This picture, supplied by TipTopper, is from a 1962 US Magazine (not New Zealand as earlier reported) and labelled as coming from the 1880s. Apparentlyit is an artist impression of what they thought the 1880s might look like. As the style of dress more obviously lends itself to the late 1950s or early 1960s, it doesn’t say much for their sense of history.

Thanks TT for the update and again for this rare picture.

Not to be too presumptuous, judging from feedback I know that most of you out there like relationship punishment spankings and romantic spankings. This is pretty much where we are all at these days to a greater or lesser extent. But one of the things that first got many people’s attention when it came to spanking was hearing rumours around the neighbourhood about who still got ‘good hidings.’ Not those of childhood, which for some were an occupational hazard, but those of otherwise confident young women that you heard about just as you were stepping into adulthood.

The phrase ‘good hidings’ sounds extreme, but was about as graphic as it got. No one said spanking, it was too girly and the girls rarely spoke and as one got older, into sixth form, college, work etc, of course the frequency of such talk faded still further. I only heard of one 18-21-year-old still scared of his Dad’s belt by this time. Nonetheless, every scrap or hint that the confident young women around you may still be getting spanked was gold to a budding spanko.

The guys never seemed to have any reluctance to talk about this stuff compared to the girls, which is perhaps understandable. Yet stories from the UK and the US suggest that some women were spanked and seemed to accept that they would be.

One young woman, 17-20 when I knew her, was scared to go home even 10 minutes late because her Dad would spank her, or so she said. She might have exaggerated as she did later admit to a kink. She did on one occasion when she was 18, crash her father’s car during a driving lesson with him. Her boyfriend reported that he couldn’t see her for two weeks as she was grounded (kept-in we called it then) and added words to the effect ‘she won’t want to even think about sitting in a car until then anyway,’ or so the story went by the time she told us about it.

Around this time one of the Sunday newspapers carried an excerpt from some woman’s autobiography. The exact details fade now, but she did casually mention that she and her sister used to get ‘good hidings’ (that phrase again) right up until they left home. Again, this is not an anecdote of a childhood spanking, but one about two young working women who still lived at home.

Apparently her father would summon them to the utility room where they had to bare their bottoms and bend over the washing machine for licks of his belt. She told the story fondly, perhaps because according to her, her sister was mostly on the receiving end. She expanded on this by saying that one day her sister had gone out against her father’s wishes. She told of how sister had worn a tight sweater and a beret and was well in with the sophisticated jazz crowd. It amused her that on this night sister returned home stinking of fags at two in the morning and had gone straight to the utility room without being asked to bend bare-bottomed over the washing machine.

Another journalist wrote about seeing his sisters sent to the woodshed in the American Mid-West. He said he was immune from such treatment from the age of 16, but that his older sisters, by then adults, still had to submit while they lived at home.

He told of college-aged women, a teacher and his elder sister who worked on the local newspaper all having at some time or another having been ‘sent out back.’

Dad was an old-fashioned guy who would leave them to it for a while and then fetch a strop from the kitchen wall and then go and find them. He expected them to have removed any necessary clothing to receive the leather on their bare bottoms.

Again from memory, he said, “As a kid in my teens I would sneak out to watch. It was an early education on the anatomy of women. But by the time I was 19 or so I had a better sense of propriety and anyway they knew I peeked and were less prepared to tolerate it as I grew to manhood.”

He goes on to say his sisters were quite vocal during in their punishments and you could hear the fall of the strap throughout the house.

At the time none of this struck me as particularly sexist (which with hindsight it is of course) and at the time I certainly wasn’t interested in the social-politics of it, assuming that any of it was true of course. But assuming it happened at all then one wondered about the level of acceptance required for these arrangements. Did it fulfil a need? Was accepting paternal authority a kind of permission for themselves to explore something without the world knowing? Or was it out of habit? Why did they put up with it?

Most of us have probably moved on from such things and explore spanking more knowingly in our sex lives, but such things were the fuel for the seeds that we have within us.

This is another snippet that turned up during the recent round of research. The discussion referred to in this excerpt couldn’t be found but it appears some middle aged women from both sides of the Atlantic were comparing notes about youthful experiences of corporal punishment back in 1998.

Here is all I found complete with forum speak and Net names.

*

Like Anne was saying, I can’t believe that we are all 60 now. Are all the ladies commenting here of our generation? I know Cats66 isn’t (curious name) but she seems to be a lone voice here.

I wonder if Miss Cats has anything to say about the subject in hand – I can’t help but doubt that. Things have gone all PC in the last 20 years. Probably no bad thing but oh well.

I was particular amused by Jeanie B’s disbelief at the antics of our English contingent back in their school days. What the hell is an Upper Sixth anyway? Sixth what?

If she think getting ‘pops’ on the bare bottom in school was just a British thing, then guess again.

Actually I think she was quite rude to Margaret_H_1940 (sorry but there are a lot of Margaret’s). I am glad her aunt spanked her bare bottom up to the age of 21. Maybe it’s an approach that should be reinstated. (Grins)

I know I said that most spankings I got at College were on the seat of the skirt or panties, but my sorority wasn’t that tame. You wouldn’t believe what we got up to during my pledge days and after. Ouch.

Seeing as I can’t say much about that, I will tell you about our house mother.

During my freshman year there was no room at the Sorority House. We just weren’t that rich. So I had to stay in college accommodation, where in those days we answered to a house mother.

Mrs G was not averse to handing out spankings and it seemed to me that she operated a system of spank first, second and third and don’t ask questions. (Unhappy face)

I saw many a girl leaving her room in tears. Mrs G packed a mean hairbrush and always applied to the bare seat. I don’t think many of us escaped at one time or another, the main cause being out past curfew.

As I said before, many of our routine spankings were with the Big Paddle on the seat of the skirt out in the hall for example’s sake, but I once felt it on the bare.

My room was on the corner so late-comers had the habit of flicking rocks at my window for me to let them in. It was never a good idea to ignore these ‘requests’ but mostly it was just past curfew and there were still girls that were up.

On this particular night it had gone passed one o’clock in the morning. I knew the girls that were shouting up at me in whispers (they were drunk) so I put on a gown over my PJs and snuck down to let them in.

Mrs G got to the lobby just as I opened the door.

I was wearing my night clothes and had obviously not been out, but I knew I was in trouble. I remember thinking whether my behavior would get a few swats with the Big Paddle or a trip over Mrs G’s knee. I am not sure which was the worse of the two, both were pretty bad. A bare-bottom spanking over her knee hurt and was embarrassing. Whereas the paddle hurt worse (think Dead Poet’s Society) but it was in some ways preferable.

Mrs G took as all into her sitting room and told the first girl to bare her bottom and bend over.

A mean paddling followed, by the end of which both the spanked girl and her friend were crying.

Then I watched the second girl get it, the first having gone to bed.

The second girl took rather badly and her bottom colored up rough. Then she went to bed too.

I guess I knew I was going to take swats and not for the first time, but I was completely shocked when Mrs G said “you might as well drop your pants as well.”

It so embarrassing bending over with my bare behind sticking out, but after the first swats I had other things to worry about. I swear I got it worse than the other two, that paddle didn’t seem to stop. My bottom was dark red and shocked into one great big stand-up welt once she was done.

It took an age to walk back to my room and I didn’t sit down for a day or two. My skin went almost black for days and it must have been near three weeks for all the marks to go.

Not my last spanking from her, but definitely the worst. I guess bare bottoms got spanked both sides of the pond. (Grins)

*

If you like anecdotes of this sort there are lots out there and I am glad to bring them to you. I found one or two like this, so watch this space.

This was clipping was sent in by a gentleman called RalphG. He is not sure what magazine it is from, but thinks it is from the mid-1950s, which matches the US population of that time. It is a bit illegible on this scan but he was kind enough to provide the text. He says he has had it for years tucked in the back of some old spanking books he bought at a market in Pimlico.

I haven’t been able to trace any more details about the case, although there are some other references to the Wives of Spanking Husbands Club mentioned in the article.

To Spank or Not to Spank?

The dilemma facing 160 million Americans

Following the conviction last week of a high school teacher for smoking marijuana, the inevitable calls for a crackdown on delinquency among America’s young has already begun. While summing up at 24-year-old Mary Gutteridge’s trial, the judge commented that instead of a custodial sentence, he wished he could have given her a “good sound spanking where it would do the most good.”

These comments, coming as they do, hot on the heels of the Kansas City debate last month on the issue of spanking over 21-year-old girls, suggest that there are a great many people in America who share the judges sentiment.

Twenty years ago this issue would not have been such a hot potato as just about every girl in America was still subject to regular spankings for as long as they lived under the parental roof. This correspondent’s own sister was spanked right through college up until the time she left home aged 23, just a year short of the unfortunate Miss Gutteridge. She would be the first to tell you that it did not do her any harm. So is there a shift in support for a return to more traditional punishments in America today?

Mrs Edwina Hart, the school principal in the case, said that 21 was too late to start with discipline, although, she added, “it certainly does (not) hurt to continue it beyond the teenage years where a young woman is accustomed to being spanked. A good spanking can keep many an older girl on the straight and narrow.”

And it seems it is not just the older generation that feels this way. Last week in this magazine’s own letters page 19-year-old Catherine Parker of Denver Colorado wrote to say: “I think it is just awful that these girls carry on so. Whatever must their families think? If I ever behaved in such a way I would expect be spanked on the bare and sent to bed and rightly so.”

“I am in my second year at college and still subject to my parents’ rules. I have twice been spanked this semester, once at home for cussing and once in my room at college for overspending my allowance. It is certainly embarrassing for a girl my age, but I know that if obey the rules then I will not be punished.”

Nor is she alone. The pages of magazines are full of such views coming from the youth of America. So should we get back to old-fashioned values and start spanking our teenaged and even our 24-year-old daughters? If this really would solve the countries ills then why stop at unmarried girls? After all isn’t a wife of 24 just as likely to become a delinquent as a high school teacher?

The Wives of Spanking Husbands Club advocates just this. They are an organization based in Sioux Falls Iowa that is dedicated the spanking of errant wives. They were formed way back in 1937 under the banner “Spare the hairbrush and spoil the wife.”

Mrs Rita Dayton, the club’s president, admits that there are not as many members as there used to be, but says “the values of their organization are just as needed today as they have always been.”

“If I get out of line then my husband spanks me on my bare bottom,” she says, adding “there are good many wives and daughters of all ages who are not too old to go over their husbands or father’s knee.”

There may be a lot of husbands out there open to persuasion on this, but my wife for one would have something to say.

Times have certainly changed, but this depicts a prevailing sentiment of the 1950s and 1960s. The fact that the strip refers to a grown married woman as a child rather says it all. Still it is a fun blast from the past and one for all those 1950s household fans.

As ever this picture was sent in by TipTopper, so many thanks to him.

Here are three more cartoons supplied by TipTopper. I sometimes wonder if anyone cared about the supposed humour in these back in the day. It was just any excuse to print a spanking picture.

Some years ago I wrote a short series about the adventures of Lizzie Baines, a New York girl who marries a soldier on the eve of the Korean War and is transplanted to Louisiana to live with his family while he serves abroad. While there she has to deal with some very quaint and challenging Southern customs until her husband returns from war.

It was inspired by a very short missive I once read on this subject; its funny how such things can grow in the mind. Funnier still LSF have now published it as a novella and it is now available.

If you are interested the publishers blurb runs:

Lizzie is a young woman who is in love with George, a serviceman. After they are married, Lizzie finds herself living with George’s mother and sisters Marey and Janey. The discipline regime in the Baines household gives her a stunning realisation of how infractions are dealt with in this family as she watches Marey and Janey receiving a switching whilst bending over the couch. It isn’t long before Lizzie feels the impact of Ma’s hairbrush, and later a very stingy switch. Lizzie realises she is seriously enjoying watching the many spankings in the household – but when her husband returns home, it seems he has plans to discipline her himself. Spankings are just part of life in this household.

Available here.

Having had several real life domestic accounts about young adults and college girls it occurred to me that there must be many, many more relationship accounts out there. So in a rare idle moment I ran some searches and checked out the usual suspects and found some.

What follows is the best of a selection chanced upon on Voy, EP and Fem1st.

Danielle wrote:

About what HKM said about spanking within marriage and being outted in a DD relationship or not. I think it is your own business.

I met my partner at a health spa on the South Coast. I had been sent there by my then current boyfriend as a treat and I think in an attempt to keep me. But I hadn’t been serious about him and the main attraction had been the spoiling and the escape from chattering boys (he was much older than me). I had always been drawn to older men but in those days didn’t know why.

John was also quite a bit older than me, although in much better shape than the guy I realised I was dumping.

We hit it off at once and I was absolutely captivated by his honesty. He told me right off he liked his women in their place and had no time for women’s equality, even if it was fair.

I told him that I didn’t believe in going Dutch, so what did I care.

“A bit of a spoilt bitch are you?” he teased or half-teased. “I would love to give you a good sound spanking on your bare bottom.”

Men had said that to me before. Apparently I have the arse for it. I laughed and maybe I said, “What else is new?”

He became serious and said it was no laughing matter and that I could definitely stand being taken in hand.

“If I spanked you it would hurt and you would do what you were told,” he said.

It scared me, but not enough to put me off. So when he called me a week later we went on a date.

Out of mischief I complained about the wine and sent it back and when I got my own way I played up like that all night. My recent ex had been amused by the game and had always paid the bill.

John didn’t say a word but when we got back to his place he told me he could call a cab and go or stay and see what happened. He was quite cross so I guessed what was coming, but I opted to stay.

He put me over his knee and bared my bottom quickly. Then as I expected he gave me a very smart spanking. It hurt more than I expected, but I thought it was fair enough. Then he sent me to the bathroom to fetch his bath brush.

“You can’t, it will bruise,” I told him.

He shrugged and told me it wasn’t a game and he could still call me a cab.

I apologised about my behaviour and asked to stay. Needless to say it didn’t get me out of a spanking.

The main event hurt worse than anything and I bawled like a kid all the way through. I was right, it did bruise and for days and days. And after he made go and stand in the corner in the nude.

The sex was great, but he played too rough for me, or so I thought but a dozen spankings later and half again as many dates I moved in.

I loved the way he stood up to me, but the spankings and other punishments were real. If I wasn’t a good girl, I got spanked and properly. He also loved giving me corner time, which was really embarrassing. It got so I really tried to behave.

Once or twice he sent me to the corner when friends were there. Nothing was said but they must have guessed I would be spanked once they were gone.

Finally a friend told me it was wrong and I should leave him. So after asking another friend, who agreed, I went home to my step-mother and told her everything.

Instead of support, Mum was absolutely furious. She said I was like a leaf in the wind and gave up on things too much. She told me that if I didn’t want a spanking from him, then I should not put up with it, but that if I didn’t mind then it was my own business and not my girlfriends who were probably jealous.

That night John phoned and sort of said the same thing. He told me he loved me and although it would be an issue, we could talk about it and maybe work something out. He was also genuinely concerned if I had felt at all coerced.

I had a good hard think about it and felt absolutely sick. I really had been a spoilt brat when he met me and I could not imagine life without him. It was odd, but when I was told off by Mum I felt my bottom clench like I would be spanked and it felt right.

I wrote a long note of apology and told John that any punishment he decided on was absolutely deserved. I didn’t say so but in my head I thought of a party where everyone came to see me spanked like a naughty girl.

Then when I got home I left the note on the table and dressed in only a top and put myself in the corner. I even drew back the curtains and made it really obvious.

I was there a long time before John got home and read the note.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

I told him I was and when he said we should be more discreet, but I said we should be less discreet and that I was proud of being put in my place when I needed it. I also said I was really, really sorry.

The spanking I got was the worst ever and I could hardly sit down afterwards. I also had to go to the corner for a good cry. That was all I got for running away even though I asked for more.

But any discretion was over after that. It was so embarrassing doing bare bottom corner time in front of male and female friends and even my Mum and sister. But I absolutely never regretted it, well except maybe occasionally at the time.

So I say if it is right for you then work it out for yourself.

Tammy wrote:

I got my first ever proper adult spanking on a picnic. It started as a play fight. It was fairly intense and afterwards we made out with some heavy petting. In those days you didn’t have sex unless you were serious, but a spanking was something else. I was so embarrassed but kind of excited. I had hand sized marks on my bottom for days.

Nothing happened after that. Not even when we got engaged. But I did used to fantasise about it.

Then one day we had an argument as couples do. It was bad and I knew it was my fault.

Then the day after and we still had not made up I went for a walk. There was a paddle in a hardware store window with some joke words on it: ‘Family Attitude Adjuster’ and cartoon picture of a house wife bending over.

I waited until the male assistant went out back and then asked the woman behind the counter if the paddle worked or was it just a light ornamental piece that would break.

She took me seriously and asked me what I had in mind. I don’t know why, but I told her everything and she did not blink and we tested it out on our hands and some cushions.

Taking the paddle home I told Brian I was sorry and gave it him. His mother was there, so it was a bit embarrassing, but after a quiet word she went into the front room and I went into the wash house out back.

I decided to bare my own bottom and he told me to bend over an old washer.

It was a hard spanking as he really put it to me, but it cleared the air and we agreed to use it from then on.

The words and drawing got a bit worn over the years but in 1978 I gave it to my daughter, who as far as I know had it used on her own bare bottom right up until her own daughter wed.

I don’t know if it is still used but my granddaughter still has it hanging in the den of her house. Maybe it would not happen these days, but I love to think of it polishing bare bottoms in our family for generations to come.

Cassie D wrote:

I had had affairs with women before I got married so it was not that strange that I started again after my divorce. But mainly I threw myself into my realty work. I hadn’t up until then considered myself a lesbian and just assumed I would find another guy and do the happy family thing.

Then I met Wendy. She was older than me and totally in your face. We hit it off at once after she came looking at some property I had for viewing.

We had a couple of dates and then she didn’t call for a while. She was the first woman I had missed after.

Anyway a couple of weeks later she calls me about a property she wanted to see and suggested we combine it with dinner. I was a bit huffy with her on the phone but business was business. But I did turn up late for the viewing to make a point.

She was pissed at me and bawled me out.

I didn’t keep my cool and let her have it about not calling.

“I have been out of the country, I had a sudden deal, I called you,” she said angrily.

There had been one message, but it had been a bad line and I had deleted it without really listening.

“What you need little girl is a good sound spanking on your bare bottom,” she said or something like.

I don’t know how but a moment later I was face down over her knee with my suit pants and panties at my ankles getting my butt blistered. It must have been good and red before she asked, “You want to see me again or not?”

“Can we?” I said meekly, I was crying and totally jello over her lap.

She said fine but that I had to learn my manners first. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a hand brush. She gave me another very sound spanking and did not let up until I was a mess.

Later at dinner at her place I had to kneel on a stool, but it was the best night ever.

She didn’t buy that place but we bought another. At the viewing she spanked me again over and over for no reason other than to let me know who was boss. Between spankings I had to cool down in just about every corner in the house.

I was still there, mercifully just out of sight, when my colleague came to see how we liked it.

My bruised behind still graces some of those corners.

Not sure where this is from but it is certainly unusual. The picture is probably from an era when co-ed public spanking was beyond the Pale. This sorority girl is getting a bare-bottomed spanking at a wild party as can be clearly seen by the exposed lower hip and the disarray of her clothing. Of course the artist has got away with it because one of the witnesses is discreetly placed.

The decadence of the scene is underpinned by the evidence of discarded cigarettes, booze and bongo playing.

It may be cover picture for a pulp novel or an illustration from a magazine masquerading as a moral message.

There is no information as to the artist or the original source.

sorority housekeeping from movie

Two modern college girls ‘bending and baring’

1938 Sorority Girl Janet Shock from a contemporary news cutting posing being spanked by two frat boys as a good sport

Actual sorority hazing c1950

Nervous sorority girls paddle shopping

More modern sorority hazing

sorority hazing

Although I get the odd eye-rolling from young ladies who are strictly M/F when it comes to spanking tastes, one of the most requested subjects for articles is sororities. Of course there is a limited amount of information in the public domain on this, but from time to time new anecdotes do turn up.

I have been sitting on a couple of short snippets for some future use, but then Sam (who has sent in interesting sorority stuff before) sent in an account and some pictures from J, a mature lady in his munchie group.

The other snippets are from the EP and are interesting because they speak of practices hitherto not heard of.

But first J’s account:

I was in college at the end of 1960s and into the early 1970s where I joined a sorority. In those days paddle spankings were the norm and as far as I can tell still are. The only difference now is that this great American tradition has been increasingly driven underground, which is not only unhealthy but from what I hear has greatly sexualised some of these practices and today young women (and men) are doing stuff that we would never have dreamed of doing.

Pleased with her sorority hazing paddles

Despite claims to the contrary, punishment spankings were a major part of the sorority regime and our chapter took regular delivery of short heavy paddles designed to hurt. The pictures are from the 1940s and 50s I think, but the situation was more or less the same in my time.

At our sorority paddle spanking was used for discipline at all levels and for hazing. It was often hard to tell where one left off from the other.

At one extreme we had the paddle parties, which were mostly larks and the paddle was usually applied over clothes. This included mixed-fraternity initiations and the like. At the other extreme there were formal ‘courts’ where girls had to explain themselves for major breaches of the behaviour code that could include stealing, bullying and in those days sexual misdemeanours.

To put this into context though as far as I know this happened once the year before I joined and again in my senior year, so it was not a common event.

More routinely we had housekeeping, which could be extended to all members of the sorority, but was more usually applied to pledges. This was where small breaches of discipline were dealt with.

This consisted of three or four girls being summoned to an upperclassman or Big Sister’s room and one after the other we had to bend and bare for several full-blooded swats of the paddle.

One never quite got used to the pain and embarrassment, especially if the one taking you to task was less than discreet, but it was usually something taken in one’s stride. However on one occasion I was punished with three other girls and one of them decided she had something to prove.

This particular girl kept sassing the two seniors with the paddles; determined to show it didn’t hurt. This meant that we all had to take extra until there was not a dry eye among us. Our bottoms were purple afterwards and I didn’t sit too well for a day or two.

A Paddle from J’s era (click for quaint jingle)

Putting girls in their place and team building was at the heart of the sorority in my view and this is why I would defend it. For the most part I did not sexualise this until much later, but I will come to that.

I remember one stuck-up legacy girl thought she was too good for everyone else. One night at lights out, someone played a prank on her and placed a bucket of something nasty on a door and she got sploshed in her best clothes. She kicked up such a fuss that she was given a roasting and given two minutes to get ready for bed. An impossible task but one for which she was punished for failing.

When 10 minutes later after a shower she reported in her PJs, she had to bend over and take three swats clothed and three swats bare for reporting late and then she was made to get dressed again and come back. She then got three on her skirt, three on the panties, then on the bare, then on the seat of her PJs again. All this at each stage of getting undressed. These were hard heavy swats and by the end she was bawling. All this under the eyes of a dozen wide-eyed young pledges and older girls.

She also had to report for housekeeping that week I think. But I think she learned a lesson and later was much less stuck-up.

On top of this were the much more intimate Big Sister spankings.

My Big Sister, C, was a brick and we had a lot of fun. She also got me out of a lot of scrapes. But if she thought I needed it she would make me bend over and bare my bottom for a sound paddle spanking. Sometimes this was followed or preceded by corner time.

This was never as bad as housekeeping, but there was no limit to what she could do and often she would keep me up to the mark for most of an evening in the room we shared.

Sometimes she would put me across her knee and spank me that way and this is where I first began to get confused feelings that I later recognised were sexual.

I think she may have enjoyed these sessions, but neither of us took it any further. I know that since then it is these days that have fuelled my kink, if I can call it that, but that was only in my head and on the whole at the time it was all just character-building and robust fun.

actual sorority paddling from the 1940s

I have spared many details, especially about specific rituals and secrets, but not having named names I hope that gives you a flavour of those days Sam. Feel free to pass this on so long as you don’t identify me or my college or sorority.

Thanks to Sam and J for this account and the photographs.

Susan wrote:

In my senior year my best friend got me a birthday paddle and everyone present got to spank my posterior and sign it. (It was an all-girls party) Their love pats provided a small amount of satisfaction, but not much -my posterior was hardly pink – I still wanted the real thing. So, I searched for a college sorority that still hazed with a paddle and not just for one traditional night, but all year long.

An Ivy League school in the South is where I found my heart’s desire. This sorority’s rule was that any member could haze any underclassman for any sorority infraction at any time (as long as you were in our sorority building).

Once a month the sorority would hold an open party where the big entertainment was the “Toughest Butt Contest” and all the underclassmen were required to participate, the winner could paddle any upperclassman in the sorority the coming month as often as they desired. A reward of revenge was a great motivator.

The contest was done in G-strings for entertainment purposes. It was a great fund-raiser, and open to the whole campus for both genders. I won several times and enjoyed my month of revenge. Now, since I have long graduated (class of 1980), I no longer have the means to fulfil my desire to give or receive.

A comment to this contribution ran:

We had freshman initiation that culminated with all of us freshman having to crawl on our hands and knees between the legs of the seniors who paddled our little bottoms until we were all howling. We all survived, and just looked forward to when we would have our own crop of freshmen. Imagine what a stir that would cause today.

There were many short snippets like this, but many were quite fanciful, but it seems the legend continues.

Ophelia Open stood in the hallway for the longest time. It smelled of wet newspaper and sawdust and the yellowing walls looked like they had not seen a lick of paint in years. The building was one of those New York brick affairs that had been grand enough back in 1896, but in the last 60 or so years had fallen into hard times. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place that her ex-husband would usually have done business, but then when it came to Richard Open, nothing was exactly usual.

Ophelia eyed the battered wooden door and the chipped gold letters on the frosted glass. William Wendell Wentworth, Private Justice Adjustment Incorporated, it read. What by the stars was Justice Adjustment, private or otherwise? What kind of job was that? But she knew. She knew Richard. She had tried to tell Sophie that, but the foolish kid had gone on the lam.

“Listen, it is far better to just go and get this over with. Richard will find us in the end, he always does. Then it will be much worse.” She had told her sister the day before.

“You’re crazy, you just gonna let him spank you,” Sophie had gaped at her, “Didn’t you have enough of that crap when you married to the guy?”

“That was between us and anyway, I usually had it coming. Well almost always actually. I wasn’t a saint you know,” Ophelia countered.

“Yeah, well I am over 21 now and no one is going to spank me,” Sophie spat back.

Sometimes her little sister could be such a brat.

“Listen hon,” Ophelia remonstrated, “We played our hand and we lost. Sure it was a good idea of yours to stiff Richard on a couple of deals and make some extra dough, but I should have I known he would get wise to us. Now let’s just take our licks and call it quits.”

“We were only getting what was due,” Sophie had wailed.

Ophelia hadn’t pointed out that Sophie had been owed nothing by Richard; in fact given that his money had put her through college she should have more respect.

“Richard has been more than generous with us. I had nothing when I married him and now I have an apartment and more than I could earn as an allowance. Admit it kid, we just got greedy,” she had said.

“Yeah well I still ain’t gonna let him spank me, so I am going to skip town for a while, it is you he wants to settle with, he’ll soon get bored and forget about me,” Sophie had sneered.

That had been only yesterday at the station. Ophelia hadn’t even asked where Sophie’s train was headed. But Richard would find out, stupid kid.

The tattered door hadn’t gone away during her remembrances and still stood stark and hard to accuse her. So taking a deep breath, she knocked. The person on the other side must have seen her outline through the glass because it opened almost at once.

“Mrs Open?” a young spectacled secretary asked her.

The woman was around 30 and a natural blonde. Quite a looker despite the glasses, and the tight pencil skirt made a good show of her figure. She looked way too classy for this joint, Ophelia decided.

“I-I am here to see Mr Wentworth,” Ophelia offered nervously.

The woman nodded, “I thought you might be. I haven’t seen anyone so scared since… well anyway come in. Mr Wentworth is on the phone in the other room. He will be with you directly.”

Ophelia entered as if into a bear’s cave. Her fashionable blue skirt suit an anachronism in such an office of danger.

“You do know why you are here don’t you?” the secretary asked pointedly.

Ophelia shot her a terrified glance with a flash of her baby blues under the dark fringe and nodded.

“My ex-husband… he obviously doesn’t want to bother with me himself anymore.” She sounded almost as if she regretted that particular decision.

“I know how you feel,” the blonde answered, then with a quick subject change she added, “Might as well sit down while you still can.”

Ophelia gulped and looked at the hard office chairs as if it was poison.

“I don’t think you have any idea of how I feel,” Ophelia muttered as she took the chair.

The blonde snorted and gave Ophelia a cock-eyed smile.

“Listen sister, the first time I came to this office… well let’s just say I wasn’t here to take dictation,” she said. “That’s right, I was a client. Mr Wentworth had been employed to straighten me out on a few things. And boy did I get straightened. Once I learned my lesson he offered me a job and I never looked back.”

“I see,” Ophelia murmured. “Tell me, do a lot of girls come here? I mean…”

“We get three or four a week,” the secretary replied thoughtfully. “But mostly it is just paperwork and admin from this building. You see most girls aren’t as smart as you and they decide to run. Then we have to outsource the contract to field operatives.”

“My sister,” Ophelia winced, “She wouldn’t come here with me. She decided to skip town.”

The blonde glanced at a file on her desk.

“Sophie Weizmann?” she read and looked up.

Ophelia nodded.

“Well if she doesn’t change her mind and get here by eight then I’ll put the contract out to tender, or Mr Wentworth will. Do you think that likely?” the secretary sighed.

Ophelia shook her head.

“Stupid kid,” the woman sighed.

Just then the door opened and a big square shouldered man in a grey suit bowled in. Ophelia was relieved to see he was almost old enough to be her father, although the fact that he had a build that fitted him for football rather than office wok was rather more distressing.

Ophelia could see at once that there was something between him and the blonde secretary and she felt strangely warmed by the observation.

“Now Mrs Open, I am glad to see that you have been sensible,” Wentworth said in a voice that reminded Ophelia of dry gravel and the marine corp.

“I…” she squeaked, but quickly closed her mouth and fell silent.

“You know why you are here?” he barked.

Ophelia nodded.

“I need you to say it out loud and then I am going to ask you to sign something,” Wentworth said in an almost kindly tone.

Ophelia took a deep breath and sighed. “I am here to get a spanking.”

“And you agree you have it coming?” the man pressed her.

“I guess so,” Ophelia agreed with a nod, but she was blushing hard now.

“That is good news, for you and for me,” Wentworth brightened. “Your husband told me to say that if you took the situation without a fuss then his previous arrangement with you would still stand and there might even be a bonus.”

Ophelia was relived, but she was too scared to show it so she could only give the man a nervous nod.

“Is your sister here?” Wentworth looked around the office suspiciously as if he thought Sophie might be hiding. Well it had happened.

Ophelia choked on the word ‘no’ and then coughed and trying again said, “No Sir.”

“Skipped eh? Well it is common enough. Draw up the papers Patty and you can post them in the morning after I make the call. No sense in jumping the gun, she may yet show.”

“Yes Mr Wentworth,” Patty, the blonde agreed.

Wentworth turned back to Ophelia and looked her up and down as if sizing her up. Richard Open had briefed him on his wife and had told she could take it and wouldn’t ‘kick about it.’ Or at least, he had said, that was what the girl he had married was like.

Sometimes with clients he just took them over his knee and gave them a paddy-whacking that wouldn’t faze a teenager. It was just what they were used to. There was no point over doing it and even less if it didn’t make a point.

Looking at Ophelia he decided that she could handle ‘the works’ as Open had contracted him for and he decided to proceed.

“Here sign this,” he said and then a moment later, he looked at Patty and told her, “Take Mrs Open into the back room and talk her through it will you? I will be in, in a moment,” Wentworth said pointedly.

“You mean what we discussed?” Patty asked quietly.

Wentworth nodded.

“This way please,” Patty said, leading Ophelia away.

*

Wentworth had already removed his jacket and rolled-up his sleeves before he went through the door. He was gratified to find Ophelia was already completely naked and kneeling on the padded chair in the corner. Most women opted for a courtroom or at least kicked back at such a set-up. But Wentworth didn’t deal with the type of operator who took kindly to that sort of thing. His world was on the edge of the legal. That’s why he had to read his clients right and know who was going to make trouble and who needed special handling. He had been a long time in this game and he never got it wrong so nobody got hurt. Well except where they were supposed to.

Ophelia didn’t move as he came into the room and he had already learned from Patty that she didn’t need his girl to hold her hand. Some women didn’t need a witness, he knew. He eyed the full curves of Ophelia’s bottom and felt something go tight in his lower belly. Some days he loved his job, maybe he was a heel? But Patty always said he offered a valuable service and that he knew how to play it. Like the sign said, he was just an adjuster and he dealt in justice. He sighed, time to get into character.

“Your husband is really pissed at you,” Wentworth growled.

“Yes Sir,” Ophelia acknowledged.

“But under the circumstances you’re going to get off light,” he said sharply.

“I guess so,” Ophelia’s voice was rather hollow and she adjusted her knees on the seat of the chair.

Wentworth was only the third man ever to see her completely naked and her heart was going 18 to the dozen in her chest. She was more excited than scared, but she was no novice at this. That would change once the man got going. She heard a zip-shush of leather on, she guessed wool from the look of his suit before. But in any case she knew the sound of a belt being pulled from around a man’s waist. A moment later the cold leather tapped against her bare bottom to confirm her guess.

“I have a letter on my desk from your husband. If you take this without holding a grudge I am to give it to you and then it will be between you and him.” Wentworth flicked the belt against her behind and then asked her, “Are you ready?”

“Yes Sir.”

The belt stung. A long line of violent tingle that peppered her skin; and then it stung again like the first had only been practice. Her Pa had given her worse and the guy wasn’t even in Richard’s league so far.

The third stroke landed under her bottom close to where she lived and this time he got her attention. From then on it was all she could do not to cry out as the belt really lit a fire that burned thoroughly and extensively across her sitting equipment.

From a long way away she heard someone wheezing as if they had whooping cough and it took her a moment to recognise her own struggle for breath. By then the fire in her bottom had reached her soul and her tail end felt as if it had a gravel burn. No really, she thought in that perky detached way that only someone who was truly awake could, I’ll sit on barb-wire or you can blister my bottom with bees, she offered God as a substitute.

Ophelia hadn’t counted, but she guessed that they had passed 20 or so. About halfway for a usual belting at home and just a fraction of what Richard would have given her. I’ll be stoic, I’ll be brave, I’ll be… be jiggered, she thought as she hugged into the chair, the man is a demon.

“Wah,” she wailed and then tumbling into tears, “I’m sorry okay, please tell Jesus and all the saints I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t a plea for mercy exactly; one didn’t do that when one had it coming, not in Ophelia’s book. But just then it would have been a bonus, a favour from God that she would have welcomed. But just then William Wendell Wentworth was her god and she solemnly believed that he had left mercy at the door.

Wentworth was just getting into his stride and marvelled at how red Ophelia’s bottom was. She was pale for a brunette and they tended to colour-up almost as much as redheads. But inside every brunette was an olive complexion waiting to bolt and they gave out a hard harsh red that was something to behold when they wanted to.

On the other hand this girl was tough and hadn’t let go with a peep until he hit double figures. That meant he had to go the distance or it was his ass. Still she had a vivid set of blisters now and she wasn’t going to sit down until Thanksgiving at this rate.

Then she gave out a yell and babbled something about being sorry and Jesus. He didn’t get the rest. At least now he had a marker to set her against and a good idea when to finish it. But that wouldn’t be for a while.

*

Ophelia just sobbed and sobbed after Wentworth left the room. She felt clean and forgiven, although she cursed the day she had let her fool of a sister talk her into such a reckless stunt. Fool is she, but then what does that make me? She could have almost call Wentworth back to start over. Almost, but then she could eat dirt first or invite a hive of bees to chew on her tail.

It was 10 minutes before Patty came in to help her to dress.

“I should leave the panties off if I was you,” she said. “Maybe the… don’t you have a looser skirt honey?”

Ophelia shook her head miserably.

“I’ll dig one out for you, but you have to look out for crosswinds on the subway,” Patty said with a smile. “I know from bitter experience. He’s quite an operator ain’t he?”

Ophelia smiled through tears and nodded.

“Feel better?”

Again she smiled and nodded. “About just about everything I think.”

“That’s how I feel usually, although sometimes eating standing up off a plant stand is a trial.”

Ophelia frowned.

“He sometimes really lets me have it where it does the most good and then I have this wooden plant stand in my apartment… well you get  the idea,” Patty blushed. “Anyway, here’s that letter. I’ll go and find that skirt.”

Ophelia recognised Richard’s handwriting and her heart leapt. He has come to gloat, she decided. Well he has the right I suppose.

“Hi Baby,” he had written,

“Thought that you could get the better of me did you? I reckon I know what happened. Your kooky sister put you up to it. Well no hard feelings, but I couldn’t just let it pass. I would love to have handled things myself like the old days, but you had to know I was serious and that it was business as much as anything. If I had lambasted your hind-end you wouldn’t have taken it seriously.

I’ll leave it to you if you want little sister to get the same, presuming that she hasn’t already of course. But I am betting she already skipped town. That is her style. Hand this to Wentworth and tell him I want to cancel that bit of the contract if you want.

Proud of you for stepping up and taking your licks, that’s my girl. As soon as you can sit down for it, you and I should do dinner on me. I would love to give it another go between us, but I guess you made up your mind. Anyway the offer stands. And I do mean both offers. See you soon and if not, have a great life kid.

By the way, like you should have been told, once I get my money back, you can keep the rest as we agreed. Just don’t try to stiff me again or you and Wentworth will be a regular item, get me.”

Ophelia smiled broadly at the way Richard’s writing fit his voice. Then she finished putting on most of her clothes. When Patty brought the skirt she pulled it on and then put the letter in her purse.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you again one way or another. Hopefully it will be just to return your skirt,” Ophelia said breezily as she left the back room.

Outside she put on a brave front and offered Wentworth her hand.

“Thank you Mr Wentworth, I expect I needed that.”

“Thank you Mrs Open,” he said with a lopsided grin, “I wish all my clients were so agreeable. Oh Mrs Open, your husband said you might have a word to say on your sister’s contract?”

Ophelia paused and then smiled. With a shake of her head she said, “No. I don’t think so.”

Sophie’s adventure is here.

The second in three sequential stand alone shorts that began here.

Sophie didn’t really have a plan, not really. What she had were a series of ideas that she either acted on or thought about acting on until she had a better idea. Had she been smarter she might have realised that as plans went, not having a plan was one of her better ideas. Had she thought about it then she would have realised that if she didn’t know where she was going and what she would do next then how could Richard Open, and whoever he sent after her, find her?

Her first mistake was to dress to kill when she bought the tickets from Grand Central. The powder blue skirt suit she opted to wear for travelling may have seemed discreet in New York, but it certainly got a girl noticed. It clung so tight around the bust and hips that it might have been sprayed on, or so her grandmother would have said anyway. More noticeable still was that she had inherited her grandmother’s straw-blonde hair which she wore now in a net pile on her head under a cut pill box hat that matched both her eyes and the suit.

Her second mistake had been to buy a ticket south having asked the grinning ticket man how to get to Mexico. Mexico was good, she had thought, it was where people ran to in the movies.

But of course she wasn’t in a movie and besides she was not evading the law, not yet anyway, so going somewhere where loyalty was cheap was not the smart play.

However, somewhere along the line she had panicked. Somewhere before Santa Fe she had jumped trains and hitched a ride across country heading for California.

It hadn’t taken George Benedict more than five dollars and as many minutes to get the sweating ticket man to remember the cute blonde and where she had been heading. But the trail had gone cold once he reached Santa Fe.

Benedict was a big man, cut from the same mould as Wentworth his boss back in New York. Only he was a younger version who had turned PI on leaving the Marine Corp just three years ago. But justice adjustment paid better and was a whole lot safer.

He tilted his hat and rubbed silently at his square jaw as he considered his next move. Maybe someone at the ticket office would know something, he thought as he spied it across the concourse. He reached for the photograph he had been wired and headed on over.

“Now I know I would remember that young lady,” the cheerful ticket clerk at station told him.

Benedict pulled a face and pushed his trilby back on his head. Now just where would have this dame Sophie Weizmann jump the train he pondered.

“Say Mac,” he asked the ticket clerk thoughtfully, “Where do the train guards take a break around here?”

It had taken two days and another 10 spot to find the conductor who remembered that Sophie had got off at Baxter two stops out of Santa Fe.

Baxter was a one-horse town that might have died long ago had it not been for the rail stop. The station there had only one employee and he ‘never forgot a face’ as he insisted on telling Benedict. But Benedict rather suspected that it wasn’t Sophie’s face that the man remembered.

“Expensive clothes,” the man said with a grin, “Looked out of place around here I can tell you. She had on one of those skirts… blue I think.”

“Thanks Mac,” Benedict said with an easy smile of his own as he handed over five dollars.

The man looked at it like it was a hamburger and he was starving.

“I don’t suppose you know where she went?” Benedict said real casual like. He rolled the second five dollar note between a finger and thumb.

“She asked where she could get a bus to Farmington?” the man said quickly.

“And where might she have got a bus to Farmington?” Benedict asked.

The man gave a small greedy gulp and said, “Cimarron,” adding, “I last saw her over at the truck stop; plenty of folks willing to give a pretty girl a ride from there.”

Benedict relinquished the five and nodded gratefully.

*

The Packard rental hadn’t been hard to acquire and within a few hours he was making good time on the main highway towards Cimarron. He wasn’t sure of the bus times out of the town, but unless his girl was on the ball the chances were he would hit Farmington less than a day behind her. Hell, he might even catch-up with her before she moved on.

He almost didn’t see the cute blonde giving him the thumb outside the diner. It took a moment for him to realise that the powder blue outfit she wore matched his description and he rolled to a halt.

“Heading into Cimarron?” he asked casually as he pulled alongside her.

Sophie blinked twice and bit her lip. She looked uncertain. Maybe she didn’t like the looks of him, he thought.

Sophie knew at once that there was something different about the man in the Packard. For one thing he dressed like a city boy, the first she had seen since leaving the train. But he had a predatory look about his eyes that both at once scared and excited her.

Benedict gave her an easy smile and instead of giving her the eye, he kept his attention on the road as if he was in a hurry. If she didn’t come willingly he could scarcely kidnap her and besides he knew better than to be too eager.

“I was going to swing by that way before heading on to Farmington,” he offered by way of an additional incentive.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously and she looked around as if for a sign.

“Suit yourself Ma’am, I am sure there will be someone going your way… eventually.” He sat back and made as if to go.

“No it’s okay,” she decided, “Thanks Mister.”

Sophie snatched up her small blue bag and as he opened the door for her she got in.

“Benedict,” he said as she sat down.

She reluctantly took his hand and gave him the once over before replying, “Sophie.”

“You have friends in Cimarron?” he said conversationally. There was no reason for her to know that he already knew all about her.

“I was hoping to get the bus to Farmington,” she supplied. “I mean I did already have a ride, but… well the gentleman turned out to be no gentleman.”

“Tough break,” he said evenly and then with a shrug he said, “I know the type.”

He looked at the small bag she clutched hard to her chest.

“You want to put that in back?” he suggested, “It is liable to be a couple of hours drive yet.”

She hesitated and then swung around and dropped her small brown leather travelling bag onto the back seat.

“What are you doing way out here anyway?” he asked, “I mean, a girl like you is going to get a lot of the wrong attention, as you already found out.”

“I got to get away from my sister and her ex-husband,” she told him sullenly.

“Runaway huh?” he said pointedly.

“Well I’m over 21, if that’s what you mean,” she snapped.

“Don’t mean you should be out here on your own like this,” he suggested firmly.

Sophie shrugged and looked at the landscape. The mountains were high and pretty set against the orange shaded sky. The afternoon was dying and giving way to night.

Benedict eyed the late afternoon shadows stretching across the road and then followed her gaze to the sky. They weren’t going to make Farmington tonight, but then he wasn’t going there anyway, not if he didn’t need to. But he thought it best not to say that just yet. So instead he took his conversational cue form Sophie.

“If a girl I was responsible for skipped out on me, 21 or not, then I would spank her little bottom to a cherry red once I caught up with her,” Benedict said sternly.

Sophie almost rounded on him but she caught the determined look in his eye and blushed. So instead she ducked her head and shifted awkwardly in her seat.

“Yeah well, if anyone had given a damn then maybe I would say I deserved it,” she muttered.

“What about this sister and brother-in-law of yours?” he asked.

Sophie shrugged.

“They have been at war for as long as I remember, which is nuts when you think about it. He was the best thing that ever happened to us, but they have got some crazy shit to work out and I don’t want to give either of them the satisfaction.” Sophie folded her arms and pouted angrily at nothing in particular.

“Hey, I don’t have to hear your foul mouth in my car,” Benedict was genuinely shocked now.

“Well that’s too bitching bad,” she spat at him.

Benedict pulled the car to a sudden stop at the roadside.

“I mean it, one more curse from you and I will pull you from this car and paddle your tail right here by the road.” Benedict fixed Sophie with a glare until she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Sorry,” she whispered, “It’s just that… well life ain’t been the same since Ophelia left Richard. It’s like I no longer have a family. Richard even… well he didn’t even handle what we did himself.”

“What did you do?” Benedict asked. He was genuinely curious now; he hadn’t been briefed on the details.

“It doesn’t matter does it? Ophelia is still jumping through his hoops and I get zippo since the divorce.”

“Yeah well, just watch the language okay or you will get that spanking,” he growled.

“I guess that’s fair,” she said quietly, but she was blushing again.

The light had changed now and it was fast getting dark Benedict was used to and he was taken by surprise. Just then he saw a hand painted sign that declared: Harley Homestead, rooms to let.

Benedict didn’t hesitate and swung the car up the dusty side road by the sign.

“Hey,” Sophie gave a start.

“It’s a motel or something, we’re not going make Cimarron before dark let alone Farmington,” he explained, “You in a hurry?”

“Suppose not,” she reluctantly agreed.

*

The Harley Homestead looked more like a ranch than a motel. But Benedict noticed that it had three or four well-appointed shacks a short distance from the main house of the kind that he generally associated with the better kind of road stop.

He noticed that the woman who came onto the porch to greet them was wearing pants, but otherwise looked far from homely. She was around 35 he guessed and wore her hair in the short pixie style he hadn’t seen outside of New York or California yet.

“Well howdy,” the woman smiled warmly as Benedict pulled up, “I’m Barbara Harley. Are you folks looking for a room?”

“Two rooms if you’ve got them,” Benedict replied before Sophie could say anything.

“And how much will that cost?” Sophie sounded rude and rolled her eyes at the well-kept ranch house and out-buildings. She had decided that this was beyond her price range.

Benedict noticed that Barbara Harley’s eyes tightened at the corners as she pursed her lips in cool regard of the young woman.

“I can cover both rooms out of my expense,” Benedict shushed her.

“But…” Sophie didn’t finish as she was left sitting in the car by herself.

“Benedict, George Benedict, ma’am,” Benedict said as he extended his hand.

“And how long are you folks fixing to stay?” Barbara asked in a sunny voice.

“Just the night,” Sophie shot back rather brusquely as she climbed out of the Packard.

Benedict could see that her manner irritated the Harley woman.

“Oh, maybe longer since I have business in the area and Miss Weizmann doesn’t seem to know where she is going,” he said quickly.

He gave Sophie a warning look to keep her quiet and despite some confusion on her part, she merely frowned. Barbara saw the exchange and wondered what was going on.

“Well it doesn’t matter, you can stay as long as you like,” Barbara smiled.

Sophie was puzzled by something and it took her a moment to decide what it was. When did I give my full name to Mr Benedict? She replayed their conversations in her head but couldn’t remember.

“What business are you in Mr Benedict?” Barbara asked him politely.

“Oh, you could say I work in insurance, in a manner of speaking that is. I am a kind of loss adjuster you might say,” he answered cryptically.

At the word ‘adjuster’ Sophie’s ear pricked up. She hadn’t said a damn word about being called Weizmann.

Barbara explained that it was a family business, but that most of the men worked with horses leaving her to run the accommodation. She told them that the season being largely over that they could have rooms in the house.

She led the way into her front parlour and while she collected some coffee, Sophie asked for the bathroom leaving the two older people alone.

“Tell me Mr Benedict, Miss Weizmann tells me that you just met on the road, but you knew her before or she knew you; I can’t exactly tell,” Barbara said conspiratorially while Sophie was getting freshened up.

“Sophie is a runaway of a kind and she skipped out on her family with some money she wasn’t entitled to.” Benedict sensed that the Harley woman was no dummy and a story as close to the truth as possible would serve him well.

“You have come to take her back?” Barbara said as she poured some coffee.

“If she wants to come back,” Benedict replied.

“So you just want the money she has?”

“Thank you,” he said as he took a cup and then answered, “Not my department, I am just here to give her… the option to come back and put her on the road to make amends. You see, you could say that I am here to convey a message.”

“Does she know?” Barbara asked as she poured herself a cup.

Just then there was a sound of the car starting up and the lights burst into life through the windows. The gears made something of a metallic crunch before the Packard pulled away like all the angels of hell were in its wake and shot off down the track to the highway.

“It looks like it,” Benedict said crisply.

“Tell me quickly Mr Benedict, just who are you working for?” Barbara asked him.

“Primarily her brother-in-law who put her through college, but her elder sister knows I am here,” Benedict scowled manfully in the direction of the fleeing car and then took a slow sip of his coffee.

“I sense that you have been telling me the truth, but kind of sideways on maybe,” Barbara said sharply.

“That’s a fair point,” Benedict nodded thoughtfully, “But I am not going to harm a hair on her head and once I conclude my business with her, she will be able to go home to her sister and stop cursing her head off all over the South West.”

“Mr Benedict, I believe you. There is a station wagon out back, maybe it is best you go after her,” Barbara said, throwing down a set of keys that she had taken from a china dog by the door.

Benedict drank down the rest of his coffee and stood up.

“Thank you ma’am, I believe I will.”

As he pulled on his coat Barbara said, “Hang on, I had better come with you. You’ll need someone to drive the station wagon back once you catch up to her.”

*

Barbara Harley didn’t know if to be scared or excited as the car sped out into the night. Benedict was driving faster than she ever would have done and the shadows of trees seem to fall on them in the car headlights before they sped on past. On top of that she knew the man wasn’t all he seemed and she still wasn’t certain he wasn’t a kidnapper of some such. The girl certainly seemed reluctant enough. But on the other hand sometimes a girl could be as dumb as a bag of hammers and stubborn to boot. No, she had a real feeling that even if Benedict’s intentions hadn’t started out on the level, now he had a connection with the girl and she with him. She was never wrong about these things.

Then another thing occurred to her and she asked, “How do you know which way she went? I mean she could have turned either way at the highway.”

“I don’t for sure, but I have a hunch she wouldn’t go back the way she came and now she has the car she might reckon on Farmington, figuring I’ll take the Cimarron road first.” Benedict seemed certain enough, almost as if he had an instinct for the thing.

“But unless she handles a car like you do, we should have caught up with her by now surely,” Barbara suggested.

She had a point, he decided, but he said, “She’s young and stupid. And she’s scared, so I’m betting she has put her foot to the metal and is running blind now.”

As if on cue they saw a pair of red lights up ahead, although they didn’t seem to be moving. Then when the road curved to the left, they saw that the car didn’t having run off the road.

“Hell,” he cursed and pulled to a full stop.

“Mercy,” Barbara clutched at her throat, concern etched in two furrowed lines above her nose. “Do you think she is alright?”

But Benedict was already out of the car and running. It was the Packard alright, although from his line of sight it looked in good shape.

Sophie was standing at the front stooped over when he got there. She seemed to be inspecting the damage.

“Shit, the damn car went straight on when it should have gone left with the bend,” she muttered.

Benedict was too relieved to mind her language, but her cocksure manner and failure to take responsibility irked him somewhat.

“You supposed to drive it, not let car do the steering for you.” His tone was dry.

Sophie scowled at him and then looked away again as if to avoid his gaze.

“Yeah, well the dumb car ain’t hurt,” she muttered.

“You might have been killed.” He spoke slowly and his tone was as dark as the night that gathered about them.

“Mercy me, that was a stupid thing to do,” Barbara said as she came over. “Are you alright?”

“I guess so,” Sophie mumbled.

“What made you take off like that?” Barbara asked.

Sophie looked across at Benedict, her face was under lit by the car lights so that she looked like a corpse. She looked uncomfortable as she said, “He’s going to spank me.”

“I should darn well think so, driving off like that. Are you always running off that way so that folks have to chase you?” Barbara let her exasperation show.

“I guess I’m through running,” she sighed.

“Mrs Harley, I noticed you had a woodshed out back of your house,” Benedict said in a casual tone.

“Sure do,” Barbara said with a swallowed smirk as she looked over at Sophie.

Sophie’s jaw hung open as she shot her gaze back and forth between Benedict and the woman.

“Maybe I can rent it out for an hour or two tomorrow morning?” he said.

“I suppose it comes with the room, kind of thrown in like,” Barbara said breezily.

*

It didn’t take long for Benedict to extract the car from the bush it was pressed against, although the wheels skidded some in the dirt before it gained purchase enough to get back onto the road. But Barbara didn’t wait and taking Sophie by the arm led her to the station wagon.

“I had best get this girl back and fed,” Barbara said, “You need me to round up some of the men and give you a hand.”

“No ma’am, I’ll follow on right behind,” Benedict said with an encouraging nod, “But thanks ma’am.”

Once they were in the car and headed back Sophie took on like a caged bird.

“You going to let him spank me?” she said in an accusatory voice.

Barbara’s expression was hard as she frowned against the night as if unused to driving in the dark. She was certainly taking slower than either Sophie or Benedict.

“If that’s what he is fixing to do,” Barbara replied.

“But… but I’m 21… he… he just came here to spank me on Richard’s orders,” Sophie spluttered to a whine. “Or to drag me back for one; it’s the same thing.”

“You take some money?” Barbara asked.

“No… I… well, I didn’t take it exactly. We just kind of… well Ophelia made a call and had Richard’s office wire some. We pretended to be another office…” To Sophie’s ears now it sounded bad.

“So you did steal some money.” Barbara was suddenly angry on Richard’s behalf, although she had never met the man. “And this was your idea I bet?”

“Well kind of, Ophelia didn’t want to do it… but…”

“So you are not just a thief, but some kind of sneak thief, and a car thief and a reckless driver,” Barbara accused, “Have I got that about right?”

“Look I don’t have to answer to you,” Sophie snipped back.

“I guess not,” Barbara said tartly, “But I tell you on the Harley Homestead a girl like you would get to go cut a switch if they did half what you did, 21 or not.”

Sophie responded with a frustrated groan and grumpily folded her arms.

*

Both cars arrived together under a star-struck sky. Crickets and some other creature sang to them and even Sophie stopped to look around in awe.

“I bet folks come here just to look at the night sky,” Sophie gasped.

You’re not such a bad kid after all are you? Barbara thought affectionately. You just need straightening out a little. Then she too looked up through new eyes at God’s heaven above them.

“My oh my, they surely do,” she sighed.

Benedict got at the car and watched the women with some bemusement. Then he too looked up and lingered with his gaze. But he was still too mad to stand gawping for long.

“You can come with,” he growled as he strode over to Sophie and dragged her tottering towards the house.

For a moment Sophie was torn between the stars and her direction of travel. Then she guessed what he was about.

“You said tomorrow, you said the woodshed tomorrow,” she wailed as if that was a welcome prospect.

“After a stunt like that you can have something on account from me personally and strictly off the books,” he barked back at her.

Behind them Barbara shook her head in amusement and followed on. By the time she reached the porch Benedict was already sitting on the swing chair with Sophie draped across his lap. The couple were framed by the rectangle of light coming from the kitchen widow that in their haste they had left on. The girl’s bottom was an inviting dome across his knees with the tight pencil skirt clinging to her to good effect. But it didn’t lend itself to flipping up and for a moment he was stalled in his ire.

“You going to spank her bare bottom?” Barbara tossed the words at him carelessly.

“What?” Sophie squealed, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Honey, you don’t get to call the shots on this one,” Barbara told her, “Leastways that’s usually how it works around here.”

Benedict was surprised at Barbara’s casual attitude. Civilians usually weren’t this understanding in his profession.

“Here let me help,” Barbara continued. As she spoke she reached out and popped a small button in back of Sophie’s waist and a moment later she worked the zip so that the girl’s pantie bursting bottom bloomed into view.

A moment later the older woman had drawn the skirt and under slip down over Sophie’ thighs to expose her panties, stocking tops and suspenders.

“Come on you can’t do this to me,” Sophie wailed as she bucked.

“I guess you can take it from there,” Barbara chuckled.

“Come on Mr Benedict, you can’t, I’m sorry I took your… caaaaa,” she gasped as he panties went south, adding in a squeal, “Mr Benedict.”

“You have this coming and I think you know you do,” he snarled at her, “You might have been killed.”

Eyes wide and floundering, Sophie actually thought for a moment that he cared. But the first swipe of his hand landed with a crisp burn that stole that thought right out of her head.

“Ouch,” she yelped, “Please Mr… Benedict…”

Her voice was shrill and became shriller as he set about a good volley spanking until her bottom held a tomato sheen.

Round about then Barbara returned and strolled casually up to them to watch.

“Making progress I see, but to do the girl some justice you’ll be here all night and your supper is getting cold,” she sounded more amused than impatient. “Here use this, it’s seen plenty of action.”

Barbara offered Benedict an old-fashioned long-handled hairbrush.

“Say thanks,” he said as he hefted it for a moment.

Then with a sharper resounding splat that echoed back at him from across the yard he spanked down hard on the bare bottom in his lap.

“Yeeaaaaaaaaahhh.” Sophie’s announcement was shrill. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“That’s the ticket,” Barbara winked, “Supper will be in about 15 minutes and don’t forget to wash-up.”

“Should be long enough,” a determined Benedict replied as he brought the brush down again hard with much the same results.

Barbara stood watching for a moment or two longer as Sophie yelled the place down.

“Reminds me of old times,” Barbara said ruefully, “And not so long ago. Not so very different from when little sis and the cousins are home from college,” she added wistfully.

“No more please Mr Benedict, I’ll be good, I’ll be ever so good,” Sophie bawled much like the aforesaid co-eds.

“Ooh, that’s blistering up nicely,” Barbara said with not a little awe as she took one last lingering glance over her shoulder at Sophie’s spanking

*

Sophie had little else on but a gingham shirt she had borrowed from Barbara and a pair of canvas lace-up summer pumps. Merciful the shirt was a man’s and almost served as a short skirt, almost not quite, and her spank-sore behind kept peeking from under the hem as she walked.

It had been a miserable evening and supper had been taken standing up poking at her food with a reluctant fork. She had absolutely no appetite. A good sound spanking often had that effect on a girl, Barbara had grinned.

Benedict had had no such trouble and had eaten every scrap of his home cooked meal.

“You sound as if you speak from experience,” he had said with a wink.

Barbara had had the good grace to blush. And then with a rueful smile and a shrug she said, “In my college days and after, we got up to quite a few stunts I can tell you. That woodshed has seen more action than I care to remember. Some summers that wall has seen a line of well-spanked hinnies lined up to ponder on their crimes.” Then with a significant glance at Sophie she added, “A fair few of them were over 21 too.”

Then Benedict had glared at her.

“Speaking of which, if you are going to play with your food then a while in the corner will serve you right,” he said.

Sophie had gaped at him miserably and then to everyone’s surprise had said, “Yes Sir.”

The misery hadn’t ended there, before breakfast and at Benedict’s request, Barbara had given Sophie the shirt in lieu of her clothes and had taken out back to show her where to cut the best switches.

“Something of a tradition around here,” she said sympathetically, “So I suggested it to Mr Benedict.”

Gee thanks, she thought bitterly. But she had only muttered, “Yes Ma’am.”

Scrabbling around in the woods with her tail in the breeze had been a mortifying experience, but at least now she was resigned to it.

If only I had listened to Ophelia, she thought bitterly. She cast a glance at Benedict who was waiting for by the woodshed door. The men from the ranch weren’t due back until after lunch, Barbara had told her, so she was keen to get it over with. Not that the presence of a lot if hairy cowpokes was going to deter Benedict, she was certain of that.

As she got to the woodshed she tugged at the shirt in front and blushed scarlet with shame.

“You spanked me already Mr Benedict, can’t we let it go at that,” she wheedled.

He sighed and cocked his head on one side as if to say, “Really?”

“I know, I know,” she groaned, “I still got it coming.”

Inside the shed were a saw-trestle and a low bench. On the bench was the fruit of that morning’s search for switches and a sorority type paddle that Benedict had brought with him. In addition he opted for the Harley family’s razor strop in preference to his own. It was a broad heavy length of leather that carried a sheen from decades of use on Harley bottoms. This she had learned over breakfast.

“Okay, what’s the dope?” she had asked to put a brave face on things. “I mean, how are we going to do this?”

She was still half naked and had never set so uncomfortably for a meal. Not least because her bottom still ached from the previous day’s spanking.

“If you want to get this over with, after breakfast we can head out to the woodshed,” Benedict told her, “Otherwise we can wait until after the midday meal.”

“Eh no, Mr Benedict… I’ll take it this morning please.”

Me and my big mouth, she thought ruefully as she looked at the trestle.

“The strap is what was ordered for the stunt you pulled. The rest is extra on account of you fleeing justice. Since I spanked you already I may go easy with the paddle after, but you’re getting a healthy dose of strop and then I am going to use those switches right up,” he told her. “Now over you go.”

Sophie nodded and walked like dead-girl walking to the crosspiece of the trestle. Then just before she bent over and offered him her bare bottom she said in a meek voice, “I’m sorry Mr Benedict. For last night I mean, I know you are just doing your job.”

“That’s a good girl,” he said encouragingly.

Sophie turned and with a heavy sign bent right over. It was a scandal she thought as she tucked her thighs tight together, I wonder if he thinks I’m cute.

There was the longest pause and she shifted uneasily over the wooden crosspiece. It felt hard and heavy on her belly as it took her weight. She tried to focus on the planking of the floor, her eyes rolling in her head.

The first swat of the strop seared like a flame and she yelled. Cry baby, she chided herself, but what had begun like a slice of hell really seized her attention and it felt as if a million billion ants were nibbling on her tail.

“Oh Jesus H…” the rest of her curse was lost in a spluttered growl.

In less than a minute three more strokes blasted down and her cries could be heard all the way to the house. One for the money, two for the road, three to get ready and go… she spluttered a sob as the mantra ran through her head …cat, go, she bawled at the fifth sting-making, bottom burning, soul-rending…

“Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh,” she wailed over and over.

I’ll never sit down again, not ever, and it’s my own fault.

Benedict had seen some bottoms in his time. But not only were none as curvy and damned angelic as Sophie Weizmann’s, but rarely had he seen one that took the colour so well. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for her as she bawled and sobbed over the trestle, but he couldn’t deny she had it coming. At the last, neither had she.

He didn’t count the strokes but went on instinct. These things had a rhythm to them, a natural communication between punisher and bottom. It was rare that he didn’t reach a mutual understanding in these matters.

Maybe there had been 30 splats of leather on bottom, maybe more, but finally he decided that she had enough. The switches would wait until she pulled herself together, he decided.

“Alright now, you took it well, now let’s have you in the corner for 20 or 30 minutes while your bottom cools off,” he soothed.

“Yes Sir,” she said, her voice on the edge of another cascade of tears.

*

Once Barbara had heard the yelling subside she took a jug of lemonade from the kitchen and carried it down with a couple of glasses. She wasn’t surprised to see Sophie in the corner of the woodshed lost in tears.

“Thought you could use a break,” she said as she handed him a glass.

He took it with a nod and drank it down in one.

“When you’re done here, you’re welcome to use the parlour or the porch for our miscreant here to plant her nose for a while,” Barbara said pointedly.

He cocked a quizzical eyebrow.

“The rest of the folks won’t mind when they get back. They are used to it around here,” she explained.

“You mean for some corner time?” he said as the penny dropped.

“Oh please, Mr Benedict I would die,” Sophie wailed.

“You be quiet miss, you could stand being taken down a peg and you know it,” Barbara scolded her. “Never did me or any of mine any harm.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Sophie said miserably.

When would this day ever end? she thought miserably, although deep down she knew that part of it never would.

Benedict ran an eye down Sophie’s ravaged sore bottom and considered.

“I’ll bear it in mind Mrs Harley,” Benedict said thoughtfully.

“Barbara, you can call me Barbara,” the woman replied.

“Alright Miss Weizmann, let us finish this justice adjustment with a little switching,” he

*

The switching had been bad, bad enough so that she had been so grateful when it was over, that having a good cry with her hands on her head facing the porch wall had been a release. Mercifully the men and a couple of the wives had not gotten in until close to nightfall and by then Sophie was out of the corner and standing drinking lemonade at the kitchen table.

“Oh aren’t you a pretty thing,” Ellen-Mae, Barbara’s cousin-in-law gushed when she saw Sophie standing there. “Have you been in the wars?”

“I was… a little out of line is all,” Sophie said politely, but she couldn’t help blushing.

Barbara had given her a loose skirt to wear with the gingham shirt directly she had been released from the corner, but under it her bare bottom throbbed furiously and putting her panties on had been unthinkable.

“Did our Barbara give you a spanking?” Ellen-Mae asked as if she were enquiring after Sophie’s health.

Sophie blushed and shifted uncomfortably.

“No ma’am, that particular chore was mine,” Benedict said as he came forward to greet the newcomers.

Ellen-Mae saw Sophie’s embarrassment and winced sympathetically.

“Hush my mouth, you ignore me, it’s done with now,” she whispered against the hope that everyone else hadn’t heard; not that it wasn’t obvious Sophie had been spanked with one look at her. “Barbara, Rachel and I have all been there girl,” she added conspiratorially.

“How long are you staying Sir?” Ellen-Mae’s husband Chuck asked to forestall his wife from saying anything else out of turn.

“Oh, I’ll be heading out tomorrow,” Benedict told him.

“Can I get a ride with you?” Sophie said shyly.

“You sure you want to?” Benedict was surprised by her request.

“I haven’t exactly got a lot of choices,” she shrugged. “Maybe you could drop me at Santa Fe and the train?”

“You could always stay here honey,” Barbara cut in, “I could always use a hand with things.”

Sophie blinked. She had assumed that Barbara didn’t like her. She felt an unfamiliar warm glow at the invitation. But it was too good to be true; life was never like that for her.

“Oh, I couldn’t put you out, besides I ought to check in with Ophelia, we can compare bruises,” Sophie said ruefully.

He nodded. What would she do? he wondered. He couldn’t help thinking that devoid of guidance she would pull another stunt soon enough and this time would end up with more than a spanking. Still it wasn’t his problem, he told himself.

“If you’re sure honey,” Barbara said doubtfully, “I suppose I couldn’t make any promises about woodshed time at that and it might be a mite hard on your rear end.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t sustain a bad attitude and when Barbara laughed she had to join in.

The rest of the afternoon settled down to a good natured party that went on well into the night. It gave Sophie a glimpse of a life she had never really known and was the closest she had come since the divorce to being happy.

*

The next morning it was with slow careful steps that Sophie walked to the car. The previous night she had slept on her tummy and, from the welts and bruises that marred her still-swollen bottom, she figured that she would be doing so for a few days to come.

“What do we owe you ma’am… eh… Barbara?” Benedict asked as he came onto the porch.

“Oh, you’re family now, you just come and see us again sometime,” Barbara poo-pooed him.

“If you’re sure,” Benedict said reluctantly and tipped his hat at her.

Sophie stood by the car and eyed the seat warily; it was going to be a long ride. She looked back at the house and Barbara with an empty feeling as if she had lost something.

“You know as a field agent I don’t get to New York too much,” Benedict said as he got to his side of the car. “But I am always getting out here to Denver and Santa Fe, all over the South West really or I will be from now on. If you did stay, then… I could use this place as a base maybe… and we…”

Sophie sucked in her cheeks and looked longingly at the house. It wasn’t just the family she had found there she would miss, it was where she had found… she glanced shyly at Benedict and away again. This was crazy horse, she thought. Then she looked at the front seat of the Packard.

“You know, that was quite a work out you gave me. I don’t think I could sit down for the rest of the month maybe…?” she blushed.

Barbara, who had appeared to be too far off on the porch grinned and crossed the lot in a heartbeat.

“Come on honey, your room is still waiting,” she said as she grabbed Sophie’s bag, and then with coy smile at the two of them she added, “I’ll leave you two to say your goodbyes.”

Sophie opened her mouth to call back but Benedict grabbed and whirled her around for a kiss.

“See you girl,” he winked, “I’ll swing by next week, see that you behave yourself. Switched at school, paddled at home, you hear,” he added cryptically.

Sophie blushed. She might have said ‘you wouldn’t dare,’ but she knew that he would. But Barbara had already warned her that her bottom would be in the firing line if she stayed and Benedict for one, it seemed, thought she was serious. I must be crazy, she sighed. But it was already too late as the car slipped out of the yard and onto the track to the highway.

Further adjustment.

The third in three sequential stand alone shorts that began here.

“Ophelia Open,” Ophelia told the maître D. She often wondered why she hadn’t changed her name back to Weizmann, but in her heart maybe she knew.

The man had a thin lacquered black comb-over and calculating brown eyes. He smiled warmly, but not to give anything away. It was his job to assume that everybody who came to his restaurant could be royalty or undesirable and everything in between. He would sit on the fence with this woman until he had placed her.

“You have a reservation?” he asked it as if it were a statement.

Ophelia wasn’t listening. Instead she was gaping at the opulence like a tourist, just stopping short of an open mouth. This was a new place to her, either that or Richard hadn’t brought her here when they were married.

“Miss Open?” the head waiter prompted her.

“Oh sorry, it’s Mrs, well ex-Mrs actually, I assumed…” Ophelia flashed her baby blue eyes in amusement.

“Oh yes,” the man said quickly, up to then he had wondered if Ophelia was a mistress to someone, although the being dark he doubted it as blondes were the vogue this season. “Mrs Open, your husband, pardon me, ex-husband, called to say he would be late. May I show you to your table?”

He didn’t wait but turned with a wave and led her to one of the grander tables at the back of room. Nothing but the best for Richard, she thought mirthlessly.

The seat of the chair was well-padded but that didn’t stop Ophelia feeling the nascent tender ache from last week’s encounter with Wentworth. That had been an embarrassing and avoidable encounter that she only had herself to blame for. Well herself and little sister Sophie, she amended. But that little matter had also been attended to, or so she had heard. Little sis had positively gushed sparkles about her executioner; it seemed that a good spanking had done her the world of good.

Ophelia found herself wondering about Wentworth and his relationship with Patty. Maybe if she hadn’t still been in love with Richard… but no, he wasn’t really her type. A father figure was one thing, but the muscle-bound ex-marine was too serious for her liking and when Daddy spanked… she winced again and adjusted her behind in the chair, Patty could keep him.

She thought about Richard and where it had all gone wrong. The letter in her purse had said he wanted to try again, her heart did an unexpected lurch, but what was the point? Sure she still loved him but… she tried to remember all of the reasons she had left him. At the time she had cited the spankings and long embarrassing corner times. Sometimes he had made her stand there for hours, or so it had seemed, while he made business calls with little in-jokes at her expense. She had been certain that everyone knew she was a spanked wife. But none of that was it, not if she was honest. She even knew about the other women, arm-trophies Richard called them and strictly business. It was distasteful to be sure, but Richard was always upfront about it. Did she believe him when he said he didn’t touch? Before the marriage he had warned her otherwise so why a change?

Hell it was 1960 and the papers were full of the permissive society and she couldn’t expect a man like Richard to be faithful. But part of her had believed him when he had told her he was. Then she had met his secretary, Alice Duvall, she bristled again, as if the memories were fresh. She had suspected the woman from the first and all those business trips…

But it was two events in particular that had turned her heart. Alice Duvall’s sick smiling face on the cover of Newsweek as she hung on Richard’s arm to claim him like, like… and the spanking.

The spanking was worse. Ophelia had burst in on them. Her, bare bottomed over his knee getting the spanking of her life. Until Alice had seen Ophelia looking on, Ophelia could have sworn that she hated it. Richard had insisted it was entirely punitive. But then the women’s eyes had met and Alice had smirked through her tears. Bitch.

Since the divorce Richard and Alice had become an item. The spider bitch had wound him into her little web and Ophelia had cleared out to let her. Damn the woman.

“Hey baby,” Richard said suddenly as he stooped to kiss her.

“Oh, hey,” she returned an uncomfortable smile.

Richard smiled back as he dropped into the seat opposite. His cheeks dimpled and squared off his jaw. He was wearing a sharp suit that angled down from his broad shoulders giving his body a V-shape. The pin-stripe exactly matched the premature grey in his hair just as the charcoal of the rest of his suit’s colour matched his eyes.

“Sorry about being late it was…”

“Business,” she finished for him.

They both laughed, but there was no warmth to it and their chuckles fell flat leaving a moment of awkward silence.

“I wasn’t even sure you would come,” he said evenly. “I mean after that business that Wentworth handled for me…”

Ophelia blushed and looked down demurely.

“I had it coming,” she said with a face, “Besides I guess you were too busy with… what was her name?” bitch-Alice, she thought bitterly. “Anyway I didn’t expect the personal touch. After all it was just business wasn’t it?”

He winced and sucked his cheek in on one side with a sour look.

“Oh come on, you know it was,” Ophelia said placating him, sorry now to have been so sharp. “How is… Alice anyway?” she said the name like poison and added archly, “are you still paddling her fanny when she’s a bad girl?”

“You know me,” he said quietly. “But she doesn’t take to it too well sometimes.”

“Ooh,” Ophelia said in mock sympathy, “Is the great Mr Open too hot for her to handle?”

Richard didn’t answer as he picked up the menu and pretended to consider lunch.

“There’s nothing serious between us,” he said at last, “she is just another one of those women I used to have around before we were married.”

“Yes and you warned me you wouldn’t always give them up,” she said angrily, “I was warned and we both know I only wanted the prize. So fair play Richard, see, it was all my fault.”

“I… I loved, love you,” he said quietly, “From that first… I didn’t have to marry you but I did. I thought that the other girls would be fun if you could handle it. But I gave them up, all at once I found I had grown up and didn’t need them anymore.”

“Until Alice Duvall,” Ophelia accused.

“I spanked her,” he shot back; “She had it coming. What was the big deal?”

“Yeah, I bet. She played you like a fool. That little bitch had her hooks into you and you let her,” Ophelia yelled. “And then when we, when I… scammed you for the money you sent me to that… you let someone… oh,” she spluttered angrily, “You… you spank her, but not me.”

Several people in the restaurant looked over and even Richard looked uncomfortable. But Ophelia didn’t wait. She threw down her napkin as she stood up and stormed away.

*

Ophelia had got two blocks before Richard’s cab pulled alongside matching the pace of her hot heels on the sidewalk. If she was mad then he was angrier still. The little brat had thrown their marriage over on account of a spanking? She had messed in some dangerous and expensive business trying to get him to spank her? And all of it had been about Alice? He was furious.

As the car slid up to his wife he eyed the jounce of her hips and bottom in her tight skirt. It wasn’t the only thing was that tight he noticed. But he was still too mad just then.

He slapped a five dollar bill on the back of the driver’s seat and told him they were taking on a passenger. Then he opened the cab door and leapt out.

Ophelia struggled hard, harder when she saw that Richard was her abductor, but he tossed her easily over his shoulder and hauled her into the back seat of the cab.

“Hey what gives Mac?” the driver exclaimed.

“My wife,” Richard growled as he tossed another five at the guy.

The driver looked uncertain but Ophelia chose that moment to enter the conversation.

“Richard Open you bastard,” she spat at Richard.

The driver hesitated a moment longer and then counted the money in his head. Some marriages were just like that, he guessed and besides the guy looked like her could afford it. The car pulled away fast.

Ophelia tumbled back with her dignity scattered and fell sideways in a heap on the back seat next to her ex-husband.

“Richard you… where are we going?” she gasped.

“Home,” he replied and leaned forward to give the address to the driver.

*

Ophelia stood on the sidewalk looking up at the familiar brownstone and tried to stay mad. Behind her Richard paid off the driver who grinned as he barked cheerfully, “Good luck Mac,” before pulling away.

“Richard…” Ophelia began and then squealed, “Richard” as she was hoist over her husband’s shoulder with her bottom in the air.

For Ophelia the next few moments were series of rails, plaster-embossed ceilings and unfamiliar angles as she was bundled upside down up the steps and into the house.

“Richard,” she wailed, “Put me down.”

To her surprise Richard obliged. Only instead if setting her on her feet he sat down on the top step of the second floor and dragged her pell-mell across his lap.

“Richard you can’t…” she gasped, acutely aware that somewhere was a maid and who knew who else, “Not here.”

Her words ended in a shrieked as his hand blasted down on the seat of her skirt.

“Alice Duvall means nothing to me, never has, never will,” Richard bellowed as he spanked her.

“Shush,” she hissed, still more worried about her red face than her red bottom.

He pounded at her behind with his paddle-like hand until shush was driven from her and she was again yelping her discomfort.

“Not here, please not here,” she wailed.

“Get up those stairs,” he growled as he finally set her free.

He didn’t wait for her compliance and she found herself tugged like rag-doll up another flight of stairs to the intimate rooms of the house.

Once they reached the bedroom he glared at her and unbuttoned his jacket before tossing it on the bed. Then as she watched, he slowly began to roll up his sleeves until Ophelia gulped and began to back away.

“Now Richard,” she remonstrated, “I’m not your wife remember, you can’t spank me.”

“Spank you?” he said quietly, “I’ll spank you alright and the rest.”

“Richard,” she squealed and turned to run.

It was easy enough to get her over his knee as he sat on the bed, but her tight skirt was another matter. At some point the zip broke and a silk slip bulged through the opening.

“Careful that is…” she wasn’t sure she cared right then.

Then skirt, slip, panties all went south and Ophelia was left in her suspender-stockings and a bare bottom.

“When I am done here you will fetch your hairbrush from the dresser,” he told her.

“My…” she looked up; everything was just as she had left it with no sign of Alice Duvall.

Then the spanking began and she kicked her legs theatrically. The weeping and wailing lasted for long minutes as Richard spanked her over and over until her neat full rounds were as red as her face.

“You… you little fool,” he scolded, “I love you, you…”

“Richard please,” she yelped, but to no avail.

He spanked her for several long minutes until his had stung and his arm ached like a novice.

“Now fetch the brush,” he said sternly.

“Yes Richard,” she replied meekly.

Then she got unsteadily to her feet and tottered over to her dresser and took up her hairbrush.

“You little idiot, I’ll teach you to…”

“Teach me Sir,” she said in a small voice.

*

Ophelia’s bottom was on fire and tears streamed down her face, but she was home. How could I have missed this? she thought, but I have. She had tucked her elbows and knees under either side of Richard’s thighs as he soundly spanked her across his lap. He handled the hairbrush like an expert as it blasted down mercilessly on her exposed bottom until she howled at each impact.

“This is only the beginning you absolute brat,” he barked.

“Yes Sir,” she wailed breathlessly as she kicked her ankles.

Finally, her second spanking was over and Richard sent her to the corner for a good cry.

“Damn it you brat, we didn’t eat lunch,” was his only comment as he his belly complained, but to see Ophelia where she belonged; red-bottomed and in the corner was worth it and they both knew it.

For one evil minute he thought of ringing down for a sandwich to have Maria see Ophelia put in her place, but another insistent hunger pressed upon him and he had a better idea.

Meanwhile in the corner Ophelia reached around and tentatively prodded at her bottom. Her crying and breathing were under control and she had idly begun to wonder if a divorce could be annulled.

“You know there is only one thing for it?” he said from behind her.

She didn’t turn. He had trained her to well for that.

“Will you marry me Mrs Open?”

Her discipline broke and she rushed at him for a kiss. The momentum carried them on to the bed where his hands painfully found her bruised behind. Ophelia didn’t care. He was a big man and today he was hard, harder than she remembered and she wanted him.

Ten minutes later he had her again; this time on all fours while he pounded at her hungrily from behind.

“Hey, you didn’t answer me,” he said at last, as he collapsed onto the bed next to her.

“Oh I think I did,” she grinned archly and reached for his manhood.

He wasn’t ready for her, not yet and she wondered if he might respond to some oral stimulation.

“I’ll ask Alice to resign,” he said earnestly, “I’ll give her some dough and ship her out to another company. Some people owe me some favours.”

“You swear you never touched her when we were married,” Ophelia said huskily.

“I would have said. I did a few times when we first married, like I told you but… not since… and never with her until…” the usually assured Richard was desperate not to say the wrong thing but determined not to lie.

Ophelia kissed him to silence.

“And is it right that Alice Duvall doesn’t care to be spanked?” Ophelia’s eyes narrowed.

What was she up to? He thought.

“Well which girl does?”

“Afterwards, I mean, when girls like me feel all safe and forgiven?” Ophelia pressed him.

“Not half the time anyway, not when I’m pissed at her,” he told his renewed wife.

“Then…” Ophelia licked her lips, “Offer Alice twice her salary, triple if you like, but on one condition.”

“Oh?” Richard said suspiciously as his eyes crinkled up at the corners.

“As a requirement for her service, send her to Wentworth once a month for a full work out,” Ophelia smirked. “Once a month for the duration of her employment.”

Years hopefully, she thought, that ought to fix the gold digging bitch.

“Ophelia I can’t…”

“Just make the offer, give her a fair alternative, so long as it is much less lucrative, but make her the offer,” Ophelia giggled, “See what she says.”

“You really are a nasty brat aren’t you?” he growled.

“Probably, but I am betting so is she,” Ophelia smirked.

“Okay, I’ll offer her a year’s pay as severance and a detachment to another company on double pay,” he said angrily, “And two year’s pay as an end of year bonus and… treble pay, if she accepts your plan. But she’s not like that, she won’t take it. I bet she’ll just resign and tell me where to stick my job.”

You gullible schmuck, she thought affectionately. Suddenly she didn’t care what Alice Duvall did so long as Richard took her back. He could spank her silly for all she cared.

“Now you little brat bend over the bed. I have had enough of your machinations.” His voice was dark.

Ophelia pondered how she would handle another spanking and came down for acceptance when she saw his penis twitch. Then he reached for his belt on the floor.

“Oh come on, at least wait to see if she takes my suggestion,” she wheedled.

“You have already been mean whatever she says, so you had better pray you have her right or maybe it will be you who gets to see Wentworth,” Richard growled at her.

Ophelia levered herself onto all fours and stuck her bottom up. She doubted that Richard would do that, but she was certain she would get some more belting if he was right about Alice. But she was certain he wasn’t.

Then the belt seared into her bottom and she bit down on her lip. Oh jeez, this is going to be…

The belt struck again and Ophelia yelped, I must be crazy, she thought, and then grunted at another impact on her behind.

“Ooh Richard, please… ow, that hurts,” she snapped testily and then screeched, “Richard,” as the belt continued to ply its trade.

*

What a totally gross office building, Alice Duvall thought as she stood in the hall next to the sign on the door. What is a justice adjuster anyway? I don’t even know what I am doing here, she lied. Richard had made it crystal clear what was required of her for their new arrangement.

That bitch Ophelia had wormed her way back to the golden goose and wanted her out, although transfer to some dumbass company in Washington on double pay wasn’t bad. It almost made up for missing out on the prize. That had been her first response anyway. Then as he had offered her his hand, his hand for Christ’s sake, like she was what, his aunt? Not that she wanted a kiss from him, not then, but she was entitled to the chance to slap his face for giving her one.

“No hard feelings,” he said.

No more hard feelings from me anyway, ever, she sneered quietly.

“Oh no, you and the bitch deserve one another,” she had smiled sweetly.

Richard had frowned then and he moved to the stance that so often led to a spanking for her.

“Just kidding,” she said hastily.

He had sized her up for a moment and then said, “Look I wasn’t going to offer you this…”

She suddenly smiled more warmly and tried to look sincere.

“Oh yes?” she asked.

“You could always stay on with increased pay and a better bonus…”

Alice hadn’t even cared about the conditions, she didn’t listen. Double-double pay and a double bonus was better than a transfer to Washington. Hell she would go down on whoever he said for less, him if he liked. She had smiled so benignly.

“Hell you and Ophelia are perfect together, you never should have divorced her,” Alice said with her second best smile.

Now she found herself in a dingy dump down town. The door opened then a dumpy past-it blonde with glasses stood there. She had to be 30 at least.

“Miss Duvall for her hiney shellacking,” Alice said pertly and then affected a yawn, “Which asshole is going to paddle me today?” How bad could it be, she thought dismissively, but her mind was on how she was going to spend her bonus.

Patty frowned and led the newcomer into the office. The file on her desk called for a monthly standard or standard plus as required. Wentworth’s secretary quietly crossed out standard and added another plus sign to the specification. Then with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes she said, “The asshole will see you shortly.”

End of this cycle.

Silver Screen special. Two oft compared stars and a generic period screen goddess image.

Our story began here.

Jenny had been too embarrassed to get dressed in front of Miss Bowman but it felt strange standing in the hallway of the hotel naked from the waist down. She suspected that Alice had only allowed it because they were the only guests, but all the same she felt vulnerable and exposed. So instead of returning to her room she ducked into the bathroom to get dressed. She was extremely aware of her bare legs and the hump of her throbbing behind and in the event the ski-pants were too tight to slip over her swollen bottom. But there was nothing for it but to persevere and she had to bite her lip to stop crying out as the stretch fabric dragged at her tender flesh until she gave up. So after a quick wash and a clean of her teeth, she wrapped a towel around her waist and returned to her room.

Janet was sitting on the other bed smelling of cigarettes.

“What happened to you?” she asked the sorry looking Jenny.

Jenny blushed and tossed her clothing on her own bed.

“Oh my God,” Janet squealed, “Someone got their tush blistered.”

“You don’t have to go on about it,” Jenny muttered.

“Come on, let me see,” Janet giggled as she made a grab for the towel.

“Get off,” Jenny wailed and twisted away.

She hated that Janet was there. It was more than embarrassing; it was an intrusion into something private between Alice and herself. But as she stepped back the towel fell to her ankles and she had to whip around to hide her front half.

Janet whistled.

“Wow wee, mama spank eh,” she sounded impressed. “Come on, lie down and I’ll get a cold flannel for that hiney of yours.”

Jenny might have protested but Janet grabbed the towel from the floor and guided jenny to lay face down on the bed. Then dashing to a bowl on the dresser she dipped in a cloth and then wrung it out. The wet flannel was soothing and she felt a warm glow from Janet’s sisterly concern.

“So the rumours are true,” Janet said.

As she spoke she lifted the cloth for a moment for a closer look at the two oval blisters marring Jenny’s pert bottom.

“Hey,” the spanked girl complained.

“What she use anyway?” Janet asked as she replaced the flannel.

“If you must know it was a hairbrush,” Jenny said tartly.

“Well at least now we know where we stand,” Janet said in a voice draped in awe. “Stand being the operative word here.”

Jenny blushed and made a face.

“Come on kid, by the time we get our release papers we will be closer than sisters,” Janet chuckled.

Jenny sighed. She quite liked that idea somehow. She had never had a sister. She had never had a mother for that matter and Aunt Edith didn’t count on that score. But maybe Alice… the thought hung on the edge of her mind and she relaxed as she laid her head on the pillow.

In response to Janet’s comment she absently murmured, “I suppose.”

*

By breakfast Katherine and Mary had also heard about the confrontation between Alice and Jenny, Janet had made sure of that. But as yet the punished one had yet to show at the table. Neither had Alice come to that.

“You don’t think she would spank us do you?” Mary asked Katherine in a hushed whisper. “Alice, I mean. I mean we are older and… and well I mean…”

The cool Katherine picked up her coffee cup and glanced quizzically at her new colleague. What a ninny, she thought.

“You did read the small print in the application? Come to think of it, it wasn’t that small,” Katherine said icily.

“Well sure, but I mean to say…” Mary was blinking fast as she recalled the odd feeling she had gotten from perusing the guidance notes on the application. Secretly it had been part of the reason for signing up, but it was a sentiment well-hidden from her conscious thought.

“You mean to say a lot don’t you?” Katherine rolled her eyes, “But you don’t really say it though.”

Mary blushed and snapped back into her shell. In any case Jenny chose that moment to appear and walked shyly through the door. Katherine noticed she was wearing a more conservative skirt this morning and one that was rather loser fitting than the one she and Alice wore.

“Alice said she has had breakfast and that we are to be ready to leave in 35 minutes,” Jenny announced without looking up from the floor.

She took a couple of moments and then went to sit down. An action that was doomed to failure and she grimaced at a crouch while hovering over the chair.

“Here,” Katherine said, tossing a cushion from one of the armchairs at the edge of the dining room.

Jenny blushed, but accepted it gratefully and made another attempt to sit down. This time with a wince and a groan she made it. But she was not looking forward to the onward journey towards Seattle.

*

The largely empty bus pulled out on time and the only other passengers were an old somewhat Hispanic-looking woman and a black lady with four small children. Neither party was particularly talkative, much like the small company led by Alice and as they hit the road she noticed that Janet was a lot less brash than she had been and the other women too were more thoughtful. Although strangely Jenny was in a better mood and became quite chatty once Alice tolerated her standing up or kneeling on the empty seat forward of their group.

“Where are we going Miss Bowman, what’s it like? I have never been to Washington State before I heard it is beautiful,” she gushed.

“Yes it is,” Alice replied, somewhat amused.

“And what about the Sinclair Method, the thing in the application my aunt signed, what is it exactly?” Jenny continued.

“Yes, I would like to know more about that,” Katherine spoke up.

“The Sinclair Method is a well-tested mentoring system developed by Elizabeth Sinclair. She was an educationalist of a kind,” Alice sounded as if she had begun a lecture. “She came from England in the 1890s and founded a women’s college in Boston. But it did not thrive and she was forced to become a governess for a time. However, she later developed a system for the training of governesses with a special interest in reforming young women who were… lost or on the wrong path. She believed that women who had been reformed in later life were best placed to help others.”

“Were you a lost young woman on the wrong path?” Janet asked with proverbial butter dripping from her lips.

Alice studied the delinquent hard and considered her next words carefully.

“As a matter of fact in a manner of speaking I was. During the war I joined the navy and served in the Philippines among other places,” Alice told them.

“Were you a nurse?” Katherine asked.

“Did you get stranded there when McArthur left?” Jenny added excitedly.

“No, neither of those, I was a clerk. I was evacuated and glad to be so. But my point is I had a purpose back then, an order to my life that being a civilian lacked.

Alice saw that Katherine was nodding and even others were thoughtful as if recognising something in her words.

“But isn’t it all a bit extreme and old-fashioned?” Mary asked.

Alice saw Katherine frown and almost glare at the other girl.

“You tell me,” Alice said, “What attracted you to this scheme?”

“The lack of bars,” Janet put in ruefully.

Jenny blushed furiously and looked down as if something in Janet’s words had struck a chord. But the whole turn in the conversation was excruciating. Nonetheless she seemed to find her courage.

“It is not all extreme is it Miss Bowman, I lost my parents at an early age and I know what you mean about being lost. My aunt meant well but never seemed to know what to do with me. I don’t want to end up in gaol, really I don’t,” she said all of a splutter as if quoting someone and her eyes fell upon Janet as she said the last part.

Mary was chewing on the inside of her cheek as she pondered the discussion. Alice was certain that the woman had given no thought this at all. It was often that way with the most lost girls; they seemed to almost to fall into it by accident as if by instinct rather than design.

“But last night, you spanked Jenny, boy that was a hoot but…” Janet began.

Jenny went crimson, every bit of her that could be seen and she looked around in a panicked fluster at the other passengers. Even Katherine and Mary looked uncomfortable.

“But it is a bit old fashioned isn’t it,” Janet added lowering her voice.

Alice was impressed at her consideration. Not such a loss soul after all.

“Yes it is,” she said, “From top to… eh bottom, so to speak, so make your minds up to it girls,” she replied.

It was enough to stop all chatter for a while and the road to a new life began to swallow up the miles.

*

They arrived in Beaumont, a small town a few hours’ drive from Seattle, at around three in the afternoon. They could see at once that the white painted community was going to offer few distractions and on their way in the girls counted no more than a dozen shops, a church, a gas station, a movie house, two bars, a diner, an ice cream parlour and the public library. The town was so small that there wasn’t even a bus depot and the Greyhound made only a cursory stop. Just long enough for the women to gather their bags.

“Now girls, I have to get to the realty office to collect the keys and get the car out of the garage. I want you to wait right here,” Alice said once the small company was assembled on the corner, “Katherine you are in charge. I won’t be long.”

“What a dump,” Janet said in a tone of disgust as soon as Alice had gone.

Jenny too was pulling a face, although Mary looked less nervous than she had since they had all met up.

“I expect it is what is,” Katherine said enigmatically.

“They have a church anyway,” Mary said in a neutral voice.

Janet smirked and included Jenny in a rude gesture with her hand behind Mary’s back. Then pushing herself away from the brick wall she had leaned against Janet began to size the place up.

“I am going to look the bar over, maybe they have some decent men in this town,” she said.

“Janet, I think you should stay here, you heard what Alice said,” Katherine suggested.

Janet dismissed the older girl with her hand and strolled cat-like, one foot before the other, across the street to survey her new domain.

“Do you think she should do that?” Mary whined.

“I’m going to stay right here like Miss Bowman said,” Jenny put in piously.

You soon changed your tune, Katherine thought, as she looked impotently after Janet.

“Come back, wait for Miss Bowman,” the older woman raised her voice.

But Janet waved her away and with a lick of her lips headed down the street.

“I guess we could get a soda,” Mary suggested. It seemed like the thing to do, not being as bad as going somewhere they sold beer.

Katherine shot her a look of incredulous disdain and shook her head in disbelief. Then turning she watched as Janet wandered down as far as the first bar. There the wild youngster wheeled around and threw up her arms in consternation, evidentially finding the bar closed. Katherine urgently waved her back. But Janet responded with a two-handed salute and swept on down the street towards where the mom & pop stores had been and the other bar.

“Do you think Alice would mind if I went to the church then?” Mary said absently, “They sometimes have nice dances and other things on and I could find out. Besides it might be a Methodist minister, which would be neat.”

Jenny giggled at the idea but fell quiet at a glare from Katherine. By now Janet had gone from sight and Katherine hoped that the other bar would be closed too. So she stood staring after her shading her eyes from the sun.

“Katherine, where is Janet?” Alice called, suddenly appearing.

In her hands she held some keys. There were too many for just one house and Katherine recognised some for a car of some kind.

“She is… just checking out the neighbours I think,” Katherine said hesitantly.

“I told you to stay here,” Alice barked.

“But…” Katherine began.

“And that meant Janet too,” the governess continued sharply.

Katherine opened her mouth and arms to protest before closing them again.

“Katherine, I left you in charge. This simply won’t do,” Alice scolded, “Janet is a ward of the court and I am responsible if she absconds.”

“I don’t think she has gone far,” Jenny suggested helpfully.

Alice snatched a look at her watch and then impatiently up and down the street.

“Are we in a hurry Ma’am?” Katherine asked.

“That is not the point,” Alice snapped.

Just then Janet strolled into sight at the far end of Main Street and began to amble back. Alice looked like she was fuming and her glare encompassed them all.

“I am going to get the car,” she sighed, “This time wait here.”

*

They sat in stony silence as they made what was to be a short ride up into the hills. The mountains beyond looked high and were capped in snow and Katherine thought them rather beautiful. However, she was somewhat subdued having been left in charge and letting everyone down. Not that she had any real idea what she could have done about Janet.

Seeing Alice had her eyes fixed firmly on the narrow winding mountain road Katherine stole a glance at Janet who sat sullenly to her right. The latter girl returned a look that said ‘what did I do?’ But although she would never admit it the butterflies in her tummy warned the rebellious delinquent that this time she may have overstepped the mark. From their demeanour, Jenny and Mary obviously seemed to think so. And so they drove for almost an hour until they reached a white picket fence running along the edge of the road anda  right turn up a dirt track into the trees.

The mountains ducked in and out of view now, being not so easy to see through the closed-in woodland that cocooned the track in a soft green tunnel around them.

“Welcome to the boondocks,” Janet said scornfully.

But she didn’t say it loud and only Katherine heard her. Then all at once the trees fell away on one side revealing a paddock bordered by an identical white picket fence they had seen at the road. Beyond that was a white painted house with a colonial feel and a front porch that dominated the front of the building. Although not over-large it had three stories, with box-framed windows getting progressively smaller at each as the eye travelled upwards.

“Alright girls,” Alice said brightly as the car pulled up, “Get your bags and go in. At the top of the stairs on the second floor go to the left and choose a room.”

*

Despite themselves the women were all of a twitter as they explored their new home. Much comparison was done between rooms and given that there seemed to be six rooms between the four of them there was little bickering.

Janet had made a bee-line for the biggest room but Katherine had ignored her and dropped her own bags there first. The younger woman glared for a moment and then shrugged. It was easy enough to encourage Mary not to compete and Jenny had grabbed the smallest room anyway, one with pink flowers and a view.

The girls were still getting settled when they heard someone clapping. There hard short smacks from the half-landing on the stairs.

“Alright girls, gather round,” Alice was calling.

She waited until all four had collected at the rail on the upper floor before she fixed them with her gaze and continued.

“I am not entirely happy with you so far and as for this morning… well I will come to that. From now on you will adhere strictly to the rules, some of which are on the back of your bedroom doors. Others you will learn as we go along,” she began, “You will notice that Katherine is well-turned out. She has a hat and gloves as all ladies must wear in public and is dressed neatly and tastefully.”

Janet scowled and Mary shifted uncomfortably.

“Mary, while not exactly breaking the rules… well we will talk privately. As for you younger girls…” Alice continued, now examining Jenny’s ski-pants and Janet’s tight sweater and skirt, “I will be charitable and allow that you have opted for some kind of sports attire. This will now cease unless you are playing tennis or some other authorised outdoor activity.”

Janet now looked even more disconcerted and opened her mouth to protest.

“Janet is already in my bad books and would do well not to test me,” Alice pre-empted her, backing her words with a hard look in the girl’s direction, “Wait for me in your room directly that I dismiss you all,” she added sternly.

Janet continued to show her irritation while Katherine sucked in her cheeks and shifted uncomfortably.

“I see you are aware of your shortcomings, though they are not as serious as Janet’s,” Alice said almost kindly as she addressed the older girl. “My room is to the right at the end. Come see me later and we will talk.”

Katherine nodded.

“Dinner is at eight so if Jenny and Mary would attend me in the kitchen before seven we will prepare it. In due course I will engage some help, but until then we must shift for ourselves,” Alice told them. The with another brisk clap she dismissed them with, “Alright then, cut along girls.”

As the others drifted away Janet pursed her lips thoughtfully and pondered her options. She didn’t relish a confrontation with Alice and she supressed all thoughts of Jenny’s fate that began gather at the back of her mind. What was the big deal, she wonered, but thought better of testing the governess further. So with a sigh she trudged sullen to her room and dropped dejectedly onto the bed.

*

Alice knocked and entered Janet’s room without waiting and for once the latter looked somewhat nervous. After a moment’s hesitation Janet got to her feet under the older woman’s gaze and looked at her feet.

“You haven’t unpacked,” Alice accused her.

“No I…” Janet was ready with a snide comeback but Alice cut her off.

“Show me your clothes.” It was a terse tight order and immediately set-up and air of disciplined tension.

Janet frowned and grabbed her two bags from the floor and tossed them indolently onto the bed. One was a battered cream suitcase and the other grey duffle bag. Alice didn’t wait for Janet to open them and pushed the girl aside to flip them open.

“These are unsuitable,” Alice said sharply, snatching up some of the underwear.

“Hey, those cost me…” Janet wailed.

Alice glared her to silence.

“These are for recreation only,” Alice continued making a pile on the bed. “I will direct you when to wear them. This dress is fine, and that. The skirts… we will see. The rest will go into storage.”

“But…”

“You have no gloves or hat?” Alice asked.

“Do I look like…?”

“A ‘no ma’am’ would suffice,” Alice snapped, “We will get some for you in town.”

“That dump? I wouldn’t be seen dead anything from there,” Janet snorted.

“Death might be preferable if you ever defy me there again,” Alice growled.

“Eh…?”

“You remember what I did to Jenny?” Alice asked.

As she spoke she dropped down to sit on the bed and eyed the girl sharply.

“That was…” Janet gulped, not knowing what to say to that.

“That was nothing to what will happen to you next time you test me in public. Jenny at least had the benefit of her pants where as I won’t hesitate to spank your little bare bottom outside the drugstore where everyone can see,” Alice’s voice was hard-edged and serious. Enough so that Janet blushed hard and hugged herself nervously. Before she could answer Alice continued asking her, “Do you have a hairbrush?”

“A what…?” Janet spluttered, understanding, “Hey come on, now.”

Both women’s eyes alighted on the object on the dresser at the same time.

“Oh, I see that you do,” Alice said, “Please hand it to me.”

Janet’s eyes went wide and she gaped.

“No listen,” she wailed.

“Please hand me the hairbrush,” Alice said in a slow hard voice, “If I have to ask again you will spend the rest of the afternoon and a good part of the evening in the corner downstairs with your bare bottom displayed for the edification of your new friends.”

Janet looked at the brush as if it were snake and then at Alice. If she surrendered now… anyway how could Alice make her stand in the corner, she wasn’t a kid?

Alice extended an arm and gestured with her fingers as she waited while Janet hovered nervously, now overcome by disbelief. The was a long pause as the girl swallowed hard and looked from the hairbrush to Alice’s hand and then slowly and deliberately shook her head.

Alice nodded and sighed. What happened next was fast. Alice half stood up and grabbed Janet with one arm and the other the brush in the other. Then somehow the girl was over her knee in a flop and staring at the rug half a foot from her nose.

“It’s hard to surrender the first time, I know,” Alice said gently.

As she spoke she loosened the button at the waist of Janet’s skirt and unzipped it down the back. All the while a wide-eyed the prone girl gaped like a fish, barely resisting as the skirt slid from under her and down her legs. In fact it wasn’t until Alice tackled the panties that Janet came alive.

“Nooo, nooo, no,” she suddenly sputtered to a wail.

“Hush now, you just know you have this coming don’t you?” Alice soothed.

“Get off me you bitch, get off,” Janet spat angrily but already her words were tailing off into something like tears of frustration.

The snug thigh-hugging panties were slid right down and off Janet’s legs sweater and stockings that now left nothing much for covering below the waist. Her bottom was snow-white just where her panties had been, revealing a daring sunbathing habit and Alice frowned. Her curves were full and round, vulnerable to some serious attention that had been too long neglected.

“Oh my,” Janet said breathlessly, “You can’t, you just can’t…” she said in panic.

But Alice did, bringing the flat side of the brush fiercely down onto virgin territory.

“Hyghuh,” Janet grunted, or something like it. Alice was ceaselessly amazed at the number or different ways that spanked girls expressed pain and surprise.

The red oval patch left by the hairbrush puckered up in a thousand goose-bumps where it turned red and Alice struck again.

“You bitch, you goddam Jesus sucking bitch, you…. Ahhhh-yah,” Janet carried on.

“Now if you continue with this I am going to wash your mouth-out with soap and if that doesn’t work I have more thorough ways of cleansing you,” Alice told her.

“Oooh,” Janet growled in frustration.

But nothing deterred Alice and she spanked in regular hard sweeps, one following the other until God alone knew how many swats there had been. All the while Janet grunted angrily, determined now to outlast the indignity so that she could spit in Alice’s eye.

“Make no mistake girl; once we are done here you are going to spend a long time in the corner I assure you,” Alice reminded her, “You are going to be so sorry you didn’t cooperate.”

“Go to hell bitch,” Janet yelled.

Alice sighed and reluctantly put the brush down. The grabbing the hapless Janet by the ear she hauled her to her feet. “Very well,” she said and led the kicking protesting girl to the door and through it where she could be seen by anyone around.

“You can’t… hey…” Janet wailed.

But nothing helped and the thoroughly miserable Janet was led down the hall past an openly shocked Mary and faintly amused Jenny all the way to the bathroom.

“Get off me, you can’t do this,” Janet spluttered in uncertainty.

Alice shoved the girl into the old tiled room and blocked her escape. Then she pointed at the rubber tubes, funnels and some rubber bags hanging there.

“We can tackle one end or the other,” Alice said firmly, “You decide.”

Janet had heard of such things and stared at the paraphilia in horror. Worse still she could see Mary and Jenny still watching the scene through the open door and self-consciously she hunched over to guard her exposed front.

Alice chose the moment of hesitation to grab a bar of soap from its dish and present it to the hapless girl.

“Open wide,” she demanded,

“You can go and…” Janet raged, but she was gagged by the soap bar jamming into her mouth.

Alice held it there, pinning the girl by the nape of her neck.

“Now bite down hard and hold it,” Alice told her, but as soon as she let go Janet spluttered away.

Undeterred Alice tried again smearing Janet’s tongue and causing her to make choking sounds.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Janet wailed.

“Now bite it or I will turn you over the edge of the bath and introduce your bottom to an enema tube,” Alice warned.

Janet looked askance at the varying tubes and nozzles hanging on the wall and thought about the threat and her failure to prevent everything else so far. Then the mortified Janet went strawberry and averted her eyes from anyone who might be watching outside. After one final scowl of defiance she reluctantly took the bar of soap between her teeth.

“That’s a good girl;” Alice said quietly, “Now hold it for two minutes and I’ll let you rinse your mouth out: this time.”

Finally Janet was allowed to spit and rinse before being led back down the hall to her room again.

“Wh-where are we…? Oh come on, I said I was sorry,” Janet wailed.

“And I am glad to hear it, but we have a spanking to finish don’t we?” Alice sighed, “In fact we had hardly got started you little hellion.”

“But…” Janet gasped.

But this time she was much less resisting as she tumbled over Alice’s knee and took the first of another onslaught to her bare bottom.

“Now let us see if we can make an impression on this bottom of yours,” Alice said in a determined voice. “Is that alright with you now?”

The brush bit down with a crack heard down the hall and Janet yelled.

“Is it?” Alice pressed her. “Or do we need another visit to the bathroom?”

“No Ma’am,” Janet gasped, “I mean yes Ma’am.”

“Well, which is it?” Alice asked silkily.

Janet worked her mouth as she tried hold back her distressed panic, she was confused now.

“I am asking you if you need a good sound spanking,” Alice pressed the young woman.

“Yes Ma’am,” Janet wailed.

“A good sound spanking on your bare bottom?” Alice added, supressing a chuckle. When they caved the crashed, she thought.

“Yes Ma’am,” Janet said tears pricking her eyes.

“Tell me then,” Alice scolded, “Say it.”

Janet noticed the door was ajar and sobbed.

“I gave you the option of a nice ladylike private spanking and you decided to play the hellion,” Alice reminded her.

“Please Ma’am, I’m sorry,” Janet said finally breaking to tears.

“I know you are, but now I need some public contrition,” Alice soothed, “Now ask me nicely.”

“Please Ma’am… I…” Janet swallowed and thought she would die and then she chokingly spluttered, “Please Ma’am… please give me…” she gulped, “A good s-sound sp-spanking…” she gulped again, “On my… on my… ooh, bare bottom,” she finally bawled.

“I am glad to oblige,” Alice sighed and brought the brush down hard again as the first of a volley that began to raise rubber-welted pads on the crowns and sit-spots of both of Janet’s bottom cheeks.

In a very short time Janet was crying freely like a kid, telling herself that it hurt, which it did. But it was the fall of her castle so cynically constructed over years that she so thoroughly lamented. She sobbed and sobbed until there was nothing else.

To be continued.

More here.

Our story began here.

Janet felt like an old rain barrel that had been emptied out and thoroughly scrubbed ready for the spring showers. Her bottom still throbbed like a son-of-a-bitch and felt like smoking hot leather to the touch, but at least the scream of the sting had reined in from total hellfire down to stove level.

After her spanking Alice had held her for a time until Janet’s sobbing had abated and only the small sniffles of childish tears continued. Then the governess had gently set her on her feet and Janet felt lost. The now thoroughly meek delinquent looked wanly at her roughly piled skirt and panties and half stumbled towards them.

“No, no,” Alice told her quietly, “You’ll get those later; you have an appointment with the corner remember.”

Janet opened her mouth to protest and blood surged in her face. Surely it was over, she prayed.

“I’ll be good, really I will,” she cried.

“I warned you. Now you will prove that by coming downstairs and going to the corner just as you are,” Alice chided her warningly.

“B-but everyone will see,” Janet wailed, on the edge of tears again.

“I know and you’ll be embarrassed, but you need taking down a peg or two I think,” Alice sighed, “And besides I gave my word on it.”

Alice wondered if she hadn’t gone too far for a first encounter, but there was nothing she could do about it now. For a dreadful moment she thought that Janet would rebel but despite the horror inscribed on her face she allowed herself to be led from the room and down the stairs.

“This is so…” Janet muttered at a blush as she was bundled gently into the common area of the house and guided to the corner.

“Hands clasped behind your back and nose right in that seam,” Alice scolded, “You will not move until you are told, do you hear me?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Janet said woodenly.

She wanted the floor to open now, she prayed for it as she never had before, but like a judgement from above the stark lilac walls and polished wooden floor remained steadfastly solid.

“Once the others get over the shock you may come in for some teasing,” Alice warned her, “But it goes with the territory I am afraid and besides it will really do you some good I have no doubt. Now remember, do not move an inch and no rubbing.”

Janet thought of the girls back home and what they would say. The would-be laughter taunted her all the way from Jersey. Then she was feeling as if the whole room was now dominated by her hot sore behind she struggled not to cry.

*

Far from laughter the house was subdued for the rest of that day and all that afternoon Janet stood sullenly in the corner. Occasionally she would shift her position or rock gently from side to side, but it was a movement quickly stilled the moment she sensed anyone nearby.

As the afternoon wore on all Janet heard were quiet conversations just beyond her hearing and the occasional distant tinkle of girlish laughter as someone upstairs put their mark on their room. In another life she would have mocked their enthusiasm as being lame but now it seemed like world taunting her and one from which she had been exiled.

Then gradually, perhaps as the others got used to her humble vigil, the house came to life with the rattle of crockery and pans in the kitchen and less stilted chatter.

The sore ache in her bottom too had abated and occasionally she dabbed at it with her fingers to rekindle the pain as a distraction. All this while the light grew steadily warmer as the sun drifted low in the sky; to Janet it was almost surreal.

Finally the sound of setting the table reached her and she sensed an ending to ordeal approaching.

“Janet,” Alice’s voice said from behind her, “You may take your place at the table,” she said.

Janet half turned, still hugging the wall for its security. She had almost forgotten that she was half naked and tugged at the front of her sweater to pull it down.

“You might as well remain as you are, it will be instructive for everyone,” Alice said in an efficient tone. She was rather pleased with Janet’s submission and was not ready to bring it to an end. “But you may stand at the table if you wish.”

“I am not hungry,” Janet mumbled.

“You need to eat,” Alice chided her.

“Please Ma’am can I go to my room now?” Janet tried again. “I am really not hungry.”

Alice sized the girl up for a moment. She had her on the run now and if she backed off the girl would regroup and only giver her more trouble later.

“No. If you’re not hungry you can go and stand in the corner in the dining room while we eat. It will give you a change of scene anyway,” Alice snapped and pointed the way with a note of finality.

Janet gaped and opened her mouth to take it all back, but Alice was gone.

*

Katherine felt sorry for Janet. The girl must be mortified; she knew she would be in the same position. However, she could not help but think that Janet deserved it and had ultimately brought it on herself. But still, to stand so indecently exposed in full view of everyone it was so… she felt her face grow warm and something thrilled her, it was so extreme.

But Katherine had other things to worry about. The tingle in her tummy was proof of that and she had had to visit the bathroom twice and make a thorough assessment of her appearance before she was ready.

Now she stood outside Alice’s door sizing up the whitewashed wood and the neat hard panels that decorated it. Then with a deep breath she knocked.

“Come in,” Alice called out cheerfully from the other side.

Katherine sucked in another gulp of air through her nose and then grasped the doorknob with uncertainty. It was spongy and rattled before giving way. Then she entered.

Alice was sitting at a Victorian mahogany writing desk making some notes. But as soon as Katherine entered she put down the pen and purposefully moved the chair back and turned still sitting to face her eldest charge.

“Y-you asked to see me,” Katherine said through thick tight lips.

“Yes Katherine, please sit down,” Alice said easily indicating a green chaise long opposite the bed.

Katherine smoothed down her skirt and elegantly slid to a sit on its padded seat.

“I wanted to talk to you about you handled Janet today,” Alice said pointedly, now sizing Katherine up carefully.

Katherine swallowed and shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m so sorry, but I… I am sorry I rather messed it up didn’t I?” Katherine was loathed to make any excuse.

“Yes well she is a handful and I rather suspect that there was nothing you could have done. But you did go some way to covering for her didn’t you?” Alice said, pursing her lips.

“I suppose,” Katherine replied, “But one doesn’t like to tell tales.”

“Leadership is hard sometimes and isn’t about making friends. It was your duty to inform me that Janet had gone off and not to demur on her behalf, wasn’t that so?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Katherine said emphatically now seeing where Alice was going with things.

“It is your ambition to employ and follow the Sinclair Method is it not?”” Alice asked.

Katherine coughed and nodded.

“And weren’t you sometimes in charge at your former occupation?”

Again Katherine nodded.

“So not an auspicious start is it?” Alice sighed.

“No Ma’am,” Katherine agreed.

“You do know that the Sinclair Method begins with oneself don’t you?” Alice said pointedly.

“Yes Ma’am.” Katherine’s voice was thick and she shifted nervously.

“So what do you think I should do about you now?” Alice sat back and waited.

Katherine let out a long slow breath that finished in a mumbled, “I don’t know.”

“I think you do,” Alice said firmly.

The silence was suddenly oppressive and Katherine blushed.

“You mean… like Janet,” she finally offered reluctantly.

“Not quite like Janet, not today,” Alice said pursing her lips thoughtfully, “I but I think I should spank you, don’t you?”

Katherine blushed.

“Yes Ma’am,” she whispered.

There was an awkward silence then and Katherine shifted uncomfortably in the chair as her face seemed to melt under Alice’s gaze. Alice herself studied the younger woman carefully, slightly envious of how together Katherine was. She herself was a mess at the same age.

Still it must only be a veneer, Alice realised; otherwise Katherine would not be here seeking some purpose and guidance.

“Do you want me to talk you through it?” Alice gently asked.

Katherine returned a small nod but looking at her colouring it seemed to her mentor that the younger woman’s head would burst like an overripe strawberry. Nevertheless, Alice was in charge now and she composed herself carefully.

“First you will disrobe, just your outer clothing,” she said, “And then you will come and stand by me.”

Katherine made to stand, but she looked uncertain.

“Ignoring the movement Alice continued, “I will take you across my knee and once you are settled I will take your panties right down to your ankles and apply the flat side of a hairbrush to your completely bare bottom.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Katherine and she made small swallowing movements at her throat.

“It will hurt, it will hurt much more than you are expecting and long before I am done you will be crying with abandonment,” Alice said carefully, studying the girl’s reaction. “Afterwards you will go stand in that corner with your hands clasped in the small of your back and your nose pressed against the wall. That is time-out position one and you will learn it well.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Katherine answered in a small voice.

“I had thought to give you some childish lines, but instead I will give you a journal to record the events and your thoughts about them. In time all the girls will get such journals for their training, but only you are ready just yet I think.” Alice took a deep breath as if she found the whole situation distasteful.

“Thank you Ma’am,” Katherine answered, but she felt a little sick now.

“Any questions?” Alice asked.

Katherine looked at her feet and shook her head and then thought of something.

“How… how long will I be…” she was about to ask about corner time, but it suddenly was too mortifying to ask and the answer was obvious anyway. So instead she asked about the journal, “How much should I write?”

“I think that will become clear to you. Remember I want an accurate account of what happens here and a frank and full expression of how you feel about it and how you think it will make you a better girl,” Alice told her.

Katherine swallowed again and slowly nodded as her gaze returned to the floor.

“Now then, let us begin,” Alice said quietly.

To be continued.

Our story began here.

It felt strange to be bent over the older woman’s knee. Katherine could feel the pressure of Alice’s thighs under her, the rasp of silk stocking on silk, and the smell of her perfume. It was unsettling to be in such intimate proximity to another girl. No, unsettling was the least of it, now it came to it she was embarrassed. As she squirmed and hugged into the governess’s lap, the bedroom rug came up to meet her nose and she could smell old wool and dust. Never had she had such a good view of floorboards and side skirting. This suddenly upside down perspective took her to whole new and very strange world.

Katherine already felt vulnerable enough in just her blouse and underwear, but then she felt a gentle hand on the waistband of her panties and a gentle tug. A small gasp escaped her full lips as the silk dainties were drawn slickly over naked thigh-tops and down her legs to expose her full curved bottom cheeks to the chill of the room and Alice’s gaze.

The governess felt Katherine tense under her and she took a firmer hold.

“Steady now,” she said to Katherine, “We have a long way to go and as I warned you this is going to hurt.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Katherine murmured and reached out to stead herself with her palms flat on the floor.

For a long moment it was oddly prosaic. Sure the room was upside down, but it was still only a room. Katherine was just the same. It was just that two states of being didn’t quite join up, like a painting by Dali. Amid this the blasting sting and the whip crack sound of wood on flesh rolled around one another and arrived out of sequence as Katherine’s brain processed the new sensation. The spanking had begun.

Katherine had barely drawn a breath as the third spank landed and Alice observed that the girl kicked her legs like a woman in a melodrama. The bottom too was still white, shocked that way as the skin retreated from the impact of the brush. Then all at once the two gooseflesh ovals that defined her cheeks coloured up just as Katherine yelped.

Then it was all heat and sound as Katherine rocked on Alice’s lap and began yelping like a kid.

Alice didn’t slow the spanks, but let her arm rise and fall in a steady rapid motion, delivering maybe 40 swats in a minute flat with no intention of slowing.

By now it was all too much for Katherine, who made howling honking sounds and pumped her thighs like a demon. But the latter only served to elevate each buttock in turn and push her bottom up to meet the spanking.

“Such a fuss,” Alice said gently, “This is only the start, have you never been spanked before?”

“No Ma’am,” Katherine said miserably, her voice dripping with supressed tears.

“Brave aren’t you?” Alice replied in a neutral voice.

Mocking perhaps or an honest observation, either would be lost on Katherine whose entire world was now limited to the point where hairbrush met bottom. Here the deep red ovals had expanded to encompass her whole bottom and where it was stained it was on fire. In response a hissing groan escaped Katherine’s throat and she choked to a sob.

“That’s it, let it all out, there’s a good girl,” Alice soothed.

Katherine gave another honking suck of breath and bawled it out in great gouts of sobbing.

To bring it home Alice stretched up and slammed the spanks to a point beyond Katherine’s bottom, enjoying the satisfying resistance of her firm curves and the thwack-splats that echoed off the walls.

Katherine greeted this redoubled effort with angry grunts that told Alice that she had not quite surrendered.

“You mind that attitude my girl,” Alice scolded and spanked all the harder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Katherine sobbed every bit as girlishly as Jenny or Janet.

“I know,” Alice told her, but still the spanking continued, albeit somewhat slower as the governess squeezed every bit of resistance out of her girl.

*

Katherine stood tucked into the corner with her hands gripped behind her back as she let go with hard soulful sobs that ended in a hiccough. Her exposed bottom was a dark russet where the pads of welted flesh stood proud of the residual white. She had been thoroughly spanked Sinclair style and knew it.

Alice had told her if she moved, turned her head or made any compliant before she was released then the spanking would begin over. It was a threat that Katherine took so seriously she might have burned up in a fire should there be one rather than cross Alice.

“That’s the way, have a good cry,” Alice suggested as she sat back on her bed watching the sobbing girl and comparing Katherine’s bottom with others she had seen spanked, not least her own. “Do you feel better?”

Katherine hiccoughed another sob and realised that she did.

“Yes Ma’am,” she admitted and it felt good to admit it.

“It is only a spanking but it will do you good,” Alice told her.

“Only… only a spanking Ma’am?” Katherine began to rein in her tears some now.

“Before long we will regard such things as a mere reprimand between us,” Alice told her, “True punishments are more instructive and well within your capabilities. You know that this is true don’t you Katherine?”

Katherine realised that it was and said, “Yes Ma’am.” The admission was liberation.

“You wait until you feel a peeled switch on a behind twice as sore as that,” Alice chuckled, “You will see God.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Katherine sniffed; her thoughts awhirl with the revelation.

Then after a few moments she swallowed and ventured the impertinence, “H-have you ever felt it?”

Alice laughed, “Oh yes and much, much more, as you will in time. It is all experience you see and necessary. But I will be just. I have big plans for you, I hope you will appreciate that.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Katherine was suddenly excited and sounded almost eager and why not? The spanking had left her clean and already the intense part of the pain was abating leaving a strangely satisfying throb.

To be continued.

More at All Our Yetserday’s.