This is from an early 1970s magazine article called Pop Goes the Music. This partial cutting, a poor photocopy, was sent in by Emmy Z, so thanks to her. It was hard to read and mostly concerned interviews with long forgotten music acts in an article about parents’ reactions to the music business and their pursuit of it.
Under the sub-heading ‘spanking’ were these two contributions.
A dancer called Jaclyn Jazz said: “Encouragement, not exactly. In fact when my Pop found out I had quit college to take up dancing he spanked the bejesus out of me. I mean I was almost 21 and thought I was beyond such crap, but Pop didn’t see it that way. It was about four years before he even came to see me in a show.”
Elisabeth Anne Dee, a backing singer with a group called the Psychedelics, told of her home town’s reaction to her chosen career way back when she started in the 50s.
“Back home in those days even girls out of high school got a spanking for cursing or any bad behaviour. My elder sister even got a bare-bottom switching after being caught smoking when she was 19. Even so I didn’t expect quite the reaction I got on a visit home after my first tour. I was around 19 or 20 myself back then and I remember getting off the bus and sashaying down Main Street in a pair of skin tight ski pants and some pretty full-on make-up. My parents weren’t best pleased but you should have seen the looks I got from folks around town. I thought I looked cool until my old high school teacher pulled up alongside me and told me to get in. She took me to her place, all the while she was driving she was bawling me out about my look.”
The next part was too dark too read clearly, but it later continued.
“Before I knew it I was over her knee getting the spanking of my life. When I complained and told her she was crazy she yanked my ski-pants and panties down and let me have it bare-bottomed. Later she even put me in the corner while she fished out a skirt before driving me home. I didn’t argue.”
“I didn’t sit down easy for a day or two but you can bet I didn’t tell anyone. But that was how it was back then.”
Filed under: articles, history, real life, retro, vintage | Leave a Comment
Tags: 1950s, corner time, cornertime, spanking
The Spank Statement continues to get better. Last week they had a post on Men are like street cars; a 1950s play that seems to have generated an unusual number of spanking pictures. Richard Windsor has been publishing many scenes from this play for months, but it was good to see a single post digest on this subject.
The Statement, which until recently was rather quiet is not publishing many such articles and is well worth checking out.
Punished Brats (pictured above) is on a membership drive and is threatening to close. Now you may not pay for content too often, not when evil people like me publish for free, but although I have generated millions of words of original copy the movies and pictures out there need paying for.
Not all pay for sites are that good admittedly, but others that are worth a look are perhaps, Shadow Lane, Dallas Spanks Hard and Dreams of Spanking (pictured above). There are many others which I may review sometime, or you could.
Filed under: web round-up, Weekly Round-up | 2 Comments
Tags: spanking, spanking blogs
Here are a few interesting pictures. The first two are Argentinian. There is a touch of authenticity to the first picture in which the man’s wife appears embarrassed as if this is a genuine candid shot. The second might be a what happens next.
The third picture is interesting too as it appears to be of a genuinely spanked woman and not just a ‘posed for’ shot or a studio fake.
For more vintage pictures including new finds and old favourites see All Our Yesterdays.
Filed under: history, M/F, vintage | 1 Comment
Tags: 1930s, spanking
Another Saturday short . I think this has done the rounds before but it is only vaguely familiar so I thought it was worth an outing. It is from a lighthearted Brazilian soap opera called Modern Times and features the spanking of an adult by her boss or possibly her father.
I particularly like the small audience cheering him on. I suspect she might have been a deserving brat.
Filed under: M/F, TV, web round-up, workplace | Leave a Comment
Tags: OTK, spanking
My first mistake was not believing him when he said he was going to spank me. I never thought he had it in him. Christ he must have spanked me for an hour, well it seemed like it. I don’t think I’ll sit down for a week. I mean the others will be back soon, what if they had come in while he was spanking me?
The bastard took my knickers down and spanked my bottom purple, ooh ugh I can’t… ouch. Lord knows where they ended up. I must have kicked them off somewhere.
My second mistake was calling him a bastard the moment he let me go. The spanking I got for that was worse than the first one.
“Okay, okay, I’ll be a good girl,” I told him, but my bottom definitely paid the price for my smart mouth. Why can’t I ever learn?
My third mistake was telling him I wasn’t going to go to the corner like a dumb kid. I mean it was too embarrassing. Three spankings in less than an hour has to be some kind of record. I can’t believe I went like a lamb when he sent me to bed. God, I’ll never live it down if anyone finds out.
At least I got out of that corner before anyone else came home. In any case, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to sit down and watch TV let alone go out for the evening. But it is still embarrassing, but at least I have a chance to let my bottom cool off.
Oh shit, I just realised my fourth mistake, I could have sworn I locked that bloody door.
“Go away,” shit, shit, shit. I am never ever going to live this down.
Filed under: DJB stories, domestic, M/F, spanking stories | Leave a Comment
Tags: can't sit down, corner time, embarrassment, OTK, spanking
Mrs Walcott stood at the window and gazed upon the snow-capped mountains that framed the valley. She hadn’t been waiting long but she was becoming impatient. Even the the the ancient clock behind her sounded lackluster as it slowly marked the time.
She was a tall dour woman clad in dark grey, a look only occasionally changed to Scottish tweed. Her dark hair was streaked with white and hung to her shoulder in a 1930s bluestocking style untroubled by vanity. Nor did she smile much. But when she did, her girls knew they were in trouble.
Finally there was a knock at the door and Mrs Walcott relaxed. Now she was in no hurry.
“Come in,” she said after an age had passed while pointedly not turning around.
The door swung in with a drawn out creak before closing with a heavy thud, but otherwise there was no sound to indicate that anyone had entered. Then the principal of Closter Ladies College turned around.
Zoe Fenchurch looked nervous, as well she might. She was a petite girl with dark straight bobbed hair cut in an immaculate dome just above the shoulder with a fringe running dangerously close to her eye line. She wore expensive black flat shoes and a dark blue cashmere dress that tastefully matched her eyes and fell demurely to her stockinged knees. Today she stood a little hunched with her chin almost resting on her chest as she cast her gaze downwards.
“How long have you been at this college Miss Fenchurch?” Mrs Walcott asked pointedly.
“Your father has paid a lot of money on horses and other extras, not to mention another two goes around for you to tackle you’re A Levels. All with a view to finishing you, as we say, and sending you out into the world,” Mrs Walcott said in a strained voice.
Zoe shrugged again and licked her lips.
“And you don’t know how long you have been here?” Mrs Walcott continued.
“It is my second year Miss,” Zoe muttered, tossing an imagined hair from her eyes. Her fringe was getting long.
“Your second year,” Mrs Walcott agreed. “So you know the town is out of bounds during the week.”
“Yes Miss,” Zoe said sullenly.
“Please desist in addressing me as if you were an inmate of an East End secondary modern, Miss Fenchurch. You are the miss, not I. You will address me as Mrs Walcott or ma’am,” Mrs Walcott sighed.
“Yes Miss… eh… Ma’am,” Zoe mumbled.
“Your father is concerned that you only managed a C in your English,” Mrs Walcott said, “An improvement on a D, I grant you, but it doesn’t look very good does it?”
“Also, there have been some complaints about you being rough with the horses, turning up late to croquet practice… in fact there is quite a litany of failings attributed to you aren’t there?” Mrs Walcott groaned.
“I don’t know Miss,” Zoe shrugged, “eh… I mean… eh… ma’am.”
“You don’t?” Mrs Walcott allowed herself to sound surprised. “Well let me tell you that there very much is.”
“Oh,” Zoe said with a shrug. At this point she began to look bored and dragged the toe of one shoe along the floor as she tugged at her dress.
“Most girls come here at 18 and stay for one term,” Mrs Walcott said in a brittle voice. The girl’s demeanour did not go unnoticed. “Others like you come at 19 or even 20 and stay for a year or two depending on how far behind they were with their studies and what other requirements they have in addition to finishing.”
“That’s very interesting,” Zoe said insincerely.
“Indeed,” Mrs Walcott said icily, “Your father is… rather peeved that you may end up staying with us for another year.”
“But…” Zoe suddenly took notice. Another year would be awful, she thought.
“He wants us to help you buck your ideas up,” Mrs Walcott said sharply, “And he has given me cart blanche, so to speak, to assist you with this.” As she spoke Mrs Walcott walked around the desk and took a long dark brown stick from the long draw of her desk. “He doesn’t expect straight A’s, not anymore, or even a polished jewel of a girl. But he does expect a minimum standard for his generosity and certain level of decorum.”
Zoe visibly baulked at the rattle of the stick on the desktop. She had heard things and also seemed to remember her brother teasing her about some beastly ‘old school’ punishments mentioned in the brochure. The stick, she didn’t admit the word ‘cane,’ was a strange object to her and she refused to consider any implications of its presence.
“There are certain sanctions reserved for difficult girls and for those girls whose husbands and fathers feel the need for stiffer guidance,” Mrs Walcott continued. “Setting aside your academic failings and your reckless carelessness with regard to other girls and instructors, you did dangerously and thoughtlessly go into town whilst knowing that it is strictly forbidden. So I intend to deal with you accordingly.”
Zoe’s eyes widened and she gaped at the cane on the desk. She had been supposing that its presence was a warning; a mere hint of dark alternatives should she continue to displease. She had been certain that she would get another chance.
“Wh-what are you going to do?” Zoe asked with a growing sense of horror.
“Why Miss Fenchurch, I am going to cane you,” Mrs Walcott said brightly and smiled.
Zoe opened her mouth and closed it.
“Unless you care to withdraw consent, of course, but then I am to inform you that you must leave,” Mrs Walcott added.
“Couldn’t I just…?” Zoe pointed to a random point on the wall desperately hoping there was an alternative. I mean, she thought, there just had to be. This couldn’t be happening.
“Do you wish me to inform you father that you refuse my guidance?” Mrs Walcott asked in a formal voice.
Zoe shook her head. It was a small resigned movement that suggested a horror of an unthinkable failure.
“What are you going to do?” Zoe asked again.
“Why Miss Fenchurch, I should have thought that was obvious,” Mrs Walcott said as she took up the cane.
“I mean…” Zoe licked her lips nervously and hugged herself. “What do I… what is going to h-happen?”
Mrs Walcott sighed heavily. In the old days this would have been routine. Most girls wouldn’t have escaped their fate after the first failure.
“I intend to cane you soundly on your bare bottom,” she said, “So I require you to remove your under things and hose, if you are wearing them, and then raise your dress to your waist. Then you bend over the desk and present your bottom.”
“You can’t Miss, you just can’t,” she wailed.
Mrs Walcott waited. She was aware of the clock again, no doubt both of them were. The only other sound was Zoe’s breathing, rendered more laboured by some figurative handwringing.
The girl was blushing and after a moment looked around her. Whether this was for witnesses or for aid, Mrs Walcott couldn’t tell. Then Zoe took a breath and dipped at the waist as she fumbled under skirts for something. A moment later she tugged down her white cotton briefs and neatly stepped out of them.
Mrs Walcott gave her a hard stare.
“I’m not wearing tights,” Zoe whispered.
The principal looked unimpressed at this inconsequential news and for the longest moment time hung between them.
Finally, sensing no succour, Zoe began slowly rolling up the lower part of her dress as she turned to the desk. After a pause she half bent forward to hoist the hem a little way off her bottom.
Mrs Walcott could indeed see that Zoe was wearing only hold up stockings but she was far from satisfied.
“Higher,” she ordered.
Zoe lifted her dress a little more.
“Higher, I said, and get your bottom up. I want to see you dip your back and stick out your behind,” the principal said impatiently.
Zoe went peony in the face but did as she was told.
“A little more, and keep your feet together,” Mrs Walcott barked.
Eventually a very reluctant Zoe was bent right over the desk with her smallish pert white bottom uppermost and her head down so that her hair brushed the desk top.
“I never give less than eight and then only as a reprimand. By rights you have a serious bill to pay,” the principal growled.
It was a very sad and humble Zoe who risked a peek at her tormentor under her heavy fringe. Then with sad eyes she whispered, “Yes Ma’am.”
It was an easy acknowledgement, Zoe was sure that the current humiliation was about as bad as it could get. What were a few taps with a cane compared with this embarrassment?
“I’ll make it just 10 this time, but if you don’t take them all in a sufficiently ladylike manner I’ll have you back this afternoon and we will start over. Do you understand?” Mrs Walcott said firmly.
“Oh yes Ma’am,” Zoe gasped as the principal lined herself up to strike.
The first stroke came as a surprise. Zoe had barely understood the hiss of the cane cutting the air, still less that the thwack was of wood meeting her bottom. Only when the searing bite reached her brain did she join the dots. She ejaculated a sharp angry howl.
Her bottom jiggled as she pumped her heels on the spot and was certain nothing could have hurt her more. Then what had begun as pain grew so that a line of pure agony sawed across her bottom cheeks. Still bent over, she danced on the spot, describing small circles as she gripped the desk and hissed out pain from her clenched jaw.
She was still dealing with that stroke when Mrs Walcott delivered the next.
“Oh sheeesh,” she yelped and buckled at the knees in a vain attempt to make her bottom smaller.
“Keep your bottom up and your legs straight,” Mrs Walcott chided her.
Zoe couldn’t manage a ‘yes ma’am’ and only nodded as she strived to comply.
The next three did not go well and Zoe leapt up and grabbed her bottom. There without shame she bounced around the room rubbing furiously at her behind.
“So you wish to come back later?” the principal said wearily.
“Oh no Ma’am, please I…” Zoe’s words were damp and a tear rolled down her right cheek.
“Then you will take two extra for that display, now bend back over,” her tormentor told her.
Miserably and fearing a repeat of the whole ordeal to date, Zoe bent back over the desk and heroically stuck her bottom out.
She held out for the next stroke and then two more before bucking up and yelling out. But she quickly restored her position and Mrs Walcott let the slip go.
The girl’s bottom had eight vivid purplish lines across it now. Each one stood out a little like a ridge and looked extremely raw. They ran in parallel from the tops of the buttocks down at roughly equal intervals to the under curves of her bottom to where her curves met the thighs. Here they bunched together somewhat and the redness had begun to flood into the surrounding white flesh.
Zoe was whimpering now too and her shoulders shook gently.
“I trust I am making my point?” the principle said sternly.
“Yes Ma’am,” Zoe replied, her voice now forlorn.
The last four strokes were purgatory and Zoe learned that 12 were twice as bad as eight. But it wasn’t until the last, and Mrs Walcott told her she could stand, did she really let go with an outpouring of sobbing.
“That’s it,” Mrs Walcott said gently, “Go and face that wall and have a good cry. Afterwards you can shake my hand and thank me as tradition dictates.”
“Yes Ma’am,” Zoe sobbed.
As Zoe obeyed Mrs Walcott surveyed her work and pondered. Caning a girl was rare enough these days, but it was still a service that some needed. In her experience girls fell into two camps; those that were caned and never came back and those for some reason that returned over and over again. With the latter kind one only needed to tighten the rules until they got what they needed and still complied. The principal wondered which Zoe would turn out to be.
Filed under: DJB stories, education, F/F, spanking stories | 6 Comments
Tags: caning, college, corner time, finishing school, spanking, the cane
One of my earliest memories of exposure to spanking was through comics. Mostly it was a school setting and there was something about it that intrigued me. It was pure gold when I girl was getting spanked or caned although these incidents were rare.
As I got older and Marvel beckoned Susan Storm (AKA The Invisible Woman) was a regular recipient and I began to see that not only was there was spanking beyond school but that apparently women were never too old to be spanked. In fact in comic world women were more likely to be spanked than schoolgirls.
I did not realise then that the golden age had passed and that gender politics had reared its boring but necessary head even in comics so I missed out on many great scenes. It was remiss of me to favour Marvel over DC as the latter was much slower in embracing political correctness and even in my day spankings seem to have been more frequent in these comics.
Looking back what surprises me (or would have in those days) is the amount of romance magazines aimed at girls that included spanking. Some of the pictures I have discovered are probably from adult BD comics from the continent and would not have been available to me until much later anyway.
Above and in a future posts I will republish a handful of images of this type, all of which I chanced upon on vanilla blogs and sites and many of which I had not seen before.
The Chicago Spanking Review (linked right) probably already has most of these and many more like them.
Filed under: art, humour, web round-up | 1 Comment
Tags: 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, 1970s, OTK, spanking
The stranger bothered her almost as much as Jason Kincaid did. He was a large man with searching dark eyes that never seemed to rest. Also there was something about the set of his jaw reminded her of her father and that determined way he had. It was a cinch that the stranger, whoever he was, was here for Kincaid. But the question was, was he another hired gun looking to cash in or had he come for a showdown?
Kathy sighed and unconsciously tugged at an unruly blonde lock. Damn, her father would have known at a glance, he could smell wrongdoing at 100 miles. That thought brought back uncomfortable memories and past confrontations.
“But Pa I am a woman grown now, I am way too old for a spanking,” she had wailed just a year before.
Her father had regarded her with sad eyes and a firm set of his jaw.
“Kathy, as long as I am your father you will never be too old for a good sound spanking,” he had replied.
It wasn’t as if he had ever cut her some slack when confronted with wrongdoing. She had tried and failed with that line since she had graduated school, but it was always worth another try. But it had ended in the traditional way.
One moment she had been backing away protesting and the next she was upended across his lap with her gingham skirts getting bunched up into the small of her back.
“Please Pa,” she had whined as he tugged at the drawstring on her bloomers.
“Hush now, what kind of spanking would it be if I didn’t bare your bottom?” His voice had been warm and firm with a slight chuckle at its edges as if he didn’t quite take her protestations of being a woman grown seriously. “And if you don’t stop wriggling I’ll send you out back to cut a switch.”
It was a threat often followed through and even almost a year after her father’s death Kathy blushed to her ears. She remembered how in former times she had been made to go into the yard with her skirts pinned to the small of her back while she trimmed a switch or two from the hickory that grew there. More than once a passer-by had seen her and laughed, Kathy could have died.
That last time she had submitted quickly as Pa had bared her bottom. She had been a kid again as he tapped her naked hiney twice as a prelude to spanking her. His hand stung worse than any hairbrush or razor strop and within a half a dozen swats across her behind she was yelling up a storm past caring who might hear her. Hear her they did of course, they always did. It was a small town and the sheriff’s house was in Main Street just down from his office. Everyone knew when Kathy Earhart was getting a spanking.
A sound spanking from Pa always took an age and she was beyond merely sorry long, long minutes before he even thought about stopping. Then with her very red and very bare bottom still on display she had to stand in the corner of the parlour with her behind directed at the front door. The man who kept the towns justice was not ashamed to let the world know he knew how to keep the peace in his own home so many a time a neighbourly busybody would call shortly after Kathy had been spanked, an especially mortifying experience when the neighbour had a son or daughter in tow.
It might have been a shame from which Kathy would never had recovered but the young folk and most especially the grown-up daughters of the town were mostly handled the same and teasing had never lasted beyond a day or two.
A tear rolled down Kathy’s face as she remembered almost fondly such rough handling and would suffer any amount of spanking if she could have had Pa back. But enough of that, she thought returning to the present. Jason Kincaid was up to something and now she had this stranger. With her father dead the job had fallen to her.
“But being sheriff ain’t no job for a woman,” the mayor had protested.
Kathy had agreed but she noticed that Jedidiah Smith, the mayor and storekeeper, was in no hurry to step up himself or find a replacement. Nor had they needed one until Jason Kincaid had come to town.
Kathy reached into the folds of her dark grey skirt for the reassuring weight of her father’s pistol. These days her attire was more sombre and rugged, a vague attempt to be taken seriously. Then pulling down the brim of her mannish hat she made her way to the saloon and the stranger.
Jack Stone re-crossed his boots and shifted back in the chair on the porch where he had been seen sun-up. So far there had been no sign of Jason Kincaid, or anyone much. It was almost as if the good people of Mauston knew what was coming down.
In fact the only people he had seen were the preacher, who had crossed the dirt track street to avoid him, the storekeeper that doubled for mayor who had asked him his business in town and small young woman in dark clothing and an overlarge hat who had watched him.
She might have been pretty he thought, but not a smile had touched her face since he had seen her and she had hung around outside the sheriff’s office watching him. Maybe she was after the law as well, but Jack had tried first thing and to his certain knowledge no one had come or gone from the jail since then.
The one thing that did hold his attention about the girl was that she was packing. From the way she kept checking and rechecking her piece she was none too comfortable with firearms either. If she had ill intent towards him then that made it all the more dangerous as amateurs were apt to spook easily. For the longest time he considered approaching her, but she was probably skittish enough. No if she had business with him then let her make her move first. And so it had proved. After an hour or so the girl seemed to make-up her mind about something and started in towards him.
“Hey mister, what you doing here in town?” she blurted.
Jack’s eyes narrowed at her rudeness. Didn’t she know to talk more respectful to her elders? Well he was at least a decade her senior he figured so it was just about his due by now.
“Right now I am just setting ma’am,” he replied with a tip of his hat.
“You know damn well what I mean,” Kathy countered.
Jack’s eyes narrowed and he was genuinely shocked at her cussing.
“What business of yours might that be ma’am?” Jack asked in an even tone.
Kathy reached into her pocket and pulled out her father’s badge. She felt a fraud wearing it, but it was the only authority she had.
Jack saw the badge and sat up straight. He was still studying it when Jason Kincaid chose that moment to ride in.
“Excuse me ma’am,” Jack told Kathy, but his eyes had already dismissed her as they followed the rather dour hard-looking man on the horse.
Kathy too was watching Jason and her hand tickled at the handle of her pistol under her skirts.
“You have business with Jason Kincaid?” she asked.
“You might say that ma’am,” Jack muttered.
As he spoke Jack slowly got to his feet and adjusted his own pistol belt. Then before Kathy could speak further he said, “You know where the sheriff is ma’am?”
Kathy looked up at the man who was as broad as an oak as he stood more than head and shoulders taller than her. But there was something else, where his jacket fell open he saw that he carried a badge of his own, one bearing the legend US Marshall.
“My father is dead,” she said woodenly, “I am just about the only law around here at the moment.”
Jack turned and for the first time gave Kathy an appraising look.
“No offence ma’am but… well let’s just say Jason Kincaid is no lightweight maybe you should leave him to me,” Jack said with an easy smile.
Kathy frowned, that was just about typical of the condescending attitude she had come to expect from men. It didn’t matter that she had been hoping and praying for a proper lawman to come to town or that this one hadn’t said very much except the truth.
“This is my town and you will follow my lead,” she shot back her pistol now levelled.
She wasn’t entirely sure if the pistol was for this Marshall or Jason Kincaid and the long barrel hovered uncertainly in space.
“Put that away unless you mean to use it,” Jack said sternly.
There was an edge to his voice and Kathy couldn’t again help but be reminded of her father. Before she could say another word Jack turned and heading across the street to where Kincaid was tethering his horse.
“Just one minute you,” Kathy snarled at Jack’s back, and then seeing he didn’t turn hurried after him. “Hold up.”
If Jason Kincaid hadn’t been aware of them by then he was now and before Jack and Kathy had crossed the street he was standing arms akimbo on the opposite planked sidewalk watching their approach.
“You looking for me?” Kincaid yelled over.
Jack stopped but was immediately assaulted by Kathy running into his back and then staggering backwards to fall hard on her tail.
“Ow,” she squealed, “Look out you oaf.”
Instinctively Jack half turned to offer her a hand up a short sudden movement that hung in time and space, which as soon as he made it he knew his mistake. At that same moment Kincaid saw the flash of sun on Jack’s partially exposed badge and his hand slid to his gun.
Look out, Kathy thought and tried to shout, but all that left her throat was a scream.
It was less than half a second since Kathy had crashed into Jack but Kincaid’s pistol had already cleared his holster. His first shot whistled past Jack’s head as he ducked down behind the hitching rail. It was scant cover from a six-gun but this time it served as a shot from Jack blasted a chunk out of the wood between him and the bullet.
Somehow Kathy’s own pistol was still in her hand and a stray shot discharged into the ground. Jack tried to ignore it but the distraction made his second shot miss too.
Jason Kincaid hesitated. He know had two targets and for the longest quarter of a second his barrel hovered between Jack and Kathy. For the Marshall this time it was enough. Kincaid never heard the shot that smashed into his chest, he didn’t even know he had been shot until he hit the deck and could no longer grip his pistol.
“Damn,” he said in a resigned voice, the last word he ever said.
“Are you alright ma’am?” Jack asked a rather shocked Kathy as he helped her from the ground.
“No thanks to you,” she replied huffily as she gained her feet and dusted herself off.
“No thanks… you almost got us both killed,” he growled.
“I almost… well I like that…” Kathy rounded on him, but a sudden nausea got the better of her and she averted her eyes from the prone body of the late Jason Kincaid.
“What authority do you have here exactly?” Jack barked squaring up to the now white faced girl as she rocked unsteadily in the street.
There were others now and the mayor, Jedidiah Smith, emerged brandishing a shot gun.
“Someone call Doc Hollister,” he yelled authoritatively.
“He’s beyond a doctor now,” Jack said.
Jedidiah nodded sagely and then noticed Kathy’s demeanour.
“She don’t look too good,” he murmured, “Best if you take her home, I’ll set things a right here Marshall.”
Remembering the exchange Jack swung around to confront the brat who had almost done for him and then saw for the first time the way of things. He took one step forward and swept the girl into his arms.
“Unhand me,” she muttered, but with no conviction.
“I guess I am not cut out for law enforcement,” Kathy said ruefully as she brought out a coffee pot and set it on the table in front of Jack.
“I guess you’re not,” he agreed, “What would your Pa have said you toting a firearm like that?”
“Not a hell of a lot,” Kathy replied archly, “But he would have done plenty.”
Jack’s jaw tightened at her swearing, the second time he had heard it from her that day.
“Does that go for the cussing too?” he said dryly.
“I guess,” Kathy sighed. “I kinda miss his firm hand these days.”
“He spanked you?”
Kathy blushed and gave Jack a small nod.
Well you go cussing around me, or go packing a gun for that matter and I’ll show you what a firm hand can be,” Jack said menacingly, “I’ll spank that bare bottom of yours until it is the colour of a polished apple.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Kathy said defiantly setting her hands on hips, adding “You damn well wouldn’t dare.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed and he slowly got to his feet.
“You know, you did nearly get us both killed and by rights I owe you something for that. On top of that we have the small problem of your foul mouth,” he growled.
“Oh no, y-you… you wouldn’t…”Kathy said backing away.
“You said it yourself, it is something you have been needing,” he sighed as he worked the buttons at his cuff and began rolling up his sleeves.
“Not from you,” Kathy blustered.
“Well in the absence of your Pa I am the law around here now,” Jack said.
From long custom and training Kathy yielded somewhat as the Marshall took her arm and pulled her too him. Her tottering heels on the rug resisted for only a moment before she was tumbled headlong across Jack’s lap as he sat back on the kitchen chair.
“Marshall… you can’t, you just can’t,” Kathy wailed. But her eyes were already saucers and her mouth formed a shocked O as one by one her skirts and petticoats were flipped up into the small of her back.
There was a long appreciative pause as Jack gazed upon the tight cotton drum of Kathy’s bottom and then he asked, “Did your Pa take these down?”
A flushed Kathy rolled her eyes back like a wild colt and tried to twist from the Marshall’s lap.
“You wouldn’t?” she wailed.
“I will if your Pa did,” Jack said sharply, “Did he?”
“No,” Kathy lied sullenly, but her voice carried no conviction.
Jack chuckled. “And what did he do when you lied?” he asked.
Kathy blushed furiously and thought of the hickory out back and the customary shameful display.
“Answer me,” Jack demanded, “and I strongly suggest you don’t tell me another lie.”
“He’d have me cut a switch,” she mumbled.
“What was that?” Jack pressed her.
Kathy clamped her mouth shut and defiantly prepared for an onslaught to her behind.
“I bet the mayor knows, or one of your neighbours?” Jack offered.
“You heard what I said,” Kathy replied somewhat sharply.
“Switched you, did he? On the bare bottom?” the Marshall asked.
“Yes,” Kathy hissed through gritted teeth.
“And when spanking you?” he pressed her.
“Yes,” she said again, this time with rather less vehemence and a whole heap more nervousness.
Jack tugged at the draw string of Kathy’s bloomers and despite a sudden animated bucking on her part her drawers soon went south.
“You can’t do this to me,” she shrieked.
But she soon found that he could as the first mighty swat landed on her bare bottom.
“Ooh,” she squealed and kicked her legs.
Outside the mayor and two or three others looked up. They were surprised to hear pistol shots coming from the Sherriff’s house, but after a moment they were grinning as they realised the true nature of the sound. In any case, by way of conformation the sharp retorts were soon followed by Kathy’s lively hollering.
“I guess the Marshall is dispensing some more justice,” the mayor chuckled.
Meanwhile inside the spanking lasted a good 10 minutes until the globes of Kathy’s bottom were bright red and mottled and earnest tears were streaming down her face. The spanks fell in rapid earnest blasts covered her thoroughly rounds like a cannonade beginning at the top of her cheeks and rapidly descending until they beat down where her bottom met her thigh tops before repeating the action.
“Are you going to be a good girl?” Jack asked her not missing a spank.
“Yes Sir,” Kathy sobbed, she took comfort now that this was how her Pa had handled things and that this was how she had always responded.
“Good girl,” Jack sighed setting the crying woman on her feet. “Now I am guessing you have somewhere to go for a spell?”
Kathy nodded miserably and looking at the floor she pointed to the corner. It was exactly where Pa always sent her.
“Off you go then and no rubbing hear, I want to see that shiny red bottom of yours as it cools off,” he said sternly.
“Yes Sir,” Kathy sniffed.
Then without a word she took careful steps to the corner and put her nose tight to the wall.
“You move before I tell you and I’ll have you cut that switch,” Jack warned.
“Yes Sir,” Kathy said hastily and hiked up her skirts in back as her Pa had always made her.
It took less than 10 minutes for the mayor to come looking for him and he didn’t even bother to feign surprise at Kathy’s predicament.
“Just like old times,” Jedidiah chuckled.
Kathy sucked down a sob and shifted in the corner as she prayed that the floor would swallow her down. For a moment her face felt hotter even than her bottom.
“I’ll meet you at the jail as soon as I am done here,” Jack said disapprovingly.
The mayor glanced at Kathy’s exposed bottom and nodded, but he left only slowly.
Jack poured another coffee while Kathy recomposed herself and then took out his watch. He guessed another 30 or 40 minutes would be enough.
“Marshall,” Kathy said shyly from the corner.
“Yes,” Jack acknowledged.
“You sticking around in town long? I mean we need… the town I mean… we need some law,” she asked tentatively.
“Aren’t you afraid I might take you in hand again?” Jack chuckled.
“I guess I’ll risk it,” Kathy said ruefully.
“So long as you know I deal out justice with an even hand,” Jack said slowly, his tongue pressing against his cheek.
“I felt that about you,” Kathy said tartly as she risked an appraising glance back at him.
Jack winked and made a gesture with his finger that told her to turn back around. “You’ll feel it even more if you don’t mind me,” he said.
“Yes Sir,” Kathy sighed.
Filed under: DJB stories, history, judicial, M/F, spanking stories, western | 5 Comments
Tags: 1800s, adult daughters, corner time, cornertime, humiliation, public embarassment, spanking, switching
I wish I had more time for these round-ups (why is that always a theme here?) but the truth is I don’t have as much opportunity to visit the glorious work of my fellow bloggers as I would like. Nevertheless there is a lot to find out there, notwithstanding Tumblr’s determination to close so many blogs.
On a lighter note many people have had time to send me pictures, anecdotes and many other interesting little snippets. I hope I have thanked everyone individually for their contributions and do so again here publically. Be assured that no identifying information will be published (reckless of one or two of you to share certain pieces of information) and material will only be used in an agreed format. Much of what has been sent has been used and there is more to come, but one or two of you have agreed firstly to be heavily edited (where needed) without ranker and to allow some material to be held back for possible use in a future project; more on that at a later date.
Can I remind people though that only anecdotes about women over 18 can be used as a matter of standing policy? It would be helpful if those commenting would bare that in mind too.
Now back to this last week.
It is rather picture heavy this week (although I don’t get many complaints on that score as it probably cuts down on my waffle). But before we get to that Natasha Knight has the latest of her successful stories out and Ronnie Soul has a short story by PN Deadaux.
Cherry Red has a post about image galleries you can explore.
Filed under: web round-up, Weekly Round-up | 9 Comments
Tags: spanking, spanking blogs