2000: Mum’s year zero


It was Margot Wheeler’s wedding day. Her second marriage and only her third man; she had never got around to marrying Pete, Louise’s father and the messy divorce from Karen’s dad did not bear thinking about. She shuddered.

“Third time lucky,” Margot said, trying hard to convince herself. Karen at just 14, decided not to reply as she hovered over her mother fussing with her hair. Louise, her half-sister, who was approaching 17, rolled her eyes up, she was a hopeless cynic about the whole thing, her father having skipped out when she was four.

“I don’t see why you need this guy, he’s such a loser,” Louise sneered. As she spoke she sat on the make-up table swinging her legs and licking an ice-cream like a small child, then added, “We’ve been doing alright without a bloke up ‘til now, just the three of us.”

Karen hated the fact that Mum let Louise speak that way. Although she thought she was right.

“You’re just desperate for a bloke, any bloke,” Louise continued, giving significantly more attention to the ice cream, than she was to what she was saying.

Karen gaped at her and then at her mother, surely that wouldn’t get by her.

Sometimes Margot could just slap Louise, but she hated that she secretly thought that maybe her daughter was right. Louise had been born when Margot was just 16, too young to know what was what. It wasn’t as if she was that old, she told herself. Better to ignore her.

In the end the marriage had imploded in three months.

Quentin Haze
“You cannot be serious,” Louise was doubled up laughing.

“It’s not that funny,” Margot replied trying hard not to laugh.

Karen was feeling a little sick and really couldn’t see the funny side at all. College had been a spectacular disaster. She hadn’t even got to sit the A Levels; she had been kicked out for doing cocaine in the computer room after hours. Although she had told Mum it was only a bit of weed, like it would make the slightest difference.

“So you are telling me this geezer is called Quentin Haze?” Louise was beside herself with glee.

The strangely named man was Margot’s new employer. Some rich dude down in Surrey, as Louise would have it. After the row that had followed Karen’s expulsion, Mum had announced that she had taken a new job for the new millennium and they were all going to the country. And it was all Karen’s fault, she just knew it.

On hearing the news Louise had kicked and screamed and had even thrown the television out of the window, an act that had completely mystified Karen. In the end though, even the 21-year-old Karen had decided to come with them. After all, what else could she do?

“Everything is going to be great, it’s a new year, a new millennium and a completely new life,” Margot said with conviction. “It is either that or I get married again.”

“Be a housekeeper, defo,” Louise had urged.


On the drive over the three of them had speculated on what Quentin might be like. Louise had suggested that he might be an effeminate retired hairdresser, while Karen had decided that he would be an aged eccentric in a silk robe and little round hat with a tassel.

Margot had spoken to him on the phone and had already decided that they were both wide of the mark. Still she did wonder what kind of man called himself Quentin Haze and was prepared to take three female misfits into his home.

The house was large, but otherwise quite ordinary. It stood in its own small grounds about a mile outside of the small Surrey village of Amesford, which was right on the edge of the Bagshot Heath, the only true wilderness in south-east England.

As the car rattled up the gravel drive a man emerged from the front door in a faded denim shirt and sand-coloured chinos. He was neither short nor tall and might have been 45 or so. His hair, although thinning, was mainly dark but flecked with grey, especially at his temples.

Margot couldn’t help but remember his voice, which was sharp and deep on the phone and for some reason had put her mind of her first husband’s heavy forearms, which she had always found sexy. Looking at this man she saw that his sleeves were rolled up to reveal his forearms, which he slid casually into his pockets as he offered the three women an easy smile.

“Hello,” he called as Margot killed the engine, “I’m Quentin.”

Louise giggled, until Karen nudged her in the arm.

Quentin watched as the three staggered from the car like travellers who had been on the road just a few hours too long. At first he wasn’t sure which was the mother, they all might have been sisters.

The first girl was overly made-up with ripped jeans and too many ear-piercings. So he dismissed the idea that this was Margot Wheeler. The second girl he could see now was much younger, barely 18 he would guess. She was a little more sensibly dressed, with the emphasis on the little. The third woman, who he guessed was Margot, looked little more than 30, almost far too young for either of the girls to be her daughter. Not that the awful highlights in her hair aided the look much.

“Mrs Wheeler?” He asked tentatively.

“Mr Haze,” Margot smiled, her eyes suddenly touched with feint crows’ feet that were more consistent with a woman of 37.

“Quentin, always Quentin,” he beamed at them.

“Quentin,” Margot reaffirmed, “you should call me Margot, and this is Karen and Louise.”


Quentin had asked that the girls not be back late if they went out in the evening. That had suited Margot, who being a city girl was convinced that wild beasts and wild men ranged the countryside in equal measure.

“Not in Surrey surely,” Quentin had laughed.

Margot had laughed with him at her own silliness, but had not quite put her fear aside.

Karen quite liked the idea of rules for a change and did her best to respect her mother and Quentin’s request, so when during only the second week there she had got lost and ended up still out after midnight; she had felt a little awkward sneaking in through the kitchen. The light came on.

“Isn’t Louise with you?” Her mother groaned.

“You gave me a start,” Karen gasped, clutching at her heart. “No, I have no idea where Lou is?”

“Oh,” Margot sighed, “She came home drunk on Saturday, now this. I don’t think Quentin is used to so much disruption.”

“Sorry, I still can’t help,” Karen said apologetically.

“You had better get to bed then,” Margot said, “I’ll wait up.”

It turned out to be a long wait. The sun was making a show in the sky before Margot heard the crunch gravel and the tink-tink-tinkle of a milk bottle being knocked over at the back door.

“Shush,” she heard Louise giggle.

“You shush,” came a masculine voice, “You knocked the bloody thing over.”

Margot stood up from the kitchen chair she had been dosing in and opened the back door.

“Mum,” Louise said sounding surprised and swaying a little. “I… I brought a friend home, this is… eh… thing.”

Thing was a scruffy lad of near 30, as near as Margot could guess in the morning gloom.

“Have you any idea what time it is?” Margot scolded.

“About half-past four,” Thing said sarcastically.

Louise giggled and then fell backwards onto her bottom. This was the trigger for a great outburst of laughter from Thing and Louise.

“You go home,” Margot said in a hushed voice to Thing as she looked over her shoulder for a sign that Quentin had been disturbed.

“But I…” Thing began to protest.

“He’s staying,” Louise said emphatically.

“I don’t believe he is,” came another voice.

Quentin strode into the kitchen dressed only in his trousers. Margot blushed in embarrassment at her daughter’s behaviour, but couldn’t help admiring Quentin’s chest and arms all the same.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Louise slurred from her position sitting on the ground outside the door. But Thing was already making good his escape.

“I’m sorry about this Quentin,” Margot said wearily.

“Saturday is one thing, but this is ridiculous,” he growled.

“Oh bugger off,” Louise snapped.

“Can you manage?” Quentin asked Margot, ignoring Louise.

Margot wanted to say yes, but her mouth hung open in hesitation. Quentin didn’t wait. He stepped outside and pulled Louise up on to her feet and threw her over his shoulder.

“We really are going to have to talk about this tomorrow,” Quentin said, then he paused to glance at the lightening sky and added, “later today.”


“You have got to be kidding,” Louise gaped. “I will not be in at 10.30 every night on account of that man.”

“It’s not so bad,” Karen said, quite liking the idea of some order for a change.

“Not bad? Who does he think he is?”

“I have agreed to it,” Margot said throwing up her arms in exasperation.

“Well you can bloody well un agree to it,” Louise said cattily.

“Listen to me young lady,” Margot said with rare iron in her voice, “you bring nothing into this house, you are a lazy good for nothing layabout. Until you get a job and a place of your own it would be as well to remember that if I lose this job we are all in shitsville without a paddle.”

“Don’t you mean shit creek?” The ever thick-skinned Louise sneered.

“I give up,” Margot said turning away. Then she turned on her daughter once more and yelled, “you just be in on time and sober this time.”

“Yes ma’am,” Louise said in mock-male voice and snapped to attention with salute.

“Oh Lou, can’t you just be… stop being such an idiot,” Karen moaned.

Since the home early rule ‘suggested’ by Quentin and ‘enforced’ by Margot, the doors had been locked at 10.30 on a ‘school night’ and at midnight on Fridays and Saturdays.

Louise had got round it by not coming home at all and so far that had worked for her. Karen had been strangely excited about the whole thing and had run escape movies in her mind every time she had to run home late.

However a month into the new regime and she had become bored with the novelty of rules and somewhat complacent. Weekdays were fine, but the early-to-bed routine at the weekend had become jaded. So tonight she had gone to a party only to find herself locked out at two in the morning.

The downstairs toilet window had seemed like a good work around until she had got stuck and the crash of the china potpourri woke the house.

“What on earth?” Margot gasped as she opened the toilet door to find her youngest one leg in and one leg out of the window.

“Hello,” Karen grinned. “I thought it better not to ring the doorbell.”

Margot folded her arms genuinely furious.

“What’s going on?” Quentin shouted from somewhere behind. Then he was there.

“I see,” he said grimly, not at all amused. “You know if this was my daughter I would give her a damn good spanking.”

“Be my guest,” Margot spat and walked away in disgust.

“Can you help me down?” Karen asked nervously, ignoring the grown-ups conversation as posturing.

Quentin went outside and helped Karen from there and then escorted her into the kitchen.

“I thought better of you,” he said, looking decidedly disappointed. “I thought you welcomed the structure of living here.”

“I do,” Karen wailed, “it’s just… who cares anyway?”

“Not you it seems,” Quentin sighed and stood up to go back to bed.

“Or you,” Karen mumbled.

“What was that?” Quentin asked, suddenly serious.

“I said ‘you don’t care either,’”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well… you go on about grounding me, giving me extra chores and even spanking me, but you don’t do anything about it, not even with Lou and she is a mess.”

“It’s not really my place is it and anyway you’re supposed to be a woman now,” Quentin said sadly.

“I don’t want to be a woman, I haven’t finished being a girl yet, I have never had the chance, what with a childish big sister and an even more childish mother… I mean… what is the point of rebelling and testing the boundaries when there aren’t any?”

“If you were my daughter…” he didn’t finish.

“Like I said, you don’t care do you?”

Quentin folded his arms and considered.

“You know what?” He said calmly, “we can’t go on like this can we? I mean I like your mother and I like having you here, sometimes, but I brought in a housekeeper to create more order in my life not chaos.”

The silence that fell was a long one.

“I don’t see much of my daughter, she lives in New Zealand,” he said quietly. “You remind me so much of her. I caught her climbing through that window at four in the morning when she was about your age.”

“What did you do?” Karen felt a strange tickle down her back.

He smiled and took her by the arm and she let him lead her into the lounge.

“Let me show you,” he whispered dragging her over his lap as he sat on the sofa.

Her tartan skirt flipped up and off her black leggings without help as she fell revealing her plump nylon encased bottom. Pinning her with one arm he brought his other down hard with a satisfying crack.

“Yikes,” she gasped, but didn’t struggle. She was suddenly curious.

Quentin spanked hard and fast for two or three minutes while Karen gasped and panted on his lap. Her bottom quickly began to burn and then felt overwhelmingly sore. Then he stopped, almost as out of breath as she was.

“Is that how you used to spank your daughter?” She asked still panting, “doesn’t seem a lot to it, to me.”

Quentin baulked in amazement and then he smiled. Karen was just like his daughter. He reached down and removed one of his slippers and then in one rapid motion thumbed her leggings and underwear and stripped them down off her bottom leaving it bare.

“Oh fuck… I mean…” Karen was suddenly wild with confusion.

“You will pay for that,” Quentin growled bringing the slipper down hard in a resounding swat that caused her to yelp.

Karen’s eyes went wide in wonder and then something else as she clutched at the upholstered sofa as she tried to weather the onslaught.

He spanked in a sudden and rapid volley blasting her hard across both buttocks and then up and under her bottom to sear the underside where she sat.

“Oh, oh, oh, yah…” she gasped as she squirmed and clawed under the assault.

“What the…?” Margot gaped from the doorway.

Karen looked up with a face of woe, her eyes filling up and her astonishingly red bottom visible from the front over Quentin’s knee.

“Mummy…” Karen exclaimed, not knowing what else to say.

“Don’t come crying to me,” Margot said as a range of emotions danced across her face, the chief one being amusement.

The spanking lasted a good while and Margot stayed to watch it all until finally a sobbing Karen was deposited on the floor.

“I guess you’ll be in on time from now on,” Quentin observed dryly.

“Yes sir,” Karen sobbed holding her amazingly hot bottom.

“Now get to bed, both of you,” Quentin said smiling.

“Yes sir,” they both chimed.

A new regime
The next morning Karen was all too aware of her bottom and opted to skip breakfast rather than sit down on one of the hard dining room chairs. It was all Margot could do to suppress her smile and Karen could not meet her mother’s eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Margot asked.

“Sore, embarrassed, confused, sorry and definitely very sore, did I mention that?” Karen blushed.

“You had it coming though didn’t you?” Margot needed reassurance that her baby girl wasn’t traumatised.

Karen half smiled, half pouted to the point of kissing the air.

“Mmm,” she mumbled with a beautiful blush.

Just then Quentin breezed in for his breakfast with a cheery good morning all round. Karen wanted to die and hid her face in her chest.

“I suppose you are not talking to me?” Quentin said quizzically.

“No,” Karen said in a baby voice, pulling her hair over her face like curtains.

“Are we still friends?” Quentin was chuckling. So like his daughter, he thought as he watched Karen’s antics.

Karen gave a small nod and blushed.

“What do you girls say we give the new regime a try?”

“Works for me,” Margot giggled.

“’Spose,” Karen squeaked.

That was when Louise chose to make her entrance.

“I suppose you have been out all night?” Her mother said archly.

“I suppose I have,” Louise said belligerently, throwing herself carelessly onto a dining room chair. “What’s for breakfast?”

Quentin gave the older girl a long hard look.

“Have I missed something?” Louise asked detecting an atmosphere.

“You might say that,” Margot said tartly as she stood to get her daughter’s breakfast.

“Well?” Louise said pouting, sure now that she had indeed missed something significant.

“You’ll find out all in good time,” Quentin said dryly, looking significantly at Karen and then Margot, who nodded.


Karen was shy around Quentin for days afterwards, a state of affairs that Louise picked up on but could not quite understand.

From Karen’s point of view, although she was a little scared of Quentin now, she also felt a sense of clarity. In fact she was almost happy for the first time for as long as she could remember. The only thing to mar her new found domestic ideal was her sister, who continued to come and go as she pleased.

“Karen I need you to help me this week,” her mother said absently.

Karen pretended not to hear, she was getting a little fed up that it was always her and never Louise roped in to chores.

“Karen are you listening?” Margot said impatiently. “I want you to clean the stove today.”

“The stove, oh mum, get Louise to do it, it’s not fair,” Karen moaned.

“I don’t have the energy to fight with Louise, nor for you for that matter.”

“Well… yah boo sucks to you,” Karen snapped in lieu of a better put down, “I’m not doing it, so you’ll have to fight Louise. Wrestle her for all I care.”

“Karen Wheeler march yourself out to that kitchen and get started on that stove at once,” Margot spat, pointing for effect.

“The kitchen’s that way dummy,” Karen giggled pointing in the opposite direction.

“Well you know where to go don’t you,” Margot blustered angrily.

“And you know where you can go,” Karen giggled, immensely pleased with herself.

Behind Karen there was a rustle of paper and she turned to see that Quentin had been sitting quietly in the corner reading his newspaper, which he had now put down.

“Just like my daughter,” he sighed, “such a slow learner.”

Karen gaped and looked on nervously as Quentin picked up a clothes brush off the mantle.

“Look okay I’ll do it I was only…”

“You’ll do it alright, this evening while everybody else is watching TV. Between then and now you’ll learn not to be cheeky to your mother and to do as you’re told.”

Quentin didn’t say anything else. He didn’t grab her. He just crooked his finger and sat down in an armless upright chair. Karen looked at her mother, who folded her arms and pursed her lips. Karen swallowed and walked leadenly across the room towards Quentin.

As she flopped across his lap she felt his knees hard into her belly and his hand at the waist of her jeans. It took an awkward moment to loosen them and pull them down and then with infinite embarrassment, certainly more than last time, which had happened quickly, she felt her knickers being pulled down off her bottom and down her thighs.

The first whack took her breath away, which she didn’t regain for the first half dozen of a rapid assault on her bottom. When she finally managed it, she was surprised that she spluttered to a heavy sob almost at once.

Margot was astonished at how Karen’s bottom went from white to pink so quickly and how in the following minutes it deepened to a true red. The volley spanking was all blur and noise and continued for some minutes while Karen bucked and yelled. And almost throughout she choked out baby-like sobs.

“Right you, I want you in that corner and do not move until supper time,” Quentin growled dragging Karen across the room by the scruff of her neck.

Margot glanced at the clock and seeing it was only three o’clock wondered if Karen’s time might not be used more productively.

Karen, for her part, was beyond caring at that moment and stood pumping her shoulders in time to her sobs.

“I will not have you talking to your mother like that,” was Quentin’s last word as he returned to his newspaper.

Margot shrugged, not the least bit sympathetic as she threw an angry glance at the strange sight of Karen standing in the corner with her jeans and knickers round her knees and her angry red bottom displayed in contrast to her white thighs.


Louise crashed through the door in time for the evening meal and slumped on the sofa at the lounge end of the open plan dining room.

“What’s for tea?” She said with a scratch and a yawn.

“We call it dinner in this house,” Margot said sharply, glancing at the unnoticed Karen in the corner.

Quentin had relented a little over the corner time and after an hour had let Margot dispatch her off to the kitchen to clean the stove. A chore she had to do with her jeans still pulled down so that her bare bottom was left shamefully exposed as it stuck out of the open oven door. However once the task had been done she had been sent right back to the corner in the dining room, where she now stood dreading Louise’s reaction.

“Dinner then?” Louise rolled her eyes up. Then noticing her mother’s strange demeanour asked, “What’s up?”

Margot pursed her lips and desperately tried not to look, not that she didn’t think it was an edifying sight for her eldest daughter, but she wasn’t sure yet how she would react.

“What-the-fuck?” Louise gasped, “is she? I mean she’s… I mean… fuck me!”

“Don’t use that language,” Margot snapped.

“Sorry,” Louise gulped almost as an involuntary action. “What did…?”

“She answered your mother back among other things,” Quentin said entering the room.

Louise stood open mouthed for a moment longer and then snorted.

“This is so cool,” Louise burst out laughing, “did naughty Karen get her botty smacked?”

This wasn’t quite the reaction Margot had hoped for and she turned away impatiently to get the meal ready.

“Priceless,” Louise continued sitting back down and rolling about on the settee.

“Oh,” Karen wailed from the corner and stamped her foot angrily.


The police had called Quentin rather than take Louise all the way into Guilford.

“It’s only one spliff so we thought we’d save on the paperwork,” the village bobby explained.

“Yes thank you very much Tony, I really appreciate it,” Quentin said with a tight smile.

The constable did a half salute and then swung behind the wheel of his panda and drove away.

“Thanks Quentin,” Louise said offering the retreating car the finger.

“Get in the car,” Quentin growled.

“Fine,” Louise groaned. “Be like that.”

Neither of them spoke on the short drive home, but as soon as they walked through the door, Margot looked as if she might explode.

“It was only a joint,” Louise said defensively.

Margot glowered at her.

“I think it’s finally time, don’t you?” Quentin said quietly.

“Yes,” Margot sighed.

“Time for what?” Louise asked uneasily.

Quentin crossed the room and opened up a cupboard. After a moment he pulled something out and slapped it against the palm of his hand. Louise looked at the split leather strap and swallowed presciently.

“What’s that?”

“This, my girl is a Lochgelly tawse,” Quentin said grimly. “I have hardly ever needed to use this. My daughter felt it just once for drinking and driving. Now it’s your turn and believe me, when I am done you won’t get caught with a joint ever again.”

Louise looked long and hard at the implement and then at her mother. Seeing no sympathy there she considered bolting for the door.

“You can’t do this, I’m…” she swallowed remembering Karen. “Look can’t we…?”

“Get your pants down and your backside over the back of that sofa,” Quentin growled.

“I… won’t… I mean…” suddenly Louise’s front was gone and she frantically tried to think of a quip or a cheeky line that would make the situation go away.

“Don’t make me come over and get you,” Quentin said sharply.

“This is not fair,” Louise wailed, “it was only a joint. Karen was caught with Charlie and got away with it.”

“Charlie?” Margot asked puzzled.

But Quentin knew that slang for cocaine and dashed a look at a suddenly very sheepish looking Karen.

“I think we had better hear the whole story from both of you,” Quentin said darkly, “and right now.”


Both girls were bare-bottomed and bent over the back of the sofa while Quentin contemplated their naked behinds.

It had taken a while for Karen to confess, which was not helped by frequent childish interruptions by Louise.

“It was months ago,” Karen said sullenly.

“Worse than Louise’s offence or not?” Quentin asked.

Karen looked at her ashen-faced mother and then at her shoes.

“Worse,” she agreed.

That had been only moments before. Now both sisters were side-by-side mooning their mother’s employer.

“Sorry,” Louise whispered.

Karen shrugged. At least Louise was accepting the inevitable for a change. Or at least she was until the first blazing strike of the tawse.

“Yeech, oh fuck,” she yelped, “please, I’ll be good.”

Quentin wasn’t listening. He brought the famous Scottish strap down again as hard as he could across the 21-year-old’s naked bottom.

Again Louise yelled out, only this time a sound like stuttering moped escaped her sour face and tears sprang readily to her eyes. Then three more assailed her bottom and she really let out a howl.

“I’m sorry,” she blubbed, but to no effect.

After eight mighty swats, Quentin shifted to Karen’s bottom for eight. She took them rather better at first, but was equal lost in tears by the last.

Then Quentin switched back to Louise who growled angrily in shock having assumed her punishment done.

He took his time, but after he had visited each of the girl’s bottoms three times he marched them to the corner.

“There will be no, I repeat, no drugs in this house or anywhere near you ever. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir,” they both sobbed miserably.

“Right stay there until…” Quentin waved his arm in angry impatience over his head. “Until forever… Until I say you can go to your rooms.”

“Yes sir,” they both wept.

Louise risked a quick sideways glance at Karen, perhaps in the hope of an ally for a rebellion, but it was a forlorn hope.

“I can’t believe this,” she said miserably, “I won’t do it.”

“Why don’t you say that a bit louder, I don’t think Quentin heard you,” Karen hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

“Nooo,” Louise sniffed and then offered the wall an inch in front of her nose a pout.

And mother makes three
A few weeks had passed and Louise had been spanked twice more, often enough to put an end to overnight excursions and keep her brattiness down to a dull roar.

The house was in a good order and for the first time since hiring Margot Wheeler things were settling down for Quentin. Or so he thought. He knew the girls were out and that Margot was on her day off, so he had expected a quiet day in alone. However on arriving home, he discovered a puddle in the front hall, caused by an incessant drip from the ceiling just above it.

He tore up the stairs and rushed to the bathroom used by Margot and the girls to find it full to the brim and the taps still running.

“Oh,” Margot gasped coming up behind him having heard the noise. “I was… eh… painting my nails, I sort of… forgot.” Her nose screwed up as she winced at the last word.

Quentin fixed with such a hard stare that she was forced to look down shamefaced. Then after turning off the taps he began to roll up his sleeves.

“What…? What are you doing?” Margot asked nervously.

“What do you think I am doing?” he snapped impatiently reaching under the bath water to pull out the plug.

Margot clutched her heart with little edgy smile.

“I thought for a minute that you were going to… you know like the girls. I’m really sorry Quentin, really I am.”

“You know Margot, that is an excellent idea,” Quentin said darkly as his eye fell upon the bath brush.

“Look just one moment, you don’t think for one minute that…”

“One minute, two minutes… or even 10 or 15 minutes I should think,” Quentin said patting the flat side of the brush firmly against his palm. “Clean this up and then come and find me downstairs.”

“Look I’m sorry but…” Margot blustered.

“You can bring this with you,” Quentin said sharply handing her the brush as he passed her and went back downstairs.

Margot didn’t rush to her confrontation with Quentin and he had ample time to find the mop and bucket to clean the hall before Margot walked sheepishly into the lounge where he was reading a newspaper.

She was still dressed only in her bathrobe but there was no sign of the brush.

“Look I know I was stupid but can’t we talk about this?” Margot sounded like a petulant child.

“I told you to bring something,” Quentin growled.

Margot stared defiantly for a long minute and then she blushed. Pursing her lips she sighed and from the folds of her robe produced the brush.

“You can’t… I mean this is silly,” Margot groaned.

Quentin held out his hand until Margot reluctantly handed him the brush.

“What no protests, no threats to sue me or call the police,” Quentin mocked.

“No,” Margot said quietly and pouted.

Quentin reached up from where he sat and took his housekeeper by the arm and pulled her unresistingly down across his lap. Flipping the robe her round white bottom came instantly under his hand and he saw that she was completely naked underneath.

She gasped a little at the exposure, but was not surprised.

“I am going to enjoy this,” he said with a chuckle, “and I am going to take my time so that you don’t. But this time I’ll pay for the damage. Next time you will and your spanking will be so much worse. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said sullenly.


“Yes sir.” The word was strangely easy to say.

The brush hurt worse than she thought it would, far worse, but as she contemplated that, he spanked down again and then again in rapid succession. Her breathing went from normal to coarse and rapid in only moments and on opening her mouth to protest a sob escaped her lips and to her surprise she began to cry.

Within a minute Quentin had spanked every part of Margot’s bottom and began over on the previously visited territory. Noting as he did so that her bottom was already a dark dull pink.

“Karen takes it better than this,” he observed as he spanked even harder.

“I know,” she wept.

“It’s deserved though isn’t it?”

“Yes sir,” she wailed.

After 10 minutes she was floundering like an angry fish in his lap and he paused to scold her.

“I won’t have this attitude,” he said sternly. “You know you deserve this.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, her shoulders wracking back and forth.

Then he resumed for a few minutes more, noticing as he did so, that although still sobbing, she was taking it better.

“Alright, I think I have made my point, haven’t I?”

“Yes sir,” she said woefully.

“Go and stand in the corner and keep your robe up off your bottom, you’ve seen how the girls are handled.”

“Yes sir,” she cried and scurried over to the wall near the corner.

Forty minutes later, although the sobbing had abated, the fire in her bottom hadn’t nor had the quite astonishing red rash staining her behind.

“Can I come out now?” She asked in a small voice.

“You know, I really don’t think so, do you?”

“No sir, sorry sir,” she said as humbly as she felt.

Then the sudden sound of the front door slamming brought an amused smile to his face and if he could but see it, a wide-eyed look of horror to hers.

“Quentin, where’s mum I could murder a cup of tea?” Louise said as she entered with Karen.

“I’ll make it… oh-my-god!” Karen gasped.

“Priceless,” Louise burst out laughing and doubled-up.

“Oh god,” Karen was shocked but could not help giggle a little, an act she at least hid behind her hand.

“Oh, this is so humiliating,” Margot wailed and stamped her foot.

“You know I think I’ll have some tea as well,” Quentin said with a grin as he sat back and folded his arms behind his head.

It had been a year since the Wheelers had come to live with Quentin. His house was immaculate and he was happy now that there were no more late night escapades involving drunken young women and slack-jawed youths on his doorstep at all hours. All those issues had now been resolved.

Then he noticed a small piece of fluff on the carpet, which he carefully picked up and dropped into the wastebasket before taking up his copy of the Times to sit down and read.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Louise fidgeting and he turned to glance at the three women facing the wall with their slacks and jeans around their ankles. Margot and Karen had their hands clasped neatly in the small of their backs above their polished red bare bottoms, but Louise had removed one hand and was rubbing her nose as she pouted from her place at the end of the line.

“Louise,” he growled, and she immediately replaced her stray arm.

“Sorry,” she sniffed, “my nose itched.”

“I don’t care,” Quentin scolded, “you really are asking for another spanking come bed time.”

“Noo,” she wailed, rocking in a tight circle in agitation.

“Then stand still,” he snapped and then he added with a bark, “Karen, no rubbing.”

Karen who had let fingers of her hands stray down her bottom cheeks to sooth them a little, quickly retracted her fingers into her fists in the small of her back.

“Sorry sir,” Karen said humbly, she really hated disappointing Quentin. After all he was so good to them all.


9 Responses to “2000: Mum’s year zero”

  1. 1 Karl Friedrich Gauss

    This is really such a plausible and altogether likely story, it makes you wonder how people manage these days without all these time honoured methods of discipline.

  2. 2 paul1510

    DJ,, great story, it reminds me of my childhood.

  3. 3 fatherjim

    Dear DJB,

    Truly a wonderful story of discovery by three young women. It is a shame more people can’t realixze the chasm of difference between loving discipline and “hitting”. All three wamted, as most people do, structure and limits. The gentleman provided both, and a paycheck and a home. Win-win-win-win situation!

    Thanks for sharing! You tell a tale so well!


  4. 5 George

    Simple solutions for a happy home.
    And no possible silly excuses as “I’m too old for that”…
    Fair traditional DD is never out of fashion 🙂

  5. 6 Scunge

    WONDERFUL thank you. 🙂

  6. 7 Kaki

    Congratulations on this being Chrossed. It was a fun story.

  7. 8 Poppy

    The slipper and the tawse!
    This man sounds super strict and he should be kept away from all the good girls around here.
    I loved the story. 🙂

  1. 1 chross.blogt.ch - Chross Guide To The Spanking Internet

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