The car made a slow turn at the bend and began to climb the hill. It was steep enough and the car laboured for a moment before the engine caught. In the rear-view mirror Abraham Heights looked quite pretty nestled on the side of the opposite slope. All white and red brick houses peeking above the treetops, scattered pell-mell around the town square which she knew was somewhere in the trees. Above the scene the sky was ablaze with fire and many of the houses already had lights on against the dark. It was certainly an unusual place and as Ainsley had told her boss, it was the land the time had forgotten.

“Jeez,” she had laughed down the phone to him, “They practically have bobby soxers and soda fountains. I swore I saw some freshman in beanies and no one has cable.”

Ainsley laughed as she remembered. Well she would soon be out of here anyway so it didn’t matter.

She had been sent to the town to give one of the companies there a spot check of the books. Nothing unusually, but the state liked to make random inspections to guard against tax evasion and every once in a while some little mom and pop concern out in the boondocks got a visit. This time it had been Ainsley Greenburg who had pulled the short straw and who had been dispatched.

At 26 she was hardworking and conscientious with little time for distractions. She wore her blonde hair short and usually donned a smart pants suit in a bid to look professional. A bonus when a girl was only five two in stockings. Some clients often resented state intervention and the very implication that they would defraud their taxes, so being told what was what by a short kid didn’t always impress no matter how many assurances there were that it was all just routine.

Well it was done now and in a day or two she would be heading out and home.

Not that she had hated here. There was a solid old world charm about the place and yet she had a sense that something burbled under the surface like a mountain stream. It put her in mind of Brigadoon or one of those towns that were only found by people searching for something. The lack of an interstate or even a major highway certainly fostered such ideas.

Perhaps that was why she had opted for staying at a small out of town family run hotel on the edge of town. From the vantage of distance she could remind herself she was an outsider, where she could avoid the questions and gazes of Main Street and get her head down once she had gone over her work of the day.

Hotel, well that was a joke, more like a halfway house judging from all the rules.

“Are you sure you want to stay here Ma’am?” she had been asked by Lincoln the proprietor when she had first rolled-up. “City folks usually put up at the Grand.”

He said city folks like they might be an alien species.

When he told her the rules she almost took the hint. The place even had a curfew and rules such as no baths after nine, no men in the room, no smoking anywhere… Ainsley had even taken a copy of these restrictions as a souvenir; the hotel was right out of the ark.

The other guests were seasonal workers and a handful of postgrad students who had yet to find permanent accommodation.

“We treat everyone as part of the family around here,” Lincoln had told her.

The old man winked at her as he spoke like he was keeping a secret and Ainsley thought again of Brigadoon.

“Were you born here?” Ainsley had asked politely.

“Bless you no Ma’am,” he had chuckled, “I came here after Nam looking for some peace. It was just what I needed, peace and order. The wife was from here though, mighty queer place I thought at first. But then I guess I went native. Most folks do I suppose, those that sticks around at any rate.”

Ainsley laughed at the thought and cast a glance over her shoulder at the town as she rounded the bend in the road. ‘A mighty queer place’ she thought, a proper use of that word if ever there was one.

She was still distracted and almost missed the turn. Not that it would have mattered. The roads were empty. A bath and bed she sighed and rolled her neck as she slowed at the drive.

It was full dark as she pulled up but there were more lights on than usual and several people seemed to be standing on the porch.

*

Ainsley had heard the rumours of course; one day she had met Tracy, one of Lincoln’s daughters on the porch wrestling with the coke machine.

“Darn thing,” a girl in spray-on leggings and long scraggly brown hair under a back-facing baseball cap cursed.

She looked rather out of place in a town where most of the girls were the picture of high school girls right out of the 1950s. The girl had been the first person to look as if she might actually live in the same century as her.

After that Tracy had had taken to hanging around Ainsley whenever she had come back from town and would eagerly question her about city life. She looked no more than 18, although Ainsley knew for a fact that she was no longer in school and worked full-time at the family hotel on reception and as a general dogsbody.

But Tracy was always keen to talk and Ainsley found the slight hero worship kind of cute. In any case it afforded Ainsley the chance to find out more about the town and the strange old-fashioned rules for the usual residents of the hotel.

“What happens if one of the guests breaks the rules? It all seems a bit odd doesn’t it?” Ainsley asked one day.

Tracy had shrugged and quickly became shy, “the usual,” she said, “Well for the girls who help out and the field hands anyway. Dad has an arrangement. You know, he handles things just as he always does, as he handles us girls.”

“The usual?” Ainsley had asked, adding, “And what arrangement?”

“You know,” Tracy had shrugged again, “The usual way things get handled in a family set-up, around here anyways. Dad has an arrangement with the local farm when he takes in girl-hands and pickers. Gets extra for it.”

Ainsley hadn’t pressed the point, but the first night there she had overhead what had definitely been someone getting a spanking. A bit old school where Ainsley came from but she had heard about such things out in the sticks and she vaguely wondered which of Lincoln’s daughter’s was in for it.

It had crossed Ainsley’s mind that Tracy might have meant this regime was extended to the young women from the farm they housed but she couldn’t quite believe it then. But yet here was the evidence.

Ainsley let the car door close with a clunk just to make sure they knew she was there. But no one even glanced at her.

Jeez this place really is out of the Stone Age, she thought as she surveyed the scene.

This particular scene involved Lincoln and his wife, Tracy and what looked like three of the field hands, one of whom looked in her mid-twenties.

All four of the younger women were naked below the waist and three of the four were facing the outside wall near reception with their bare behinds displayed. Two of these behinds had obviously been soundly spanked already and a third was across Lincoln’s knee getting her spanking. Only Tracy was still facing the wall and yet to have a turn.

Ainsley tried to stay cool but for once her confident city ways failed her and she just gaped.

“Don’t mind this Ma’am,” Ainsley called over cheerfully as if he were just watering roses or some such, “Just a general round-up of mischief.”

“What… eh… what did they do?” Ainsley spluttered. It seemed a safe enough question.

“Well we have three little girls who have got to learn that curfew means curfew don’t we girls?” Lincoln chuckled.

Two of the women facing the wall and the one over his knee all chirruped, “Yes Mr Lincoln.”

“Don’t you think…” Ainsley began, a sentence she didn’t really want to finish.

“Oh don’t worry Ma’am, I know a spanking don’t seem much, but it is just to get their attention. They have a long taste of strop coming up, don’t you girls?” Lincoln said brightly.

There was a less than enthusiastic reply from the girls this time and there was a broken mumbling of “Yes Sir.”

“Does that mean me too Dad?” Tracy piped up. She sounded anxious.

“Oh I’m thinking of something else for you,” Lincoln said darkly.

Ainsley hovered for a moment, her eyes locked in horrified fascination on the ever reddening bottom of the Latino girl across Lincoln’s lap. It was a dusky red and Ainsley couldn’t help noticing that her bottom was huge. The hotelier certainly had his work cut out.

The spanking lasted a while and by the end the panting kicking girl seemed quite distressed by the punishment. But from the way she pulled herself together so quickly Ainsley figured she was used to it, for by the time the woman was back facing the wall next to her fellows she had stopped her noise and was doing a little shimmy as if trying to shake out the sting.

Tracy was next and although they were hardly friends, Ainsley felt a little disloyal staying to watch so she bid an uncomfortable goodbye and made to go in.

“Oh Miss Greenburg,” Mrs Lincoln called over to her, “You have some mail. I’ll get it for you.”

“Oh eh… thank you,” Ainsley replied with a blush. She felt a bit of a ghoul and was suddenly embarrassed.

Mrs Lincoln was a matron of a woman with her greying hair piled like a cone on her head and like everyone else around those parts looked like she had stepped out of central casting for a bobby socks movie in the 1950s. A sort of every-mother, Ainsley thought. And where did she get that polka dot dress? It was hideous.

As they entered reception Ainsley asked, “Did Tracy miss curfew too? I mean…” she was suddenly curious.

“Oh no dear, she wouldn’t dare. She was just careless. She had a bath this morning and left it running,” Mrs Lincoln rolled up her eyes, “Oh the mess. Such a careless girl.”

Ainsley stopped in her tracks. The bath, she hadn’t… oh shit, she had run one this morning, correction had been running one and had then realised she was late. Had she shut off the taps? She had a sudden sinking feeling that she hadn’t.

“Oh… ah… eh… Mrs Lincoln, which… which bathroom was it that got flooded exactly?” A somewhat flustered Ainsley blanched and unconsciously grabbed at Mrs Lincoln’s arm.

*

“Mr Lincoln, Mr Lincoln,” Ainsley cried as she run back out onto the porch.

Tracy’s spanking was well underway by now and the girl’s bottom was really quite red. She was chewing her lip as the spanking got to the part where a girl went from coping with the sting to… well not.

“Lincoln,” Mrs Lincoln said in rather tetchy voice come up behind, “Lincoln I think you had better listen to what Miss Greenburg has to say.”

Lincoln stopped, his arm paused mid-air as he cocked his head like a man who resented the interruption but yet was mildly curious.

“Mr Lincoln, about the bath overrunning this morning… well I…” Ainsley let her mouth hang open before continuing, “Well I think it might have been me.” She winced, her eyes crinkling up and she seemed to stoop as if making herself smaller.

“What was you?” Lincoln frowned. What was this girl talking about?

“The bath, the overrunning bath, well I think I may have been the one who left it running,” Ainsley’s sentence ended with her mouth set to a grimace and her top teeth lightly touching the bottom row.

Lincoln frowned and drew in a small sharp breath and then slowly closed his eyes.

“Tracy,” he said in a slow deliberate questioning voice, “Did you leave the bath running this morning?”

Tracy, who was still draped over his lap with her head near the floor, answered in a somewhat strained muffled voice. “No Dad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lincoln sighed.

“Eh… well I didn’t think you would believe me and… and… well you didn’t exactly ask…” as her voice tailed off Tracy sounded uncertain, rather like a girl who was convinced that anything she said would get her into yet more trouble.

Lincoln Clamped his eyes shut in frustration and recalled the earlier confrontation. He had yelled first, accusing his daughter, no telling his daughter how mad he was that she had left the bath running again, he amended. He also recalled his anger as he recounted his previous promise of what would happen if she ever did it again.

“B-but Dad… I-I,” she had responded.

“Don’t you dare lie to me girl,” he had snapped back. A punishment for lying would have been worse, not that she was above it. But he should have at least… Lincoln winced.

“Mr Lincoln I am sooo sorry about this,” Ainsley said woefully as she wrung out her hands. About then she would have rather have been just about anywhere on Earth than on that porch.

Lincoln sniffed, not deigning to look anyone in the eye and gently pulled his daughter to a standing position.

“Pull your things up girl,” he barked.

“I’m sorry dad,” Tracy said sheepishly as she tugged up her panties and jeans.

“Why? Apparently you haven’t done anything,” he groaned. Just then he didn’t know where to look.

“I guess if I hadn’t of lied so many times before maybe you would have… listened?” she told him ruefully, the last word ending in a tentative question.

Lincoln nodded and looked at Tracy with a look of pride.

“Well then let that be a lesson to you,” he muttered.

“Yes Dad, sorry,” Tracy squeaked.

“Tracy I am so sorry, oh God,” Ainsley groaned as she clapped her hand to her head.

Lincoln pushed out his lower lip and nodded rapidly. Maybe he was considering something, maybe he didn’t need to. He shot a glance at his wife who glowered back with her arms sternly folded. Then she nodded.

“Miss Greenburg?” Lincoln suddenly looked up at his City slicker guest. “Has anyone ever taken you across their knee and given you a sound spanking on your bare bottom?” he asked.

Ainsley gaped and clutched at her throat.

“Mr Lincoln I know that… but if you think… I mean to say…” she spluttered. Unconsciously she had taken a step or two backwards.

Ainsley looked rapidly around in horror and time seemed to slow down. The surrounding reactions were varied.

The three women facing the porch wall didn’t move. It was as if whatever was happening was absolutely no concern to them. The Latino girl was still snivelling, her magnificent bottom jutting out heroically in profile. While the blonde next to her looked sullen with one hip slouched as she leaned into the wall. The third girl even looked bored and was scratching her bum.

Tracy, who had just escaped their fate, stood rubbing her bottom with both hands as she watched the City girl curiously.

Mrs Lincoln too was glaring at her, her arms folded with determination. It was an emotion Ainsley could have stood a little of herself.

“Mrs Lincoln, please…” she ventured nervously.

She looked at Lincoln pleadingly but he merely crooked his finger at her and extended an arm.

By what means, Ainsley never remembered, but one minute time hung on end and she had wanted to flee, the next to was being pulled gently but firmly towards Lincoln and manoeuvred around his lap before being thrown across his knee.

She felt the two hard logs of his thighs pressing into hers as she tumbled forward with her head dipped towards the floor and her arms brushing the planks.

“Mr Lincoln… you can’t do this to me,” she wailed.

There was a long pause as Lincoln appeared to be flummoxed by the apparently seamless business suit pants and he even scratched his head. Making this uppity city brat stand up again would lose him both face and momentum. Luckily he was saved by the intervention of his wife who stepped forward and reached under Ainsley’s waist.

“Noo-nooo nooo,” she spluttered as Mrs Lincoln deftly unhooked Ainsley’s pants and drew the tight grey material over her ample behind.

Ainsley was mortified that everyone could see her lacy brief panties and began to wail a protest. But Mrs Lincoln didn’t stop there. With a hook of her thumb she tugged the underwear smoothly over Ainsley’s cool white moons to join her pants at her ankles.

“Mrs Lincoln, do we have a hairbrush to hand?” Lincoln said with a mock Victorian-style jollity.

“Mr Lincoln, I do believe we do,” he wife replied in equal measure.

“C-come on now, I’m sorry okay, this has definitely gone far enough,” Ainsley wailed.

She began to squirm now but nothing could shake her lose and she had to watch Mrs Lincoln’s legs go by her downturned face and then return with a hard clack of heels on the wooden deck of the porch.

“Okay, okay, you crazy people spank, I get it, I guess I… well but can’t we do this somewhere else?” Ainsley protested.

“In a word Miss Greenburg, no,” Lincoln said brusquely.

All over debate ended with a mighty whack to Ainsley’s bare bottom and she gasped.

“This is, this is, oh God,” she moaned.

But any idea that the first spank had hurt was dispelled by the second and she yelled out more decisively. It was all downhill from there and as spank followed spank Ainsley kicked and bawled as she came face to face, that is to say bottom to the very hard face of a hairbrush and with Abraham Heights’ principle domestic past time.

Lincoln brought the brush down hard and with rhythm as he strove not to miss a single spot on Ainsley ample bottom. All the while she kicked a wailed with absolutely no thought of her dignity.

“I’m sorry,” she bawled, “So Sorry.”

“Not sorry enough to give a thought to Tracy, not sorry enough to think about anyone else,” Lincoln scolded, “You left a bath running for half an hour, have you any idea of the mess and damage?”

Despite her predicament, Ainsley did feel a definite pang for Tracy getting the blame but no so much that she would have agreed to this. Just wait until… what, she thought, until the boss hears and the guys back home? Who I am I gonna call, the cops?

The sting in her bottom had passed burn and being really quite unbearable to brazier hot and unquestionably the worst experience of her life. This isn’t happening, this isn’t… I’m… I’m…

“Jeeeessusfookingchrist,” she howled and did a rapid kick of her heels in frustration.

“Language,” Lincoln growled and gave her an extra sound spanking volley that hurt even for, an accomplishment that Ainsley would have sworn was impossible.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she wailed over and over.

“Sorry enough to agree that you deserve what Tracy got?” Lincoln snapped.

“Y-eess sir,” she bleated and dipped in her knees as her ankles cross in an attempt to mitigate the burn.

“And what she was going to get?” Lincoln pressed.

“Wh-what?” Ainsley sobbed.

Lincoln let in with another rapid volley that stole Ainsley’s, breath, composure and all reason.

“Yessss ssssssssssssssir,” she honked, kicking her knees in unison as she bucked.

“Then when we’re done here and you have calmed down a little in time out then I’ll show you how we really handle things around here,” Lincoln growled as he set to with another volley.

“Lincoln,” his wife muttered softly and gave him a pitying look.

Tracy too looked pensive even as she looked on in awe.

“Aw…” Lincoln sighed, “I guess it is your first isn’t it?”

“Yes Sir,” Ainsley sobbed.

“Go and stand in the corner before I change my mind,” he said gently.

Ainsley could have kissed him. Her bottom throbbed like a torment of hell and she doubted she would ever sit down again but she felt kneeling gratitude to the man who had spanked her. Compared with the spanking the utter mortifying shame of standing to face the wall in front of everyone was a passing ordeal. After all she was just like one of the family wasn’t she?

She got stiffly to her feet and seized her bottom for a vigorous rub. Then she saw Mrs Lincoln disapproving look and blushed. Of course, it figured, and she snatched her hands away. Nor did she need to be told not to restore her clothing. Bare bottom drill was the order of the day judging by the other girls.

As she put her nose to the wall she sniffed and wondered idly how long she would have to stand there. At least for her the spanking was over, for even as she took her place she heard one of the other girls called away from the wall and told to bend over the porch rail.

There was something compelling about the sound of the strap as it landed across the other women’s bare bottom and Ainsley almost wished she could have turned to watch. Still the night air had begun to feel good on her bare bottom and perhaps for the first time in her adult life she felt clean, at ease even, there was a strange simplicity to it all.

Still behind the strap continued to land and the proximity and discipline of facing the wall was relentless. It was going to be a long night.