Home is a Hot Hairbrush

22Nov12

public corner timeNathalie paused at the door and sighed. She had only been back three days and already seemed like she had never been away. Although in truth it had been a long time since she had been home for more than an overnight stay. Home, she frowned. I haven’t lived here for 10 years, she thought, but then she had barely lived anywhere for more than 18 months since then.

The smell of freshly mown grass and this year’s crop of roses assailed her with competing bouquets. She had forgotten that smell. It’s odd, after college I couldn’t wait to get away from the place, she realised. She turned to look at the village spread out along two streets below the house.

The Welsh hills faded into the purple haze in the distance, the border being only a mile beyond the bridge. She remembered that in her childhood many in the village had still had the Welsh accent.

Then youthful voices came near and hurried away again without revealing their owners. She laughed and remembered running the lanes in much the same the way.

Then she turned again and pushed open the door.

The sight that greeted her brought back other memories.

Her half-sister Phoebe was standing in the corner wearing nothing but her pyjama tops and little white ankle socks. Nathalie’s heart leapt into her mouth and she blushed.

Phoebe shifted awkwardly where she stood and her hands strayed from her sides to flutter around her exposed bottom. She hadn’t been spanked yet, that much was obvious.

“Isn’t she a bit old for that?” Nathalie ventured hesitantly.

Phoebe was nearly 19 after all and frankly this sort of thing did not happen to a grown woman any more.

Stan folded down the edge of his newspaper and appraised Nathalie with a disapproving look. He was both girls’ step father, the last in a long line of feckless partner choices by Nathalie and Phoebe’s mother, Mary. But he had least had stuck; the only real father either of them had ever known.

“Not while she lives under this roof,” Stan growled.

Nathalie blushed even more. She remembered that line. In fact the last time she had heard it had been just a few weeks before she had left home. That time it had been her standing in the corner with her bare bottom on display to Stan, her mother, a much younger Phoebe, Stan’s 18-year-old son Pete, his girlfriend and Old Mother Jones from next door. At 22 she had wanted to die from the shame of it, even now she could feel her face melt.

“But…” Whatever she was about to say caught in her throat as he mother gave her a warning look from the kitchen.

“I seem to remember that you weren’t too old at her age,” Stan continued.

Nathalie let her mouth fall open and adopted as neutral an expression as she was able.

“I remember when you were out all night on Binkley Hill,” Stan went on, “Magic mushrooms wasn’t it?”

Nathalie cringed, not that story please, she prayed.

“When I found out, I tanned your arse until your blisters had blisters,” he snorted.

Nathalie remembered. Half the village’s parent’s had been in the room. It seemed that this house had been the convening point for the worried Mums and Dads of Nathalie’s fellow mushroom devotees. She wasn’t the only girl with a sore bottom that night.

“What were you then? Aye, you’d ‘ave been about 19 then an all.”

Nathalie looked at the floor in the vain hope of spotting a trap door. Sadly there was no immediate escape to be found there.

“What did Phoebe do anyway?” Nathalie was desperate to change the subject.

“Out with Davy Thomas for half the night,” Stan said with a shrug, “Weren’t you girl?”

“Yes Da,” Phoebe said sullenly.

“Well it’s only natural, she’s over 18,” Nathalie suggested.

Stan eyed her and then snorted in the direction of Phoebe.

“What until three in the morning and him with a criminal record?” Stan growled.

Phoebe shifted awkwardly, her hands fluttering around her bare bottom again. Any more of that and Stan would make her put her hands on her head, Nathalie knew from bitter experience.

“Besides,” Stan added, “It wasn’t where she said she would be, was it my girl?”

“No Da,” Phoebe managed a big enough pout to be seen from behind.

“No Da,” Stan mimicked, “No, you got a sound spanking coming ain’t you?”

“Yes Da,” Phoebe sighed.

“Might as well get it over with,” Stan said putting his newspaper down “Get over here.”

Nathalie watched as a mortified Phoebe turned around with her hands front and dipped her head. Then as she walked reluctantly forward Stan took the family hairbrush from its place of the mantle above him.

“Silly girl,” Stan growled softly.

Phoebe chewed her lip and then a moment later she was tipped across her stepfather’s knee.

As Nathalie watched she found that her mouth was a little dry, and strange but familiar emotions pulsed through her. From where she was standing she could see the back of Phoebe’s head and as the hair fell in a chestnut cascade and along her sister’s back to the tight neat divide of her white bottom that was facing away from her.

As if to get as far away from the action as she could, Nathalie nervously hugged herself and moved to the other end of the room just as the first crisp spank landed.

“Uh,” Phoebe gasped.

From her new position, albeit further away, Nathalie could now see rounds and lower slopes of Phoebe’s bottom where a sharp red patch had been placed.

Stan’s face tightened as he raised his arm and let another brush-loaded swat fall with some real bite.

“Urm.” Phoebe’s grunt was louder this time, but not as loud as the thwack of wood on skin.

Stan spanked down with three more deliberate whacks, each drawing a distressed wail from Phoebe and then it was as if he remembered he was mad and the pace quickened.

“I told you not to see that lad,” he said angrily, “And why, oh why did you lie, that’s the worst thing.”

Phoebe let go with long drawn out moaning ows that came in waves following each spank and steadily got louder.

“Do you hear me?” Stan barked.

“Da, I’m sorry Da,” Phoebe wailed.

Nathalie could see from the way her shoulders were rising and falling that her sister was crying now.

“Yes well, you will be,” Stan growled.

By now Phoebe’s bottom was bright red with little swathes of goosepimples where the flesh was shocked by the impact of the brush. The area between the spanked and unspanked bottom was marked with a rubbery welt that got more pronounced as the spanking continued.

“Will you see him again, will you?” Stan sang in an angry mantra.

“No Da, no, I’m sorry.” The last word was drawn out and lost in a wail.

“You really had better not,” Stan said in a resigned voice as he brought the spanking to an end. “Now get into that corner with your bottom facing the room so everyone can see. And I do mean in the corner with your nose touching.”

“Yes Da,” Phoebe said miserably.

“You can stay there until we have had our supper and then you can go to bed without yours, do you understand?”

“Yes Da,” Phoebe said in a small voice.

Stan grunted and now satisfied he returned to his newspaper with a loud rustle as he shook it.

For Nathalie, she was suddenly 18 again and where Phoebe stood. Then she saw her mother watching her and knowing she was of the same mind, Nathalie blushed. Her mother smiled and went back to getting their tea.

*

A few nights later, Nathalie and her parents went to the pub leaving Phoebe at home. Her sister was still grounded on account of recent events and for once Nathalie was fairly certain she would not risk ducking out while they were gone.

Nathalie had forgotten how cosy and friendly an English pub could be and within an hour she had forgotten all about Phoebe and immersed herself in a game of darts.

“You keep playing like that and I’ll be buying the next round again,” John Crossman laughed.

They had put a bet on the outcome, but Stan was off his game and Nathalie more than made up for her mother’s shortcomings with the darts.

“Thanks John, I’ll have another vodka and tonic,” Nathalie crowed.

“You haven’t won yet,” John scoffed, pulling down the peak of his cloth cap as if shading his eyes from an imaginary sun would improve his aim.

“Perhaps you have had enough anyway,” Nathalie’s mother chided.

“Oh pish,” Nathalie muttered as she watched John.

The first of his darts went thunk into double top and was accompanied with a cheer.

“Treble top to win,” Stan said excitedly.

“No way, old man Crossman will miss,” Nathalie jeered.

The next dart went thunk into the board just below the treble.

“See, what did I tell you?” Nathalie said in a slurred voice.

Her mother frowned.

“That’s okay John, another double top will finish this,” Stan said ignoring them both.

But John’s last dart clipped the wire and went skidding across the floor.

Nathalie laughed raucously and snorted in a somewhat vulgar manner through her nose so that even Stan glared at her.

Oblivious, Nathalie finished the game in three darts.

“You two are shit,” Nathalie sneered, “So the vodka is on you.”

Nathalie looked at her mother for approval but she just looked embarrassed.

“I think you have had enough,” Stan said quietly.

Nathalie pulled a face and made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

“You’re not too old to go over my knee young lady,” Mary said in a scolding voice.

John covered a laugh, but several of the younger men began to jeer and tease her.

“Oh mother,” Nathalie groaned even as she blushed.

“Well if you don’t keep a civil tongue in your head, if she doesn’t, I will,” Stan warned, “My house, my rules.”

It was a hollow threat but Nathalie was mortified all the same. But despite the mockery and general laughter, she felt oddly dizzy by the thought, as if a lost emotion was half-remembered.

After that her luck changed at the darts and she fell silent and sulky even as she sipped her last drink. Stan had pointedly left her out of the round and she was too embarrassed to comment on it.

The wind picked up as they walked home, spraying drizzle in their faces and helping them to sober up. On nights like this the walk up the hill was never as much fun as the one down it. But Nathalie hardly noticed the weather and all the way home she thought about Phoebe in the corner and Stan’s spanking threat to her own bottom.

*

“You have been such a bitch since you came back to stay, the sooner you get a job the better,” her mother said angrily.

The argument had begun following yet another night in a pub that was fast losing its charms. Nathalie had woken up with a hangover and had not taken kindly to being nagged about getting up late.

“Well there aren’t any flipping jobs, that’s why I came home, duh,” Nathalie threw back.

“Don’t speak to me like that, sometimes I swear…” Mary didn’t finish and turned back to her laundry.

“Why not? Why the hell not? Why did I even come back here? You don’t want me.” Nathalie sounded childish and she knew it.

“Oh, don’t be so stupid, I know it’s hard, but… but can’t you just make the best of it?” Mary sighed.

Sometimes, she thought, it was like having two teenagers in the house.

“Oh Mum,” Nathalie whined, “It’s like… like… being in a prison with no walls. There is nowhere to go but the pub and… oh grrr,” she kicked impotently a laundry basket.

“Careful,” Mary scolded her.

“You don’t understand,” Nathalie said sulkily.

“I understand that you are being a brat. A prison indeed, you come and go as you want. You can see who you want. You can even get drunk it seems. Something will turn up.”

Nathalie raged inside and could do nothing but pout.

“That’s what I mean I think, there is nothing to hold me back, nothing to push against. All I get to do is wait around,” Nathalie moaned and plucked at some clean laundry awaiting the iron.

“Will you leave my washing alone, if you’re bored you could always help,” Mary snapped.

“That’s what I mean, you don’t get it,” Nathalie whined, “I’m 32 and I have nothing.”

She wasn’t bored exactly, but she was restless.

“If you don’t buck your ideas up I’ll put you across my knee,” her mother scolded.

“Maybe you should,” Nathalie said as she flounced off.

*

Days had passed and nothing happened to make Nathalie any less frustrated and her mood hadn’t improved when she snarled at her mother one morning.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I have had enough of it,” Stan growled from over the top of his newspaper.

Phoebe also looked up from her place at the breakfast table. She was blinking hard and chewing her lip. If she had answered mother back like that she would be across Stan’s knee before she could say ‘corner time.’

“You’ve had enough, I have had enough,” Nathalie shot back.

“All I said was maybe you could help me with the shopping today. I have so much laundry to do…” Mary ventured. She was acutely aware that Stan’s dander was up. Having a papa lion and a young lioness going at one another was not what she needed right now.

“You are always doing flipping bloody laundry,” Nathalie, “Why do you put up with it? Why can’t Phoebe and Stan do their own bloody fucking laundry?”

Phoebe might have pointed out that for the most part she did, but she was too busy gaping.

Stan dropped his newspaper into his lap and just stared at his stepdaughter, his mouth working soundlessly as he searched for an adequate response. For a moment he wondered if Nathalie didn’t have a point and looked at his wife aghast.

Mary shook her head and turned away with a shrug. “I don’t know what’s wrong with the girl,” she muttered.

“I bring the bloody money into this house,” Stan said in a pained voice, but his eyes darted over the great pile of laundry all the same. “What do you do?”

“Anything I bloody want apparently,” Nathalie gave him a scornful look and then got up from the table to leave.

“You come back here, I won’t have… I won’t have that language in my house, apologise to your mother.”

“Let it go Stan,” Mary sighed, “I don’t know what’s going on with her.”

“Yeah, let it go Stan,” Nathalie sneered.

“Why you little… I ought to…” Stan spluttered.

Phoebe glanced at the door and considered running for the hills. Stan was going to be in a spanking mood after this and her own copybook was far from clean.

“Listen you little madam, I have a good mind to put you across my knee and spank you until Tuesday,” Mary said sharply.

“Oh not that old bullshit again, put another record on,” Nathalie yawned.

“If you were 10 years younger…” Stan was fuming.

“Ten years, ha, what’s stopping you hey? You… oh just leave me alone,” Nathalie was lost now.

“Do you know what,” Stan said calmly, “There is absolutely nothing.”

Then to Mary and Phoebe’s disbelief he stood up and grabbed Nathalie by the arm.

“Phoebe, fetch the hairbrush,” he said in a commanding voice.

“You’re not… you can’t be serious, I mean… come on now.” Nathalie fluttered like a caged bird and started to back away.

“Oh no you don’t,” Stan barked as he sat down again and took his elder stepdaughter with him.

“Mum, please, you can’t let him,” Nathalie wailed.

“You know, I think I can,” Mary said in a steely voice, “I think you are long overdue.”

“But I’m too old for this, I… Stan!” The last word was squealed as her stepfather hooked his thumb under her skirt and yanked down her knickers.

Phoebe smirked as she handed Stan the hairbrush and then sat back to enjoy the show.

“Now young lady I am going to give you the spanking of your life,” Stan rumbled as he adjusted his position and lined up the flat side of the brush.

The first spank landed with a good solid thwack right where Nathalie sat and she shrieked.

“Okay, okay, I get it… yah,” she yelped again as she took another spank.

“You’re gonna get it alright,” Stan growled.

The next spank took her breath away and she squirmed wildly across Stan’s lap.

“Please, I’ll be good,” Nathalie wailed.

She sounded babyish and Phoebe giggled.

“Oh you’ll be more than good, you will be like a little church mouse for the rest of the week and guess what you are going to be doing all the laundry,” Stan snapped.

“Yes, okay,” Nathalie squealed.

“Oh I know it’s okay,” Stan bellowed as he spanked in harder.

“Ooh, please I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” that was the mantra she sang for the next several minutes.

But Stan was taking no prisoners and didn’t let up until Nathalie’s bottom had a strong burgundy hue and she was bawling with real tears.

“Golly, I wouldn’t want to have to sit on that any time soon,” Phoebe teased.

“Oh she won’t be, even if she can, which I doubt. Once she comes out of the corner she’s going to working her little bottom off for her Mum,” Stan replied.

“I will, I will,” Nathalie wailed.

“Okay then, now get into the corner… leave them down,” Stan growled. “You’ll stay there all morning and if I get a peep out of you…”

“Yes Stan,” Nathalie sniffed.

As Nathalie reluctantly limped towards the corner the doorbell rang.

“Is that Mrs Welbeck already?” Mary said anxiously.

“It might be just Clare and Pam,” Phoebe said casually, “We going into town.”

Nathalie let out a small wail.

“Oh and I think Michael, Clare’s new boyfriend will be with them,” Phoebe added with relish.

“Oh you can’t let them in,” Nathalie said pleadingly.

“Be quiet you,” Stan growled and then added, “You had better put the kettle on, we have company.”

From the corner wild emotions raged through Nathalie’s mind, but strangely she felt more a peace than she had for weeks. Finally she felt home.

Ends



7 Responses to “Home is a Hot Hairbrush”

  1. Great story. I felt that spanking she got 🙂 ouch

  2. 2 paul1510

    Damian.
    I think she got the message. 😀
    Paul.

  3. 3 saucywriter

    Yet another hot and spicy story from the pen of the true master of the genre; I always imagine you writing these lovely saucy stories in longhand, while a pretty and naked young thing brings you scented water and sherbet – or is that all in my imagination 😉 !

    However you do it, you do it so well – thank you for this wonderful blog!

    sw

  4. 4 paul

    nice story definetly not too old to go over dads knee good old fashioned disipline

  5. 5 DJ

    Thanks guys,

    I thought it was time for a straight old fashioned spanking story. 😉

  6. 6 Johnxc

    Nathalie should feel completely at home now.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: