Angela’s Story begins here.
I loved the way Nan stood defiantly, almost proudly, stock-still in the corner. Even from behind, where I had placed myself, I could see that she was blushing furiously, I knew would be in her position. It has to be said that the scarlet at her face and neck was nothing to the smorgasbord of reds texturing her bare bottom. She had taken one of the hardest canings I have ever seen and had then declared herself prepared to take another 50 strokes.
As I squeezed my thighs together to ease the erotic tension I felt, I thought back an hour or so to when her sun-shy firm round bottom had still been white and marvelled at the impressive transformation.
Nan had been standing in the corner for 40 minutes or so now and the boys still showed no sign of taking up the cane again. I think they were hoping that the long wait would wither her courage and she would take an early bath.
Then finally, after whispering a word to David that I couldn’t quite hear, Alex moved across the room and took up a medium cane.
“Alright my precious, let’s see if I can’t make you see sense,” he said swishing the vicious looking stick.
“Yes sir,” Nan said meekly, but her mood had lightened at once.
The boys had missed it, but I could tell that being caned at Alex’s hands was what she had wanted all along. It was definitely part of her master plan, assuming she had one and had not gone mad.
I caught her eyes as she minced and winced her way to the back of the chair from the corner and behind her grimace they seemed to smile knowingly at me. I didn’t have long to dwell on it as she flopped quickly over the back of the armchair so that her firm separated bottom was again facing skywards. Or should that be ceiling-wards?
“Legs together and bend those knees slightly to present yourself,” Alex said without warmth, as if he were some cruel prison guard.
I shivered deliciously at the image and for the briefest of moments I wished I was in Nan’s place. But one glance at her ravaged bottom and that envy was crushed with one stamp of the illusionary guard’s boot.
“How many is it for this set?” Alex asked.
“Twelve sir,” Nan was almost cheeky again. I wasn’t sure if this was because of the corner time respite or because now it was Alex who wielded the cane.
“Twelve sir. Indeed,” Alex said with a slight twinkle, reassured by the revival of Nan’s spirits.
I was certainly pleased to see her bounce back because now I was free to enjoy myself.
“One,” Alex said suddenly as he laid on an unexpected stroke.
“Fuck,” Nan hissed. “Sorry. Took me by surprise.”
Alex snorted and walked over to the sideboard and made a note in a book that was on the top.
“Bother,” Nan moaned as she saw him do it, “it slipped out, I said I was sorry.”
I gathered that she had just incurred some penalty for swearing.
It didn’t take him long to return to his more immediate target, but this time she was ready and let out nothing but a wordless grunt as the next stroke bit home.
The next 10 strokes were no more welcome and by the end of her dozen her breathing had become ragged again.
“Are you ready to continue?” Alex asked, almost rhetorically I thought.
Nan looked back and offered him her tear washed face, although she was not sobbing, and nodded. Her sad eyes found his face as if to say, its ok it’s me.
The next 13 were indeed unlucky. Nan was obviously not set right and once she lost it she began to buck and claw at the chair seat. After only five strokes she was wailing and began to shout at the fall of stroke.
“I assume that you still want to continue,” Alex said, “do you want a brief respite?”
“No,” Nan sobbed and then broke into open crying.
Alex waited.
I hated myself, despite Nan’s distress I was so slick where it counted. I hoped David had noticed my behaviour because I probably needed a good hiding of my own once we got home. Then I blushed as I realised that if David had noticed, he wouldn’t wait until home to handle me.
“Shall we continue?”
Nan nodded fiercely as she struggled to bring her crying under control.
“Good girl,” Alex said patting her shoulder.
I got the sense that he was rooting for her now. As I was. Nan had taken 75 strokes, another 25 was almost routine for us girls.
Well I can kid myself can’t I? But I know that’s a bit like saying if you can fall 990 feet out of plane without dying then you can surely manage the last 10 feet.
Alex changed to the light cane for the next 12 and delivered sharp lingering uppercuts to her tender under-bum. Nan twisted and squealed almost comically at these, but at least it wasn’t quite so bruising.
“Well, well, well, who would have thought it,” Alex chuckled, “just a baker’s dozen to go and you up £100 pounds. Now remember that you can call a halt at any time for these, so in a way this will be the hardest set.”
What did he mean, in a way? Thirteen on top of 87 bum busters was going to be hell in every way.
This time Alex waited and waited. You could have cut the air with a rolled up newspaper, let alone the black shiny cane that Alex now held. He was using what Nan had often called the Beast, from the look of it. Well it was the grand finale and I’m sure that Nan approved. In a pig’s ear, she did. Poor, poor Nan, I thought and supressed a tiny giggle.
The stroke when it came made a terrifying swoosh-crack and Nan yelled into the seat of the chair at its impact. There was a pause to wait for the surrender and when it didn’t come Alex struck again.
I hugged myself in awe. Talk about see Naples and die, this was a spankmaster’s must-see. Now I was envious. Right at that moment, I would rather walk down the high street naked than take one stroke of this, but in a week, a month, a year, I know I would have been proud to be Nan.
Nan’s bottom was swollen to bursting and I didn’t know which ridge line to count first. It was like an irregular corrugated fence, only in purple and burgundy.
The last strokes were laid on slowly and oh so hard with long moments in between, which I knew would let the pain from each hang separately in her mind and build to meet the next impact.
Nan herself was sobbing incoherently and twisting this way and that as she clawed at the chair and even bit into the upholstery.
“That’s 98,” David intoned and I saw that he was as engrossed as I was.
There was another long pause and Alex tapped Nan’s bottom to line up the penultimate stroke.
“There goes £100 quid,” Alex said with a grim humour.
The stroke, when it came, was met with silence and then Nan began a fresh round of hiccoughing sobs.
“No more,” she said brokenly.
“But…” Alex was dumfounded. We all were. With only one to go, she had settled on a 99.
“I surrender, you have beaten me,” Nan sobbed violently, barely able to speak.
Alex pulled her up into his arms and she clung fiercely crying into his chest.
“What was it all about?” He gasped holding her tight.
“I just wanted… needed… had to…” Nan babbled, “it was you, I had to surrender to you.”
Alex and David exchanged puzzled glances but I understood. Now I really did envy her. Nan I love you, I thought. And I started to cry.
To be continued.
Filed under: Angela, DJB stories, domestic, spanking stories | 9 Comments
Tags: bendover, can't sit down, caning, marital spanking, spanking.cane
“Do try and calm down dear,” her mother said oh-so patiently.
“I don’t want to calm down, I don’t want…” Camilla was seething; she couldn’t even spit out the words. It was all she could do to stamp her foot and flounce off to her room.
“Camilla dear the dressmaker is waiting, the wedding is tomorrow and the final alterations have yet to be made, please dear,” her mother called after her.
Camilla didn’t deign to reply but went crashing up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door.
“I’m so sorry Mrs Hargreaves,” Camilla’s mother gushed as she entered the front room where the dressmaker was unpicking the latest batch of changes to the wedding dress. “Camilla is such a very sensitive girl.”
“Is she?” Mrs Hargreaves said archly. “You know this wedding is tomorrow don’t you Mrs Forbes, I am right about that?”
Margret Forbes pulled a face as if to say ‘tell me about it’ and rolled her eyes up to heaven.
“This is the eighth set of changes I have had to make in almost as many days,” Mrs Hargreaves said pointedly, “it is all rather irregular. The dress should have been finished at least a week ago, what if it doesn’t fit?”
“I know, I know, but we have just found out that the car will be white and not cream,” Margaret replied as if that explained everything. “You know how Camilla wanted everything to be perfect for her wedding tomorrow. She just needs a minute to calm down.”
“I know what she needs,” Mrs Hargreaves harrumphed, “If one of my girls had such tantrums I would spank them silly until they couldn’t sit down in a car or anywhere else for that matter.”
“Oh dear,” Margaret said wringing her hands, “I haven’t smacked Camilla’s bottom since she was 17, I really think at 20 she is too old for that.”
Mrs Hargreaves remembered how she spanked her eldest daughter the week before her wedding and she was 27, but she decided to say nothing.
It took an hour to coax Camilla out of her room and Mrs Hargreaves had had to phone home to say she would be late.
“Now Camilla please try and be civil to Mrs Hargreaves, you have kept her waiting so long now,” Margaret said impatiently as Camilla entered the room still bearing her best sulky pout.
“I don’t care,” Camilla said childishly.
Mrs Hargreaves let out a long slow breath through her nose and counted to 10 silently in her head. Then she said, “I have made the alterations you wanted, but we still have to see if it fits.”
“Fine,” Camilla spat and folded her arms defiantly.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Margaret said in her most fragile voice and crept ostentatiously from the room.
It took another hour to cover the bride-to-be in the half-made dress and for once Camilla found a smile and the dressmaker sighed in relief. She just had time to finish up and go home.
“It’s pretty good, but you know, I think the double line of lace trim would be best after all,” Camilla said absently plucking at some recent stitching at her sleeve.
“You mean like we had it last Thursday?”
“Yes, exactly so,” Camilla said brightly.
“The way we had it in the first place before I made eight different changes?”
“Oh. Is that a problem?” Camilla said distantly, ignoring the dressmaker and snatching up the design picture from the coffee table.
“You know, I don’t think it is,” Mrs Hargreaves said sharply.
Then before Camilla could say anymore, Mrs Hargreaves began to unpin the unsewn parts of the dress and carefully removed it from the bride and put back on the stand.
“Were you happy with the slippers?”
“Oh yes they’re lovely,” Camilla squealed.
“You didn’t think that the heavy layered sole was too thick?”
“No, I needed something firm to stand on all day, I…” Camilla paused in mid-sentence because Mrs Hargreaves was advancing towards her with just one slipper in her hand.
“Mrs Hargreaves? Whatever is it?” Camilla suddenly felt self-conscious, realising that she was now half naked and her dressmaker was sporting a very determined look on her face.
“This is what it is,” she said, sitting on the dressmaking stool and pulling the reluctant bride down over her lap.
“Mrs Hargreaves, what? Mummy? Mummy,” Camilla wailed.
The dressmaker ignored Camilla’s pleading and slipped her scanties down and off her frilly stockinged legs leaving the girl’s bottom quite bare.
“I’m going to settle you down now dear, don’t worry there’s no extra charge, it is all a part of the service,” Mrs Hargreaves said cheerfully.
She brought the slipper down hard on Camilla’s exposed bottom so that the girl yelped out in surprise. Then employing years of experience she set to giving her the soundest spanking she had ever had.
“Mummy,” Camilla squealed.
On hearing the commotion Margaret scurried to the door aghast at what she was seeing. Her daughter’s bottom was the colour of the wedding flowers waiting in the fridge and Camilla was kicking her legs up and bawling like a 12-year-old over the dressmaker’s knee.
“I guess she isn’t too old for a spanking after all,” she sighed and left Mrs Hargreaves to it.
“Now you like the design don’t you?” Mrs Hargreaves asked pointedly as she spanked on.
“Yes,” Camilla howled.
“Yes what?”
“Yes I like the designs,” Camilla said miserably her face screwed up like she had been eating lemons.
“Yes ma’am,” the dressmaker said emphatically.
“Yes ma’am.”
“You like the colour of the lovely Rolls Royce.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good girl,” Mrs Hargreaves chuckled.
The dressmaker looked down on Camilla’s tight youthful bottom, which was now a fully distressed red and decidedly blistered and bruised. For everyone’s sake she needed to make a point, she felt.
“Now take your spanking like a good girl, I want you very sorry before I’m done.”
“Yes Mrs Hargreaves, ma’am, I’m sorry, really I am,” Camilla sobbed, crying in earnest now.
“Good girl. When I am done you apologise to your mother, aunts and everyone who is hiding from you in the kitchen and then you will go and stand in the corner while I finish your dress, even if it takes all afternoon,” Mrs Hargreaves explained gleefully.
“Oooh,” Camilla protested.
But the dressmaker began another prolonged volley of spanks that set her charge bucking hard on her lap until Camilla’s eyes rolled back at her like a wild pony struggling against her tamer.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes ma’am,” Camilla broke in final surrender.
The spanking lasted another five minutes before Mrs Hargreaves set the girl on her feet. Nothing was said, but the dressmaker pointed firmly in the direction of the kitchen and scowled. Camilla took one last look at the slipper in her tormentor’s hand and swallowed. Then rubbing her still bare bottom she walked gingerly out to the kitchen to face the victims of her recent tantrums.
Mrs Hargreaves was as good as her word and much to the rest of the families great amusement, Camilla spent a very embarrassing afternoon facing the corner with her bare bottom displayed to vengeful eyes.
Ends
Filed under: DJB stories, spanking stories | 9 Comments
Tags: adult daughters, aunts, bride, can't sit down, corner time, OTK, public corner time, slipper, spanking, spanking adult daughters, wedding
Blog of the Week
This week’s blog has been visited before, but since this week it features a great little find that illustrates its versatility and its eclectic nature, it was worth revisiting it.
This week The Spank Statement features a rare movie spanking from the Big Sleep. This particular scene has been an enduring mystery since it was originally cut from the film and apparently stills from it have almost never been published.
The picture is from an earlier post so as not to be a spoiler.
Filed under: Blog of the Week, movies, web round-up | 1 Comment
Tags: spanking
Angela’s Story begins here.
I once heard a story about a man who put his head in a lion’s mouth. On being asked why he had done it he replied, “it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Now maybe it is just me, but I always thought all these glib reasons for doing the most incredibly stupid things was just in stories. Then I went to a party with David, Nan and Alex and things got a little interesting.
We were talking about life, the universe and everything, when Nan asked, “why is it always six of the best?”
David spluttered on his drink and Alex laughed.
I was blushing in case someone had overheard. It would have been a great topic of conversation over dinner between the four of us, but in the middle of a vanilla party, it was a bit rich.
Oh vanilla is my new word. I was at a student party to mark the end of my second year at college and the subject turned to BDSM. It must be a new fashion. Apparently vanilla is out and alternative sex is the new black.
“No seriously, why is it six? Why not eight or 10 or five or…” Nan did a flip with her eyes and looked skyward for inspiration. I guessed she had been drinking too much again. Alex certainly thought so from the way he was glaring at her.
“I think it is because traditionally it was thought that six of the best with a serious cane was the most anybody could reasonably stand,” David suggested helpfully somewhat amused.
“But Alex has given me much more than six before and I know you have really handed out a dose to Angela now and again,” Nan scoffed taking another sip of her drink.
“Shush,” I hissed looking around mortified.
“But seriously though,” Nan pressed on regardless.
“Well obviously there are exceptions for particularly naughty bottoms,” Alex said archly relieving Nan of her drink.
I had to laugh because he sniffed it for evidence of goodness knows what.
“I must have taken two, three or even four dozen before now,” Nan bragged. “I mean it hurt, but it wasn’t exactly the end of the world.”
I remembered a couple if three-dozen sessions and baulked, it might not have been the end of the world, but it had been close to being the end of my end, I thought.
“Funny, I don’t remember you being quite so stoical at the time,” Alex said with a hint of irritation.
“But you do know what I mean,” Nan said dismissively.
“No, not really,” David chuckled, “why don’t you enlighten us.”
“I bet if I had to I could take a hundred strokes with a cane,” Nan said a little too loudly for my liking.
“I bet you couldn’t,” Alex was agog and sniffed her drink again adding as an aside, “what is she on?”
“I bet I could. I bet you £100 that I could.”
I gaped and saw David and Alex exchange looks.
“So you are saying that you could take 100 cane strokes on your bare bottom?” Alex said thoughtfully, adding, “what with no special conditions?”
“Yep,” Nan said triumphantly, giving me a conspiratorial look. “No special conditions.”
I wondered if she had some angle or some clever ruse to throw at us as punch line. Personally I would pay £100 not to have my bottom caned.
“You’re on,” Alex said holding out his hand to shake.
Nan took it and pumped it once decisively.
“David, I suggest we convene at our place tomorrow night and as the expert, you do the honours with a cane of your choice,” Alex said with a shrug.
“Hold on, I…” Nan spluttered.
My jaw dropped as I realised that she had just be mouthing off and not thinking it through as usual.
*
The following evening David was in an odd mood and I watched as he laid out his many canes to peruse.
“This thin one would really hurt,” I said picking up one that I had never felt. “But it wouldn’t do much damage, even after a hundred strokes.”
I was excited about what was to come, but also a little scared. Nan, either through design, or drunken folly was raising the bar for both of us. If she took all 100 strokes then at some point, somehow I know that my bottom would get a taste of the honours.
“Yes, and more, she would be very sorry after a dozen but it would too easily prove her point. I really think she needs a lesson, besides I owe it to Alex to have her beg off.”
“But what if she doesn’t,” I asked in dismay.
“Will you kindly allow me to handle this,” David snapped.
I knew when to keep quiet.
We arrived at Alex and Nan’s about an hour later. I still didn’t know what David had in mind, as he had taken about a dozen canes in a long holdall. Poor Nan must have been terrified, I thought as Alex ushered us in.
Nan was waiting in the main room dressed only in a hooded zip-fronted sports top, the kind made from sweat top material. She was wearing the hood up, which served to emphasise her naked legs and firm defiant bottom.
Alex had placed Nan with her arms behind her back facing the wall. I thought it a bit mean as this was supposed to be a contest not punishment, but it was Alex’s house so it was his rules. I was certain David would have done the same in his position.
It was a few minutes before David was ready and then Alex had Nan turn around.
She tugged the front of her sweat top down to cover her sex and I blushed for her. This also made the hood close around her face, so that all I could see was her obstinate pout.
Then I saw that David was holding the largest and heaviest of his canes, the one he referred to as his borstal cane. I had only felt it once or twice and that had been for six on each occasion. I nearly protested, Nan wouldn’t sit down for a year.
Nan looked up at David’s weapon of choice and her eyes went wide. The insolent pout was replaced with a perfect O.
“Bend over the back of the armchair dear,” Alex instructed. “Keep your legs straight and your bottom up looking pretty for David.”
I expected Nan to surrender at this point, although I would have been disappointed. Thankfully, and I mean that if I am honest, she took one reluctant step forward and then she obeyed. Her gorgeous bottom was thrust up and back a little to perfection and I went a little tight down below and not a little moist.
Then once Nan’s eyes were firmly fixed on a single point on the opposite wall as she had been trained to do, Alex produced a standard cane from behind his back and David and he swapped sticks.
I must admit I grinned at this, both in relief and amusement at the ruse.
“Now my love, are you sure you want to go through with this?” Alex asked. “I could make it six of the best for wasting our time and then we could just have a drink.”
“Just get on with it,” Nan said grumpily.
“Alright then. We will begin with a dozen. You will take them all with the minimum of fuss. Then I will ask you if you want to continue, do you follow me?”
“Yes I get it,” Nan said sullenly.
“Then David will give you a baker’s dozen and so on, alternating between 12 and 13 strokes until you want to give up. For the last 13, you will be allowed to stop proceedings at any time.”
“Alright, I agree,” Nan muttered.
“I wasn’t asking,” Alex said sternly. “David, over to you.”
David had taken his sweater off and was busy cutting the air with practice strokes by this time. Each cut made me jump and tingle all over, heaven knows what Nan was thinking.
All eyes were on her firm white bottom as David lined up for the first stroke.
“Ready?” David asked.
“Get on with it, will you,” Nan said impatiently.
“Manners,” Alex snapped. “You don’t want a spanking in front of our friends before we even begin do you?”
“Sorry,” Nan said meekly.
Then Alex nodded to David and then he stood back.
David tapped Nan across the bottom with the cane a few times and I heard a sharp intake of breath. I knew how she felt.
The first stroke came suddenly. The swoosh-crack of it made me jump, but I barely saw it. Then only evidence was the white-on-white line across Nan’s neat buttocks.
I usually can’t keep quiet for the cane but there was barely a gasp from Nan.
We all waited as the line swelled a little and turned rose pink.
No one spoke and I surreptitiously rubbed my thighs in my excitement.
Then David caned in again hard.
Nan gave a little hint of a groan and I saw the top of her head bob up and down for a few beats.
Again we waited for the stroke to develop alongside its sister.
Two strokes and only 98 to go I thought as I licked my lips. This was a rare treat to be this close to the real deal without being next in line. I relished the novelty.
David kept to the same pace for the next 10 minutes. It must have seemed longer to Nan. Usually that would have been enough to have her climbing the walls and crying for mummy, but I suppose with the right mind-set and the knowledge you have a long way to go, a girl can hold the pace, for a while anyway.
“That’s 12,” Alex said at last. “Shall we stop?”
“No,” Nan said huskily. Her voice was on the verge of tears. I could almost hear her eyes watering from where I stood.
“Very well,” Alex said.
For the next 13 David took on a very determined demeanour and seemed to lean into each stroke. These he lay on faster and after only four minutes the second set was over.
By now, with 25 clear rides on her bottom, there was little enough virgin flesh left for further chastisement and I felt certain that Nan would surrender.
“Enough?” Alex asked. There was a concerned edge to his voice now.
Nan shook her head slowly and deliberately. Then there was the smallest of whimpers.
David and Alex exchanged glances and David looked at me. I was open mouthed in awe and excitement, but I didn’t dare speak. Then Alex shrugged.
*
“Uh,” Nan groaned at the 31st stroke.
After that, her by now audible breathing became ragged and she groaned out loud at every stroke.
The third set had been given almost as slowly as the first dozen and I was beginning to realise that a caning that was only a third of the way through after nearly half an hour added up to one epically seared rear.
It was only after David finally stopped the caning that I realised that Nan was gently crying.
“Shall we end it then?” Alex asked.
He had a bitter look on his face and I felt guilty for enjoying Nan’s caning quite so much.
“Nan?” Alex pressed. “I think the point has been made, don’t you? Give it up now.”
There was an almost tangible tingle in the air and I held my breath.
Nan was breathing heavily through her nose and her head rose and fell with the effort.
“Nan shall we stop?” David asked.
Nan shook her head. It was almost in perceptible, but it was clear. I had been transfixed by the scene so long that I realised I was dribbling. I blushed at this and hastily wiped my mouth.
Nan’s bottom was heavily scored and where the strokes had started to merge had taken on a glassy ruby appearance. I wondered if David might give up. He certainly looked reluctant to begin over and seemed to weigh up the situation along with the cane in his hand.
Then David walked over to his bag and picked up a new cane. The thin one I had seen earlier.
I held my breath as David lined up for the stroke. Then it came.
Nan’s shriek took me by surprise. Alex frowned and kissed the air like David did whenever West Ham had a near miss with a shot on goal.
Nan’s reaction was to set the tone for the rest of the fourth set of strokes and by the end she was in bits and started wailing something incoherently into the carpet behind the armchair.
“I think we really are done now aren’t we?” Alex said, sounding relieved.
“Fuck you,” Nan spat.
“I won’t have this,” Alex said angrily. “If you going to be like that then we really have gone too far.”
“Sorry,” Nan said in a small voice. “But I can go on. Really I can.”
“Alright then,” David agreed, “But we’ll take a break, so into the corner with you.”
“I’d rather go on,” Nan said sounding more like her usual self.
“I really don’t care what you’d rather,” David said, but he had a twinkle in his eye.
To be continued.
Filed under: Angela, DJB stories, domestic, spanking stories | 3 Comments
Tags: BDSM, caning, corner time, public corner time, the cane
Jenny and the Night Nurse
Jenny threw the paperback across the room in frustration. Her boyfriend had walked out her the week before and although she did not miss him, she was definitely missing the sex. Not that Kevin was very imaginative in bed, but he had to be better than trying to get off on a gutless so-called erotic romance.
She crossed the room and looked out at the lights of the city visible from her singleton flat and pulled her crossed-lipped pout that she always did when she was thinking. Kevin had said it made her look cute, another reason to hate him. Who wanted to look cute? She wanted to go places and see the world and… and god she needed a good seeing to. Maybe a shower will take my mind off it, she thought.
*
The warm water rolled off her body and caressed her like no man had ever done. She took a great handful of liquid soap and massaged it into her breasts, arms and down her thighs. There her hands lingered as she vigorously rubbed herself, carefully avoiding her sex. Why not, she thought, taking a firmer hold as her breathing become more ragged.
“No,” she gasped aloud, but she didn’t stop.
Her favourite fantasy encroached on her mind as she steadied herself against the shower-stall wall. A brutal dark stranger had come to rob her, at once he became a spy, no an assassin. He had come to kill her, but was seduced by her beauty, if she could only keep him occupied.
As she lived the ‘experience’ her hand strayed to the shampoo bottle. Its long phallic neck, so bulbous at one end, thrust up at her. It was supposed to look like an egg, one of the claimed active ingredients. It didn’t take her long to think of an alternative use for the bottle.
I have to please him or he might kill me, she thought, returning to her imagined narrative. She turned about so ‘he’ could take her from behind. The bottle was awkward in that position but it seemed to hit the spot. Then she remembered Kevin.
He had once asked to take her up the bottom. The idea had excited her, but he had asked like he would be refused, as if it were wrong. Kevin was a wimp. Jenny moved the bottle neck to the narrow place and it slipped in surprisingly easily.
“Fuck you Kevin,” she whispered with a groan, “he can have me, but you can’t.”
Suddenly the neck slipped all the way to broad body of bottle and she gasped. It was insistent in her soul like she was being taken by a true lover. The sudden unexpected orgasm was overwhelming.
“Yes,” she screamed at her imaginary lover as he bent her right over the taps for a deeper penetration, “oh god.”
So lost in her thoughts was she, that the sudden rush of sticky liquid down her thighs merged with her fantasy, but only for a moment.
“What the hell?”
For one sickening moment she thought she had injured herself and pulled the bottle free. Looking down in a panic she saw that the egg-shaped cap was gone.
“Shit,” she gasped desperately fingering her bottom to retrieve it.
It was there alright, but she couldn’t get a purchase with her finger as the cap had turned inside her.
“Shit, shit, shit…” she babbled as the water turned cold around her.
*
At 36, Anne was an old hand at the nursing game. There was very little she hadn’t seen, which is why being passed over for the senior sister’s job was a bit much. To cap it all she had been lumbered with the night shift.
“Quiet tonight,” Helen the junior said as Anne did her rounds.
Anne eyed her young colleague and tried to supress her natural patronising response. Helen was after all only 19 and her professional innocence was to be expected.
“The lull before the storm perhaps,” Anne replied, but she wasn’t convinced. The night had uneventful written all over it. So perhaps Helen was right after all.
She was just about to return to her office to finish up on the paperwork when she saw the rather sheepish looking young woman hovering around the admissions desk.
The girl was in her mid-20s and looked like she had just stepped off the cover of Vogue, the comfortably cute kind that could look good without trying. What the hell did she want in casualty? What had the spoilt brat done, split her nail?
“Can I help you?” Anne said imperiously.
Jenny leapt back and studied the cool tall redhead who had spoken. Damn, she thought, she looked like the kind of nurse who was all business and short on compassion.
“I…” Jenny ventured, as if that explained everything.
“Come on girl, speak up, we don’t have all night,” Anne said impatiently. “This is the casualty department, for urgent cases only, we don’t need time wasters here.”
Jenny glanced around the empty waiting area and back at the nurse.
“It is kind of urgent,” Jenny said in a whisper and blushed.
“Are you in pain? Are you injured?” Anne said puzzled. It was obvious that something was wrong, she had realised. Years’ of experience had taught her to recognise that.
“I have some discomfort yes, but I’m not exactly injured,” Jenny mumbled.
“Well speak up, what is the problem?”
Jenny blushed and spread out her hands in desperation. Looking around there was no one to hear but she just couldn’t explain. All the way there in the taxi she had been racking her brains for a decent story and had come up with two, both totally implausible.
“I have something stuck in me,” Jenny forced out between her teeth. It made her sound angry and Anne bristled.
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“Can we go somewhere private?” Jenny urged.
Then Anne realised. Or thought she did. Once a woman had come to casualty with an orange lodged in an unmentionable place. Another time it had been a vacuum cleaner nozzle.
“Very well come with me,” Anne said with a snort.
Jenny was led to a cubical with a poorly closing curtain that faced onto both the coffee machines and the ladies toilet.
“Sit on the trolley,” Anne said indicating the bed on wheels.
“I… I eh… can’t,” Jenny blushed furiously.
Anne sighed.
“You had better start from the beginning,” she said with an impatient groan.
*
“So let me get this straight,” Anne said sceptically, “you were having a shower and you slipped. As you did so the shampoo fell from your hand and you sat on it. Then somehow the cap came off while you were extracting it from your bottom. Is that your story?”
“Mmm,” Jenny muttered in the affirmative, feeling like a five-year-old caught stealing biscuits. To make matters worse, not only was she one flimsy non-closing curtain away from a public thoroughfare, but the Nurse had had her strip naked and put on a non-closing gown.
Now she was kneeling arse up on the trolley-bed while the nurse prodded her tail with an expression she had last seen from her headmistress.
“Now I know that at the moment we appear not be busy, this is an emergency ward, people come here to have their life saved. I have a good mind to send you home and tell you to come back to outpatients. I am willing to bet that the problem will have resolved itself by then anyway, but just in case and since we aren’t busy, you can have our undivided attention.”
Anne’s tone was scolding and not that of a caring medical professional.
“Helen,” she bellowed suddenly, “I need a hand here.”
“Look couldn’t you just…” Jenny started to suggest, suddenly apprehensive.
“Be quiet, I’ll handle this,” Anne said giving her a quick slap on the bottom.
“Sorry sister I was… oh gosh, what…?” Helen gasped as she pulled back the curtain exposing the patient more than just momentarily to the corridor beyond.
“I’ll need soap and hot water, plenty of it, oh and a crochet hook. You’ll find one in my left-hand desk draw,” Anne ordered brusquely.
Helen clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle.
“Look sharp girl,” Anne backed seeing the girl’s amusement.
“Could you please close the curtain,” Jenny rasped through gritted teeth.
“Yes, yes, in a moment, you should have thought about being embarrassed before. Now push your knees forward a bit more, into your chest, that’s it.”
It seemed to take a geological age before the younger nurse returned. To make matters worse, for most of that time the curtain was left open and only closed just in time to be unceremoniously swept aside again by the over-eager smirking junior.
*
The egg-shaped cap sat in the stainless steel dish like an accusing eye. It had been removed after nearly 40 minutes of her being prodded and pulled about behind. To Jenny, it felt like they had sent a whole posse of ferrets into her hind end after the offending item.
After that she had been left alone face down on the bed for a while. Neither the curtain nor the gown would completely close and her clothes were nowhere to be seen.
She might have complained, but shortly after they had gone there were a lot of raucous male voices yelling somewhere and Jenny guessed that the nurses had some drunken customers. Then at last Anne came back.
“Right you, just one last treatment left,” Anne barked.
“It’s alright, if you could just give me back my clothes,” Jenny blushed.
“Telling me my job… again,” Anne said archly. “Let me tell you, in the modern health service we pride ourselves on preventative medicine and I would be remiss if I did not make sure that you never had to come back again for similar treatment.”
“Oh believe me, there is no way…”
“Please be quiet, I haven’t finished talking,” Anne said sternly, although Jenny thought that there was a hint of a smile playing about the sister’s lips. “Helen I need a hand here.”
“Yes sister,” Helen said breezily appearing at once.
“You remember that discussion we had last Monday?”
The smirk vanished from Helen’s face.
“Yes sister,” she said uncertainly.
“There was a certain item I used to punctuate my comments, fetch it will you.”
Helen blushed and glanced at the young woman on the bed a little uncertain of what was coming or rather who it was coming for. Nevertheless she knew better than to argue and dashed off as fast as hospital regulations allowed; actual running being against the rules, as she had most bitterly learned.
While she was gone Anne helped Jenny off the bed and took her over her lap.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Jenny asked nervously.
“Just taking one last look before we finish up,” Anne replied reassuringly.
Helen parted the gown more fully and snuggled the girl down firmly into her lap.
“Please… I…” Jenny prattled impotently.
For once it didn’t take Helen long to return and Jenny saw that she was holding a black hardwood brush, possibly of a type used to brush down a nurse’s uniform.
“Thank you Helen, you may stay, but please secure that curtain. I think this particular therapy is too controversial to have outside observers.
“Yes sister,” Helen grinned, now knowing exactly what was coming.
“So Miss… Jenny, you thought you would waste our time after your little adventure. Well let me tell you that you are not the first nasty little girl I have had to deal with. I am going to give this precious bottom of yours a sound little spanking until you can’t sit down for a while, a small preventative treatment that you will remember for a long time to come.”
“You wouldn’t dare, I’ll sue, I’ll…”
“You can do what you like, but I rather think you’ll do nothing,” Anne said icily. “Your ‘condition’ medically speaking has been logged, as was the treatment and unfortunate side effects. If you want to the details to come out together with your completely unsubstantiated accusations then feel free. I am sure it will make absolutely fascinating reading in the local newspapers.”
Helen giggled, she had made much the same idle threats the first time she had been in the same position.
“Come on please,” Jenny babbled, “I’m sorry, I was just…”
“I know, slipping in the shower,” Anne said pertly as she brought the brush down on Jenny’s bare bottom with a smart crack.
“Yeow,” Jenny yelped.
Then Anne set to spanking her reckless patient with firm easy strokes that imparted a bite that went on and on for Jenny.
Helen had seen other nurses spanked, but never when she wasn’t up for a share of the bill herself, so this was fun, she thought. Anne certainly did not spare Jenny any of her efforts as she took her bottom through sharp orange to a dull dark red.
At the end of the corridor the receptionist and the night porter exchanged knowing looks. One of the junior nurses had cocked up again no doubt, nothing unusual, they thought.
The spanking lasted over 10 minutes and by the end Jenny was sobbing her soul onto the sparkling hospital floor in sprinkles of crystal tears.
“Now masturbation is all very well, but if you must play with toys, be careful,” Anne said maternally.
“Yes ma’am,” Jenny said miserably, realising as if she hadn’t already that her lie had not been believed.
“Do you hear me,” Anne said brightly, snapping the brush down hard for a few more swats.
“YES, ma’am,” Jenny yelped.
“Sure?” Anne spanked on.
“Oh god yes, please… oh… ow… owie, owie,” Jenny spluttered, causing Helen to laugh out loud.
“Good,” Anne said finally bring the proceedings to an end, “because if I ever have you back here I’ll have Helen and the other student nurses practicing enema’s on you all night with a spanking before and after for good measure, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jenny sobbed as she stood up rubbing her bottom.
“Now did you want to make a complaint or will you sign here,” Anne asked holding out a pen in one hand and a clipboard in the other.
“No ma’am, I mean yes ma’am, I mean… I’ll sign.”
*
Two nights later Jenny lay, through necessity, on her front in bed. Her bottom still ached dully and rather than cooling her ardour she was hornier than ever. She turned out the light to sleep but the dark sinister stranger came unbidden to her mind. This time he was holding a black wooden brush in one hand and the shampoo bottle in the other.
Ends
Filed under: DJB stories, spanking stories, workplace | 17 Comments
Tags: anal, can't sit down, embrassing illness, hospital gowns, nurse, OTK, public humiliation, public spanking, sister, trainee
Blog of the Week
It’s late, but better late than never.
This week’s blog is not really a blog at all, except that it is. Sometimes a Girl over on Voy, is from a long line of Voy discussion boards where would-be bloggers get to post for a while without the hassle of getting their own blogs.
It is on boards such as this that have many great snippet included here at A Voice in the Corner.
It is a collection of apparently real life women who are still spanked by their parents, employers and others, coupled with a heavy dose of fantasies (sometimes admitted to) but often not. Part of the fun is working out which is which and ultimately one doesn’t care.
If you drop by place nice.
By the way, the picture above is nothing to do with SAG, it is just one that was laying around.
Filed under: Blog of the Week, real life, web round-up | 3 Comments
Tags: fantasies, real life, spanking
DJ Black has been kidnapped
Okay that might not be true, just kidnapped by life. Normal service will resume shortly. Blog of the Week is late, but some stories are on their way plus a small feature. Watch this space.
Filed under: DJB Corner, web round-up | 4 Comments
A Fall of and Rise of Grace
“Now Prime Minister, just one final question,” Grace said, leaning forward cockily, already congratulating herself on another great show. It was then she noticed Samantha in the TV audience. “Um… eh, yes just one final question…”
Things had not been going so well for Grace of late. For one thing Martin had left her.
“Your damn career means more to you than I do,” had been his parting barb.
I am afraid you are probably right, she had thought sadly. It didn’t help that Martin was a struggling journalist on a medium-sized provincial newspaper and she was the nation’s number three TV journalist and undoubtedly the top woman broadcaster in the country.
The other matter had been the cocaine scandal. Not that she ever touched the stuff herself, but the newspapers were full of exaggerated orgy stories and pictures of the police raid at the party she had attended. Her career had survived, but the photographs of her being led half-drunk to a police car for questioning had been embarrassing.
Right now she could barely hear the PM’s answer as in her imagination the image of a scowling Samantha seemed to fill the room. No doubt she had come to express her disapproval of recent events.
Grace had known Samantha and her sister Julia for 18 years, ever since she had been the 16-year-old baby sitter for Julia’s daughter Melanie. Things had not always gone smoothly between them but over time the two sisters had been become almost surrogate parents to her and it had been their support that had been largely responsible for her successful career.
Julia was a single mother and once a week she and Samantha used to go out leaving Mel with Grace. The arrangement had worked out well for over two years, but in that time Mel had gone from being a cute biddable seven-year-old to an adventurous nine-year-old who needed watching.
Grace herself had also strayed from the path of serious student and want-to-be responsible adult, to a course more suited to a reckless teenager who had come to regard Mel as an impediment to her incredibly important social life.
Things had finally come to a head when Grace was 18.
“Can I try some?” Mel asked Grace one evening looking curiously at the beer in her babysitter’s hand.
“Sure, knock yourself out.” Hey that’s not such a bad idea, Grace thought suddenly, then I can get Paul or maybe Graham to come over.
“Yuk, it’s awful,” Mel pulled a face.
“You have to stick with it,” Grace said laughing.
Mel shook her head.
“Can we watch a movie instead,” she asked.
“It’s your bed time.”
“Aw…” Mel groaned, then added mischievously, “I know where Aunt Sam keeps the good stuff.”
“Good stuff?” Grace was intrigued.
“You know, the 18 certificate stuff, with killings and swearing and maybe even some… you know,” Mel added with a giggle.
“Look I don’t think…” Grace began.
“I’ll show you,” Mel yelled and ran off.
“Come back you little…”
Grace found Mel sitting on Samantha’s bedroom floor pulling out a box of videos from under the bed. Grace was about to tell Mel to put them back when she saw some of the titles, Wes Craven’s New Nightmare, Savage Nights and Bitter Moon, all recent movies that Grace hadn’t seen.
“Go to bed,” Grace said absently pushing the box back under the bed, but not before she gathered up a handful of the offerings, including some porn.
*
When Samantha and Julia opened the front door they saw Melanie curled up asleep halfway down the stairs. As Julie rushed to see to her daughter, Samantha quickly went into the lounge to check on Grace. With both girls fast asleep Samantha wondered if there had been a gas leak and somewhat panicked she checked the boiler, but the pilot flame was strong and clear blue.
“Wha-what’s up?” Grace groaned shaking herself awake. “Oh god… shit.”
Then Samantha saw the used cigarette in the saucer that served as an ashtray, the empty beer bottles and the various videos from her private collection.
Samantha folded her arms and fixed Grace with a withering look.
“Is Mel okay,” she called up.
“Yes. No thanks to our baby sitter,” Julia whispered loudly in response from the top of the stairs.
“I was…” Grace began nervously.
Samantha realised that Melanie had been sitting on the stairs before she slept. She had been in exactly the right position to watch the videos through the open door. Grace had been too self-absorbed or drunk to notice.
“Tell me. Do you think these are the kind of films Mel should be watching?” Samantha growled picking up the cigarette stub and kicking an empty bottle so that it rolled across the carpet.
Grace bit her thumb and looked away. She was busted. The beer and the cigarettes in the house were a no-no, the porn was probably worse. What was that about Mel?
“We found Mel asleep on the stairs. Did she even go to bed?”
“Is she okay?” Grace asked horrified, suddenly realising what had happened.
“Oh so now you’re concerned,” Samantha snapped. “Do you know what my mother would have done when I was your age if I had even considered a smoke, let alone, beer, porn tapes… and before you ask they were ex-husband’s and anyway I’m a grown woman.”
Samantha was spitting and Grace doubted she could say much to mollify her.
“Look…” She began.
“Look. You look. I have a good mind to call your mother and…”
Grace rolled her eyes up at this.
“Oh you don’t even care about that, do you?” Samantha spat. “What’s happened to you? If you were my girl I’d…”
“I am not your girl and don’t pretend you even care,” Grace sneered. “You don’t even have any kids, so what do you know?”
Samantha was speechless. It was all she could do to breathe. She had a flash of the terror she had felt when she had thought both girls had been gassed.
Grace saw Samantha’s mouth move wordlessly and realised that she might have gone too far.
“I’m sorry but…”
“Sorry. You’re sorry?” Samantha growled, “you’re not sorry. Let me show you sorry.”
Samantha dropped onto the sofa beside the 18-year-old and hauled her over her lap.
“What are you doing, you can’t…” Grace was too confused to even guess what was happening let alone protest it adequately.
“Let me show you how much I care,” Samantha said darkly with a sharp emphasis on the ‘I.’ “Let me show you what happened to me at your age and what would happen to mine if I had any.”
“Look okay I’m sorry,” Grace said in her reasonable tone that always worked with her mother.
“Shush little girl, just you be quiet,” Samantha soothed with mock sympathy that barely disguised her true rage. “You’re not sorry. I doubt if you even think you are. I’m going to show you sorry. By the time I am done with you, you will be the sorriest girl in town.”
Then she began to tug at the girl’s jeans, managing to pull them halfway over her ample puppy-fat bottom without undoing the belt.
“Samantha please just wait a minute…” Grace said frantically.
Samantha didn’t even pause. Grace’s belt was more for show than function and was strapped on loose. Somewhere under the struggling girl a button popped and the denim slid stutteringly over her smooth white flesh taking whatever she had on for underwear with it until Grace was mooning her.
“N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-noooooooooo,” Grace wailed, realising at last what was happening.
Samantha seized Grace’s wrists as she tried to reach back to cover herself, she remembered the technique her mother had used on her around the same age.
“Grace, yes,” Samantha said with a smile, punctuating her words with a tight spank.
The crack of the impact rebounded around the room before Grace connected the sound with her bottom, then she felt the sharp sting.
“Ow.”
Samantha watched the handprint develop where it crossed both bottom cheeks and then she began in earnest.
By the time Julia came downstairs Grace had the reddest bottom she had seen in near 20 years and the girl herself was bawling her head off for England. Grace had kicked her legs so much that scatter cushions had been sent across the room.
“Please I’m sorry,” Grace bawled, still struggling in Samantha’s firm grip.
“Not yet you’re not,” Julia spat.
“Oh please, please Julia stop her, a-huh-a-huh,” Grace sobbed.
But Julia just stood grim-faced and watched as the drama continued to unfold.
“I’m going to spank you until… until,” Samantha swallowed all the threats her mother had uttered in years past and spanked even harder. “You’re having the hardest spanking you have ever had, mark my words girl.”
“I’ve never been spanked, please,” Grace wailed almost incoherently.
“Then it is time you were,” Samantha raged.
“You remember the strap mother used,” Julia asked her elder sister, not taking her eyes from Grace’s swollen red bottom.
When they had been girls their mother had often had them side by side over the back of her settee for a prolonged strapping. It was something they rarely cared to remember, but had always kept them on the straight road, Julia now realised.
“Good idea. It’s hanging in my wardrobe,” Samantha said angrily, realising that she was running out of steam.
By the time Julia returned to the room with the strap Grace was hugging into the sofa sobbing hard with her jeans at her ankles and her angry red bare bottom thrusting up at her.
“Shall we give her a moment?” Samantha said quietly as she tried to get her breath back.
“As long as she needs,” Julia said bitterly, “so long as she is standing in that corner.”
Samantha snorted her agreement. Another of their mother’s little tricks, she remembered.
Grace thought of running when she saw the strap, she wanted to beg and say she was sorry, but one meant that she could never come back and the other would be futile, she realised.
The corner was a humiliation beyond embarrassment and she almost wished to get it over with, but her bottom throbbed quite enough from just Samantha’s hand and the idea of the strap any time soon was too much.
“Please I’m sorry,” Grace whispered.
“Are you? Really?” Samantha asked, half believing her.
“Truly.”
“Then you will take the strap without protest.”
Grace couldn’t bring herself to agree, although she knew it was deserved, so she burst into a fresh bout of tears and shuffled over to the corner.
*
After half an hour Julia led Grace from the corner by her ear.
“Have you any idea how it feels to find your daughter like that? Do you know how much you have let us down?”
Grace opened her mouth to answer but closed it again fast. The strap in Julia’s hand was short and thick and looked as though its hard leather surface had been polished by decades of use on errant girls’ bottoms.
“My grandmother used this on my mother’s bare bottom more times than she could count. Then she got to use it on us, and not so long ago at that,” Julia explained. “Believe me it hurts more than you will believe. Ten minutes with this and neither Sam nor I could sit for a fortnight.”
“Please I’m sorry,” Grace whimpered.
“Are you? If you are tell me how much you deserve this.”
Grace looked at Samantha and back at the strap.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Say it.”
“I’m so sorry,” Grace said pleadingly, “I deserve it.”
“Deserve what?”
“The strap.”
“Very hard on your bare bottom?”
“Yes,” Grace lisped.
“Say it,” Julia growled.
“On my bare bum,” Grace managed, all but swallowing the words.
“Get your bottom over that settee.”
Grace hobbled over sheepishly wondering with every step if the strap would hurt as much as Samantha’s hand.
It seemed to take an age to reach the place of ‘execution’ and once she got there she folded herself over the back of the sofa, acutely aware of the scratchy coarse material on her exposed lower belly as she did so.
“Over a bit more,” Samantha said quietly. She knew from personal experience that after a certain point bent over the back of the furniture it was almost impossible to get up unassisted and a girl was held in place by gravity no matter how much she struggled. And Grace was going to struggle long before Julia was done with her.
For a young woman almost out of her teens, Grace had a lot of puppy-fat, although at the same time her bottom was firm and tight as only a very young girl’s tail end can be. Her undignified position both served to round out and split her bottom so that even Samantha blushed, knowing as she did that not so long ago she had been so placed.
Then all at once Julia brought the strap down with a will, the resounding thwack making Sam jump and left her wondering if it might not wake Mel.
For Grace the sound was the least of her worries. The band of fire seared her so that she screamed straight off.
“Oh god,” she grunted.
“Felt it did you?” Julia asked with a growl.
“Oh god yes,” Grace wailed in a lost voice drenched in tears.
The strapping that followed was slow and hard, maybe at a rate of 12 blasting thwacks in the first minute. By then of course the welts and blisters that grazed her bottom were sandpaper-raw and decidedly edging towards purple.
Not that Julia was going to stop there. She took the girl to the edge of coherent regret and might have gone on in her disappointed anger, but at the eight minute Samantha touched her arm gently.
“That’s enough Jules,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Grace wept.
*
In the years that followed Grace had become very close to Samantha, Julia and Melanie. The two women had taken her in hand, often literally and when she had decided to become a journalist they had been very supportive and had encouraged her.
Over time Grace had come to learn that she was never too old for a good spanking if either Julia or Samantha decided she had one coming. And heaven help her if they both fixed on one. She rarely got off with just a session over one of the sisters’ knees on those occasions, a double punishment meant the strap. At those times she prayed that it was Julia wielding it because compared to Samantha, she was the soft touch.
After that first time, Grace had not sat comfortably for two weeks and not at all for a few days and that was the least she ever got from the strap. A merciful punishment was a simple dose of the hairbrush, a monthly occurrence from then on.
The most humiliating times were when Mel was there to watch, although it was not so many years before Melanie too was on the receiving end.
Grace always had mixed feelings when she watched one of those sessions, when she had the luxury of just being a spectator, that is. Often the two girls got it together as the sisters must once have done, side-by-side over the back of the sofa. A particularly shaming experience when you’re 27 or even 34.
“Prime Minister, thank you. This is Grace Johns and you have been watching News Focus,” Grace signed off, her eyes darting everywhere but at Samantha watching in the TV audience.
*
Samantha and Julia were waiting for her outside with the car.
“Julia, how nice, I saw Samantha in the audience but I had no idea you were here too,” Grace said as evenly as she could manage.
“Did you not?” Julia said curtly.
“We have spoken with your producer, it seems you have a few weeks leave coming,” Samantha cut in trying to sound more reasonable.
“Yes but I was hoping to…” Grace was about to spin a yarn about going away with Martin, but they must know that it was over. So she tailed off and looked forlornly at her shoes.
“You’re coming home with us,” Julia said quietly.
“Look I don’t want… I mean I don’t need…”
“Don’t need what? A jolly good hiding, I think you do,” Samantha growled.
“It wasn’t me. It was just a showbiz party, there are always a few coke heads there. I never touch the stuff, I…”
“So you had no idea there was any cocaine at the party?” Julia asked pointedly.
Grace blushed and her jaw tightened. Of course she did, if she had thought about it.
“It was work. Kind of,” she said sullenly like she might have when she was 18.
“And you were visibly drunk,” Samantha added. “At a showbiz party, that’s work for you is it? It was all over the newspapers.”
“Just the tabloids, I…” Grace sighed and threw up her arms in defeat.
“Get in the car,” Samantha said firmly, “in the back with me.”
Grace looked into the deep shadow of the back of the car like it was a prison sweat box. She wanted to ask why Samantha was going to sit in the back, but thought better of it.
“Mel won’t be there will she?” Grace asked trying to sound conversational, but they all knew her real concern.
“Funny you should say that,” Julia said enigmatically.
“Look…” Grace said trying to assert herself like the confident 34-year-old she was.
“Don’t you look me,” Samantha snapped, “you look.”
Before Grace could say more Samantha had pulled her over her knee in the back of the car. Grace didn’t struggle and thanked the gods it was getting dark and no one could see. The tabloids would have a festival with this, she thought ruefully.
“Something on account,” Samantha said almost cheerfully raising the hem of Grace’s expensive tailored skirt, before deciding it was too tight and began to remove it all together. “Oh look a thong, we’ll have that off as well, disgusting thing.”
“Please Samantha not here,” Grace wailed as they pulled up at some traffic lights, “I’ll be recognised.”
Samantha looked at Grace lying face down, her white bottom the only visible part of her and said, “is there something else you haven’t told us?”
“No,” Grace said indignantly, “you know what I mean.”
“Good,” Samantha said laying on the first spank.
“Yeow,” Grace yelped, but it was to be the first of many as Samantha set to spanking her all the way home.
*
By the time they reached Samantha and Julia’s house Grace was feeling very sorry for herself, and not a little sore. The spanking had stung, but it had been designed more to humble her than really hurt. The main event, she realised, was yet to come.
“Just you wait my girl,” Samantha rasped as she opened the car door.
“Wait,” Grace protested, “I have to get dressed.”
“It’s dark enough, besides I’m sure the neighbours have seen it all before,” Samantha replied taking Grace by the scruff of her neck as she half led and half dragged her from the back of the car.
Grace blushed. She could certainly remember some truly humiliating events in the past, but she had been younger then and not so well-known.
Samantha couldn’t help a wry smile at the sight of the cringing celebrity journalist running at a crouch to the front door, her bare bottom mooning anyone in the street who might happen to pass by or glance out of their window.
“Please Julia open the door,” Grace wailed.
“Don’t rush me, I have to find my keys,” Julia replied absently.
It took an age for the familiar metallic rattle of the key to finally announce the door’s opening. Grace didn’t wait, but bolted through it before someone could see her exposed condition.
If she hoped the hall would be a sanctuary she was to be disappointed. There inside were two people. Grace squealed and clutched at her exposed sex.
“All girls together,” Samantha chuckled at Grace’s response as she flipped on another light.
It was then that Grace saw that the two women inside were like her, naked below the waist. One she realised at once was Mel, although her old friend was facing the wall. The other was a dusky brunette who Grace had not seen before.
“This is Pam, Mel’s friend,” Julia explained. “As you can see they have both been as badly behaved as you. Little Mel and Pam have decided to become a pot heads.”
‘Little Mel’ was 25 these days, Grace thought drily, and who the hell was Pam.
As if reading her mind Samantha said, “Pam was at college with Mel and we took her under our wing some years ago.”
“I see,” Grace said blushing.
“Hello Grace,” Mel said miserably.
“Hi,” Pam squeaked.
Grace was impressed with the new girl’s statuesque bottom, which was large and firm, with a very tight split. From her complexion Grace decided she must be Mediterranean or even Eurasian.
“Hello,” Grace replied awkwardly, “how did you get to join this circus?”
“I was kind of adopted,” Pam said momentarily turning around and offering Grace a grimace. “What’s your excuse?”
Grace was taken with how beautiful she was and wondered what it was about girl’s like them who submitted to such treatment.
“Same story I ‘spose.” Was her best answer for the moment.
“No idle chatter girls. Grace you can join the girls and face that wall until we’re ready for you.”
*
The three women had been facing the wall for over half an hour since Grace had arrived. Who knows how long Mel and Pam had been before that.
Anticipation, embarrassment, apprehension, annoyance and indignation raced through Grace’s mind. I’m a well-paid well-respected journalist. I have my own TV show and this is completely ridiculous, she thought. She glanced sideways at Mel to see that despite the familiarity of her situation she was blushing hard. I should turn around and tell Sam and Julia that I am too old to be treated like this.
“Grace stop fidgeting,” Samantha scolded somewhere behind her. Grace started at the reprimand and felt her ears burn.
“We might as well get on with it,” Julia sighed.
“Alright, front and centre girls. Come in here and get your sorry bottoms over that sofa.
Grace swallowed and turned about, her mouth hung open as if she were about to protest, but Pam and Mel traipsed past looking decidedly sheepish and obediently bent over the back of the settee. The moment for protest has passed, Grace thought ruefully and reluctantly followed suit.
Once all three women had placed their humbled bottoms in the required jutting posture they all knew so well, Julia picked up the strap and moved behind them.
“Do you come here often?” Grace whispered to Pam.
“Mmm,” Pam whimpered and pulled a face and then hissed, “far too often.”
Then they fell silent and time seemed hang like lead and the only sound was womanish breathing and the slight rasp of leather.
The crack made them all jump and Grace glanced at Mel just in time to see her jerk forward as she yelped.
Oh god, oh god, oh god, here it comes, Grace thought frantically. However Mel was to receive about a dozen more yet, by which time she was in bits.
Grace braced herself, but it was Pam’s turn.
Pam clawed at the back of the upholstery as she tried to handle it, an attempt that was to last to five strokes. Then she screamed. One minute she was grimacing comically, taking it all in her stride and then her face screwed up in a prelude to cracking and she began sobbing like a young girl.
I’ve done it before, it’s okay, it’s fine, Grace told herself in a mantra. Then something exploded behind her and someone put a blow torch to her bottom.
“Yikes,” she gasped.
Julia smiled as Grace pushed her bottom back to meet the next stroke. She was certain that it was an unconscious reaction on Grace’s part, one that had come from years of practice. There was something satisfying about matching her bottom to the heavy red of the younger women. Two sets of dozen and then Samantha can take a turn, she thought.
“Yeow,” Grace announced as Julia placed the next stroke.
Samantha glanced at her sister’s pensive and determined face and thought ahead to the three tender bottoms standing in a row at the breakfast bar the following day. The certainly won’t be sitting if she had anything to do with it. It was going to be a long night.
Ends.
Filed under: DJB stories, spanking stories | 6 Comments
Tags: adult daughters, can't sit down, corner time, domestic discipline, humiliation, mentor, mentoring, OTK, public corner time, public humiliation, public spanking, spanking, spanking adult daughters, strapping
A doctor canes
“It was only a kiss,” Gail said, looking from her step-father to her mother for support.
Amy looked at Michael, her husband, surely he wouldn’t, she thought, but he had that look and he never went back on his word. Kissing the veterinary’s son outside the post office had been the talk of the village.
“I am the village doctor, I have a position to uphold,” Dr Warren said calmly, “and anyway you were warned were you not?”
Gail looked as she if she might flee and looked from Michael Warren to her mother, this wasn’t happening.
“Look please,” she said pleadingly, “I didn’t mean to… I mean this is 1935, not the dark ages, it was only a kiss.”
“What did I say last time?” Dr Warren sighed taking up the cane from his desk.
Gail looked in horror at the stick and baulked.
“Mummy please, you can’t let him,” she wailed.
“Now darling, you know when I married Michael you were told that things would have to change, for all of us. Anyway a little discipline will do you good. I am sure it will,” Amy said sounding distinctly unconvinced.
“But Mummy, I’m 19,” Gail begged.
“Exactly so, when you are 21, then you may have a point,” Amy said with more resolve. She remembered how much freedom she had compared to her daughter. Maybe Michael was right.
“Your age is completely beside the point,” Dr Warren said archly, “even if you were 21 I would still expect a level of decorum from you, with the same consequences if I didn’t get it.”
“I won’t do it,” Gail said defiantly.
“Now Gail, don’t take that tone with the doctor, you know he only has your best interests in mind,” her mother scolded.
“Please adjust your clothing, I really don’t want any more arguments,” Dr Warren growled.
“Mummy,” Gail exclaimed, by now close to tears.
“Come on, let me help you,” her mother said with a sigh.
“Just the skirt and whatever is beneath,” her step-father suggested. “No need to make this anymore unpleasant that it has to be.”
It was quite horrid enough, Gail thought as he mother reached for the zip fastener on her tweed skirt.
Dr Warren turned his back on his womenfolk, the cane braced between his hands at the small of his back, as Amy first removed her daughter’s skirt and then her slip.
“Come on,” Amy urged, indicating the cotton pants.
“Leave those for a moment,” Dr Warren ordered as he turned. “Bend over the arm of the chair.”
Gail clutched at her nethers and half doubled over to shield herself.
“No more comedies girl, or I shall get quite cross,” Dr Warren barked, tapping the padded armchair with the cane as he did so.
Gail took one last look at her mother and then gingerly lowered herself over the arm of the chair until her bottom was sticking up and the cotton briefs had been drawn taught across her ample bottom.
When her step-father had let her off this sanction last time, it had been on the understanding that next time she would be caned across the bare bottom. But surely he wouldn’t, not a girl, she hoped against hope. That hope was quickly dashed as she felt his hand at her elastic waist and her briefs drawn down over her thighs. She gasped.
The draft from the hall sang on her fresh until it prickled. Or maybe it was just her step-father’s eyes. She had never been seen naked by a man before. The scandal, the shame, surely she would die.
Amy was quite taken aback by the sight of her daughter’s womanish curves and saw her in a whole new light. She wondered if Gail were aware how revealing her posture was or if she had meant to thrust her bottom up quite so much. She glanced at her husband and was pleased to see that his demeanour was entirely appropriate under the circumstances.
Dr Warren felt his throat constrict at the sight of his step-daughter’s bare bottom. He hadn’t banked on such a lude display. His mother had always said that a good caning on girls and boys alike should always be on the bare bottom, but he had never had sisters and it was not until now that he had been confronted with the reality.
“I shall give you six on this occasion and let it be a lesson to you,” he said firmly. He wanted to get this over with.
He drew the cane down as sharply as he could. The noise was more fearsome that he remembered.
Gail stared at the sound, but at first the pain wasn’t so bad. Then it was. It hurt worse than anything she had ever felt and she shouted out.
Amy jumped at the sharp thwack and marvelled at how quickly the pale line on Gail’s bottom bloomed a developed in to a plum coloured ridge. She felt a little light-headed; there was something primeval about this, something satisfying. She had been a lone mother for so many years and now at last the house had a master.
Dr Warren felt a little sick, any salacious thoughts he had were gone, this was Gail after all. Now he understood the saying, ‘this will hurt me more than it will you.’
He brought the cane down five more times, counting to a slow 10 in his head between each stroke. The girl rocked at each as it struck home, exploding into tears at only the second biting contact.
When he was done there were six vivid lines on her bottom, starting at her crowns and descending to where she usually sat. No longer, or not for a while, he feared.
“Alright dear,” he said quietly, “get up.”
It took a moment for Gail to struggle to her feet and then she fumbled with her underwear.
“Not so fast,” Amy said, her eyes shining.
Dr Warren took this to be sympathy ad looked away.
“Please Mummy I want to go to my room,” Gail sobbed.
“You know the rules,” Amy said, licking her lips a little.
Gail looked in horrified uncertainty towards the corner in the hall. Amy nodded.
“But Mummy that was when I was 10 and you still spanked me,” Gail protested.
“A young lady is never too old to go to the corner after her spanking or caning,” she amended, pointing a stern finger at the wall.
This time Gail looked at her step-father for support but he was already looking away.
Gail spent a miserable afternoon standing in the hall near the front door with her firm defiant bottom well displayed, the neat lines of the cane throbbing as if they would never stop.
“I do hope we don’t have any visitors,” Amy remarked idly.
Gail gulped and blushed more fiercely than ever. Years ago the vicar had called after one of her spankings and that had been bad. Surely mother wouldn’t let anyone see. But she knew that she might.
*
A few weeks later Dr Warren was going through his mail when he came across an odd account.
“I have a bill for a hat here dear, surely it’s a mistake,” Dr Warren said pensively.
“Ah, no don’t be cross, but I simply had to have something for Muriel’s daughter’s wedding,” Amy winced; she had hoped to tell him before he found out.
“But I distinctly told you not buy anything we didn’t need, you know what with the economic situation…” he didn’t finish, and then he remembered something. “You are not even invited to the wedding.”
“I thought I might just pass by.”
Dr Warren looked at the bill again and saw the price.
“Nine guineas,” he bellowed. “What do you think you are doing woman?”
“Was it that much?” Amy chewed at her lip, agitated.
“Nine guineas,” he yelled again. “That’s… that’s… oh my god that is almost as much as I earn in a week.”
“But it’s such a darling little hat…”
“It had better be a bloody darling little hat at that price. Are you sure you didn’t buy the shop? I ought to tan your backside,” he roared.
Amy went white and could hardly get her breathe. Hidden thoughts asserted themselves and once again she felt rather light-headed.
“Perhaps you ought,” she said huskily.
Dr Warren gave his wife a hard stare and then his eyes narrowed.
“Very well, let’s see how you like these apples,” he said darkly.
He moved across the hall and into his study.
“Come here,” he called.
When she entered he was holding the cane.
“You saw how your daughter was arranged the other week.”
“Yes.” It came out as a sigh.
“Let me see if you can take six,” he growled.
“If I take 12 can I keep the hat?”
She felt week at the knees. It was the same feeling she had had when he had caned Gail. Only this time it was stronger.
“No, but I have a good mind to give you 12 anyway.”
“You wouldn’t.” Her eyes went wide.
“Don’t worry, you couldn’t take that much. You saw how much fuss Gail made.”
“I would have to if you made me,” she dared him with her eyes.
“You have no idea.”
He felt something stirring as it did between them most Saturday nights. In fact not since their honeymoon had seen his wife so… he didn’t know. Come to think of it he had never seen his wife like this.
“I promised to obey you. Remember?”
He took a deep breath. The hat was an outrage. He could not believe she had bought it. But this was beyond the hat now he knew.
“Get your bare bottom over the arm of that chair,” he ordered.
She could scarce breath and suddenly wondered what she had got herself into. Then she began to undress. She had to take off her dress first to get down to her underwear, but didn’t stop there.
Finally she was nude below the waist and she lowered herself onto the chair, pushing her bottom out alluringly as she had seen Gail do weeks before.
Again he felt a constriction in his throat, but this time also something else. After one final look he brought the cane down across his wife’s bare bottom about as hard as he ever had.
She made a gurgling sound and when she looked back at him over her shoulder her eyes were watering. Then she ducked her head down and pushed her bottom up higher.
This time when he struck she gave a shout. He was in no hurry so he took his time and watched the angry red lines develop on his wife’s impossibly white bottom. This was much more satisfying than caning his step-daughter. This was like a healing. A cure for profligacy, he thought.
He added four more slow strokes, half expecting some rebellion. Apart from some grunts and heavy breathing, Amy did not react. Dare he? He thought.
“Make me cry,” she whispered.
He nodded. Pausing to take off his jacket, he braced himself as if he were playing cricket or darts.
He delivered the next six as if he were facing a bodyliner, spacing each stroke at 12 second intervals. At each she groaned with increasingly more volume, but did not break. Her bottom had become quiet interesting.
She looked back her moist eyes pleading with him for something. They stared at each other for the longest time and then he nodded.
He gave the last six extras fast. At four she screamed, then at the last she broke into sobbing.
“Are you done?”
She nodded vigorously and then gave a great heaving sob.
“Alright, alright,” he soothed taking her in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.
“Did you plan this?”
“I don’t know,” she said gasping.
“Well it’s over now, but mark me, that hat goes back.”
“Yes doctor,” she sniffed.
“Now off to the corner with you.”
“But…?”
“’A young lady is never too old to stand in the corner after her punishment,’” he quoted her words back at her.
“Beast,” she said pouting, “but what about Gail?”
“What about Gail?”
Amy stood gaping, but he just pointed at the wall in the hall.
“Let’s hope she doesn’t bring home any visitors,” he said, echoing her words of before.
Let’s pray, she thought earnestly. Then the pain at her bottom began to really saw at her and she realised that sitting was going to be quite a trial for days to come.
Ends.
Filed under: DJB stories, domestic, spanking stories | 9 Comments
Tags: 1930s, adult daughters, can't sit down, caning, corner time, corporal punishment, daughters, domestic discipline, public corner time, spanking adult daughters, the cane
Blog of the Week
Not sure if this week’s offering is a blog or not. The Spanking Bloggers Network has been going for a while now and has become a useful resource for networking spanking blogs.
Several blogs and websites have aspired to do what it does but they have either faded away or as not yet not always quite managed it.
The idea is simple, if you are a spanking blog you just put a link up to the Network and then they will link to your blog and post a link to your latest contribution. For readers, they get a one stop shop for all new material.
Filed under: articles, Blog of the Week, web round-up | Leave a Comment
Tags: spanking
A Voice in the Corner 