Tag: spanking blog

Readers,


‘Sitting on a Pillow’ is a lovely story, submitted to the ‘Story of US’ writing contest, by one of my regular correspondents. I do hope that you enjoy it as much as I have.    (The asterisks are my edits, for slightly saucy language.)     – Dana


Be sure to click on the ‘Read More’ link at the bottom of the visible text, to read the entire post.

Sitting on a Pillow 


So here I sit on a Pillow with a very sore bottom, how did this happen? Well it all started a few days ago. My wife took our son out of town to check out a college in another state and I decided it would be the right time to visit Dana for the first time. I was so excited to meet her knowing that soon after our meeting my bottom would be getting spanked. I had tried to tell myself I didn’t need to be spanked by Dana but I kept loosing that argument with myself and now the day had come and I would soon get the spanking I knew I needed.
As soon as my wife and son drove away I headed for the bathroom to shower and shave all my *** and my legs, I wanted to be clean and smooth when I put on my wife’s prettiest panties and stockings, garter and the sports bra. The bra I had purchased for myself and was that ever embarrassing I just knew the woman didn’t believe my story that I was buying it for my wife. When I had seen the pictures of the guy Dana spanked in her lingerie I felt I had to do the same but instead of stealing Dana’s undies I’d steal my wife’s. So I went through my wife’s panty drawer and found a new pair that was so sexy I just had to put them on. ***. I slipped on a garter belt and red stockings, my bra and I was ready. I wanted to wear nothing more than this for the drive to her place but decided I better not so in jeans and a tee shirt I headed off to get my naughty bottom spanked just like when ***
As I walked up to the door my tummy started to do flip flops just like when I knew my mom or dad were going to spank me I was starting to get very excited and scared at the same time! The door open and there stood Dana looking at me with a lovely smile, “Bobbie, I see you are on time that’s a good boy I’d hate to have to punish you for being late. Won’t you come in; it is very nice to meet you.” She offered me her hand and as I shook it I seemed to feel electricity shoot through me. “Thank you Mistress it is so very nice to meet you too!”
She directed me towards a room and when I entered it I saw several spanking implements that would soon be burning my naughty bottom laid out on a table next to the chair I had seen in her spanking videos. I felt very nervous now as Dana sat on the chair and said, “Bobbie did you tell your wife you were going to get a spanking today?” She still smiled and her voice was as sweat as honey.



“No mistress she went out of town with our son and I am doing this behind her back, mistress.” I knew I’d be in trouble for this I had agreed to tell my wife.
Still with the honey voice, “Oh Bobbie you are a very naughty boy, we talked about this didn’t we?”
“Yes Mistress.”
“And what did I tell you would happen if you didn’t tell your wife and get her permission?” Her voice only seemed sweater now.
I hoped I could dance around this, “You said I’d get a serious punishment spanking and you would tell my wife after.”
Now she gave me a nice warm smile and a little giggle, “I guess you want to be punished then don’t you Bobbie? Did you think I’d let you off you naughty boy?”
“Yes mistress I thought maybe you might punish me but not tell my wife, please don’t tell her I promise next time I will tell her first.”
Now she just laughed at me, “I think your going to get punished again when she gets home that’s what I think, now get you jeans and shirt off.” She seemed upset with me but she was still smiling and speaking so sweetly.
“You have been very naughty young man and when I am done we are going to phone your wife and you are going to tell her the truth, understand sweetie?”
I knew I was in big trouble but hearing her scold me I just couldn’t help but smile I had wanted this for so long.
“Oh? So you think this is funny? Have you seen the video I gave to a boy who thought it was funny to get a spanking?”
“Yes Ma’am I have.”
“Good just remember you are going to get spanked a lot harder than he did, still think it is funny?”
“No Ma’am.”
Take off you shirt. Please I want to see what you have on underneath.”
I removed my tee-shirt revealing my sports bra she said, “Well now I thought you had on a bra, a tee-shirt doesn’t hide them that well but I didn’t expect such a nice pretty one and you look so cute in it Bobbie. Is that your wife’s bra?”
“Thank you Mistress. No I bought it just for today.”
“I bet you have on something pretty under you jeans don’t you sweetie?”
I kicked of my sandals and removed my jeans then stood in front of her in my panties, garter and stockings. I remember she made a point that if you are wearing stockings you must have on a grater on her blog when she spanked the guy in her panties.
“Oh Bobbie you look so cute I almost don’t want to spank you, almost. ***Does you wife know you like to wear her pretties?”
“No Mistress she doesn’t know I like to wear panties and things.”
“Do you think you’re cute dressed like a girl?”
“I don’t know I guess I hope I’m cute.”
“Well let’s just see if you still feel cute after I spank you, get over my lap now please sweetie.”
I bent across her lap and soon felt her warm lovely hand caressing my pantied bottom.
“I best not see those legs off the floor young man do you understand?”
“Yes Mistress.”
“There will be no wiggling or crossing your legs and I better not hear any whining about how much it hurts we both know it will hurt so don’t complain when it does, understand sweetie?”
“Yes Ma’am I understand I will try to be still.”
Then I felt her strong left hand land a spank on my bottom that felt like a paddle but it was only her hand then another and another and another. I tried to hold still but soon I was raising my legs.
“Get those legs back on the floor sweetie.”
Then again she rained down fast and hard spanks and soon I was wiggling again.
“Stop the wiggling I guess the panties have to come down sweetie.”
I felt her pull my panties down then her hand began to punish my bare bottom and the sting was so intense. As she was spanking me she said, “Sweetie I can see you just can’t keep still I have just about had it with you wiggles and kicking and these garter straps keep getting in my way, stand up.”
I stood up and felt just how hot my bottom was already getting and she was only using her hand I was beginning to wonder why I wanted a spanking! Mistress un-hooked the garter belt and dropped it to the floor, “That’s better; now get back across my lap.” As I reluctantly resumed the position she said, “I don’t think my hand is getting through to you I can see you need the hairbrush.”
Before I knew it I felt the hairbrush smacking one cheek then the other then right in the middle of my sit spot and I started to wiggling and kicking and whimpering.
As she kept spanking me she said, “Why are you whining we talked about that didn’t we and again with the legs, I will get my cane young man now keep still and take you punishment you know you deserve it don’t you?”
I tried to answer but it hurt so much I couldn’t get the word out.
“No answer well then I guess it’s the cane, stand up sweetie.”
My butt really hurt and I felt so much like a little boy getting it from his mom or a teacher I just started to cry at the thought of the cane. 
“Sweetie if you think tears will save you naughty bottom from the cane you are wrong now go over to that horse and bend over.”
Through my tear filled eyes I saw the spanking horse she had spanked the man in panties on and I knew I was going to look just like him. I put my knees on the leather padded lower section then laid down and held on tight knowing I would soon be crying like a baby.
I heard her swishing the cane in the air and the sound was so scary and thrilling at the same time I knew it was going to hurt badly but couldn’t wait for her to kiss my bottom with her cane.
“Now sweetie this is going to hurt a lot, I hope you don’t have to do a lot of sitting tomorrow. I do not want to see you move out of position understand sweetie because if you do I will have to get the bigger cane and give you several extra strokes.”
“Yes Mistress I understand I will try to stay in position.”
“If you stay in place you will only get eighteen, here we go.”
The first one burned its way right across my bottom a few inches below the top of my bottom crack, “YYYEEEWWWWWOOOOOOWWWW!!!!!” I jumped up and grabbed my bottom and danced around in a circle.
“Oh sweetie now I have to use the big cane and give you 6 extra, I think I need to tie you down as well sweetie. Get back down on the spanking horse while I get the restraints, that’s a good boy.”
I felt the cut burning into my bottom as I again forced myself into position on the spanking horse, soon she had my legs and wrists secured to the horse, I found I couldn’t move my bottom more than a few inches in any direction. I knew this was gonna hurt a lot but somehow being tied down allowed me “let go” and take it like a little boy. I started to cry like naughty boys do when they know their “gonna get it good”.
She patted my sore bottom and said, “Now, now sweetie why are you crying now I have only given you one stroke and that was with the small cane, you just wait I am about to give you a real good reason to cry.”
I felt her tapping my bottom with the big cane and the next thing I heard was a swish and me crying out from the burning pain cutting my bottom right across my seat. Then another and another and soon I did have a real good reason to cry like a little boy, and I did.
I hardly heard her through my own crying, “Sweetie please count the last six, these are your extra if you loss count I will have to start over.”
Crying I answered, “Yes mistress, I’m sorry I moved do you have to give me more my ass really hurts!”
Then spanking my bottom with her hand she said, “Naughty, naughty, naughty using that naughty word, you will say bottom when you are around a lady.” She still spoke like there was honey and sunshine on her lips.
“I’m sorry mistress.”
Gently patting my bottom she said, “Let’s not let that happen again sweetie or it will be the big coach’s paddle for you. Now count out the strokes sweetie.”
SWISH “OUCH! ONE!
SWISH “OOOWWEE! TWO!
SWISH “OOOWWEE! THREE!
SWISH “YAAAAOOO!! FOUR!  It just burned more and more with each new stroke till at last I heard myself yell, “SIX!!!” And I knew my caning was over.
“Oh my sweetie you bottom is going to hurt a long time, you have been very naughty haven’t you? I think your going to have trouble sitting for a few days. I think you should just stay there for awhile I wouldn’t want you tempted to rub your bottom we want it to sting for a good long while don’t we sweetie?”
Still bawling like a baby, “Yes, yes Mistress I guess so.’
“In a little while I will let you up and then I have a big surprise for you.” She left me there with a burning butt and tears running down my face, ‘what surprise, another spanking?’ I thought to myself.
Maybe an hour later she came back and un-fastened the restraints, then she helped me to stand; that’s when I discovered that some of the cane strokes had landed on the crease between my bottom and my legs and it really hurt walking.
“Come along sweetie your surprise is in the other room.” I followed her into the next room, panties around my ankles and there stood my wife! Her arms crossed and looking very angry.
Dana said, “I knew you wouldn’t tell your wife so I talked to her last week and we both agreed you needed a good spanking for being so naughty. I think she has something else for you still sweetie.”
“I sure do,” my wife said and picked up a long handle wooden bath brush, “Are those my new panties?!”
I was so scared that she had caught me in her panties and knew about my getting a spanking from Dana I couldn’t speak also she didn’t have honey on her lips.
“I asked you a question mister, are you wearing my new panties, and my stockings and garter belt?”
I managed to mumble, “Yes dear I’m sorry please don’t give me another spanking my ass, I mean my bottom is so sore please.” I begged.
With her hands on her hips she said, “I will teach you to go behind my back for a spanking and stealing my panties now get over here!”
I was soon over her lap getting my bottom burned again Dana gave her pointers on how to make it sting more and how to scold me. I have been told that from now on when I misbehave I am to go visit Aunt Dana for my punishment.
So now you know why I am sitting on a big soft pillow as I write this, I need to go now because if my wife catches me sitting on a pillow instead of doing the housework dressed in a maids outfit I will be visiting Dana and hearing her sweat voice as she spanks my naughty bottom much sooner than I would like.

Readers,
Here is another excellent submission to my recent ‘Story of US’ writing contest. ‘Under Your Authority’, a story in five parts, is yet another example of the wonderful reader-submitted content which I have the good fortune to share with you, every month.  Enjoy!          – Dana

Under Your Authority 


Part 1 
“How long has it been, young man, since you’ve had a discipline spanking?” 
Out of the thin air of innocent conversation, the dreaded word had been spoken. I tried so hard to maintain an appearance of cool, but the color associated with that word had surely blossomed on my face to shine warm in the light of your office.  
“I asked you a question.” 
Avoiding eye contact, I shifted in my chair. “Over thirty years.” It had not been this difficult confessing through email. 
“You are very long overdue.” 
I searched frantically for an argument. Now that I was facing the music, I did not like the arrangement. “I’m really sorry.” 
You appeared to find my sincerity amusing. “Yes, I imagine you are. Really sorry to know what happens here to very bad boys.” 
“But I promise I’m going to change.” 
“That sounds sincere, Dear. However, for someone who has been misbehaving and avoiding the consequences since… when?” 
I did not know if you had really forgotten or just wanted to hear me say it. 
“When one who has been misbehaving since his rebellion decades ago promises to be a good boy, he lacks… what shall we say… credibility?” 
You smiled again, and it was a smile that made my breathing a conscious exercise. Under the circumstances it was terribly disconcerting to be seated across the desk from such a striking woman. Your smooth ability to take control of a situation was rendering me weightless.  
“I really mean it this time. I could pay you extra,” I sputtered, the words spilling from my mouth before I could stop them. “It would be the fine for my crime,” I blurted to amend, seeing the look of disdain cross your face. 
“Well, you warned me you might say anything.” You sat back in your chair with arms folded across your chest. “You’re not going to buy your way out of this. Did you offer to give your mother your allowance money when she got out the paddle?” 
We both knew I did not. 
“No, you would not have dared. Why would you dare make such an offer to me?” 
Your tone of voice was a deception, a pretty fish that will sting with poison. “I’m sorry, Ms. Kane. I wasn’t thinking. Please forget what I said.” 
“You were thinking alright. Thinking that I’m not really your mother today. Is that what you believe?” 
You had taken the role and were owning it. I was frozen in my seat, unable to find the air to speak to this younger woman with stylish dark hair framing perfectly her beautiful face. 
“Because if that is the case, I am going to disabuse you of that notion right now. We’ve discussed the nature of my authority, have we not?” 
I studied the back of my hand. I was able to nod. 
“Look at me, young man. Is that how you answer a question?” 
You have a way of speaking, so calm and under control, that made me so anxious and about to lose it. “Yes, we discussed your authority.” 
“And…?” 
I detected a slight irritation in your voice, and that is not a good thing. “You have total authority, no different than my parents had when I was a boy.” 
“Correct, Stephen. For all intents and purposes, when you are under my roof, I am your mother; I am your father. Are you ever going to forget that again?” 
I assured you I would not. Ms. Kane is judge, jury, and executioner. My insides were churning. You spoke with a hint of what sounded like sadness. “And I raise boys as you were raised, at least until the decision was made to stop providing you with the discipline that was so effective. Is there anything about this you fail to understand?” you asked me sweetly. “Do you need further clarification?”  
“No, Miss.” I studied my shoes. 
“Good. Then it is time to address your behavior. There will be no more negotiating. Have I made myself clear?” 
I uttered the affirmation, sat still in my seat rather than getting up and running. 



Part 2 
You were no longer behind your desk, and I was no longer at the safe distance across it. You had taken me by the hand and then walked me at a more brisk pace than I would have liked to the punishment room down the hall. Dressed simply as a woman might dress at home, your body language nevertheless spoke strictly business. I knew precisely what was happening, and the knowledge was a swarm of bats wanting to escape the dark cave that was my stomach. Had it really come to this? To a point where I was not in control and being marched to my comeuppance? I knew you were a woman of many talents, several of which Ms. Kane employs as a professional disciplinarian. 
“I want you to tell me again what you did that has you in so much trouble today.” 
If emailing you had not been easy, and then if talking to you from across your desk had been more difficult, then this now was impossible. You were seated firmly on a sturdy platform as I knelt before you. The intimacy was overwhelming. You had pulled me so close, your hands on my shoulders, your eyes the ruler of mine. I was a small planet attracted to a blazing sun falling helpless into your massive magnetic field. 
“It wasn’t so bad as I made out.”    
“Are you saying you lied to me in order to make a game of this?” 
“No! I’m sorry. I’m confused. I would never lie to you.” 
“Oh, really. And how can I be sure of THAT?” Your eyes sparkled prettily. “Don’t answer that.” You had placed your finger over my lips. “You better not lie to me now.” 
“I would not want to make something up to get in so much trouble.” 
“Then tell me again why you are in this room with me today. I want the truth and nothing but the truth.” 
“It’s embarrassing.” 
“Embarrassment goes with the territory in this room. I think you have good reason to be ashamed of yourself.” 
I tried to expel the words from my lungs. My mouth was in the way. You cupped my left cheek in your right palm, looked deep into my eyes. “Tell Momma what you did.” 
“I didn’t get my work done.” I spoke the words as if they were a full confession. 
“Yes and I warned you what would happen if that problem continued. But why did you not get your work done yesterday?” 
“I took a long lunch.” 
“You had better speak up, Stephen Eugene Roberts. You were a very bad boy, weren’t you?” 
My nod was a child’s. In my mind, I was a rebellious, irresponsible teenager—a bad boy in bad trouble at home. 
“What were you doing at lunch that prevented you from getting back to work?” 
Shame can be debilitating. Somehow, I managed to speak. “Watching the girl next door.” 
There it was. The confession I did not think I could make to another human face. There was a grim cast to your voice I had yet to hear. “Tell me all of it.”  
“Arienna was sunbathing at the pool. I could see her clearly from the window of my office upstairs.” 
“Do you know this girl?” 
“She’s the daughter of our neighbors.” 
“And why were you spying on her?” 
“She’s in college. She’s home early on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” 
“Does that answer my question?” 
“No. Sorry.” I was starting to catch my breath. Maybe confession really is good for the soul. “I see her car parked in front. Sometimes I check. I heard water splashing in the pool…” 
“Why are you ‘checking’ on her?” 
“She’s the most amazing girl I’ve ever seen,” I stammered. “I know that sounds pathetic.” 
“Indeed. A girl not half your age. How long did you spy on her? Was she at least decent?” 
“She was wearing her string bikini. I don’t know how long exactly. Maybe half an hour.” 
“You stood at your window and watched a girl sunbathe for thirty minutes? What, may I ask, is so special about this girl?” 
I could not look you in the eye. “Arienna is like a dream, the kind you wake up from out of breath and sweating.” 
“What makes her so special she has you acting like an adolescent?” 
“I think if you saw her you would know.” 
“I’ve seen hot, young girls,” you laughed. “They’re a dime a dozen. It’s amazing how male hormones can turn an ample chest and shapely behind into Venus and Aphrodite.” 
“She’s petite, Miss. Her hair is brown silk. Her face is so pretty, it could seduce a corpse.” 
“I hope you don’t think it funny that you were watching this young thing while she was in the privacy of her parents’ backyard.” 
“No, Ma’am.” I made sure I sounded contrite. It was not at all funny. 
“How unfortunate she can’t be here in this room right now to see what her seduction has amounted to. But I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 
I shook my head decisively. How much humiliation could I bear? It was hard enough to suffer for such a beautiful woman acting as my parent, but at least Ms. Kane understands me. It was only through that understanding that this was even possible. 
“So after watching this pretty girl in the sun, what kept you from work?” 
“I got distracted.” 
“That sounds like the truth but not the whole truth.” 
“I spent the rest of the afternoon on the computer. Looking…” 
“Looking for what? Or at what?” 
“Um…. for pictures. At pictures.” 
“And I can imagine the kind of pictures. Instead of doing your work. Spying on young girls and playing on the computer. That sounds to me like a young man earning himself some discipline. We had better get you undressed.” 
Part 3 
I was being undressed. Like in a dream I was unable to move. In a nightmare I needed to run. You resolutely went about unbuttoning and removing my dress shirt and then pulling over my head the shirt beneath. I was passive as a lamb as my insides roared in protest. 
“Stand up. Take your shoes and socks off.” 
You were sending me a message. Despite my lack of experience, the situation was to be treated as a serious matter. 
Where I had knelt I was now standing, the wood floor cool under my feet. You had unbuckled my belt, unsnapped my fly, and as you casually pulled down the zipper, it had still not registered fully for me that my pants would be coming down. It was surreal. Ms. Kane was going to take my pants down for a spanking! You worked them easily past my hips and they began to fall. I grabbed where my belt hung loose. It was merely survival instinct. You slapped my hand away and yanked the trousers down. 
“Step out of your pants. Now.” 
I did, and you whisked them out of the way. I was standing before you in the punishment room in my white cotton underpants. There was a desk behind you, and you turned to remove something from one of its drawers. 
“Do you think you’re going to regret how you behaved yesterday?” 
“I do regret it, Ms. Kane. I do.” 
You were holding a small object clearly designed for spanking. The round-bladed paddle cut from a thin sheet of dark wood shined hard in the overhead light of the punishment room. 
“Young man, you’ve only begun to regret it. You haven’t regretted your misbehavior the way you need to regret it since the last time you were punished properly.” 
The little paddle fit well in your hand, as if it were an extension of your hand, its size rendering it a hard wooden stand-in for your hand. Ms. Kane’s hand of justice. 
“It’s been so long,” I said, as if that could help me, and under my breath, “I’m not sure I can take this.” 
“Did you ever have any choice but to take it?” 
I shook my head in abject resignation. 
“We’ve been over this, haven’t we? I have a responsibility here. A parental responsibility. I will decide what is needed, what you have coming. This is not a game for your amusement or pleasure. Is that clear?” 
“Yes, Ma’am.” 
“You’ve been a very bad boy, and that is the last thing you want to be when you come to see me.” 
I felt I would melt right into the floor. I had tried many times through many years to imagine this moment, where I was to be held accountable precisely in this way. Those attempts had done little to prepare me. I could only clutch with desperation the security blanket of knowing I was in the hands of a professional and more; there was no one in the world better to handle this than Ms. Kane. 
“Let’s have you over my knee.” You tapped your leg with the hard little paddle. 
It happened fast, catching me off guard. Having been taken by the wrist and pulled, I was a rag doll upended over your lap, and before I could appreciate where I was, my face was at the floor, my feet were in the air, and I was being spanked. There was a moment where I was aware of the surface beneath me, warm and soft, but that feeling was then made irrelevant by a fire that had broken out on the seat of my underpants. You had immediately taken control of my senses. With brisk, sharp, wrist-snapping licks, you were peppering my behind with the hard flat of the little paddle, left cheek then right, every spank targeted deliberately to a same sorry spot upturned low on a matching buttock. Each and every yelp, wriggle, and kick produced from yours truly was purely genuine. I reacted without thought, and it was only when you stopped punishing that an awareness of where I was came back into focus. 
In a mild state of shock, I thought I could feel the shape of the paddle on two places behind me. The small round surface designed for bottom business had done the work of a branding iron, and for several moments I thought you might have burned two holes in the seat of my shorts. The discomfort quickly diminished to a pair of bearable twangs as the heat not contained by cotton continued to glow to warm the punishment room.  
“Am I making my point, young man?” 
I had yet to regain the breath to answer, but you were not waiting. I had to endure another ten sharp spanks rapid fire on my right cheek, and then a matching ten on the left. I kicked and howled my displeasure. 
“Yes, I believe I have your attention.” You were fussing with my underpants, tugging briefly at the waist and seams as if to arrange and smooth them to your satisfaction, and then I felt your palm exploring where underneath cotton my flesh was a choir singing. 
“Do you like Momma’s little paddle? I picked it special just for a bad little boy.” 
“No, Ma’am. I don’t like it.” 
“I’m afraid I can’t blame you for that.” 
Your fingers remained busy assessing the discipline you had administered. I welcomed the light touch much like a thirsty man accepts liquor. I managed not to admit an outward show of appreciation, and when you squeezed or, worse, pinched, I only squirmed to lodge my grievance.     
“Stand up.” 
I was relieved both to be released from the awkward and uncomfortable position and that my punishment was over. Overall, it had not been so bad as expected. The moments while I was being paddled were bad, but it had not taken long, and the pain had become actually quite manageable. A little soreness for a day or two would only serve to remind me that the beautiful and talented Ms. Kane had taken the time to correct me. 
“Turn around. Let’s see the damages.” You lowered my underpants and allowed them to fall to my feet. I was painfully aware that you were seeing a full closeup of my bare behind. My hands instinctively sought to cover myself in front. You asked me to bend a little at the waist. 
“Isn’t this cute? I’m impressed with how this little paddle can redden so nicely. It appears your jockeys did little to afford you protection.” 
How it embarrassed me to have you appraise my paddled rear, but I was not surprised by your evaluation. Where you had punished felt red. It felt very red, and I knew my lack of experience was a susceptibility to marking. As I cringed and self-consciously covered my front, I felt your cool fingers on my blazing skin. 
“When you leave the punishment room today, you’ll be wishing never to see Momma’s little paddle again.” 
Your words registered as confusion. I turned to you. “No, Ms. Kane, I never want to see it again. Should I get dressed now?” 
“Not yet, sweetheart,” you said, your voice tinged with sympathy. “Momma needs to paddle on the bare today.” 
“No, please!” I was startled and panic was rising. I really had thought it finished.  
“Baby, this is no time for you to attempt to evade justice. I am sure I made it very clear what happens in the punishment room. Tell me what happens here to very bad boys.” 
There was no way I wanted to answer that. 
“If you have forgotten, then I will make an extra effort to impress the fact on you.” 
Your beautiful eyes were blue ice, and with a set to your jaw that had my mouth moving. “No, I know. Very bad boys get punished. Really punished.”  
“How are they punished?” you insisted, your impatience apparent.  
“You spank them. On the bare butt.” My face was surely glowing. 
“Yes. I always spank very bad boys on their very bare bottoms, and don’t think for a second that you are an exception to the rule. Your behavior needs to change.” 
“It will change, I swear!” 
“I bet you said the same thing years ago. What could you have expected as a reply?” 
I knew but had no desire to answer. 
“The philosophy is that your promises will be far more meaningful after the discipline has been fully administered. Let’s have you back over my knee.” 
The panic that had flared was coursing through my bloodstream. I was all the more vulnerable and, upended again across your lap, it was apparent that nothing was going to come between my tender flesh and that nasty little paddle. I now knew the threat posed, but this time you did not immediately apply the punishment. 
“Tell me why I have to do this.” 
“For discipline.” 
“I think that’s fairly obvious. Why are you being disciplined?” You were alternately setting the flat of the wood on the two spots you had already reddened, to measure your target or perhaps to announce your intentions. 
“I didn’t get my work done.” 
“I sincerely hope you’re not minimizing the trouble.” 
I felt the paddle, hard and uncompromising. “I spied on Arienna. I know it was wrong. I invaded her privacy.” 
“And now I must handle this. Correct?” 
“Yes,” I admitted, but I sounded so unhappy about it. 
“Do you trust Momma to punish?” 
I again admitted defeat. At the risk of sounding as if I am reading from a text book on the subject, the essence of providing positive, effective punishment is the disciplinarian’s considered determination of what is needed based on the offense and its frequency in congruence with the nature and experience of the offender. Right then it mattered not what I wanted. I was trapped on the lap of righteous maternal justice. I had placed my complete trust in your ability to measure both my needs and constitution, knowing you sincerely enjoyed spanking naughty boys and girls, but with the assurance of a commitment to providing a sensible authority figure for those who needed fair and measured discipline. Ms. Kane is the ultimate arbitor of justice. Placed in the best of hands, I would worship at the alter of your divine judgment, giving me good reason to trust and with equal good reason to fear. I could trust I was in for a spanking I was not going to forget. 
Part 4 
This is the most difficult part of the story to tell. It is the part that feels the most private, the part that for anyone not in that room for those moments an event that may be viewed only more thinly through the imagination. Only you and I share the full flesh and blood of those dramatic minutes. 
The second paddle spanking, this one on the bare skin of my upturned buttocks, was applied with a different strategy than the first. It was apparent that your method was to prolong the experience to make it a more conscious and palpable lesson. We both were aware that my novice’s flesh was in no condition for the harshest severity. 
You had me cross my wrists behind me in a formal surrender, and holding my hands against my back, you started with alternating spanks on the two spots you had punished previously, not as hard on skin as cotton, but each made to sting like an angry hornet. To the otherwise silent punishment room, reverberating with the sharp crack of the paddle, there was little to distinguish the activity but for one pause where I had to be told to keep my feet down. I did not like Momma’s little paddle. There was something inherent in the grain of wood to bite the surface of its target with a sting greater than the damage caused, an ideal voice with which to scold a very bad boy turned over for his first adult spanking. After a good ration of stingers you paused and waited for me to stop squirming. 
“You’re not going to get away with anything this time, are you, Stephen?” 
“No, Ma’am!” I almost shouted, not quite so loud as the message instilled by the paddle. 
You seemed many times larger than your physical size; I felt small pitched forward over your lap, and it was apparent now that your intention was to make me sorry where I sit, where I was uncomfortably aware of every lick you had given me.  
“I hope you’re thinking, not only about yesterday’s shameful behavior, but about all the years leading to this moment.” 
This moment was fire as you brought flat judgment down swiftly, one very meaningful rebuke to the softest spot on each buttock. 
“Keep your feet down. I don’t want to have to tell you again.” Your direction was punctuated with more fire-hot spanks to where I was most vulnerable. My feet complained but obeyed your directive. 
“That’s better. You can kick like a little girl… if you must… but don’t you dare interfere with your punishment. 
Your words sting my face even now, but at the moment dignity was not my priority. I was not sure how much more I could take. I was helpless in facing both the paddle and your indictment. 
“Such a bad boy you have been. The grief you put your parents through as a teenager…” Where buttock meets thigh, you delivered two hard spanks low on my bottom causing me to exhale a low moan, a burn scolding me with a voice as bitter of acid as my disciplinarian’s voice had been laced of honey.  
“The irresponsibility that has been a burden on your wife…” Again you punished sit spots with fire. “The temper you too often have not controlled…” You repeated the sit-spot scolding. “The self-indulgence…” Two more doses of paddle punishment from a strict disciplinarian. “This is the spanking you should have been given.” 
I was surely getting it now, a bad boy’s comeuppance over your knee, the little firecracker in your hand falling ten times on the crowns of my behind, five crisp ringing out in the air of the punishment room setting a new blaze on the left, then five just as brisk to burn the right. I prayed silently for you to stop but did not interfere with the spanking you were fashioning for me. 
“Are you ashamed of yourself, Stephen?” 
You had asked me sweetly, no assault on the ears but rather a tug to the heart. My eyes were beginning to well, ready to cry about more than my burning bottom. 
“I am very disappointed in you.” 
The dagger. “I know. I’m sorry.” I was sputtering, but you were already spanking again with no discernable pattern. In your infinite wisdom, and by some scheme known only to Ms. Kane, the stiff medicine you were administering was being applied with a perfect abandon and in short bursts of scalding heat. I was not aware of my crying until having realized my face was dripping. 
“Baby, your days of doing as you please are over.” I was aware of your palm rubbing my bottom where it burned, as gentle as your words assured me. “I am in charge now, and you are going to be the good boy you have always wanted to be.” 
“Yes, Momma, I will,” I cried as your now scolding hand propelled me over the edge. For this blazing moment I was a boy and you my mother. Perception was reality. 
Part 5 
I was at the window watching when she appeared on cue, Arienna, padding softly on small bare feet to the pool lounge, slowly pushing little shorts down that had done little to conceal the shape of her. As expected, more peaches and cream were revealed, long hair shimmered and a glint of silver from her ear caught the late afternoon sun as she turned her head to face me. She knew she was being watched, had always known. She looked up, large eyes accepting, blood-red, bee-stung mouth offering a kiss so sweet it would burn where placed forever. 
She had let herself in, walked up the stairs and was now standing over me in her tiny string bikini, a giant in all but size and me in my bed unable to move a muscle. She brought her face close to mine and the air was pretty flowers. Her skin was smooth as I had never imagined, bright eyes deeper, nose a button of dearer perfection and candy lips, even more generous, lifted ever so briefly from sweet petulance to a playful, wicked promise.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, young lady?” 
Her pout opened, and I saw the flash of fear in large brown eyes. Arienna turned abruptly to the voice behind her. 
“Nothing, Ma’am, I promise.” 
“Nothing?” said Ms. Kane. “You do not belong here, and certainly not dressed, or shall we say, undressed, like this.”
    
“I’m sorry.” I heard the surrender in the girl’s voice. The beautiful woman was already seated on the edge of the bed, tapping her thigh with the hard little paddle. “You’ve only begun to be sorry.” 
“No, Mommy, please!” I had never seen anything so vulnerable as Arienna’s heart-shaped little behind, the skin so refined it might blush if touched lightly. Her slender form was upended across Ms. Kane’s thighs, the stinging hornet raised to bring down fiery redemption and I was fighting to break the bonds holding me when I arose gasping. 
Had it all been a dream? 
On my back in bed, I was uncomfortable in more ways than one. Not all a dream, but I got up and followed my urge to the mirror in the bathroom to check the evidence again. Before falling asleep, I had crawled into bed naked, and now my reflection over the sink showed that I was still wearing only the lesson imprinted that afternoon. The little paddle had left its signature circle twice, two matching sit spots as ruby red as Arienna’s most seductive pout. The hornet’s hive you had angered there was still temperamental. It was an oddly comforting sight, nonetheless, and pleasantly stirring to see how you had deftly, dare ruthlessly, painted a bad boy’s bottom. The precise and deliberate way you had marked me told of a punishment administered fully under control and without distraction. The evidence was unmistakable, stating loud and plain that Ms. Kane was now my absolute authority. She had taken time and care to intelligently perform her focused task and had left me with her clear and measured judgment. I could not stop thinking of you. 
I returned to bed wondering how many bad boys and girls were in their beds at that moment preferring to sleep on their stomachs. The spanking had been as painful as I had feared but not beyond to a point of regret. The physical pain had not been my primary fear. What had caused me the most concern was the emotional pain I might suffer. I had visions of unbearable humiliation and wondered if, when all was said and done, I would leave your studio an empty shell of a man having paid a woman to beat him for his failures. So what relief to have fallen into nurturing arms. Ms. Kane had punished me in the service of her pleasure and my well-being. To submit to her had been a privilege. She had made me feel safe and well cared for, and accepted even as she lectured and scolded a very bad boy. I had been allowed to reveal my shame to a Goddess, to lay at her feet my secret offering. Now I lay in bed with her imperial mark upon me. If only I could sleep, to dream, to return to where Ms. Kane was ruler of the kingdom.

For the contest entrants,


This month’s writing contest was less about challenging your writing skills and ability to research, and more about encouraging you to use your imaginations. I am pleased to say that I received several very imaginative entries and that you have exceeded my expectations once more. Some funny, some saucy, and some serious…I’ve enjoyed all your stories greatly and am pleased to share them with other readers here.  
As always, if I could choose every story, every month, I would. 
Keep writing and sharing…there will be more contests and many more chances to receive your Dana Kane spanking.


With gratitude,
Dana

MY KIND OF STRANGE*


Dana is a professional disciplinarian. She has short, straight black hair and dark blue eyes that always remind me of the “violet” color in Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes. She’s slender, with curves in all the right places.
We met at a bdsm party at ***. I had been intrigued by her look, including some impressive ink on her arms, and her energy, but never had the opportunity to talk to her.
I was on my morning run on Venice beach and there she was taking her surf board off the roof of her car. I stopped to ask if her name was Dana. You look familiar. She nodded, smiling at me until I asked the next appropriate question: “Were you at the *** party last Friday?”
It turned out that she had noticed me and was curious why I hadn’t made the effort to meet her at the party. Now, with her standing directly in front of me and giving me such an evil smirk, I felt drawn to find out for myself. I finally made the first move, inviting her over for breakfast when she was finished surfing. I pointed out my apartment building, gave her the number, and jogged off, feeling her eyes on me as I sprinted to the corner.
I’d gotten cleaned up by the time she arrived and, still in her wet suit, asked if she could shower while I finished getting breakfast ready. I heard her singing over the sound of the water. What would she wear when she got out of the shower? Would she put his wetsuit back on? Or wear a towel?
I was pouring orange juice into glasses she strode into my living room, surprising me. That’s what my friend Georgia had said about her, Dana was always full of surprises. She wasn’t wearing a towel. She wasn’t wearing her wet suit. She wasn’t wearing the robe from the back of the bathroom door. She was wearing one of my blue oxford cloth button down shirts with a pair of my black satin boxers.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, moving toward me, that evil-seductive grin still on her face.



I shook my head. “No, knock yourself out.” I wondered what she would do next, and I suddenly realized that I was starting to perspire from wondering.
“I couldn’t resist,” she said, sitting on the edge of my couch and staring at me. My apartment is small, with the dining room and living room together, separated only by the sofa. My hand was still on the forgotten orange juice container, my entire body was frozen in place.
I watched as she ran her fingertips along one of her long, slender legs. Her legs looked good, sexy, her body was very pale against the black silk boxers. I took a step toward her, thinking that I wanted to take the place of her hands, I wanted to run my fingertips along her legs.
“There’s something erotic…” she started to say, looking at her reflection in the mirrored panels around my fireplace, “…something sexy about opposite sex lingerie.”
I got up my nerve to walk all the way to her side and once there I settled myself next to her on the couch. I reached out to touch the silky material and she leaned back against the cushions and grabbed my wrist before I could make contact. “Since I’m wearing yours why don’t you slip in to these”, holding out a tiny pink thong trimmed in lace.
I couldn’t believe how turned on I was at seeing this woman in my underwear and quite frankly, would have jumped out of the window if she’d asked. As I high-tailed it to the bedroom to change, she called after me, “and bring that hair brush that’s on your dresser.”
I returned to the living room and stood behind the sofa, my hands trembling, I hand her the brush, and wait.
She took the brush and examined it. It is old. The wood polished smooth as silk. The handle worn soft with use, the light bristles set into the dark wood. Turning her face, she strokes the bristles through her hair, leaving a path of obsidian, shining brilliantly in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the window. I touch her hand. I reach for the brush. Desire winning the battle over fear, I take the brush. Beautiful. Terrifying. Love and hate mingling in my heart as the wood presses into the palm. I lay the soft bristles to her hair, drawing them slowly down, bringing a brilliant shine to her lustrous locks. 

As I begin another stroke, she raises her hand to mine. She takes the brush in her hand and gently pulls me around the couch towards her, guiding me between her spread legs, facing her. Slowly she lays the soft bristles against my chest as my hands fall to my sides. I tremble as the touch sends tingles of electricity through my body. She traces the brush around my nipple, the tingling spreading throughout my body. I am floating in the sensations. My head light with pleasure. I feel her touch being withdrawn, leaving an aching desire, an emptiness in my chest.. Her finger traces down my chest and over my stomach, hooking it in the waistband of the thong. She tugs gently, then slowly pulls the panties down to my ankles. Her eyes move slowly up and down my body.

I gasp and look down at her questioningly. She slides the fabric of the shirt tails up, revealing her naked thighs. I step to her side. I stumble, hobbled by my panties but quickly step out of them and stand by her left thigh. “Get over my lap,” she says in a sweet but insistent tone. Seizing my wrist again, she tugs me forward and bends me over her lap, settling me across her thighs. She runs her hand over my ass.
Her firm thighs support my body, as I lay myself before her. The rays of sun fall across my body, warming it, however a chill settles in my stomach as I feel her gentle touch on my naked buttocks. I feel her palm moving over my bottom, tracing small circles over the bare skin. The hunger surges up once more, fighting its way ahead of the chilling fear. I feel her thigh pressing against me. I push myself against her, moving my hips forward against her leg. I feel her touch vanish, once again leaving me empty, desolate. I pull back, raising my hips, aching for her touch. Wanting. Waiting.
Rubbing gently, caressing the backs of my thighs, her fingers play up the crevice between my cheeks, and slide down between my thighs. I open my legs, exposing myself to her, and she strokes my inner thighs with her fingertips. I draw a shuddering breath, and she lets her fingers trail up between my cheeks again. I raise my hips, offering myself to her. She lets her finger play over my bottom’s sit spot and I shudder again. Her fingertip traces around the sensitive skin, I twitch slightly. Very gently she draws her fingernail over it and I moan softly. “Please…” I whisper. She lets her finger trail down between my thighs once more, tickling the back of my legs. Slowly she withdrew her hand and I feel the hairbrush rest on my buttocks.
The smacking sound of contact, wood against skin echoes loudly. The sharp sting spreads quickly through my left buttock. My breath comes out in a soft gasp. Another smack accompanies a matching sting in my right buttock. My eyes close. The crack of wood against flesh fills my ears. The burning sting builds in my bottom. I shift, desperate for the sensations to cease. And with equal desperation, willing them to continue. The sting continues to build, as the terrible brush rises and falls like clockwork. It is too much. I thrust forward once more, knowing she can feel the stiffness against her thigh, but desperate to escape the stinging fire raining down on my bottom. As her soft skin brushes mine, a new desperation seizes me. I draw back, raising my hips to meet the next painful assault of the terrible, wonderful wood. The pain burns through my backside, as a new fire ignites in front. Again and again, I thrust forward, and back, meeting the fiery spanks above. As the heat builds, it mingles, until it is indistinguishable. The pain and the agonizing pleasure, all becoming one. The exquisite agony throbs through my body. Gasping as the pain and ecstasy rage through me, the crack of the brush coming faster, harder.
I collapse over her lap, breathing heavily. The wood, smooth, and soft, touching my skin. After a moment she puts the hairbrush down on the sofa. She raises her left hand, and I tense in anticipation. She brings it down with a sharp smack. I gasp, another smack, and another. I squirm, and as I raise my hips, smack, again and again. 

The sting is beginning to build in my backside now, but her left hand works deftly, Smack, smack, smack, smack, I am whimpering now, bucking wildly as she spanks me faster and faster. Smack smack smack smack… I moan and gasp. Smack smack smack smack smack smack…
Then just as suddenly as it started, it’s over. I collapse once more over her lap, panting. She rubs my tender cheeks which are bright pink from the stinging slaps. I lie still with eyes closed for several moments, breathing deeply, then slowly push myself up.
“Naughty boy,” she said, moving back, after we collapsed together on the sofa. I leaned my head against her chest and confessed to knowing about her, knowing that she liked things in the extreme. Confessed my curiosity. She smiled that devilish smile and stroked my hair away from my eyes. Then she cradled my head in her hands and said, “what do you expect when you invite a strange woman into your apartment…?”.
My kind of strange.


*Story inspired by “Whose Panties” by Allison Tyler

This is a saucy one from The Cowboy Writer, and I’ve used asterisks liberally to edit some beautiful yet naughty language. There is a whole lot of spanking going on at Woodsley College…definitely my kind of institution. Enjoy!   – Dana




For the rest of Cowboy Writer’s stories:
Taming the Cowboy
Taming the Cowboy II: The Cowboy’s Revenge
School for Husbands
Beth

Make sure to click ‘Read More’ at the bottom of the visible text for the entire story.

From our UK Laureate, ‘The Governess Makes a Discovery’…and he’s up to his usual form with another amazingly written F/M spanking story. (The asterisks are my edits, for slightly sensitive content.)   – Dana


UK Laureate’s other writings:

The Ballad of Lord Hazlemere
The Blue Umbrella






The Governess Makes A Discovery


London, 1910.


Grace Bennett was nervous as she knocked on the door; she had a task to undertake that was going to be sensitive, to say the least. In over twenty years of service as a Governess in wealthy Edwardian families in the south of England she had never had to do anything like this before. But she had determined it had to be done.


Edward Carrington had been her employer for the past four years. Her primary responsibility was educating his children, Emma, aged six, and James, aged nine. A man of considerable status and means, he considered that home education was more valuable for the children than attending any of the local schools. He had considered sending James to a public boarding school, but having himself been educated by a Governess in the last quarter of the nineteenth century when education in English schools was haphazard and unregulated, he was aware of the value of a first-rate Governess. Miss Bennett was certainly that. Both he and his wife had been hugely impressed at her interview. Her experience and maturity – she was some ten years older than himself – gave her a confidence and stability that he felt would be of huge benefit to his children. This had been even more valuable for the past two years since the sudden death of his dear wife, Helen. He appreciated her willingness to take on extra duties, caring more generally for his children’s welfare in conjunction with Mrs Humphrey, the Nanny he had employed since James was born.


Miss Bennett’s nervousness was due largely to the nature of the task facing her, which required her to contravene the etiquette of Edwardian England. Although Mr Carrington was less formal than many of his contemporaries, he was nonetheless her employer. It was her place to take orders from him, and as a member of staff to execute her duties in such a way as not to cause him any inconvenience or to intrude in his affairs. She was aware she had, inadvertently, already crossed this line, and now she was about to do so deliberately.

“Come in.” Mr Carrington’s voice was clear and deliberate, and Miss Bennett made her way, closing the door behind her. “Ah, Miss Bennett. Good evening. How may I help you?”


“Good evening, Sir. I do apologise for disturbing you but I wonder if I might have a word with you. There is a rather delicate matter that I need to discuss with you.”


“I see. Not a problem with the children, I trust. You know you have my full authority to deal with them as you see fit. Do come and sit down.” Mr Carrington waved his hand in the direction of the chair to the right of the sofa. He waited until Miss Bennett was seated before sitting down himself. There was a brief, awkward silence until Miss Bennett spoke.


“Mr Carrington, I have to begin by making a confession. Yesterday afternoon I went to your study to find a book for Master James and I am afraid while I was there my inquisitiveness took over and I looked at the private papers you had left on the desk. I realise this was wrong of me and I have come to offer my apologies.”


Mr Carrington looked at her with a mixture of sternness and surprise. “I see,” he said thoughtfully, “and having had twenty-four hours to think about it, your guilt has taken over and you have come to offer your resignation. Is that the situation, Miss Bennett?”


“Well, no Sir, not exactly. I recognise of course that you may wish to dismiss me, but ….” Her words were cut off by her employer.


“Dismiss you, Miss Bennett? I don’t think that will be necessary. I am aware of the excellent tuition and guidance you offer my children. I would be hard pressed to find another Governess of your calibre. I think we can put this down as an unfortunate but temporary lapse on your part. I am confident you will not allow it to happen again.”


“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate your faith in me. However, I am afraid that is not quite the whole matter.” As she spoke Miss Bennett put her hand in her pocket, pulled out a photograph, and placed it on the table in front of her employer. “Do you recognise this?”


Mr Carrington was taken aback, and for a few moments was silent, giving Miss Bennett time to place two more photographs on the table. “Or this… or this?” she asked. She had more, but there seemed no need to reveal them.


“Miss Bennett, have you taken leave of your senses? Why are you showing me these photographs? Where do they come from?” Mr Carrington’s voice now was full of irritated anger, and Miss Bennett, ever observant, noticed that his hands were shaking.


“Mr Carrington, I believe you know full well where they came from. You see I did not look only at the papers on your desk. I opened a number of the drawers and in one of them were these photographs, and many others.”


Mr Carrington leapt to his feet. “This is preposterous, woman,” he bellowed, shaking his fists. “Get out, get out.”


Miss Bennett had no intention of going anywhere, and stayed seated in her chair. Her heart was racing, but she had not yet delivered her message in full.


“Mr Carrington, calm down, I beg of you. We do not want to create a disturbance that is overheard by other staff, or indeed your children. Mr Carrington, as is plainly obvious, these photographs are pornographic, and a number of the others, which I now have in my possession, are, how shall I say, of an extreme nature. It is not for me to judge why you have them or from where you obtained them, but as an upstanding moral citizen, I must inform you that my conscience will allow me to do no other than to pass these photographs to the police. However, you have been a kind employer Mr Carrington, and I felt I owed you the respect of informing you of my discovery and of my intended action.”


Mr Carrington had been pacing the floor as Miss Bennett made her oration. She had prepared her words carefully and was pleased with how confidently she had delivered them. Her employer, however, was in a whirl. Of course he had recognised the photographs instantly, and despite his anger that a trusted member of his staff should have been prying in this way, and his concern for the possible consequences, he had, nonetheless, been able to listen to Miss Bennett’s words. He stood by the window, looking out.


“I realise, Mr Carrington, that this is a highly unpleasant matter,” Miss Bennett continued. “I felt that by informing you, you would be able to contact your solicitor prior to the visit from the constabulary that will inevitably come.”


Mr Carrington continued to stare out of the window. Eventually he turned to look at the Governess. “Miss Bennett, I greatly regret that you have made this discovery and that your opinion of me has been tarnished irrevocably, but I beg you, please do not report this matter. If this indeed becomes public my reputation will be ruined, my business will be destroyed, and what will become of all of us? You are an honourable woman and I pray you can find it in your heart, for the sake of my children if not for me, to be merciful.”


Miss Bennett watched in horror as, having delivered his appeal, the normally steadfast and composed man covered his face with his hands and started to weep. It was as though the capable and highly respected businessman and loving, responsible father had suddenly turned into a helpless, frightened boy. She rose to her feet, walked to him and touched his arm lightly. “I think you should sit down and settle yourself,” she said, quietly but firmly, and steadied his arm as he walked slowly to the sofa, where he sat, head in hands for some minutes. Miss Bennett recognised he had suffered a shock, with which his body and mind was struggling to deal.


Eventually he spoke. His voice was soft, the tone of a broken man. “Miss Bennett, I beg you again, do not report this matter. If I may speak honestly, the past two years has been a great trial for me. You may have thought that I had come to terms with the passing of my dear wife, but barely a moment has passed when she has not been in my thoughts. She was my rock, my foundation, always there for me, and it was her strength that enabled me to conduct my business, and indeed my life, successfully. In my loss I have been unable to contemplate for a moment forming an attachment with another woman,” – his voice faltered as he spoke – “these photographs were somehow a consolation. “ Again he paused. “Yet all the while I was aware that they were a betrayal of my dear Helen’s love. Clearly I would not have wanted her to know of them and if she is looking down from that other place where she now resides then I am indeed a miserable man.” Again he started to weep.


Mr Carrington dabbed his eyes with the silk handkerchief he always wore in his breast pocket. He looked up. “Miss Bennett, you are a mature and wise woman. Pray give me your counsel as to how I might be redeemed from this situation.”


All the while her employer had been speaking Grace Bennett’s mind had been active. She had entertained that he might react to her discovery with anger, or remorse, or possibly even threaten her, but she had not expected such an outpouring of emotion. The more he had spoken, the more she had recognised that her employer was, in many ways, a small boy in a man’s body. His words about the place his wife had played in his life made sense. She was well-aware what a gracious and level-headed woman Mrs Carrington had been, but she had not recognised the extent to which she had ruled the relationship with her husband. In Edwardian society women were required to take a back seat and be obedient to their husband, and outwardly the Carrington’s marriage had conformed to this expectation. The testimony she had just listened to had given her a glimpse, nay, a massive insight, into the underlying truth.


“Mr Carrington, it has grieved me to see you so distraught,” she began, “and I am well aware of the devastation to be caused by the public revelation of these photographs. I will admit to you I am two minds. It is not my wish to destroy you, yet at the same time my conscience tells me that you have sinned greatly and deserve to be punished, for without punishment there can be no redemption. By profession I am a Governess, as you are fully aware. Although I have never had children of my own I have learnt much about raising children, and the correction necessary to free them from their sinful ways. Indeed, Sir, you may recall that when I first met you and your wife, sadly departed, to be interviewed for the position I now hold, you yourself asked about my prowess with the rod. It was a matter of satisfaction to me that our views on this matter were as one. **
 Mr Carrington, it is now in my mind that, on account of actions now known to us both, you yourself, Sir, might benefit from the correction of the rod.”


For a moment Edward Carrington remained silent. On one level her statement was absurd; to suggest that he, a gentleman, be treated like a common criminal was difficult to comprehend. And was Miss Bennett, his employee, suggesting that she perform the deed, thereby inverting the relationship between them? Yet – her stated intention to inform the authorities of the photographs had to be negated at all costs.


“Miss Bennett, as you will appreciate, your suggestion is somewhat unorthodox, yet I cannot deny it has merit. Tell me, is it part of your proposal that you yourself undertake this action?”


Miss Bennett addressed her employer with a firm gaze. “Indeed, Sir, it is. As Governess of this household I consider it fitting that the boundaries of my jurisdiction are extended to include you, in order to deal with the infraction in question. “


“And may I take it that if the matter is dealt with in this way, your intention to report to the constabulary will be revoked?” Mr Carrington enquired.


Again the Governess spoke firmly. “Indeed, Sir, you may take that to be so. Justice demands that sins be punished, but to punish twice for the offence would of itself be an injustice, providing that the penalty imposed is sufficient to expiate the crime.”


“Very well, Miss Bennett. I recognise the wisdom and fairness of your words, and I submit to your proposal.” The now calm, measured tone of Edward Carrington’s voice told Miss Bennett what she wanted to hear. “How do you propose that this matter is executed?”


“I will need time to make some arrangements,” Miss Bennett replied. “I must warn you that the punishment will be, by a distance, the most severe I have ever administered. Accordingly, I must arrange for the house to be empty, save you and me. And my proviso, Sir, is that the application of the rod is in accordance with the traditions I require of all my charges on such occasions. You will be addressed by your Christian name. You will be required to confess your wrongdoing and to request appropriate punishment. You will be required to lower your breeches in order to be beaten on naked flesh. At the conclusion of the punishment, or of each section of the punishment, you will be required to thank me for my attention to your welfare. I trust that is all clear.”


Even Miss Bennett herself was taken aback by the clarity and severity with which she had issued the instructions, given the circumstances.


Mr Carrington nodded. “I understand,” he confirmed.


“I suggest, Sir, that I speak with you again in the morning, when I hope to have news of suitable arrangements having been made. Unless there is anything else, I will bid you goodnight.”


Back in her room, the Governess reflected on the situation. The discovery of the photographs, itself wholly unexpected, had given rise to another equally unexpected discovery about her employer. What is it about little boys, she mused, that they are incapable of living without female guidance? Even when they are older in years, what is it that necessitates their regression to boyhood traits? She did not have the answer to these questions, only the assurance of their truth and a conviction of the necessity of regular correction to facilitate their journey through life.


The next morning, having spoken to Mrs Humphrey, she went again to see Mr Carrington and informed him of the arrangements she had made. The following day, Friday, was Cook’s day off. She had informed Mrs Humphrey that she would be finishing lessons at lunchtime and suggested that Nanny should take the children to the park for a picnic and extended playtime. Mrs Humphrey had been surprised as it broke from their normal routine but had agreed. “The children have been working hard and I think some relaxation and fresh air will do them good,” Miss Bennett had said to her. Accordingly, the house would be empty.


“Mr Carrington, I have been giving further thought to the arrangements,” she continued. “It is my normal practice with the children to administer punishment in their bedrooms, but in the interests of propriety I consider such an arrangement for you would be improper. Accordingly, the punishment will take place in the study, which seems to me entirely appropriate given that is where the offending photographs were stored. The appointment will be at 2.00pm precisely. You will arrive promptly, knock on the door, and wait to be called in.”


Edward Carrington did not demur. Miss Bennett had wondered whether he might have had second thoughts about his agreement but clearly the repercussions of so doing were even less palatable to him. She had been deliberate in making arrangements for the following day, which meant he had another thirty or so hours to contemplate his thrashing. And what a thrashing she intended to give him!


As a Governess she did not take particular pleasure from corporal punishment but she was a firm believer in its efficacy. She believed too that when punishment was given it should be given soundly, in order that it made a lasting impression on the recipient. She wanted her punishments to be feared, and as with all her duties she took satisfaction from administering ‘corrective education’ with skill and professionalism.


Friday morning’s lessons passed uneventfully, for which Miss Bennett heaved a sigh of relief. She had told the children about the afternoon picnic and encouraged them to be on their best behaviour or else it would be cancelled – a circumstance she avidly wished to avoid. Once they and Nanny had left for the park she went to her room and opened the closet where her canes and other disciplinary instruments were kept. Over the years she had collected a variety of suitable instruments, in order that she could vary their use according to the severity of the punishment required.


***
***
 Through teacher friends she had acquired a couple of standard rattans, which she had used on occasions, but more normally she preferred her Governess canes, so named after their popularity with members of her profession. These rods were made from a denser species of rattan, thereby imparting a more penetrating sting. Her most well-used rod was thirty-two inches in length and of medium diameter, which meant that it retained all the flexibility that made the rattan so effective. However, on this occasion she reached for her Senior Governess, a somewhat thicker rod, four inches longer than its cousin. She had only ever used it twice, in her previous employment. As she removed it from the closet she recalled the last time it had been deployed.


***
***


Miss Bennett did not imagine that she would have a similar problem with Edward Carrington, even though she intended to increase the tariff considerably. At eight minutes before two o’clock she made her way downstairs, rod in hand. Entering the study she walked across to the desk. Quickly she cleared the few items from the top of the desk, leaving only the rod she had placed there, and rearranged a couple of chairs to ensure that she had sufficient space for the deed she was about to execute. She glanced at the clock, which showed three minutes before two. She sat down in the chair behind the desk, normally occupied by her employer, to compose her thoughts.


At precisely the appointed time there was a knock on the door. Deliberately she waited a few seconds before issuing a stern “Enter”. The door opened and Edward Carrington walked in, his head bowed.


“Come here, Edward,” Miss Bennett commanded, her voice as crisp as starched lines. “Stand in front of the desk.” She waited for him to reach the appointed spot.


“Now then Master Edward, tell me why you are here,” she ordered. For several seconds the embarrassed man remained silent. “Come along boy, speak up,” Miss Bennett demanded.


“Please Miss Bennett, I have erred greatly. I have been in possession of items that have no place in the life of a gentleman. I am truly sorry.”


“I see. Well, we shall see how truly sorry you are in due course, Edward. These items that you speak of – what is their nature?” Of course she knew exactly what they were but was determined that he should make full acknowledgement.


“P-p-pornographic photographs, Miss Bennett,” Edward stuttered.


“You naughty, filthy little boy,” Miss Bennett exploded, her tone emphasising her disgust. “How dare you! I shall not explore what other filthy things you may have been doing. The fact that you thought fit to have such wretched items in your possession is sufficient. Have you something else to say to me?” Miss Bennett looked directly at Edward, but he continued to keep his head bowed. “Look at me when you are speaking to me, boy,” she rapped.


“Please Miss Bennett, may I request you to punish me for my sins.” Edward Bennett, gentleman, businessman, highly respected in the community, had been reduced to the lowest ebb, and again he bowed his head in shame.


“Oh yes, Master Edward, oh yes, indeed I will. This is indeed the vilest crime I have encountered from a boy in all my years of being a Governess. You will be thrashed, young man, more severely than I have ever thrashed a boy before. You will be aware, no doubt, that it is the custom to administer the rod by the dozen, with the most normal tariff being half a dozen, or as it is sometimes referred to, six of the best. I have administered previously a caning of a full dozen strokes, which I considered a severe punishment. On this occasion, given the nature of your offence and the fact that you are old enough to know better, it is incumbent on me to award a fitting punishment. You will receive three dozen strokes of the rod.”


Edward Carrington allowed a gasp to escape from his lips. It was many, many years since he had last been punished in this way but even two or more decades on he recalled his suffering and the struggle to take his punishment manfully. What he had just heard was beyond his worst nightmares. However, he managed to maintain his composure sufficiently to respond, “Thank you, M’am”.


Miss Bennett rose, picking up her trusty rod from the desk as she did so. “There is nothing more to be said,” she announced tersely. “Move to the side of the desk, which you will bend over to receive your punishment, and kindly prepare yourself. “ As Edward Carrington took the few steps to the required position, Miss Bennett also moved and turned to face away from him. She waited a full minute. “Are you prepared, Edward?” she asked. Hearing an affirmative reply she issued the order to “assume the required position”.


Miss Bennett turned and walked smartly to a position on Edward’s left. Holding the rod in front of her she measured her distance, ensuring that the rod would strike correctly. She took a deep breath, gathered her concentration, raised the cane and brought it down sharply. The snap as it made contact was followed by a deep, muted grunt from the recipient. Miss Bennett silently counted to ten, as was her regular habit in these circumstances, before delivering a second stroke. A further four strokes followed in like manner.


“Have you something to say to me, Edward,” she asked. “I have always understood you to be a well-mannered boy.”


“Yes, M’am. Thank you Miss Bennett.” Edward raised his head slightly as he spoke but did not lose his position. His arms were spread either side of the desk, his hands gripping as best he could to help him deal with the pain. His bottom was burning from the sting of the rod, but, conscious of that as he was, he was mindful that his punishment had only just begun.


Miss Bennett moved to the far side of Edward. It had long been her practice to divide the tariff equally between forehand and backhand strokes. During her first employment an experienced Governess had explained to her the wisdom of this method, to ensure that both buttocks suffered the additional pain engendered by the tip of the rod. Content her position was correct, she resumed the punishment. The cane swished and snapped as she delivered the next set of six. If anything they were harder than the first set, as was often the case with her backhand strokes. Duly completed, she again reminded Edward of his manners.
“From here on in I shall not prompt you again. You will thank me after each further set of six, or bear the consequences.”


Edward’s backside was throbbing but through his pain he digested the Governess’s instruction. Miss Bennett considered the scene as she walked to resume the position in which she had started. The first twelve strokes had been delivered firmly, occasioning distinctive red weals amid the white flesh.


The second dozen strokes were given in like fashion, six from the left and six from the right. By now it was inevitable that stripes were created over stripes that already existed, increasing the pain considerably, and Edward Carrington had started to moan as the rod continued to land. He was determined to show the utmost bravery, but his determination was now being tested to what, he thought, was near his limit. Lost in his thoughts, he omitted to thank his Governess after the fourth set of six was completed. This fact was not forgotten by Miss Bennett, who had again resumed her original position.


“I fear something has been overlooked,” she announced, her tone displaying her annoyance. Before Edward had a chance to rectify the situation she raised the cane high above her shoulder and delivered a slashing stroke that made Edward cry out in severe pain. “What did you say, boy?” she thundered.


“Ah, ah, ooh… thank you M’am,” he managed to utter through his gritted teeth.


Miss Bennett was not satisfied and delivered another venomous stroke. The rod hummed loudly as it cut the air, followed immediately by another howl from Edward. “What do you say, boy? Speak up,” she again demanded.


“Thank you M’am, thank you Miss Bennett,” he called out. He was gasping for breath but managed to get the words out clearly.


“Very well, that’s better,” Miss Bennett announced. “I trust you are aware that those strokes were additional punishment for your forgetful and disobedient behaviour.”


“Yes, M’am, thank you M’am,” Edward assured her, anxious not to incur further wrath. He was sure he had never felt pain like it, and was praying that the remainder of his punishment would be less severe.


His prayers were not answered. True to her desire to ensure that punishment was administered effectively, it was always her practice to increase the severity of the strokes as the punishment neared its conclusion. Normally, when the tariff was six, this simply meant the final two strokes. Today it meant the final twelve.


Accordingly, for each of the remaining strokes she raised her arm higher, brought the rod down more sharply, and concentrated on flicking her wrist as she made the stroke. This was another technique she had been taught in her early days as a Governess, and she knew how effective it was. Its effectiveness was not lost on Edward, who yelled loudly after every collision of that wicked rod and his backside. No wonder Miss Bennett had arranged for the house to be empty; she was clearly aware what the consequence of the thrashing would be.


Finally it was over. Edward’s backside was covered with a mass of scarlet stripes and purple-red weals, many of them bloodied, but somehow Edward had remembered to express the required appreciation. But having done so the final time, the realisation that his ordeal was finished overcame him. He broke down and started to sob, quietly at first, then more loudly. Miss Bennett watched and waited impassively. It was the reaction she had hoped for. She understood the nature of sin, punishment and redemption. The suffering from the pain of the beating was a just punishment, but for redemption to take place there had to be an outpouring of emotion, as the consciousness of having paid for one’s wrongdoing took hold.


After several minutes, by which time Edward’s crying had subsided, Miss Bennett spoke. “I think you should compose yourself now, Edward, and correct your dress.” Again she turned away to allow him to make himself respectable, but continued speaking. “You have done well, Edward,” she said with genuine warmth in her voice. “I am sure you will continue to think about the events of the past days, and of today in particular, but you may now go forward knowing that your dues have been paid. Do not allow guilt to corrode your mind. Rather, learn from your mistakes. Oh, and by the way, the photographs I took from your drawer have been burnt.”


Miss Bennett began to make her way out of the room, then turned back to address Edward. “I will resume my normal Governess duties now, Mr Carrington, but should you find that young Edward requires further attention at some future time, I am available to assist.” She closed the door behind her and made her way back to her room.


Over the course of the next months and years Edward Carrington approached his Governess several times more to confess a variety of misdeeds, for which Miss Bennett offered her particular brand of assistance. Increasingly, Mr Carrington’s confessions were accompanied by a baring of his soul, knowing that the confidences he shared would be respected and rewarded with empathy and wise counsel. Thus, the professional barrier between employer and Governess was gradually broken down, and some three years after the events of this story, Grace Bennett became the second wife of Edward Carrington – in which role she continued to assist him as required.


DanaKaneSpanks@gmail.com

Our Cowboy Writer strikes again.

For the rest of Cowboy Writer’s stories:


Taming the Cowboy
Taming the Cowboy II: The Cowboy’s Revenge
School for Husbands
Tiffany