! Red River OTK

Our tale began here.

It had been four days since Roberta was able to reintroduce her bottom to a saddle and for once she opted for a riding skirt and with loose draws under them. She had even considered a small cushion for the hard leather, but since most of the ranch hands must have known she had recently been spanked, she decided that any more laugher behind her back was to be avoided.

As she cantered out of sight of the ranch she glanced towards her beloved high country, but from where it met the saddle her bottom flared a warming red and she decided to keep to the near bank of the river.

She told herself she had no particular agenda, but all the same she found the river crossing where Jake Sandman has been bathing. Maybe she could creep up on him unawares today, she pondered. But the tree stood alone, although she noted the water was further from its roots and far less tumultuous.

She could cross here, she knew, but her nerve was still frail from last time and besides she knew a safer place to cross if one should happen to want to visit the old Barton place.

*

The house was in better shape than when she last saw it and the corral had been repaired. There was a fine pinto and three brown mares cantering within it and she smiled. Mr Sandman knew horses then.

“Nice to see you again,” Jake Goodman said as he emerged from the barn.

A startled Roberta whirled the horse around to meet his firm smile.

“You got dressed,” she threw out and immediately winced.

“I do that a lot,” he shot back.

Roberta coloured and wondered why she had let slip what was on her mind.

“You didn’t drown then?” he chuckled.

“I try not to,” she countered.

“Crossed downstream this time?” he asked, but he could see from her relative dry clothing that she must have.

“I cross where I like,” she sneered. Damn I didn’t mean that.

“So what brings you here?” his smile retreated some and settled on neighbourly.

“I…” damn what did she say now? “I… just wondered how you were getting on, mighty fine by the looks of it,” she said a little too quickly.

He nodded and scanned his ranch to see it how she might.

“Cattle?” she said, not seeing any.

“Some,” he agreed, “Up a ways in the far pasture, but not enough, not yet. I don’t have the men.”

“You alone?” she looked at the ramshackle bunkhouse. No one lived there.

“Sable and Old Billy are with the herd,” Jake shrugged, “But I have a herd coming in. Not many this time. Maybe 500 if they all make it. It’ll bring my herd up to 1200 or so.”

Although her father had more than 20,000 head, she was impressed. Jake Goodman was starting off well.

“You been in cattle before?” she asked and patted her horse.

“As a boy,” he made a so-so gesture. “My Pa was a farmer back East. I am an army man myself, or was.”

Roberta wanted to sneer again. Her father hated farmers and she naturally followed his lead. But then she liked bread and apples and beef wasn’t everything.

Maybe he saw her disdain but he ignored it. “You want to come into the house for some lemonade?”

Roberta’s heart leapt and she rose up in her saddle as if to dismount. The action rekindled her bottom ache. Noon had come and gone. “I had better head back,” she sighed.

Jake nodded. “Suit yourself,” he said.

“I will,” Roberta shot back in a tone more brittle than she meant.

“It has been a pleasure,” Jake grinned.

“Likewise,” Roberta said haughtily and wheeled her horse to ride away.

*

Roberta found reasons to call on Jake every few days after that. Not that she was overly friendly. For one thing she always she remained cool towards him, and rarely did she stay long. Mostly she found made negative comparisons between his and her father’s ranch.

Today Old Billy was mending a harness on the front stoop. He was a grizzled old war veteran and although neither he nor Jake mentioned it, Roberta got the sense that Billy served under Jake in the Union Army.

“Miss Daly, how nice,” the old man smiled without looking up from his work. “It is nice to see you again.”

“It is Rand-Daly,” Roberta said impatiently.

“If ‘en you say so ma’am,” Billy shrugged, “I reckon you’re here to see Mr Sandman, he is in the barn.”

“I don’t care where he is, I just wanted…” Roberta snapped.

“If ‘en you say so ma’am,” Billy chuckled.

Roberta glared at him but dismounted all the same and strode over to the bar. Today she had heard that some cattle had strayed onto Big D land, but she wasn’t sure if they were her father’s or not. At least she could confront Jake about them. Maybe there were his and he could send someone to collect them.

“Miss Roberta Rand-Daly,” Jake addressed her ostentatiously as she entered the barn, “Such a surprise to see you again, it must have been… oh two days since you were here last. What can I do for you?”

“Look you may as well call me Roberta,” she said sullenly. “I just wondered if…” Suddenly her accusations about straying cattle seemed childish. She knew full well that they weren’t his. “I wondered if you would like to come to supper next week,” she blurted. “I mean we are neighbours and all, and…”

Jake stood up from whatever he was doing and dusted himself off. “This invitation come from you or your father?” He smiled pleasantly.

Roberta kicked at the ground and looked down suddenly shy. “Me I suppose,” she said.

“In that case I would love to come,” he beamed, adding, “Roberta.”

They made small talk after that and settled on details. Her father wasn’t going to be happy, but he would never withdraw the invitation. He might even hit it off with another rancher.

As she got back on her horse the rain started.

Jake followed her out see her off and frowned at the sudden downpour. “Maybe you should… stay here tonight,” he suggested and eyed the grey sky.

“Best not,” she smiled and turned her horse.

“Then make sure you use the Barton Crossing and not go by the Old Oak,” he said commandingly. “Likely be a torrent by the time you get there now.”

Roberta was just thinking the same, but she bridled at being ordered about. Instead of answering, she kicked her horse to a canter and skirted the fence line. At the trail head she suddenly remembered his ‘orders’ and swung right towards the shortest route.

“Bye Jake,” she yelled mischievously and kicked her mount up into a gallop.

*

It must have been raining in the high country as the river was as bad as before. Roberta felt her mouth go dry and contemplated a long detour south to the safer crossing. She sighed; she knew that would make her late again. She eyed the water and worked her itchy palms on the reins. Damn Jake for being right.

Roberta drew a slow breath and then blew. What the hell, she had made it before and urging the horse on, she took the plunge.

The cold water was a shock and the horse kicked up in distress. It was far worse than before and instead of making headway, she and the mount went further sideways. After the longest minute of her life she gave and tried to turn. Only then did she begin to panic.

She might have made it, but the horse was terrified. Somehow he shrugged her of into the boiling onrush of water and bounded for the nearest bank. The last thing Roberts saw of it was the damn horse shaking of water on the far bank. That’s when she knew she was going to drown.

Roberta was still calmly contemplating her death when a steel grip took her arm and pulled up so that she was dangling above the river by less than a yard. Whoever had her was on a branch jutting out from the bank and she twisted to see. But the strong arms swung her twice and the let her swing onto the hard ground.

“Jesus girl, what the hell were you thinking?” Jake yelled as he jumped from the tree.

Roberta was too stunned and exhausted for either praise or anger. Jake must have followed her when she set off.

“Let’s get you back to the ranch,” he sighed.

“I have to get home,” she insisted without force and she had no fight in her when he helped her onto the back of his horse.

*

Roberta awoke with a start. For the longest moment she could not remember where she was and her darting eyes scanned the darkness in panic. Then she remembered undressing herself and flopping into the bed at Jake’s ranch. She relaxed just a little as she thought about her lucky escape and idly muttered, “Daddy will be worried.”

The she bolted awake and sat up. “Daddy,” she gasped.

Scrambling into her clothes she ran down stairs to find a way out, hard to do in a house only lit by the fire.

“Where are you going?” Jake yawned from the shadows.

He had camped in a chair by the fire and was now gaining his feet.

“My father, he will think…” she supressed a tumble of apprehension.

“Old Billy rode over before dark,” Jake told her. Adding with a hint of sarcasm, “He went the safe way.”

She sagged a little with relief, although little mice tugged at her tummy still. Her father would know what she did and maybe he would not think the worse. Otherwise a trip to the barn would be the least of her worries.

A wall of fear was left with nowhere to go.

“You could have drowned,” Jake scolded her.

Then she found a mark.

“You had no right, I was doing fine when you got in my way…” the rest of her rant made no sense but she continued anyway.

Jake reached out and lit the lamp. Then he drew himself up to his full height to fix her with a hard stare. “Has anyone ever taken the trouble to put you across their knee and give you a darn good spanking?”

Roberta gasped and stopped in her verbal tracks. Her heart pumped a little faster and she worked up some moisture in her mouth. “What?” she blurted and shook her head in denial.

“I said, has anyone ever put you across their knee, taken down your draws and paddled you bare bottom until it shone like a polished tomato?” He folded his arms.

Roberta responded with a draw-dropped gasp and made a little strangled laugh in her throat. “Y-you, you’ve… w-why…” she babbled incoherently, not knowing what to say to the man.

“Yes, no?” he pressed.

She was too embarrassed to tell him Daddy still took her to the barn and the fact that her mom applied a good solid hairbrush to her bare bottom past the age of 18 was none of his business.

“I have to go,” she said sullenly and moved towards the door.

“In the morning we will go together,” he told her sharply. “The horse is in no fit state and it really isn’t safe to cross the river in the dark,” he added with an attempt to mollify her.

“I am going now Mr Jake Goodman and you can’t stop me,” she said petulantly.

Jake tapped the back of his fingers on to his left hand three times and appeared to make up his mind about something. “Oh I think I can,” he said.

Roberta, with a belated sense of self-preservation, made bolt for the door. Jake caught her easily and swung her around to pull her close. For a second their eyes met and she could feel his breath on her face. Then regarding her sternly he dropped onto a Shaker chair in front of the fire and hauled her across his lap.

“N-nnn-nooo,” she spluttered, “You wouldn’t.”

“When I do a job, I do it properly,” he told her and with only the merest thought of propriety to slow him down he rucked up the tangle of her skirts and slapped his hand to her upturned posterior, taughtly covered by her draws.

“Jake Goodman, don’t you dare,” she squealed.

Time hung in aspic for a seeming age as wild instincts overtook them both and then Jake acted decisively. With a quick tug at her waist the draws slid to her knees to reveal the woman’s oh so bare bottom.

Roberta’s eyes started in her head as she gasped.

“Girl, I am going to give you the spanking you have long, long needed,” he snarled.

His hand struck her bare bottom sharply and she began yelling her indignation. “You beast, you bastard, I will never talk to you again.”

“Who asked you to?” he snapped back and spanked her again.

“Y-yyou, ooooh,” she wailed angrily.

A dozen spanks soon left her bottom quite pink and a dozen more began to mottle it in red. The sting was every bit as bad as her father’s strap and Roberta kicked her legs and bit at him for all she was worth.

“Stop, stop,” she raged.

“I don’t think so,” he chuckled and spanked her some more.

Sensing no respite, Roberta growled through clenched teeth and defied him to make her cry. It was a short-lived defiance. “Please Jake, please,” she sobbed.

“You so have this coming,” he told her and spanked her harder.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be good,” she pleaded.

Jake paused. “Sorry for what exactly?” he asked.

Roberta, who lay panting and exposed, trawled her turbulent mind for an answer. “Whatever you say,” she snarled.

“Surrender, but no apology, I see,” Jake said sagely and resumed the spanking.

“I never surrendered,” she snapped.

“No, but you nearly drowned yourself, you nearly drowned your horse, and you were going to do it again in the dark yet,” he told her angrily.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, but if I stay my father might think…” she blurted.

“Think what,” Jake yelled.

“He might not let me see you,” she shot back.

Jake gripped her bare bottom like he owned it. The heat was sharp on his hand.

“I thought I had lost you,” he whispered.

“I thought so too,” she replied.

Roberta twisted around to sit in his lap and they embraced like they would never let go.

To be continued…


Community

01Apr20

Working from home now and that takes some setting up. Nonetheless, more stories soon.

Meanwhile here is a round up of images found at various sites including: Vanilla Spanking, Devlin, AAA, James Stephenson, Au Fil de Jours, and the Spanking Emporium.


Vintage Sunday

30Mar20

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The Red River ran hard and fast below her, faster even than she could ride. Roberta Rand-Daley knew that she could not cross until the water broadened out some and then she would have another problem, for where it got less rough and more broad, it began to run deep. Damn these rains, she thought and urged her horse ever faster.

Daddy didn’t like her to push the horses so hard but then Daddy didn’t like a lot of things. He didn’t like the way she let her fire red hair run loose or that when he was not looking she wore pants like a man. That morning he hadn’t liked that she gone for a ride and warned her about crossing the river and heading up to the high country.

Despite her wild tomboy ways she had every man in the county chasing her down like a steer, after all Daddy was rich. Daddy did not like that either. None of them were good enough for her or ever would be according to Daddy. Damn the man, she thought and pressed her horse ever faster. Damn the man for being right and a mud kicked up as the horse thundered on.

Then up ahead she saw the tree and she urged forward. The old tree was grey brown and had twisted branches like gnarled fingers grasping for the clouds. The river ran slower from here, but deeper too, but it should just be shallow enough to cross. She narrowed her gaze and scanned the bank, her violently dark red brows knitting together to give her an angry look. The water lapped the banks much higher than usual but that was not what seized her attention today.

Under the tree at the water’s edge was a man. Tall by the look of him and he was naked from the waist up revealing a broad tapered back that rippled into a V-shape as he stood up. She almost forgot for a second he was on Big D land or even that she was late. Then she remembered the damn mountain rain and the Red River rushing to block her way home and making her late.

The steed hauled to a stop just yards from the man who swung around. He had instinctively reached for his Winchester but on seeing a woman he snatched up his shirt instead.

“You there,” she snarled, it was a tone she inherited from her father and she had the same uncompromising set to her jaw as she spoke. “What are you doing on Big D land?”

The man studied her for a long moment and the pulled the half unbuttoned shirt over his head and began tucking it into his heavy trail pants. “Name’s Jake, Jake Sandman,” he said in a deep even voice. “A fine day to meet you ma’am,” he drawled easily.

“I said…” Roberta began.

“I heard you ma’am, but where I come from it is customary to introduce yourself before you go questioning folk,” his voice had a steel edge to it now.

“Rand-Daley, Roberta Rand-Daley, this is my father’s land,” she said proudly, almost haughtily, “This is the Big D as far as can be seen and beyond.”

“I am glad to meet you Miss Rand-Daley,” Jake smiled, “And I think you will find that this is my land, this side of the river, that is. From the old oak here right on to the Blue Hills yonder.”

Roberta rounded on him and drew her horse up close ready to dispute his lies and then she remembered that technically the land from here was only leased from Tom Barton or had been until he had died.

“You bought the Old Barton place?” she accused angrily.

“I did,” Jake replied simply, his smile relaxed some. He was beginning to look past the woman’s beauty and on to her annoying arrogance. Although beauty she was. As she rose up in the saddle he studied the cannonball curve of the finest rear end he had ever seen tight in denim.

Roberta might have said more but she was suddenly aware of the orange glow of the afternoon sun and increasing red tint to the water that gave the river its name. Damn she was late.

“I suggest you keep to your side of the river Mr Sandman,” she muttered and turned to examine the perilously high water.

“You ain’t gonna cross here?” Jake blurted in dismay.

“Watch me,” Roberta barked and urged the horse fearlessly into the torrent.

Jake took three steps forward as if he could catch her and the swallowed his heart back into his chest. She was mad. He gaped at her reckless horsemanship as she drove her mount into the rain-gorged river.

His nearby horse was not close enough to get to in time to help her. Instead he had to watch helplessly the crazy woman fought the tumult all the way to the other bank. The crossing took maybe a minute but those long seconds cost him years and Jake did not breathe until she was firmly on the far bank.

Roberta wheeled the horse in triumph and gave him a grin before spurring the horse on into the setting sun and home.

“Damn,” he grinned, “She was surprised as I was to make it.”

*

The sky was on fire by the time Roberta gained the ranch house and the shadows were so deep that everything was either black or red. She looked back to the high country and the river, which would be fire red by now. The long shadows of the house and barn pointed like fingers back to the way she had come. Her pants were still damp from the river crossing and she begun to feel the chill as the edge of twilight touch the sky. The sun had gone now and she was late.

“Damn you girl,” came a yell.

Roberta winced and with gritted teeth swung from the saddle and turned to face her father.

“Sorry Daddy,” she offered; the childhood word escaping before she could call it back. Damn I am over 21, she raged inwardly.

“You’re wet,” he snapped, “and what are you wearing…?”

Roberta pursed her lips and waited for the storm to stop gathering and break.

“You crossed the river to the high country?” he said.

Roberta nodded and avoided his eyes.

“You didn’t treat the horse too kindly either, did you?” he sighed.

Damn, he was keeping his temper, this was bad, she realised. “I…” she began.

“I can see you ran it ragged,” his voice was raised a notch.

Roberta sighed, protests were futile. Besides, he was right.

Robert Rand-Daley was an imposing man, his hair shot through with experience and the set of his face had faced down a dozen men. The land and all that went with it was written there. “See to the horse and then meet me in the barn,” he said.

Roberta gaped in protest, she knew wat that meant. A thousand injustices leapt to her tongue but did not pass her lips. Instead she just whispered, “Yes Daddy.”

*

Roberta scanned the gloom of the barn walls as butterflies tingled in her tummy. There were hooks, blades and chains dangling with an occasional clink. She knew what most were for, but not all and some had just hung there from before she was born. Here and there she eyes a leather harness or strap and her mouth went dry.

It had not be so very long that she would have been sent to cut a switch or two to bring to a meeting with daddy in the barn. That had always been excruciatingly embarrassing as everyone could see and would know what they were for. Not that this evening was any better. It was just that by now the men were all in the bunkhouse.

“I could just tell him…” she steeled herself for an imagined confrontation. ‘Father I am over 21 now, I am a woman grown,’ she would tell him.

Then she heard the heavy footfall of Robert Rand-Daly and she visibly gulped.

He had brought his own strop, which lay now over one shoulder, which was stripped of his jacket so that he wore only his shirt rolled at the sleeve.

“Your momma, God rest her soul, would have no doubt just employed a hairbrush and set you in the corner after,” he sighed, “But maybe you are too old for that… maybe.”

She had been 18 the last time that happened, she thought and for once wished it could be that way again.

“You have this coming don’t you?” he said and drew the leather to is hands and stretched it taught.

“Yes Daddy,” she breathed and worked nervous hands over her thighs.

He nodded like a man about to begin a chore. “Alright get those breeches down and bend over that saddle rail,” he said.

“Yes Daddy,” she whispered with sad eyes.

She turned with a wince on her face and fiddled with her belt. Her breeches were an old pair and a little too tight these days. Given his views, her father was hardly going to spring for a new pair. So when riding she tended to leave off the draws under them. He doubted that he would have let her keep them on anyway, but there was always hope.

“Roberta, your breeches, take them down,” he ordered her again.

Reluctantly she eased them south giving him a clear view in the lantern light of her smooth white bottom etched in shadow that emphasised her curves.

Her father shook his head in disapproval, “Girl, when will you grow up?” he growled, ignoring the fact that patently she already had.

Roberta held the cloth at her knees and hobbled forward to the saddle rail. The cold wood pressed her sex as she folded herself over it to proffer her bare bottom. Reaching out with her arms to held the lower rail to steady herself, and blushed furiously at the view she was now offering her father.

“This is wild country and the weather has been less than clement,” he said, “Reason enough not to be reckless.”

“Yes Daddy,” she answered in a muffled voice.

“You were late and I was worried,” he added, “You went to the high country, although you were forbidden.”

Her bottom bobbed as out of sight she had nodded.

“The horse, the poor horse,” he sighed, “You could have drowned it and…” he paused, “And you…” His gut twisted as he spoke.

“Yes,” she agreed. It had been a close run thing and it had scared her.

Any one of these sins should earn her a spanking, but he could not let this much recklessness go. The sooner she was married the better. The strap fell with force and landed with a crack that made some of the men all the way to the bunkhouse look up.

For Roberta the burn seared her bottom, and then bit harder before unleashing the full fury of the leather. She announced the blow with a pained yelp.

The second swipe of strop cut quickly without pause with much the same affect, followed by four more until the woman twisted and yelled bent over the rail. Her bottom was red now, with standout angry welts like the Red River at sundown, but boiling like kettle water.

Her father paused and adjusted his stance.

Roberta gathered her breath and braced herself.

The next six biting swipes came fast and furiously, burning like a cattle brand and making her buck and twist like the preacher dancing at the county fair. Six or eight, like hot iron drawn across her bottom then always the pause, often with words of reproach, before the leather found her bare bottom again and again.

“Daddy, I’m sorry Daddy, please Daddy,” she wailed, cursing her cowardice.

Robert looked on and marvelled at the way she stayed in place to take her due. He would give her two or three more sets and then let it go. She would not sit a horse for a day or two, or anything else come to that, but it would do her good.

Roberta was sobbing hard and wondered if she had any skin left on her tail end when the whopping stopped.

“Get dressed and come and get supper,” her father said gruffly and somewhat distracted. Damn the girl, he thought, she is too old to make me do this. Then he left her with the growing darkness in the cold barn.

Roberta strained to be indignantly angry and tried to blame everyone for such an injustice, but her bottom hurt and the floor was hard against her knees. It was all that stranger’s fault she cursed, knowing it wasn’t. She wanted to cry again. Suddenly she blushed red at the idea of the man and him seeing her spanked like a child.

She jumped to her feet and hauled up her breeches as best she could over her leather stained rear. She regretted at once. It might be both diplomatic and prudent not wear pants for a few day, she decided.

It took a moment for her to address her hair and dust of the barn from her already trail weary clothes and then she did her best to look natural as she went off to supper. Maria the housekeeper would know at once what had happened and Roberta blushed. But it was the young man at the river that somehow occupied her thoughts and would so for the rest of the evening.

To be continued…


The correspondence began here.

Dear Miss Carlisle,

How quickly things come to pass. I can scarcely write and yet I must.

I had expected a normal reply to my last missive and indeed as you know I was quite apprehensive about us meeting given our previous discussion.

Your note arrived quite unexpectedly and as promised I dropped everything to arrive at the Compton’s. To see Ruthie in full tantrum on the stairs and the language, I knew none of those words before I married.

I did not have time to ask on Friday but if she was so reluctant how ever did you get her dressed in that delightful sailor suit? I am so sorry if I laughed when she threw the cap at her father exclaiming that she would die before ever wearing it.

I have to say that Lady Eugenia’s attempts at unruffled reasonableness were both impressive and somewhat incongruous, while Sir John’s outrage at his daughter’s antics much was more sustainable.

You were magnificent, although I think you had perhaps planned this confrontation. The way you sternly and efficiently strode onto battle and dragged poor Ruthie across your lap right there on the stair case in front of parents and servants alike. You bared her bottom in a trice and with a stout hall brush so readily to hand too. The spanking to her poor defenceless behind was a tour de force and so loud. How she wailed and caterwauled; and so many tears in so short a time.

I have to say that I was impressed too by the way she defiantly held out. It took an age before she began bleating apologies and implored you for mercy. Although I note that she received none. I could not guess that a bottom could go so red and those raised blisters from a simple over-the-knee smack-bottom, oh my. Please note that neither I nor the servants had the least sympathy, even if Eugenia did make the occasional supressed motion of her hand that hinted at a considered intervention.

Sir John remained steadfast and impassive throughout as befitting an English gentleman.

I did not time it, but I fancy the spanking surpassed the top of the hour and on past the quarter past chimes before you set her sobbing and very sorry into the corner halfway up the stairs. She remained there in full sight with her exceptional red and bruised bottom bared on display for at least an hour while we took tea. I marvel that she did not again rebel.

Her humble apology after was without price and the little girlish courtesy was divine.

“Now we will retire to the school room so that Ruth may receive the cane.” Those words you uttered will haunt my memories for years. I shudder even now.

Then when Sir John suggested that I bear witness as he and his wife had no further stomach for it… why I hope I was not unseemly in my enthusiasm.

How she begged and pleaded but bared and bent over all the same. I have never seen a caning before, two dozen I believe; she took them bravely. I suspect it was the promise you made that persuaded her. Would you really do that? Purple is such a becoming colour on her and one she will well get used to I suspect. The texture of the cane-trace is coarser than the birch and the welts so much deeper. I sent a note of sympathy and I gather she still cannot sit down.

So your pupil is tamed for now. Taking tea with you in the school room while Ruthie stood in the corner was suitably humbling for her, I approve, and the sustained presence of the maid a very nice touch.

I take back all I said about leniency. I fear now for my own behind as I know we still have business of that kind.

Yours impressed and at your service,

Amelia

To be continued..


bardot stairs

More stories this week, at least one and maybe more. But while I do some editing and other housekeeping I noticed that last week sometime this blog passed the 20 million landmark!

In just over 10 years that is 20 million page views, 17,000 comments and I have no idea how many words. I know there are over a thousand stories and when I last counted a few years back there were more than two million words.

So thank you very much one and all and thanks for all your support.

When I started this I just intended to occupy a small corner somewhere and publish the occasional story or article. Maybe I would develop it to a few hundred and reach out. I remember during the first week seeing I had 50 readers in one day and I was pleasantly surprised. Now there are 10,000 unique readers a day. So… eh… hello there.

 


Community

23Mar20

I thought with people stuck at home there would be more posts not less. Then I haven’t had as much time as I thought I would.

Nonetheless, I am pressing ahead with Governess and Wolf and maybe a simple short.

I do like writing shorts and stand alones, the trouble is they tend to grow and end up as a series when I have so many unfinished series. This happened with The Exit Bureau, which began as short and believe it or not Magic, which is the longest thing I have ever written. Oh and it won an award, which is nice. Currently only available for purchase.

Pictures above found at AAA, Dallas, Real Spanking, O&P, James Stephenson and Devlin.


Vintage Sunday

22Mar20

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! ! ! Governess19a

The correspondence began here.

My Dear Miss Carlisle

In the matter regarding our mutual friends I am of course at your disposal and if I may say so without sounding too indelicate, I can hardly wait.

Would it be too presumptuous to ask what the next stage in her education might entail? I do hope you will birch her as you did me. It is not fair that while I strive to behave I am punished so while she is so seemingly mildly handled.

As for the spanking you promised to me, well I am quite sure I deserve it, although I very glad you have not decided on the Prussian cure for my shamefulness. I must say I am quite sure I have no idea what that means in any case. I did look at the book you gave me, but found no clue there. There were however some other Prussian measures mentioned and I shudder to think about it. Are young women in Germany so harshly punished? Some of the practices they expound are surely more suited to a prison reformatory?

I knew once of a colonial family who used to take tea with my parents, Boston people I think. However, the American gentleman had spent some time on the frontier during the Indian wars and had married a local girl. A rather coarse woman my mother always thought and we did not invite them to tea more than half a dozen times, I suppose on account of this. But I always liked her and she spoke freely about such things that young girls of my age should not have heard.

To come to the point my mother and this lady were talking one day about the benefits of side saddle and comparing it to the American style and how well brought up young ladies learn young why such practices are to be avoided. Our Boston friend was for a moment puzzled and then laughed heartedly and said loudly, “oh that.”

She added, “Why back home a girl caught at that mischief would have her draws taken down and switched so long and hard she would scarce sit down for a month. My own mother raised welts like purple worms on my hinney so often that it is a wonder I ever sat down till I was married.”

The inference was scandalous as was the vivid story, but ever the ghoul in such matters I loved it.

I do hope I have not given you any ideas, but I trust the Prussian method is no worse than described. Not that I fully understand the method used regarding a switch. Perhaps you can enlighten me over tea one day?

Nervous and in apprehension, your friend,

Amelia

To be continued


Stay Safe

19Mar20

! ! ! D

I hope to catch up on a few posts in the next few days and weeks. Not much else happening after all. The world has gone mad.




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