by Susan Thomas
Suddenly Ken stopped. Now it was my turn. Sue tried to stop me and said that it wasn't right, but I was all noble and stubborn and went right over to Ken before freezing completely.
"You'll have to pull your jeans and panties down," he said quietly. I nodded but found that not only was my mouth dry, my heart hammering and my stomach churning but also my hands were trembling. I just couldn't undo the metal clasp. "Would you like me to do it?" he asked. I nodded. He unfastened the metal button and unzipped the fly.
I felt my face start to burn. Only Brian, my husband, had ever done that before. He tugged the jeans down to around mid-thigh. His hands went to my knickers and my face really caught fire but my hands were trembling so much I couldn't do it. He tugged them down to join the jeans and simply pulled me straight over his lap. I lay there thinking that I simply had to die, there was nothing more embarrassing that could happen. The first smack caught me by surprise and I gasped.
There seemed to be no pause between each one, and the stinging just got worse and worse. I forgot about being brave and was soon gasping and wriggling and trying to get my bum out of the way of his hand. He had a strong grasp around my waist (what a strangely intimate feeling that is) and I couldn't get away but it began to be more than I could take and I started to cry. I know I tried to get off his lap but he just held me in place. It was over as suddenly as it had begun.
I stood up and pulled up my clothes as fast as possible only to stand there rubbing my bum like some cartoon character. Sue came over and hugged me. "Well done," she whispered. "Now please leave it at that. You've taken some, let me take the rest." I shook my head, I hate chickening out on anything. Ken intervened and suggested that Sue take half of the next part and if I wanted to opt out then she could just go on and take the rest. Sue agreed and went over to him like some sort of veteran.
I could see that the hairbrush was going to hurt much more than Ken's hand, and even before he started I was wondering whether I really could do it. After all, it was Sue's agreement; I had shown willing and taken some of the 'punishment'. I could just back out and still feel that I had done the right thing.
Truthfully, the moment Ken started spanking her I began to shake. He brought the wooden back of that brush down so hard her bottom jiggled and the smack sounded awful. Sue was clearly distressed from the first smack and her body was jumping all over the place. Ken held her firmly and brought down five on her right cheek before moving to the left. I noticed in horror that her right cheek which had been red was now a blotchy mixture of red, white and some much darker red. Sue was now yelping and crying as the left cheek was dealt with. Then Ken moved to the right again and I almost yelled out to stop him but then Sue let out a real wail as he started again on the right cheek. My hands were over my mouth and I trembled as I wondered how I could take it. Just let Sue take it all. Just let Sue take it all, I thought over and over again. When he had finished I rushed over and held Sue in my arms. I was astonished when she pleaded through her tears, "I deserve it. Please let me take the rest."
I promise that I was going to agree with her and I have no idea quite what happened or why but to my surprise I found myself in front of Ken asking, in what even to my ears sounded like a shaky voice, "Please undo this button again." After he had pulled my clothes down he put one hand on my bottom and another on my shoulder and guided me over his lap. I am not proud of the noise I made in that session; the stinging on my already sore bum just seemed to escalate until I panicked and thought it would never end. It went beyond stinging to a sort of intense burning where the back of the brush kept landing.
When I was let up my nose was running and the tears were flowing. Sue dried them and I knew what she was going to say. When she had sorted me out I said, "Be quiet Sue" and turned to Ken. "Please, please," I begged. "Give me the strap now before I lose my nerve. If Sue has it first I will never, ever go through with it. Then I will never forgive myself."
Ken seemed to understand completely and he ignored the protest from Sue. He got off the chair turned it around and explained how I should bend over it. To my surprise I was able to undo the jeans myself.
"You might find it easier to take them off altogether," commented Ken, "but it is your choice. I won't see anything new, Clare." I was past caring, now I just wanted this to be over so I dropped my jeans down and stepped out of them and pulled my knickers off. Pulling them back down over my spanked bottom was unpleasant and Sue took them from me, her face asking me to stop. I bent over the chair back and gripped the seat as instructed. I didn't know what to expect.
From watching what Sue got I now know that Ken takes the buckle in the palm of his hand and doubles the belt over. He stands back and swings the double belt in a fearsome arc accurately across the centre of the target. I didn't know this at the time; I just felt a blow and a terrible burning fire right across my bottom. I screeched as the pain merged with my already sore rear end to create an endless intense burning that wouldn't stop. I leapt up, grasping my bottom in both hands. I remember crying, "No! No! I can't do this. I really can't do this." I found that I had both Sue and Ken comforting me and they were both so kind.
"You've done really well, Clare," comforted Ken, stroking my hair, "especially as you have never even been smacked in your life. You've taken a lot of her punishment, now leave it and let Sue take the rest." Sue was backing what Ken was saying and I found myself agreeing.
Sue took my place, and it was only after Ken had started giving her the belt that I realised I hadn't put my jeans and knickers back on. I stood there holding my bottom, watching poor Sue getting it with my eyes misty from the tears. I could see that Ken was taking his time giving Sue the remaining nineteen lashes with his belt. After he had given her one he changed his position so that the next one didn't land in quite the same place. I didn't need to be a brain box to see that Sue was distressed; she wasn't making much noise but her whole body kept arching up and she kept half turning towards Ken. I could see that she was gripping the seat of the chair very hard and as each blow landed she was finding it difficult to stay bent. She was on number thirteen when a blow went wrong and caught her partly between the legs. Sue stood upright shouting, "Oh Hell!" and clutching herself with the tears running down her face.
I couldn't stand it any more and faced Ken, not entirely oblivious to the fact that I was half naked in front of a man I hardly knew but beyond caring now. "Ken, I'm better now; there are only six more to go, I'll take them." I'm not sure quite what Ken thought, after all it was not what he had expected to happen but he just nodded then made a suggestion. He steered Sue out of the way (who just didn't seem to notice) and moved the kitchen table out.
"I think you may find it easier over the table," he suggested kindly. "Sue, you go around the other side and hold her hands."
I lay over the table top with my feet on the floor and Sue grasped my hands. I made no attempt to be brave, each lash produced a real shriek from me and I kicked and wriggled all over the place. Only Sue's grip kept me more or less down over the table. Her face winced and grimaced along with mine as each lash landed but by the fourth I couldn't see her properly because of my tears. I had lost the will to be brave and no longer cared how much fuss I made. I was only concerned with one thing: it hurt!
I became aware that Ken was saying something and then I realised it was all over. "Why don't you two girls go and compose yourselves while I make some tea?" he was saying. I was so far gone I couldn't be bothered to be modest but carefully leant over and picked up my clothes. Sue led me upstairs and washed my face and fussed over me. I was ashamed of the noise I had made but she kept going on about how brave I had been. When we had recovered sufficiently we went back downstairs with me walking very carefully, having no bounce at all.
Ken had put out cakes and tea in the living room and we all sat down, Sue and I being particularly careful how we did it.
"You know, Clare," said Ken "you are the first to admit that you are a chaotic person. The way you dived strai
ght in without thinking to take half of Sue's punishment, was brave and generous but headstrong."
I nodded. "Brian, my husband, calls me Tigger because I am always bouncing into trouble."
"Well," he went on, "perhaps you should consider a spanking contract."
I was outraged. "You are never seeing my bottom unclothed ever again!"
Ken smiled. "Not me, your husband Brian. There is a very good plan that could help you. It's called The Spencer Spanking Plan. Sue can give you all the details".
Sue got up saying she would run one off the computer and not for the first time that day I wondered what I had got myself into.
The Importance of Mothers
Tracy Morgan wanted the Headship badly; she was thirty nine years old and not yet a Head in spite of having been successful in all roles so far. The reason, of course, was she was too ambitious and went for schools that were too big for a first Headship. Then she saw an advert for a big school in a small town down south with a very good salary range and a whole host of extras. She applied and got an interview.
The two days of interviews were gruelling: psychological profiling; in-tray exercise; teach a lesson and take an assembly; separate professional interviews on almost every aspect of school life and a final interview with the governing body, but she got the job. Moving to the south though presented problems, for one thing the houses and flats were much more expensive, and there wasn't much on the market. In the end she rented out her own rather nice stone cottage (once a weaver's cottage) and instead found a room to rent about ten minutes walk from her new school.
Living near your school is always a two edged sword: you get to know the catchment really well and many parents like the fact that you're a local and understand their problems; on the other hand your life is now no longer your own. Come home late from a night out and next day everyone knows; get a new feller and everyone wants to know who he is; they know what time you get to work and what time you go home; what you wear when off duty and where you like to eat or shop. Oh it goes on and on; it's like living in a goldfish bowl. Tracy would have moved further away but for Mrs Wildman.
Mrs Wildman was her landlady; she was about sixty and a widow. The house was old and odd; it was on a hill and spread over three floors with the middle floor being on the same level as the pavement at the front and the ground floor on the same level as the garden at the back. Tracy had more than just a single room, although that was what had been advertised. She had her own bedroom, a room to use as a study and her very own bathroom. None of the other rooms on that floor were actually in use so Tracy had it all to herself. Mrs Wildman would prepare her breakfast and an evening meal if required, and she was free to use the kitchen to make drinks or snacks. There were rules though: no male visitors except in one reception room near the front door and certainly not overnight; no coming in after midnight except with prior agreement; absolutely no drugs or smoking; alcohol only ever in moderation; and no loud music. Teenager rules thought Tracy and promptly agreed.
The two women got on well from the start. Both were somewhat lonely people: Tracy because she had left friends behind with her ambition; Mrs Wildman because her husband had gone after a very long illness and her children, although not estranged, lived far away. Tracy's parents had always been somewhat distant, busy with their careers they were pleased with their academic daughter who sailed through school trailing success but there had never been any real togetherness. When she exhibited the usual teenage strops they'd had long earnest talks with her and deprived her of privileges but no more. She was never spanked at all, even as a small child, a sort of solitary un-dramatic growing up.
Mrs Wildman found in Tracy a substitute daughter; she had three and loved them all but missed them deeply; all had married young and lived far away. Skype was no substitute for flesh and blood in the house. She had been a stay at home mum, good at home cooking and being there for all her children; tough though with no nonsense and most definitely a spanker when needed. Her children grew up feeling loved but knowing they had to watch their Ps and Qs. Tracy began to feel as if she had a mother to come home to and, if really honest, she would have told you that it was for the first time in her life. Her own mother was almost never at home but at 'meetings', she never cooked and most certainly never chatted amiably about her day over an evening meal as Mrs Wildman did.
Tracy came back for an evening meal just whenever she could and they chatted away as they ate and long after the clearing up was done. Tracy, of course, often had work to do in the evenings but she would finish in time for a drink and a chat before they went to bed. On Friday evenings they would sit for hours, often not going to bed until the early hours. They were companionable, warm and friendly times that both women valued. In those long hours, Tracy confided that her job was stressful. "It starts from the moment I walk in the door," she said. "They can't even wait for me to get my coat off. My deputies are nearly useless, both long overdue for retirement but won't go until they get their full pensions and I can't give them anything to do but they screw it up or neglect it completely. It all ends up on my plate."
Now, a stressed and busy woman makes mistakes and one day Tracy made one. The weather forecast was grim with strong winds and heavy rain. Mrs Wildman called up before Tracy went out of the door to work with, "Make sure you close the windows, Tracy, it's going to blow a gale and the rain will get in." Tracy was in a hurry and missed one window and the rain did get in. The damage wasn't great and Tracy was only too willing to pay for it but it was inconvenient and curtains needed to be replaced; a carpet to be dried and cleaned, a wooden table needed drying out carefully and then some serious polishing. As well as paying, Tracy kept apologising.
"Do stop apologising, Tracy, what's done is done; just be more careful in future."
"Well, I am sorry, it's just that I had my mind on work and I was in a hurry."
"Well, perhaps if you allow yourself to be distracted like that again I should spank your bottom hard."
Now sometimes it was hard to tell if Mrs Wildman was joking or not. She could tease deadpan so Tracy just laughed and replied, "Perhaps you should!" and went on up to her study to work.
She found herself thinking about that comment and wondering whether she was entirely joking. Although she had accepted the apologies and the money to make good the mess, she clearly was not best pleased. Tracy knew Mrs Wildman had spanked her daughters until they left home at around twenty or even slightly older. Surely though, she wouldn't expect to spank her, a grown woman and not her daughter? It was too ridiculous for words.
The very idea began to prey on Tracy's mind, and as is common with these things, she kept coming across references to spanking all the time. You may have had that experience yourself; something happens and you think about it and then suddenly that type of thing is in the news and every conversation you hear.
So it was when she heard two teachers at school discussing the days when they could use the slipper or cane and how, "Getting rid of it hasn't helped. They simply think we can't do anything these days. I know I needed a few sharp shocks growing up and these kids are worse." Then one of the male teachers was describing how often he was caned when he was at school: "Taught me to mind how I spoke to adults, mark you." The senior caretaker described to her how his daughter spanked her children: "Not hard but enough so they know she means business." More intriguing still was the rather strange comment by a female colleague whose appraisal she was conducting: "I may be a strict disciplinarian here but it's my husband who is at home." She had responded, "But you don't have children do you?" and got the reply, "No, but I wasn't talking about children."
The whole subject of spanking just wouldn't go away and whirled around and around with Mrs Wildman's remark. Tracy knew she was lucky that the damage hadn't been worse, and that her relationship with her landlady was strong enough for her not to be thrown out, for she had come to rely on the older woman for something she had missed with her own mother; a sort of emotional securit
y. She began to wonder how her landlady would deal with her own daughters if they lived at home and had not got married and moved away. She knew her to be someone who liked her home to run smoothly and took no nonsense; the rules she had set for Tracy, though easy for her, were clear enough and unambiguous. They said, "I will run my house my way and you must accept that or don't come." So perhaps spanking her older daughters was not such a way out idea. Then there was the appraisal meeting with her teacher; it hadn't been said but it was clear enough that her husband did something to enforce his rules; she hadn't dared to ask if it was spanking but she had a strong feeling it was. Were there really grown women who accepted getting spanked? Tracy found she couldn't get the whole thing out of her head.
Tracy had fallen into the habit of buying several bottles of good wine for the weekend which she would share with Mrs. Wildman; that Friday she uncorked a bottle and after everything was cleared up from their meal they sat down as usual while Tracy poured a glass for each. There was a real fire in the living room which was only occasionally used but that night, with the wind howling around the house yet again and the rain lashing against the windows, Mrs Wildman had lit it. They sat in the warm and cosy room enjoying the wine and idle chat. At last Tracy felt relaxed enough to tell the older woman just how strongly her comment had affected her and how much she had thought about the subject.
Her landlady looked at her calmly for a long time before making a reply. "I know why this is obsessing you so much, Tracy; if you had an ounce of self-awareness you'd know too. There are two big problems in your life and forgive me if this sounds harsh. The first is that you were emotionally neglected as a child; your mother was remote. I may have been strict and spanked my daughters but they knew I was mum and would always be there for them. You didn't; you really don't know what it is like to have a proper mother, even if that proper mum is strict. The only way you could get a reaction out of your parents was to be ambitious and successful but that is never satisfying for long and it is a lonely place to be. Now you have what you wanted but you have huge responsibility. Everything rests on your shoulders until you get the school running properly; you are always in charge and never able to just hand over.