay still!’
He smiles, a slow, knowing, calculating smile, watching my face drop; watching my spirits hit the ground and the fear sweep over me like a lo
ng cold breeze off an ocean.
‘I know you’re going to be much better than that.’ Tom pushes me towards Benny. ‘I’ll wait here. Oh, you will add something on for running away, won’t you, Benny?’
‘Of course.’
I hand Benny the note Tom sent me with, and he reads it quickly.
‘We won’t be long, Tom. Come on, Anne.’
We walk into the lounge where I’d waited before, no chance now of escape. He has an amused look, this really is a pleasure for him.
‘Do you know what Tom wants me to give you?’ I shook my head, not daring to answer, too afraid of what he might do. Why did I run away?
‘Come on, can’t you speak? I bet you can cry, though!’
I’m saying nothing, I’ve said too much already.
‘Well, Tom wants me to break my usual practice and put you over my knee. OK? With me so far? He then wants me to take your knickers down and spank your bottom until you cry for mercy. All right?’
I have nothing to say, I feel sick!
‘Then when I’ve done that. I’ll give you three with my little cane for running away. I don’t think you’ll do much running after that!’ He’s being deliberately spiteful, knowing the words hurt almost as much as the punishment will; fear is the greater enemy of all.
What can I say? There is nothing to say - my heart is thumping like a sledgehammer and I’ve gone all cold. I really feel ill. Should I tell him? He’s sitting down now, getting comfortable.
‘Come on, over here.’
I take slow careful steps. I’m only prolonging the awful moment, I know that. As soon as I’m within reach he grabs my wrists and pulls me face down over his knees. This is worse than going over the arm of the chair; my hands are on the carpet; all my long brown hair falls over my face so that I can’t see; my toes are just touching the floor, my bottom is stuck up in the air and I’m scared. He pulls back my dress and slip and tucks them firmly into my belt. Then he pulls my knickers down around my knees. With them goes my last shred of dignity! Then the spanking starts. This isn’t the hairbrush, solid and hard, every whack sending shudders through me, this is different. This is a hard, male hand slapping my totally unprotected soft, pampered bottom; the slaps hard enough to sting every time. To hurt. They move all over my cheeks, they miss nothing, and then start over again. Slap follows slap and my bottom’s getting sore, getting tender, I can feel tears coming. I won’t beg for mercy. I must be burning red by now. I’m crying because it really hurts. He’ll stop in a minute, he’ll take pity on me, he must stop in a minute, he’s got to stop in a minute or I won’t be able to sit down for days!
‘Please – Benny!’ and he stops immediately. I slide onto the floor and lie there crying.
‘What a well-spanked girl you are!’ he says, almost admiringly. ‘I thought you’d never ask me to stop! Tom was right, he said to keep on until you begged for mercy. Proud, aren’t you. Anne?’ He walks away, has he forgotten about the cane? ‘Come on, over here.’ No, he hasn’t.
I painfully get to my feet and pull my knickers off before walking over to the armchair. One plea, I’ll just try one more plea.
‘Bend over, please.’
‘Please Benny, I’m really sorry. I won’t say anything like that to Tom ever again and I promise I won’t ever run away again.’
‘You won’t speak to Tom like that again, I m sure, or my punishments aren’t effective! But you still have to be punished for running away. You ladies must learn to do precisely what you are told. Come on!’
I bend over the arm of the chair, carefully. Oh my bottom is on fire! I hate to think what it looks like!
‘Three I said, didn’t I? Three ought to make sure you behave.’ The cane touches me, I’m so hot it actually feels cold!
‘Please don’t get up; I’ll have to add one more if you do.’
‘Please, Benny.’
‘One.’
That was me screaming, I can’t help it! The agony of the lines of fire leaping across my bottom! I must touch.
‘No hands, now, Anne. Come on, only two to go. Two.’
I can’t take any more of this!
‘You’ll be good in future, won’t you - three!’
And it’s all over. But I cannot move.
‘Come on, Tom’s waiting.’ Tissues arc pushed into my hands and he leads me out of the door.
‘I’m sorry, Tom, I really am!’ Loving arms hold me close.
‘Hush, it’s all over now.’
‘I gave her the spanking you asked for, Tom. You were right, she took quite a lot before crying out and then I gave her three with the cane for running away.’
I can hear the rustle of notes but I m not looking. I don’t want to know what I’ve just cost him, all I want right now is to be held tight. ‘Thanks a lot, Benny.’
‘Any time, Tom, any time.’
We walk slowly back down the road. I must look a mess. I certainly feel it. My knickers are pushed in my bag. Now Tom is loving and kind after the coldness of the day.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you,’ he says softly as if he has my thoughts, ‘but if I’d been nice to you I’d have relented and torn up the note, and you know and I know you had to be punished.’
‘Mary’s husband spanks her,’ I offer tentatively. He frowns thoughtfully.
‘Does h? I might have a word with him about it.’ Back indoors I rush upstairs to inspect my bottom in the mirror. Sarlet cheeks and within the scarlet the deeper red lines of the cane. It looks awful!
‘Very pretty.’
I didn’t hear Tom enter the bedroom.
‘Very sore.’
‘It should be, you won’t forget it in a hurry!’
Isn’t it odd, I remember last time after I’d been to Benny the lovemaking was as marvellous as this. I think I’ll wait a while before I have to go to Benny’s again, but in the meantime, there’s Tom, I wonder if he will…
Reminiscences
Unlike most of the others, this is a true story. This is about a man I met at the offices of the CP magazine for whom I was writing, who was so persistent that I finally agreed to go and visit him - and no it wouldn’t happen today, so don’t think YOU can try it on with me!
Do you remember what it was like, the first time?
Of course, could anyone forget?
Want to tell me?
Why not?
There was the long journey to London first, checking and re-checking the letter, thinking over all the assurances I’d had; all very well but the doubts were creeping in, did he mean them? Won’t hurt, he said, well, won’t hurt much anyway. I squirm a little on the rough moquette seat of the coach.
It’s a long journey to London, with time to envisage everything that might happen, from the over the knee spanking which would surely sting and redden my somewhat generous bottom, to the tawse. I know he has tawses oiled and ready, and a martinet. Anticipation thrills. It sits like a coiled desire deep in the pubic area, almost a physical pain but a most enjoyable one; my knickers become wet with the prospects of delights and pains to come. Victoria Coach Station, people spill from coaches like milk from a broken bottle, running in every direction. A good many of them, like me, are heading for the loos. It has been a long ride, and there is moisture to mop up so that I become at least partly respectable before I carry on my way across the complex set of lights and bus lanes which are a novelty to a country dweller, then on to the rail station. It is a blaze of lights and indicator boards, booming tannoys, taxis and commuters; they all know where they are going and are anxious to get there. Claustrophobia as I stand at the end of a very long line of people buying tickets they cannot get from a machine, low roof-lights and crowds. Will my turn never come?
Following the lights and clutching my yellow ticket tightly I find my way down the e
scalator descending into the deep dark depths of...
Come on, it’s only an underground system after all. Over-active imagination, that’s your trouble! The trains are surprisingly empty, the people I queued with have dispersed among the many different trains on many different levels. It approaches lunch time, the restaurants and sandwich bars overhead must be packed solid by now.
I have an appointment and I still feel apprehensive about it. I tell myself there is always time to turn back, all I need to do is get out at the next station, cross the platform and take the train back to Victoria, a quick telephone call and I’d be free.
But I don’t. I sit there, staring at the edge of the blue sheet of paper peeking from the compartment at the back of my travel bag. It contains a map and precise instructions to get from the station and assures me I can’t get lost. Want to bet? It’s been years since I commuted, and then not to this part of London but to the City. Of course I can get lost. The question has to be asked, why don’t get out, go back the other way? Why do I sit there, heading toward a man who will surely hurt me? Because of the tingling sensation which the mere thought brings; because of the anticipation of being told what to do and obeying him without question comes before all else. A double thrill - double pleasures. The anticipation of what is to come and the obedience of taking orders without question. Submission. His will over mine.
My station at last, and a long climb to the surface. Surprisingly, for I’d forgotten on the long train ride, the sun’s shining. I turn right at the side of the pub and begin the walk. My heels are high and the pavements aren’t brilliant. I must be careful, I don’t want to spoil the outfit with grazed knees and torn tights. (Yes, tights! Tights in which I am comfortable, rather than stockings in which I am not. Do you realise it’s fourteen years since I wore stockings? Must have been mad to wear them then, would certainly be mad to wear them now! And before Puritan spankers start writing to me to complain, let me tell you that no one’s complained yet about the view when I’m uncovered and ready, suspenders or no suspenders, it doesn’t seem to make any difference.)
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