Many thanks to all of those who have continued to send in little snippets like this one from Louise who dropped me a line with this little anecdote to share.
We grew up in a village in Shropshire, England, as a whole mess of kids and neighbours getting into scrapes and pranks with everyone more like sisters and the odd brother rather than just friends. So embarrassing escapades like this one was fairly common although I understand you can’t use our younger adventures or even those from our late teens. But this happened when I was 20 and still at college back in 1984.
One of my friends mum’s was a stern old battle-axe and a bit older than my parents. We knew that unlike my Mum and Dad and most other kids that Julie got spanked at home and got teased about it, especially when we were all grown-up.
Julie’s Mum used to say stuff like ‘you’re not too old to go over my knee young lady’ and the like. Also she would say it to any of us with a real sense that she meant it. My Mum just said ‘don’t look at me, you had better behave hadn’t you,’ or something like it.
This summer Julie who was a year younger than me had a row with her Mum, which ended up with her being dragged to her room and obviously spanked while a few of us listened from the garden and laughed as we stood under an open window.
I was particularly vocal and when Julie’s mum came down she rounded on me and said, ‘I suppose you think she is too old for it.’
I said that it was hilarious and that it served Julie right.
A few days later we were playing cricket on a small green that was at the corner of three of our houses, mine and Julie’s included. We weren’t supposed to, there was a sign that said no ball games, but we always had, or did most summers until one of the adults chased us off; most usually Julie’s mum with her usual spanking threats.
This time I hit a green tennis ball right up and through Julie’s mum’s window and we heard something break.
Julie’s mum ran out yelling that we were too old for that malarkey. But led by me, we were all a bit cheeky and I even asked for our ball back, which Julie’s mum agreed to if went somewhere else.
But once inside she started on about the broken vase and got even madder when she found out I had hit the ball.
I said ‘it is only an old bit of china’ and that she should have had her window shut.
Julie’s mum rounded on me and said ‘you’re the one who thinks it’s funny that a grown girl gets a spanking aren’t you?’
I think my stuttering blushing was as show of weakness because the next thing is she says ‘let me show you.’
I was bundled over her lap and my jeans and knickers were taken down while she spanked me hard until I was yelling. She really made a meal of it until I was sorry and meek and said I was sorry.
Of course everyone outside heard and knew what had happened so it was anyone’s guess which was redder my face or bottom. There was other spanking stuff back then but that was the most embarrassing.
Thanks Louise. I extensively edited it and cut it down with para breaks and some quotes for ease of reading.
Filed under: domestic, F/F, real life, retro | 3 Comments
Tags: 1980s, OTK, spanking
The sky had a purple hue and Tom Daly knew a storm was brewing. From the way the cottonwood was still against a turbulent sky, he guessed a twister was on its way.
“Where’s Abby?” he barked in the general direction of the other girls.
Mary-Lou and Stephanie exchanged glances and then returned a shrug.
“I told you all to stay close to the house,” Tom growled.
He was a big man who had originally hailed from Texas. He told everyone he had come to Kansas for the quiet life, but he hadn’t figured on tornadoes. Now he ran a hand through his tightly shorn sandy hair and scanned the cottonwood forest that skirted the edge of the farm. There was definitely going to be a storm and now the boss’s eldest daughter had run off somewhere.
“She took Benjie,” Mary-Lou offered.
The 19-year-old was smirking, perhaps from the prospect of putting her elder sister in his bad books or perhaps she was just enjoying her sister’s defiance.
Benjie was Abby’s horse; the two of them were inseparable.
“Get on up to the house and I’ll find her,” Tom ordered.
“We don’t take orders from you and nor does Abby,” Stephanie pouted.
Even Mary-Lou shot her 18-year-old sister a look of horror. That wasn’t what Pa had said, whatever their mother may say and that was the kind of talk that earned a girl a trip to the woodshed.
“Get on now, or I will take this up with your Pa,” Tom said with a flash of his eyes. He had more pressing concerns about Abby just then.
Mary-Lou shoved her younger sister and they both broke into a trot as they headed for the house. By the time they had looked around Tom was already on his own horse and racing for the woods.
Abby had seen the darkening heavens and wheeled Benjie around to take in the sky. A dark cloud licked the horizon with a finger of slate grey and she shuddered. Tom had told her to run some feed up to the lower barn and take care of the chickens, but that was kids work. She was as good as any man, well almost, and she had decided to take off to play hooky. But now the sky bothered her and besides she had been away too long and even Ma might scold her for ducking her chores.
She took another look at the sky and watched the twist of black touchdown on the land. Damn, she knew what that meant. So did Benjie and her old faithful began to rear.
“Whoa boy, come on,” Abby soothed.
She was a tall girl and healthy, with an unruly mop of reddish brown hair and a row of even white teeth, which she bared with malice to anyone who crossed her. She was given to wearing gingham shirts and blue-jeans despite her mother’s misgivings, but no one could deny it wasn’t practical on the farm. But now despite her strength, she could not rein Benjie in.
The horse reared twice more and then bucked her to the ground.
“Benjie,” she screamed as the spooked horse broke for home leaving her sitting firmly on her tail. “Damn,” she cursed.
To make matters worse the wind had picked up and the racing sky had closed in to become dark. Five minutes later Abby was fighting just to stay on her feet as cottonwood branches and hickory lashed around her.
The farm could not be far, but at a stagger the twister would reach her long before she gained the house.
A wet gust threatened to lift her away and she ducked as a limb of a tree skidded overhead. There was nowhere to run even if she could have.
Then something else seized her and hurled her into the sky. But as her heart lurched she felt a hard saddle under her and firm solid back of Tom Daly.
“Hold on,” he yelled and powered his mount through the woods.
In moments they cleared a fence into open fields and the house heaved into view.
“We’ll never make it,” Abby yelled.
The twister was in the forest now. They could hear the growing whistling roar and the snapping of tree trunks.
“The storm cellar,” Tom made himself heard, his hat now lost in the tempest.
Sure enough Abby could see that they had broken through the woods a quarter of a mile from the old shack used by her grandfather. In those days the only haven from a twister was the storm cellar cut 30 feet from its door. Already they were racing towards it and before the storm finally broke they were close by.
“What about the horse?” Abby screamed.
“Too late to think about that now, come on,” Tom bellowed.
It was the last thing Abby heard above the tornado and even then they had to crawl the last few yards in a sudden downpour of rain.
The storm hatch clattered as the roar of wind tore at it and onwards across the fields. It was hard to talk down in the cellar, but possible.
Tom was worried about the horse, although the odds were it would make it. Horses weren’t as dumb as people. With that thought he glared at Abby.
“I could have made it,” she spat at him.
They both knew it was a lie. But Tom didn’t expect gratitude from this brat.
“The chickens didn’t get fed and they were scattered all over when the twister hit,” he told her glumly.
Abby swallowed. She thought of crushed dead birds and of the ones that would never be found again even if they lived.
“I told you to stay close to the house. I told you to fetch feed for the chickens,” Tom said icily.
“Ma says…” Abby began haughtily.
“Your mother has no say in this,” Tom cut her off, “What will you tell your Pa?”
Abby sucked in her cheeks and began fiddling with the tail of red hair that hung like a wet rag over one shoulder. She hated it when Tom was right. Then as if remembering something she suddenly blurted, “The horses.”
“Benjie passed me at lick and will be safe by now,” Tom said evenly, “Barney too, I shouldn’t wonder.”
A huge sigh escaped Abby, but she hated the admission and spat, “Stupid animals.”
“Stupid…” Tom gaped, “I ought to tan your backside for you.”
“You wouldn’t d-dare,” Abby said quickly as a knee-jerk. But there was uncertainty in her voice.
Tom sniffed and looked her up and down.
“Once this storm is over if I find that anything has happened to my horse I’ll make you cut a whole parcel of switches and I’ll blister your bare bottom with every one of them right in front of the house,” Tom growled.
The woodshed already beckoned once Pa heard about the chickens and she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t let Tom take a turn first.
“I’d spit in your eye,” Abby said scornfully.
“You know Miss Abby, just when was the last time you were taken to the woodshed?” Tom asked as if reading her thoughts as he meaningfully folded his arms.
Abby caught his eye and not liking the look of determination written there lunged for the hatch.
“You little fool,” Tom growled as he caught her.
He tumbled her easily over his lap and blasted her denim covered rear with a bear paw that extracted a yell. Then spying a foot and a half long broken shard of plank, he reached out and took it up from the floor. It was tapered at one end to form a kind of narrow stretch like a handle and he hefted it over Abby’s prone bottom as she struggled over his knee.
“Get off me you… you beast,” she wailed.
It was enough to end Tom’s contemplations and he hooked a finger in her waistband and tugged until the buttons popped and the fabric stretched down and off her white thighs. The rasp of cotton hauled at the silk scanties beneath and in a moment her bottom was as bare as her legs.
“Mr Daly,” Abby screeched, suddenly remembering some respect.
The flat surface of the improvised paddle landed with a satisfying splat and she gasped. But it was followed with too many to count and in short order she was panting like a pony after a chase. If she could but see her bottom was deep rose-pink and padded welts rose in ovals on each hind-cheek.
Not that Tom was ready to stop. The storm was a long way from over and neither of them had anything better to do.
“Ooh, Mr Daly… Tom please,” she shrieked.
“You ungracious, ungrateful, disobedient brat, if your Pa doesn’t take some leather to your tail after this then you and me will go another round in the woodshed tomorrow. Do you hear?” Each word coincided with a hard spank to the crimson dome of her by now sore bottom.
“Yes Tom, ah… I mean… ow, please… yah-ugh I’m sorry,” Abby spluttered the words framed in dampness as they tumbled from her mouth and she continued to buck and squirm across his lap.
As long as Tom spanked her, and he spanked her a long, long time, Abby’s spanking did not outlast the storm. After 20 minutes or so even the cowboy’s arm was tired and he brought the paddle to a stop on two sizzling rounds of red-hot skin.
Abby herself had long since surrendered to hiccoughs of long broken sobbing and hugged into Tom’s thighs.
“You going to mind me in future?” Tom asked.
“Yes Sir,” Abby replied in eager misery.
“You sure?” Tom swatted her hot tail for emphasis and she yelped.
“Yes Sir,” the girl said emphatically.
“Good girl,” he chuckled, “Now until the storm passes you can go stand in the corner.”
Abby’s eyes widened in horror and she gaped.
“And do leave your unladylike breeches where they are,” he warned, “I want your blisters hanging in the breeze to cool while I admire my little chore.”
“Yes Sir,” Abby sniffed in agreement and hobbled by her demin pants tottered over to the bare wall and hid her face.
The storm had passed and mercifully the house and barn still stood. There were even a few chickens still scrabbling about in the mud as if nothing had happened, but far fewer than before. But Benjie and Barney were both safely corralled and as Abby’s mother saw her she let up a squeal and hurried across the yard.
Tom nodded at his boss’s wife and strode on past to tend to the farm leaving a rather morose Abby limping in his wake.
“Are you alright darling?” Abby’s mother fussed.
Abby nodded and pulled away. She shot in a confused sad look at Tom’s retreating back and then at her shoes.
“Are you hurt?” her mother asked.
Abby’s hand strayed to her seat, but she didn’t reply.
“Abby, what a storm, did you see it?” Stephanie gushed as she too ran over followed by Mary-Lou.
“We were in the old storm cellar,” Abby replied in a sullen voice and winced.
Mary-Lou frowned and saw where her sister was rubbing. Although Stephanie was oblivious and added with an excited grin, “It was terrifying.”
“I fell off Benjie,” Abby mumbled.
“Did you and Tom have words?” Mary-Lou asked.
“We had something to… eh discuss, yes,” Abby muttered, adding, “I gave him a piece of my mind.”
But as she watched she saw her father emerge from the barn and shake Tom’s hand. Gratitude was written on his face, but the cowboy only nodded modestly. Then her father glared in her direction.
“Abby, the woodshed right now,” he growled.
Stephanie clapped a hand to her mouth and Mary-Lou grinned.
“B-but… Tom…” Abby blushed.
“Tom saved your life and I bet you didn’t even thank him,” her father snapped.
Abby dipped her head and glowered at the floor, it was true.
“On second thoughts, never mind the woodshed just yet, cut me three switches first,” Pa barked at her, “You’ll feel it on top of my belt you foolish girl.”
Abby went tomato red and clapped her hands to her bottom.
“Sir I…” Tom started to say.
“It is alright Mr Daly, I am sorry for my behaviour; I guess I do have it coming.” Abby said meekly.
This brought a round of hushed gaping from all three of the other women and a firm nod of satisfaction from Abby’s father.
“Thank you Mr Daly,” Abby continued quietly, “For everything.”
But inside she was feeling a warm confusion and she guessed the storm wasn’t over.
Filed under: DJB stories, domestic, history, M/F, Uncategorized, western, workplace | 4 Comments
Tags: 1900s, corner time, Edwardian, OTK, spanking
Filed under: retro, vintage | 1 Comment
Tags: 1900s, 1930s, spanking, Victorian
In some places in the world women get a switching at Easter. Lucky it is getting warmer.
Filed under: real life | 4 Comments
Ostara (often pronounced Estara) is the old Anglo-Saxon pagan festival spring festival with all its associations with fertility. In Anglo-Saxon England images of eggs, the March hare and other seasonal features were the norm. In some parts of England it was even the custom to gather bundles of twigs or rods to symbolise new growth. It is not hard to suppose that other uses were found for such objects. Between Ostara and Bale or May Day (known as Beltane in Celtic tradition) various customs across Europe associated the whipping or spanking of the female bottom with fertility.
Often this took the form of a formal ceremony, such as the Greeks and Roman’s enjoyed, but for others there were parties or crude pranks of varying degrees.
In the modern Czech Republic these traditions survive as the custom of Pomlazka, where young men and boys are often encouraged to seek out young women and whip their bottoms. Responses to this custom vary and opinions differ with traditionalist seeing it as a bit of fun and others attributing darker motives.
The pictures above are from actual Easter festivities and you can see that someone meant business.
Filed under: real life, Religion | 2 Comments
Tags: pagan, spanking, whipping
I hate those blogs where all people can do is complain about how hard it is since their dog died and life is busy and so they won’t be writing anything anyone actually wants to read but… I am sitting here in an attic while the castle is overrun with lawyers, builders and decorators while manfully taking a trip down memory lane with a 56k modem. Still the view is good from up here. I can see the whole of London from the O2 down to the Eye on a lovely sunny day.
With any luck it will be business as usual next week.
Meanwhile, thanks to everyone who wrote in with contributions and my apologies to all those I haven’t replied to.
No story… yet, but here are a couple of snippets.
Former Prissy Miss writes:
Sex was boring and I never got beyond ‘suffering the missionary position’ with two or three boyfriends until I was 23. Then I saw this greasy biker hunk in a pub who turned out to be 15 years my senior. He was absolutely the centre of my attention and something made me go for him like I never had before. Sadly he wasn’t interested and was quite rude.
Undeterred I bought him a drink and sat down with him when his mate went to the toilets.
He leaned over to me and whispered, “If you don’t piss off I am going to paddle your prissy behind purple.”
My heart went two to the dozen and inside I went wow.
Bravely I said, “Oh yes and then what?”
I don’t remember his exact words, but he said something like ‘there are more things to do with a girl’s arse than just spank it.’
Having no idea what I was getting myself into I just dared him.
Less than an hour and two more beers later I was bare-bottomed over his lap while he sat on a grubby settee in a two-up mid terrace three streets away. I was yelling like a kid as he spanked me and I tell you my bum wasn’t far off purple.
“You can go home anytime you like,” he told me.
Tearfully I told him I’d stay. He just shrugged and went on spanking me with relish.
He took my remaining two virginities that day.
He was such a bastard and I had to call him twice just for the privilege of being bent over the back of the same settee for a taste of belt across my bare bum and my third round of buggery. He didn’t use me conventionally until our fourth date and every single time I could feel it every time I sat and not just because he had spanked me. But I stuck with it and we were together for seven years.
Jenni79 emailed to say:
Love your post on the Five O’clock Hero. I got my first spanking from an older boyfriend for being clumsy at oral. It was a total surprise to me. I think it turned us both on though.
Punishment became quite a thing between us; always on my bare bottom over his knee with his hand or something small and flat. One time he ended a row with a sound spanking while we were visiting my parents and my mum walked into the bedroom.
All she said was ‘don’t mind me,’ I could have died.
Filed under: real life | 2 Comments
Tags: OTK, spanking
Filed under: real life | 2 Comments
More at All Our Yetserday’s.
Filed under: retro, vintage | 2 Comments
Tags: 1900s, 1950s, spanking
Due to some restructuring here at the castle the Temporal Monster has eaten all my time and now my Internet connectivity is down or at best poor. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Meanwhile here is a picture.
Filed under: real life | 6 Comments