Alice Bowman stepped out onto the hotel porch and fumbled for a cigarette in her purse. Her neat white gloved-hands quickly found the packet and smoothly flipped open the top with her thumb. She was running on pure instinct as she paused to look around with nausea lurching in her belly and then she relaxed. It was a filthy habit she knew, but Mrs Baxter was three states away and in any case there was not a soul to see her.
The flame from the Ronson tickled the end of the tightly wrapped tube of tobacco and she watched it burst to a glow as she gently sucked on it before a satisfying curl of blue-white smoke twisted from the end on its way to the sky. It made her feel like Eve Maria Saint or Audrey Hepburn in a movie.
In her figure hugging cotton floral dress and tiny pill box hat, sometimes she imagined she looked like the former; she certainly had the curves she decided. But although she was a head turner on the street she didn’t quite have those looks. She sighed.
In the middle distance the interstate traffic was building up as people got ready for work. Well the 20th century was halfway through now and the modern world did tend to crowd in. It was a wonder there was still work for a young woman plying her trade in the old ways.
The old ways, she thought ruefully, remembering Muriel Baxter and her first encounter with her when still fresh from the WAVES. The navy had given her an appetite for disciplined structure and purpose and her quest for a fulfilling life had led her to the Sinclair Method and Mrs Baxter oh so many years ago. Now it was her turn to pass on the baton.
Alice took another drag on her smoke and looked at her watch. She was ready to meet her new charges, always a fraught time, hence the cigarette. Suddenly feeling guilty she took one last drag and dropped the offending white stick onto the patio and stepped back into the hotel. The Sinclair Method most certainly did not permit smoking and it would not do to let the girls see her with such things.
As an extra precaution she took a mint from her purse and popped it into her mouth. Candy too was a no-no, she had watch that figure as did her girls, but sometimes one evil had to be traded for another and sometimes even for a woman near 30 there would be consequences. She sighed again and straitened her hem. But today she was in charge and that was all that mattered.
Perhaps to procrastinate further, another thing that the Sinclair Method did not permit, she took out her compact mirror for one last check of her war paint and then got into character.
The four girls were waiting in the lounge. Three were seated and the fourth, the eldest stood at the mantle examining an artefact she had found there. She put the small china figurine down as Alice entered but did not turn and studied Alice in the mirror as if the glass put some distance between them.
This neat brunette might have been 22 or 23 and was wearing a dark grey travel skirt suit with large black silk palm leaves tastefully embroidered into the fabric. Alice noted that she was wearing white gloves and a hat as all well brought-up young ladies should.
This must be Katherine Anders, she decided, one of the two women who had enrolled of their own volition. The other was Mary Welling, but a glance around the room did not reveal which of the others that might be.
Not the pert blonde, she decided. That girl was perhaps the youngest and sat in tight crazy-patterned ski pants on the arm of the leather chesterfield swinging her legs. Jenny Coleman, Alice decided, a 19-year-old brat from small town Ohio who was on the fast track to delinquency according to the covering letter supplied by her aunt.
The pensive redhead sitting on the upright chair looked over nervously as she bit her lip. She too was wearing a travel outfit and white gloves. But hers was ill-fitting and somewhat lacking in taste. The yellow was neither bright enough for a statement nor subdued enough for elegance and the A-line drop had muddled pleats.
Alice almost decided that this must be Janet Mitchel, the other delinquent ‘invited’ into her care as an alternative to a court appearance. But then she saw the sullen girl in the corner. A suicide blonde with a pencil skirt that was sharp enough to cut oneself on and a sweater that made her charms all too obvious. That was Janet, Alice amended.
So the nervous girl was Mary Welling then, her other volunteer ‘out to better herself,’ according to her application.
“Alright girls, pay attention,” Alice announced herself, “I am Alice Bowman your mentor and if may use an old-fashioned term, your governess.”
The young woman at the mirror turned politely and offered a non-committal smile. But it was the presumed Janet who spoke first.
“Governess, is that like a jailer or a lady state boss?” the sullen girl sneered, her accent carried a hint of New York.
“It is more like a polite term for a personal tutor,” Alice corrected her, “And you will be pleased to stand up when you address me. In fact you will all stand-up when I enter the room.”
Janet stood up with challenging deliberation and then cast her arms wide as if to signal her cooperation. At least she was smart, Alice decided as she wondered who would be first to test her.
The more nervous Mary was slow to follow suit, but she did and once on her feet dusted off her awful yellow dress. That left only Jenny swinging her legs on the arm of the chair.
“Jenny is it?” Alice said pleasantly.
The girl looked surprised and for a moment her face became younger and innocent before reverting to its ‘bored teen’ demeanour.
“Yeah,” she replied.
“Please say yes ma’am and stand-up,” Alice told her, still smiling pleasantly.
Jenny sighed in irritation as she grudgingly and gracelessly stumbled to her feet.
“Yes…” she replied with emphasis pausing before adding, “Ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Alice replied.
“I’m Katherine Anders, Ma’am,” the woman at the mantle said as she walked forward and leaned in to offer her hand.
“Katherine, how nice,” Alice beamed, pleased that she had guessed right.
“Mary,” the nervous woman chipped in. Consternation crossed her face as she clumsily added, “eh Ma’am.”
Alice returned an encouraging smile and then swivelled her gaze to the last girl.
“You are Janet aren’t you?” Alice spoke at last.
“Got it in one,” Janet shot back and made a motion like she was pitching a ball.
Alice held her gaze until the girl grinned and winked as she said, “Yes Ma’am.”
“Now that we have all met I want you to gather up your luggage as we have to make the bus in 20 minutes. In due course I will have something to say about your mode of dress, but for now we will have to make do,” Alice told them.
She noted that Jenny rolled her eyes but it was Katherine who spoke.
“Ma’am, we just got here, where are we going?” the elegant older woman asked, she sounded slightly put out.
“Who cares, anywhere is better than this dump,” Janet threw out.
“If you must know we are going to Washington,” Alice said impatiently.
“Oh cool,” Janet whistled.
But Alice noted that Jenny was still being surly and rolling her eyes.
“DC?” Katherine said in some surprise.
“Washington State, near Seattle,” Alice corrected her.
“What?” Janet gasped, “But that’s…”
Some instinct made her hold her tongue and she went off muttering.
“I’m not going to freaking Seattle,” Jenny said suddenly.
The girl sat down in an armchair and folded her arms.
“I am very much afraid that you are,” Alice said patiently. “Now we have 15 minutes.”
Jenny let her mouth hang open in disgust and she shook her head vigorously.
“I am not going,” she said.
Alice sighed and regarded the girl carefully. An easy conquest she decided. She just needed a firm hand and some direction. But she might serve as an example to the others if it came to it. Janet in particular might benefit. Alice had already decided that the reluctant cooperation from that quarter was indication of guile and not good behaviour.
Jenny sat with her arms folded staring fiercely into the middle distance as she sat.
Alice moved closer and bent down close.
“If you don’t stand up and get your bags, I am going to put you across my knee here and now and spank you where everyone can see,” Alice whispered.
She took care that the others didn’t hear her. It was too soon to paint the brat into a corner. All her instincts told her softly, softly to catch a monkey.
Jenny glowered, two points of red forming on her cheeks. Her aunt had made such threats, but not once had she carried them out. But some instinct made her flick her eyes to take in Alice’s.
“This is so unfair,” Jenny spat and stamped her foot.
But all the same she got to her feet and stomped away to the hall to get her bags.
Katherine and Mary kept their own counsel as they boarded the Greyhound, each for their own reasons. Alice knew that both were going to be complex and very different in their needs, but that it would take time to tease out their characters.
Jenny and Janet, on the other hand, were more straight-forward. The latter girl spent much of the journey sounding off and teasing the other women. She kept just the right side of the line and Alice knew that she was being tested.
Jenny on the other hand was not so clever and did nothing but whine and complain at every juncture and stop in the journey. So by the time they got to Spokane Alice had had enough.
“I hate this stupid bus and I hate Seattle and I…” Jenny began.
There were some boys with motorbikes and an open-top Packard on the other side of the street and Alice suspected that they featured in Jenny’s thinking or lack of it.
“Jenny, you have 20 minutes to get a coke and visit the bathroom before we make the next connection,” Alice told her.
“Well I am not going,” Jenny decided and sat down on the bus shelter bench with a stubborn smile painted on her face.
“Jenny,” Alice warned, “You remember what I said.”
Jenny folded her arms and set her gaze straight ahead with a fixed glare.
“Jenny if you don’t stand up and do as you’re told I am going to put you across my knee and spank you here on the street,” Alice said sternly.
This time she said it in a loud clear voice that while not quite carrying across the street, was heard by the other girls. Janet smirked and Katherine looked over with interest engraved on her face. Only Mary blushed and looked at her feet.
Jenny did not look around and just hugged herself harder.
“Very well,” Alice sighed.
Then sitting next to Jenny she hauled the girl across her lap in a trice so that the ski-panted dome of her bottom fit neatly across her knees.
“Hey,” Jenny cried, but too late.
Alice applied a quick efficient spanking with short hard slaps until the red-faced Jenny began to yelp and kick out in protest. It was enough to gain the attention of the young men across the street and they began nudging each other and laughing out loud.
“Alright, alright,” Jenny wailed.
“I’m not done,” Alice told her and spanked on.
“Please, not here, not here,” Jenny pleaded.
“Oh I think so,” Alice replied sharply, “And be warned, this is the one and only spanking you will get that is not on your bare bottom. And I mean when and wherever it is needed.”
“Please,” Jenny wailed.
“You want me to take your panties down here?” Alice asked applying a few more crisp spanks.
“No Ma’am, please no Ma’am,” Jenny said frantically.
The spanking was gaining currency now and several other townsfolk had stopped to watch.
“You want the rest now or later in private?” Alice asked.
“Later, please Ma’am, not here,” Jenny squealed, turning her head into Alice’s lap.
“Later it will be on the bare and no arguments,” Alice informed her, still not breaking off from her assault.
“Yes Ma’am, yes Ma’am, please,” Jenny said urgently.
Alice immediately stopped and set the red-faced Jenny on her feet where she did a little up and down dance while grabbing at her behind. This brought a ripple of chuckles from some gathered shoppers and open howls of glee from the boys opposite.
“Ooh,” Jenny wailed and scurried away at a lick.
Later Jenny sat with a wince in back of the bus until Alice called her out to sit with the others. The blush hadn’t left her face since the incident and now it fully bloomed as she hurried to obey, certain that everyone on the bus was looking at her. Not that the other girls said anything. Mostly they were thoughtful and unmocking, except for Janet who had not stopped smirking since Jenny had been spanked.
Finally the bus pulled away leaving the scene of Jenny’s shame as she earnestly hoped that no other witnesses had boarded the bus too.
The bus made an overnight stop at a small town halfway across Washington State. In fact they were so close to the place they would be staying that even Katherine asked about the need to put up in the small grubby hotel.
“We can’t get the keys until the office opens so there is no point arriving after midnight, we would have nowhere to stay,” Alice explained. But she was irritated that she had been questioned.
The hotel was more of an old boarding house run by a mother and her grown-up daughter. But apparently there was only one other guest and he was more or less permanent they were told.
“Don’t expect to see old Mr Trent,” Mrs Willard the proprietor told them, “But my son is liable to return at all hours I shouldn’t wonder, otherwise you won’t be disturbed.”
“I have some business to attend to with one of the girls,” Alice replied, “Noisy business.”
Mrs Willard pursed her lips and cast her gaze between the women gathered in her parlour before they lit on Jenny. The younger girl was quiet and somewhat withdrawn even, for once she looked even more nervous than Mary.
“Oh, I know that look,” she chuckled, “Don’t worry this house is used to… that business. Mr Trent is deaf and it won’t worry us will it Ellen?”
Alice noticed that the up to then cheerful Ellen, a big girl with wild and unkempt blonde tresses, suddenly looked shifty and blushed.
“Right after the evening meal then,” Alice said, casting a significant look at Jenny.
Jenny flushed and looked at her shoes.
“Miss Bowman I… I am sorry about earlier,” she drew in her cheeks and flicked her glance up at her governess.
“Oh you will be,” Alice assured her. Then she left the girl to think about it.
Just before they all disappeared off to bed Alice went to find Jenny in the room she shared with Janet. Janet was not there but a fully clothed Jenny was sitting on the bed looking somewhat apprehensive.
“Come along young lady,” Alice said, “We have something to attend to.”
Jenny looked at her with sad eyes and begun to wring her hands.
“Please Ma’am I…” she mumbled.
But Alice merely beckoned and went back up the hall to her own room.
It took more than a minute before a leaden-footed and sad-faced Jenny appeared at the door. By then Alice was sitting on her own bed with a hairbrush in her lap.
“Next time you play me up in public this is what you will get in public,” Alice said, “Now slip down those ridiculous pants and come over my knee.”
Jenny glowered for a moment and then quietly entered and closed the door after her. Then quickly she stepped right out of her ski-pants and with them her panties, placing both on the chair just inside the door.
“You’ve done this before,” Alice said in amusement.
“No Ma’am,” Jenny said in a thick voice and gulped.
“You seem to know the drill,” Alice shrugged and took Jenny by the arm.
Unresisting, Jenny allowed herself to be led to Alice’s lap and conscious of her nudity went over quickly and hugged into her governess’s knees positioning her bare bottom, which was small and tight but nonetheless prominent. The older woman prodded it gently for a moment to explore its firmness and thought of former days not so long before when she had been so placed.
There was no real trace of the spanking Jenny had gotten earlier that day and her skin was smooth and white like fine porcelain.
“I am going to spank you now and I am going to spank you hard. I am going to take my time and long before I am finished you will know you are punished,” Alice told her charge.
“Yes Ma’am,” Jenny murmured.
“You are embarrassed of course,” Alice said gently.
“Yes Ma’am.” It was true and heat rose to Jenny’s face.
Alice drew back her arm and held it high before letting it fall with a firm flick across both proffered hind cheeks. The crack was loud and in the kitchen below Mrs Willard gave her daughter a knowing smile and nodded.
Jenny’s eyes sprang wide and she gaped like a fish as she processed the sting. She was still struggling with it when another spank landed, and then one more. A short fast volley followed that and left her bottom hot and tight while Jenny herself was panting for breath. It will end, she told herself and hugged into Alice’s knees some more. But it didn’t. It went on and on until Jenny made small noised in her throat and began to wriggle.
“Please Ma’am, please,” she whimpered but otherwise made no other protest.
Alice looked down at Alice’s tight smooth bottom that now had heavy pink ovals on both cheeks. As the colouring spread to encompass her whole behind she could see that red areas swelled a little and rose into two rubbery pads where the spanked flesh bordered the china whiteness.
Jenny herself was panting hard and small pained yelps escaped her throat at each impact. As the spanking continued it was these that grew louder until the girl announced each spank clearly and began to buck.
“Ooh Ma’am,” she moaned, “Ahh.”
It was Alice’s signal to begin in earnest and she pulled the weight of her arm through the swats as they fell as Jenny gave herself over to wet yells.
“My method is the Sinclair Method as I explained to your aunt. All spankings are on the bare bottom and then that bottom is usually set to cooling in the corner for some serious and not to say lengthy contemplation. Girls like you are shameless and must be taught shame, which is why embarrassment is such an important component for a spanking,” Alice explained, “During our stay if I have cause to spank you again for any reason, I will spank you downstairs in front of the others. Then you will go to the corner until you grow roots. Do you hear me Jenny?”
“Yes Ma’am, ooh, oh,” Jenny wept.
“I am so glad, so, so glad,” Alice said, not making the least effort to finish the spanking.
It was a long time before Jenny was allowed to go to the corner. By then her behind was as red as it could be and the girl was in a smash of sodden tears. Her bottom was two balls of fire and only the threat of a reprise kept her from massaging it. Instead she clawed at the proxy of her thigh fronts until Alice ordered her to clasp her hands behind her back. Then all she had to do was have a good cry and endure the throbbing sting for an hour or so.
In fact 80 minutes passed, approximately twice as long as it had taken Jenny to stop crying, before Alice released her from the corner.
“Now am I going to have any more trouble from you?” the governess asked.
“No Ma’am,” Jenny gushed with astonished eagerness.
“Good girl,” Alice said happily, “Now you can go to your room.”
“Yes Ma’am,” Jenny gushed again.
As Jenny gathered up her clothes Alice took a breath and found herself wondering who would test her next. It was too close to call, but her money was on Janet. She noted that Jenny made no attempt to dress, but instead limped cowed to the door. Well it was only just up the hall and they were the only guests, she reasoned. But then Jenny stopped and looked back with sad eyes.
“Ma’am,” she said.
“Yes Jenny,” Alice replied.
“Thank you Ma’am, no one has ever taken the trouble with me before,” Jenny said shyly.
“I know Jenny,” Alice said. “Goodnight Jenny.”
Filed under: DJB stories, education, F/F, history, retro, spanking stories | 7 Comments
Tags: corner time, OTK, public humiliation, public spanking, spanking
Last week I launched the vintage spanking and erotica Tumblr All Our Yesterday’s. It has been a slow start so far, but hopefully it will be a repository for all those pictures featured on Vintage Sunday.
Filed under: vintage | 3 Comments
Tags: Edwardian, spanking, Victorian
Amanda’s tummy ached. It had been giving her trouble since the whole affair had begun and now she was beginning to get tired. It wasn’t quite the adventure she had signed on for, but now that she thought about it, she could not even remember what she had expected.
The 36-year-old sunset-haired business executive shot a glance down a side street half expecting to see a Victorian carriage or even one of them, but the alley was clear. It was one of the old undeveloped kinds that still had cobbles and was bordered on one side by a series of greying London brick railway arches of the type that normally housed lock-ups or backstreet mechanics.
Her short black jacket felt heavy now and the mix of adrenaline and rapid evasion had made her hot. The first set of doors in the arch had peeling purple paint and were set back somewhat so that she could step off the street and not be seen by anyone looking down it from the main road. This brief haven provided scant hope but at least she could catch her breath.
If only she knew all the rules, she thought, it was the uncertainty that was so stressful. As it was they could be almost anywhere at any time. She took another look down the alley back at the main road and wondered if she should make for the railway station.
Nothing much had been explained, Edward Carlisle had merely offered her the chance to go on or return to her old life in some kind of Faustian pact.
She remembered the first time she had seen him; a young Morgan Freeman with salt and pepper hair in a collarless Beatle-suit. It had been as if she had stumbled upon some chance sexual tryst and her best friend Jessica was draped half-naked across his knee getting a spanking; not a playful one either from the looks of it. He had given her an easy smile and winked as she had stepped into the room. While Jessica, not seeing her, had continued to kick and bawl under the heavy onslaught of his hand as her bare bottom turned steadily red.
“I-I I’m sorry, I’ll…” Amanda had backed up transfixed by embarrassment, “… go.”
But she hadn’t gone. She had stood there gaping while Jessica now seeing her wailed in distress, “Amanda, get out.”
“I have much to do here, so perhaps you had better do as asked,” Carlisle had said in a dark chocolate voice, the slamming of his hand on Jessica’s bottom not missing a beat.
It had been a wrench and despite both women’s mutual embarrassment, Amanda had backed away using only the smallest of steps as she watched the spanking.
“Go on now,” he had urged gently, “Before I put you across my knee too.”
Amanda had waited in the café opposite for almost three hours just watching the warehouse conversion that she shared with Jessica. Finally the dark elegant man had emerged into the street pausing to brush something from the shoulder of his unusual dark grey suit. For a moment Amanda could have sworn that he looked at her. No not at her, but into her almost. Just a small glance at the café on the other side of the road where she sat behind a curtain, but even from there she could see his easy smile and he had winked at her.
The present assailed her and a black car rounded the corner and crept past her as if it were going to stop. Amanda’s throat jammed at a half gulp for three beats until it had passed. She was still looking at its retreating tail lights when the clatter of hooves behind made her whirl around. The horse-drawn hearse was black and gold with two dour men in Victorian dress at the reins. The whip in the drivers hand made her shudder.
It was a prosaic enough sight in that part of London and she didn’t know if it was part of her world or the other. So she ran. Her world, which was her world now? More and more it was the cars and buses that seemed part of a dream, an anachronistic even. The coaches and horses, top hats and crinoline seemed all too real. Not that everyone was so overdressed. Amanda thought of the carriage she had seen that morning and what was pulling it. Amazingly no one but her even blinked, although she suspected that more outlandish characters on the street saw it too. They just didn’t care. Or… she didn’t follow that thought. She was running hard now, back the way she had come.
The train, she thought, she could get to the train and go to… panic, as she breathlessly ran she could not remember where he had said to meet her. An H hung on the tip of her tongue as she ran likely sounding place names through her head.
“Hushley, Hushington… Hushbourne, it was Hushbourne, that was it,” she muttered aloud.
As she rounded the next street the smell of coal smoke hung in the air and the streetlamps looked all wrong. The houses running down her right had the early evening glow of television at every window and here and there were satellite dishes. But there were no cars and the streets were all cobbled where there should be tarmac and white lines.
The people to the left of the street, the side she avoided, wore strange dress, like Victorians, but not quite… she tried not to stare. One couple walked arm-in-arm stepping quickly from one puddle of gaslight to the next. The man had the usual grey frockcoat, but on his hat were strange goggles with one monocular eyepiece hanging over his right eye.
The woman was even more oddly attired. From the tight-nipped waist upwards she wore a pastel green 19th century tunic and bowler-like as a country woman of that time might wear for riding. But under the ensemble she wore obscenely tight pale-grey trousers that were almost like leggings. Not that is was the strangest thing she had seen that day.
Amanda hurried on.
At the next corner was the way to the railway station. Or at least it was in her world. This hunch was confirmed by the hoot of a horn. A hoot, Amanda wondered? Surely… but her thoughts were confirmed by the whistle of steam train.
The cobbled street ran right into the station so that carriages could load and unload. But Amanda could still see modern trains on the far platform.
“Oh hell, it is here too,” she cursed.
The outburst drew a glare from an elderly man in a more conventional frockcoat and top hat. But when Amanda offered him a broken smile of apology, he seemed to bluster and quickly hurried on. His parting glance had been at her attire and Amanda realised that as she became more and more of the other world she would look ever more out of place.
She looked down at her once smart blue jacket and skirt, but what to wear? If she straddled both worlds then she would look wrong whatever she wore.
“Can I help you miss?” said a voice.
The man wore an old-style railway uniform with a gold watch chain at his waistcoat and a small round cap on his head. She noted too that he had pork chop whiskers in grey and white and a face that suggested he drank too much.
“I eh, I want to get to Hushingbourne, I mean Hushbourne,” Amanda said breathlessly.
“Platform two, miss,” the man replied pointing casually to where the steam trains were gathered.
Amanda hesitated. Although she had already made her choice, rightly or wrong, she somehow felt that getting aboard a train to a place she was certain did not exist in her world was an irreparable step. She was still pondering this when she saw the man on the other side of the road.
He was as big as a house and looked like an old-time circus strongman who had been squeezed into a coarse tweed suit. His short black curls were parted exactly down the middle and he had moustache reminiscent of Lord Kitchener in all those First World War recruitment posters.
More than that he was looking right at her with hard calculating eyes she could see at 100 paces. One of them then, she gulped and felt her buttocks clench. One of the rules she did know was that the man could do anything to her that he could make her agree to. Allying his over-massive build with her recent past experience, she knew that that might cover a lot of ground.
As he stepped purposefully from the curb she turned and with as much dignified haste as she could muster she bolted for platform two.
The carriages at platform two were of dark wood and unpainted. It was impossible to see down to the front because of the smoke and steam. Nevertheless Amanda was pretty certain that amid the cacophony of the eclectic mix of styles where her world attempted to blend with the faux Victorian one she kept glimpsing, that the train was pulled by a steam engine.
She paused at the carriage door bearing the legend Third Class. She gaped at this for a moment and then looked hastily down the platform for any sign of a pursuit. Then she pulled open the old wooden door and clambered aboard.
The carriage smelled of varnish and distressed leather, with an undertone of something rancid. Inside there was a narrow corridor with compartment doors running at intervals, but the first one was empty and she could see only hard narrow wooden benches. Far from luxury travel, the accommodation looked like a mobile prison and she decided to jog up the passage in search of a second class compartment.
She thought back to her last meeting with Carlisle. He had been effusive with charm and his easy smile had been disarming.
“You are intrigued then?” he suggested.
“I…” Amanda had blushed.
“There are worlds within worlds and nothing is as it seems,” he said, holding up his hand as he continued, “In a moment a cab will arrive. If you get aboard it will take you to wherever you want to go and when you get there you will remember nothing. If not then I will assume that you wish to know more. No further than that, forgive me; if you do not avail yourself of this chance then my world will swallow you.”
“But…” Amanda’s mind had raced. She was too curious to just flee, but she needed to know more before she could just choose. What was she getting herself into?
“If you choose my world then… well then you are mine as Jessica is mine,” Carlisle assured her still smiling. “But others will seek to take you or at least dally with you as they will.”
She had tried to interrupt him, but he had silenced her with a commanding stare and expanded on his theme. Amanda had remembered Jessica and her spanking as she remembered it now and blushed. That was the least of what she would endure, he had assured her.
“You will see clues of your possible fate, mark them well,” he had told her.
“But none of this makes any sense,” she had whined. But somehow she knew more than he had said, as if she had always been a part of it and merely waiting her turn.
The taxi came and went leaving her on the pavement.
“When the time comes try and get to Hushbourne, ask Jessica,” Carlisle told her, “I suggest a train. I will explain everything there.”
“But what if I change my mind?” she wailed as he turned to go.
“Hushbourne, I will explain there, hurry now they will have your scent. They love fresh meat and if they take you, you will be theirs to do as they will.” Then he was gone.
That had been… what a day, two days before? She couldn’t remember. Somewhere behind her Samantha heard a carriage door of the train and thought of the large muscle man she had seen watching her and hurried on.
As she ran she remembered the naked girls she had seen hitched up to the carriage and the curious Victorian-style BDSM slaves on leashes so casually displayed in the streets. Her pulse raced as she wondered at her fate if she were caught. But strangely she was not as afraid as she might have been.
There had been another incident and she blushed. That had been a close call. Still she ran on even as she remembered.
First Class came upon her suddenly and she passed seamlessly into the carriage. This one was cleaner and the seats were arrayed in smooth red velvet all set in neat compartments to her right.
“What happened to Second Class?” she mused aloud, but she already felt safer and carried on.
She had still to secure a seat when the train pulled away with a lurch and she had to seize a hanging cord to steady herself.
“Okay,” she muttered as she eyed the empty six-seat cabin. All I have to do is sit tight until the train gets to Hushbourne.
The ticket inspector had fierce brown eyes and short wiry red hair set under his cap and continuing down his cheeks to meet under his nose in a heavy moustache. He was a large powerfully built man with a brusque no-nonsense manner and he fixed Amanda with a curious gaze as he tried to decipher her clothing.
“Tickets please,” he demanded.
“I… eh… I was going to buy one at Hushbourne,” she told him nervously.
“You wouldn’t be one of Edward Carlisle’s recruits would you?” he asked.
Amanda wondered what to say. He might be one of them. She remembered how since that morning they had appeared with alarming frequency to chase her down this street or that.
“I am meeting Mr Carlisle, yes,” she said, deciding to bluff it out.
The inspector nodded.
“Your ticket?” he demanded again.
Amanda spluttered and began patting at her clothing as if one might materialise in her pockets.
“I know, I know, in your haste you got aboard without one and hoped to acquire such at Hushbourne,” the man growled.
“I am sorry, but that is just not good enough,” he said sharply. “It is a serious offence to board a train without a ticket and worse still you are in First Class in rather outlandish attire. I am sorry but I really should put you off at the next station and notify the authorities.”
Amanda swallowed and tried to think of an excuse.
“But then I suppose the hunters will get you,” he said thoughtfully, “And even if they don’t, you will face quite a time of it as a vagrant.”
“Look, I just want to get to…” Amanda began.
The inspector put up one officious arm to stop her and sighed heavily.
“I suppose under the circumstances I should be lenient,” he said wearily, “But you have to learn that in this world there are consequences for breaking the rules.”
“This world?” Amanda gaped.
“You are an out-worlder are you not?” he sighed.
“I… I don’t know, I hardly know what world I am in anymore,” Amanda admitted.
“Then permit me to enlighten you,” he said sternly.
Then he turned her about and pulled the compartment door shut and latched it.
“Fortunately for you I am acquainted with Edward Carlisle and his habit of trafficking souls back and more usually forth between worlds. My father was something of gatekeeper himself. But I will not tolerate fare dodgers or disrespect for the railway company,” the man told her as he sat down on the seat next to her.
In a moment he had pulled firmly across his lap and had begun to strip her of her skirt.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she squealed.
But her outburst was nothing to her protests once her yanked at her underwear and pulled it quite off her legs.
“Your attire is clownish and your under things an obscenity, as an officer of the Great Western and London Railway company I am going to confiscate them,” he snapped at her, “You will attract far less attention that way, well up to a point anyway.”
“But…” Amanda spluttered as she struggled across his lap.
“Now I intend to deal with the matter of fare evasion young woman,” the inspector said sharply.
His hand made sharp contact with Amanda’s bare bottom extracting a gasp.
“You can’t do this,” she wailed, but she remembered Jessica across Carlisle’s knee and… and that other time. She knew that part of her had expected this would figure in her life now.
“I can and I will,” he barked, “And if you were in my permanent charge I would take a belt to bare backside at the very least, and soundly.”
His hand struck her three more times making her gasp and kick her heels like a movie heroine in distress.
“You bastard,” she wailed.
“Moderate your tongue or you will feel my belt girl,” he said angrily, redoubling his efforts as he spanked her.
“Jesus, oh God, ahh,” she grunted and squirmed vigorously as he continued.
By now her bottom was deep pink and getting darker but the inspector had only begun.
“How dare you arrogantly assume that you can board a train when you feel like it? How dare you dress so recklessly? Don’t you know what they would do to you if they caught you? And the authorities? Have you any idea…? Any idea?” The man was furious now and set to spanking Amanda’s exposed bottom in earnest.
“Oh please,” she wailed and clawed at the seat, her breathing now laboured as the burn in her bottom became more than she could bear.
“Please nothing, I am going to give you the spanking you so richly deserve,” he told her as he blasted down on her bottom again and again.
“Oh Jesus, oh… oh,” she moaned.
“That’s enough, mind your tongue girl,” he bellowed.
Just then the door rattled and after catching for a moment burst open. The matronly woman in green seemed unfazed by the scene, but the young woman with her was bug-eyed and gaped in horror at the sight of Amanda’s red bare bottom.
“Send them out,” Amanda screeched.
“Let them watch I say, you bad mannered girl,” the inspector scolded her.
“That’s the way,” the woman applauded him, “See Antonia, that’s how young women should be handled. Come away now, the man is busy.”
The couple only made a half-hearted attempt to slide the door shut and left it ajar as they went. Not that it was on Amanda’s mind as she kicked and bawled with her bottom pointing at the gap to the corridor.
“Please, oh please,” she said miserably, now close to tears.
“There is no hurry, it is four stops to Hushbourne,” the inspector told her as her set his slaps to her lower less red curves.
There was some laughter in the corridor, quite masculine by the sound of it, and Amanda saw some movement in the corner of her eye.
“Oh God please, close the door, close door,” she shrieked.
“I warned you,” the inspector snapped.
In a moment he set her on her feet to dance and clutch at her behind while he stood up and removed his jacket.
“Kneel on that seat with your head down and your bottom sticking up,” he ordered.
Amanda noticed that he had drawn his belt through his trouser hooks and was folding it in two.
“The door, please, the door,” Amanda wailed as she doubled over to hide her exposed front.
“Do as you are told and I will consider it,” the inspector snapped, “Else we will move our business to the third class buffet car.”
Amanda took several gulping gasps and looked first at the seat and then at the semi-open door.
“Do you think I jest?” the man said sharply.
Amanda took another gulp and then hesitantly clambered onto the seat on all fours.
“Present your bottom more,” he said firmly.
She buried her head in arms, a gesture that elevated her bottom. Thankfully she heard the door firmly close behind her.
“No more foul language, no more argument, you know you deserve this,” the inspector said gently, “Don’t you?”
“Yes Sir,” Amanda agreed meekly, astonished at her submission.
The belt stroke was a lick of flame that stole her breath and she yelled. But it was the shock more than the burn and she stilled her cries for the next dozen heavy bites of leather before wet spluttering came in earnest.
The blister-bruising of the belt continued at a pace until the train slowed and pulled into the first station. By then Amanda was lost in copious tears and her bottom had purple red rash welted to pads marring both ample curves of her bottom.
“Right you,” the inspector barked, “Get down to third class and find the first empty compartment and kneel up on the seat with your hands on your head. And if you delay or I find you anywhere else, then I will begin over, do you hear me girl?”
Amanda gaped at him. He had already rolled up her clothes and had bundled them under his arm. She wore now only her blouse and hold-up stockings and was quite naked from her hips down.
“But…” she gaped.
“I suggest you don’t dawdle,” the inspector growled and then he was gone.
As it was Amanda waited until the train pulled out of the station before venturing into the corridor. Mercifully it was empty and fearing for her modesty she made a break down the passage back to third class.
Amanda encountered no one on her way to back down the train and gratefully ducked into the first empty compartment she found. This is insane, she thought as she hastily drew down the blinds at the door and the carriage window.
The seat looked hard and she eyed it in horror. The inspector was gone now; it was too much to just adopt a humiliating posture. Instead she eased herself into the seat in the hope if anyone did enter her state of undress would not be apparent. The hard bench sent her back to standing in a searing moment.
“Ow,” she wailed and she grabbed at her bottom and hoped about.
Right on cue she heard the cry of “tickets please, all tickets from Barnes.” Then she heard the next compartment doors slide open.
Oh, oh, she thought waling out an “oooh” as she spat angrily and stared at the seat.
By the time the door slid open again she was kneeling meekly in the seat glowering at the worn wooden slats just inches from her nose.
“Oh it’s you,” the inspector muttered, “See that you stay there until your stop.”
The inspector had checked on her once or twice, his tone as he addressed now more paternal and friendly.
“That’s the way, take your licks and it will soon come right,” he chuckled the last time.
She almost swore at him, but held her tongue.
But Amanda didn’t dare show the least defiance and by the time she heard someone call out “Hushbourne,” her knees ached from contact with the hard wooden seat. So gingerly she stood up and peeked through the blinds before opening the carriage door. By now it was full dark and Amanda hoped the night would hide her. A situation helped by the fact that no one else got out at Hushbourne. But all the same Amanda felt an utter fool standing on the platform naked from the waist down. The chill on her legs served to emphasise the throbbing heat in her exposed bottom as she contemplated how she would slip past the ticket office.
It was only then that she remembered that beyond this stop she had absolutely no idea where she was going. At a crouch she tottered nervously to the red brick building at the end of the platform, looking wildly about her with every step. It wasn’t until she reached it that she saw she could slip into the lane outside without being seen. Not that there was anyone to see her.
“See you made it then,” said a voice.
Amanda whirled around at stoop tugging her shirt down in front.
Jessica was dressed as a Victorian page boy, but with her hair piled up on her head like an Edwardian lady. She was sitting on top of a small one horse carriage grinning from ear to ear.
“Mr Carlisle sent me to pick you up,” she said.
“Jessica,” Amanda exclaimed excitedly and in great relief.
“I see you have been having adventures,” Jessica chuckled, “I thought they would get you for sure.”
Filed under: DJB stories, M/F, other worldly, sci-fi, spanking stories, steampunk | 6 Comments
Tags: can't sit down, corner time, Edwardian, OTK, spanking, strapping, Victorian
Two quick anecdotes in a real life strand.
Sarah J writing on Tough Love wrote:
When I met John I was totally into him even though he was 12 years older than me. Everyone said he was a bit weird but it didn’t deter me even when he made it clear that he wasn’t interested. He told me I was too young for what he was into and to come back when I was older.
I was 21 at the time so I was completely mystified. However, I was a bit naïve and probably immature back then which probably made him cautious.
One day he told me he was into spanking and wasn’t messing about. I thought this was totally cool and said I didn’t mind, although I had no idea what I was getting into.
I found out during our second date. After months of hounding him he finally ask me for a drink but the second time I got lost and wound up being two hours late. Luckily he stopped at the pub to play darts and was still there.
“You know you’re going to get it,” he said, “And I bet you’ll back off then.”
I was embarrassed as he said it in front of people in the pub, but I said that I knew and that I agreed. So we went back to his place.
Once there he had a go at me and told me take my knickers down from under my skirt. It was totally wild and I was really red, but excited too and did it. Then he took me over his lap and pulled up my skirt.
The spanking was hard and took me by surprise by how much it hurt, especially when after he just sent me home with a quick kiss and said he would call me.
My bum was really red and hurt for a couple of days, but I could think of nothing else. I wasn’t sure how I felt and made sure that when he called me for another date that I wasn’t late. Anyway the next date went well and he chilled a bit and we arranged dinner. Nothing much was said about the spanking and after another I date I decided to test him by being late again.
This time he made me take my skirt and knickers right off and stand in the corner for about 10 minutes. I was so embarrassed and totally wild, but still went ahead with it. Then he spanked me again, this time really hard and for a long time until I yelled and wanted him to stop.
He did, but said if I wanted to muck him about then I had to learn and he sent me to the corner again to think about it. After a really long time he said something like ‘you want to go on’ and made say what would happen.
He made me say sorry and ask him to spank me and finish it to the end this time or I could go.
I tried to be brave but by the end I was crying a bit, but it was really lovely hugging and he kissed me afterwards. That was the first time we had sex.
After that I learned about the cane and his belt and later we went on to me writing lines and other things. I was totally vanilla before that and I still get scared but it is also good to know that he is boss and I have to take it. I always feel good afterwards now.
I am still with him and getting spanked four years later.
Carla wrote about her most embarrassing moment.
Back when I played rugby I had a crush on this older woman. Oh yes, I am a lesbian, better to say. I used to hang back in changing rooms to catch a glimpse of her naked or in the showers. This went on for weeks until one day I got a bit too obvious and she caught me.
She pretended to be madder than she was, although I couldn’t tell then, and yelled at me until I was so ashamed. Then she went to the door and locked it and told me that I deserved to have my bare bottom smacked.
I could scarce draw a breath and my head was spinning but I didn’t resist as this athletic half naked woman (she was only wearing a shirt) took me over her thighs and bared my own bottom. We were the only ones there and she really spanked me hard with a training shoe for a long hard time.
She teased me about how aroused I was even though I begged and she spanked me again even harder. Eventually we heard a noise and the caretaker came in and saw us. Me wet at both ends and with a very red bottom and her still half naked.
I bet my face was redder, especially when she casually told him that if he wanted to lock up she could spank me at home.
I had already been over her knee for half an hour by then and that’s where I spent most of the rest of the evening and many times after until.
Two snippets pulled from the usual suspects.
Filed under: domestic, F/F, M/F, real life | 1 Comment
Tags: corner time, embarassing, OTK, spanking
Sometimes life runs smoothly as a succession of routines and plans. Then in a blink everything you relied upon is thrown out and all bets are off. Unfortunately due to being on leave in the previous week there were no posts ready and no opportunity to write any so apologies for that sudden hiatus.
Never mind we’re back, if not quite home and clear.
Just before I went I launched a new project as an experiment and there will be more about that later this week. Also A Voice in the Corner reached its nine millionth visit over the weekend.
There are some short stories pending and this month should see the return of Ad Astra.
Still catching up so it is mostly pictures this week (well it cuts down the waffle) but Less Than Three Blog has a report on a party if you like real life being more fun.
Filed under: web round-up, Weekly Round-up | 4 Comments
Tags: spanking, spanking blogs
Sudden events right after being on leave has left the Corner without posts. Sorry about that.
Filed under: real life | 1 Comment
Back from the wild and very wet South West and so far I have had no time to catch-up on comments. It looks like I am not the only one to be away and too busy to blog. Not to undermine those who have made posts it seems very quiet in Spankville at the moment. Several blogs have not updated for weeks and in a couple of cases have yet to emerge at all this year.
One of the obvious exceptions to this is Scarlet’s Real Magic, who seems to be in trouble. The OTK of Amelia above was taken from there.
Last week Rollin ran excerpt from Pendragon’s Lash, which is somewhat topical for me.
On another front the London Alternative Market is on Sunday down near Tower Bridge at America One. Yet again I won’t make it, Sunday’s are so awkward, but do drop in for it and the after-market party (tickets sold separately).
Filed under: web round-up, Weekly Round-up | 1 Comment
Tags: spanking, spanking blogs
Silver Screen special. Two oft compared stars and a generic period screen goddess image.
Filed under: vintage | 1 Comment
Tags: 1950s, 1980s, naked celebrity, nudity, spanking
Picked this up from a non-spanking Tumblr. I am still travelling myself and having to contend with the floods, so think of this a postcard.
Now that they have caught her, how are they going to spank her?
Filed under: art, real life, waffle | 3 Comments