Our story began here.

Mary lay face down on the bed to cry herself out. Until this day she had never really considered the phrase ‘a good cry.’ She wished there was a word for the bitter-sweet experience; she was so sore behind she couldn’t bear it and yet she felt so… so clean. One day she would know the word catharsis, until then she only had this.

Katherine was feeling much the same, only her tears were over now and she felt soul-clean and reborn. She lightly fingered the myriad welts left by the birch, hissing and lip chewing in response to the finger-tip journey across her bottom. Twisting her head back to eye the red-purple welt-swirls rolling across her curves, she was ruefully satisfied.

Then she looked at Mary’s upturned bottom on the bed and felt her tummy tighten for some reason. It was a nice feeling and the sobbing girl on the bed felt like her sister. To Alice she felt closer still, the woman was like a governess to her, a hero.

“Until now I thought the expression won’t sit down for a week was just that, but rather think it might be literally true,” Mary said at last, now smiling through her tears.

“If either of us can sit down this week I will be very surprised,” Katherine agreed. Then wincing she made her way across to the other side of the bed taking very careful steps. “I will be so stiff tomorrow; from past experience I think it may be worse,”

Mary screwed up her face as she moved. “Oh God,” she groaned, “If I could bear it, I would be so liberal with the styptic.”

Katherine rolled her eyes. “Bear it or not I think we had better,” she said.

“Ooh,” Mary rolled her lip down and made a sad face.

Making a pained about turn Katherine took some stiff-legged steps towards the door. “I’ll get it,” she said.

“You do that,” Mary replied and lowered her face back down to the bed and thought about how the air scratched at the skin on her bare bottom.

*

Alice stood in the garden and thought over the previous few weeks. She had certainly earned her cigarette and she blew sensuous clouds of blue smoke and imagined herself a movie star. The girls were ready; whatever they did next they would face the world with confidence and purpose. If they chose to follow in Alice’s footsteps, then so much the better, Katherine was going to be formidable in that regard.

She took another drag on her cigarette and held onto the smoke to savour it. Bad girl, she thought, your one nasty vice, so unladylike. Then she let the blue vapour go with an air kiss and watched it swirl away across the garden.

If Mrs Baxter could see her now… Alice smiled with mischief, but her bottom clenched nervously all the same. It was the one habit from the military she had not been able to break. Even Mrs Baxter’s firm hand had not done that.

Katherine had decided to pour the ‘acid’ styptic onto a flannel and have a first course in private. The burn had been good but the tears had flowed again. She chewed her lip in a strange misplaced ecstasy. “You funny little girl,” she whispered to herself. She thought about how liberal she would be with Mary. It would be kind of fun.

Then feeling better she turned to go back to the bedroom. The conservatory door was open and through it she could see Alice just outside overlooking the garden. The governess was surrounded in a halo of smoke.

“Oh my God, she’s smoking,” Katherine blurted and then just gaped.

It was at that moment that Alice decided to turn and look back into the house and both she and Katherine’s eyes met. Alice felt sick.

Katherine wasn’t exactly crushed with disappointment but it took some of the shine of the day nonetheless. She sighed heavily as she watched her governess hastily press out the cigarette and gather up the butt. She had never seen Alice look so uncomfortable, all poise momentarily gone.

*

Mary had opted for standing up at lunch. As predicted the stiffness in her bottom and thighs was much worse the day after her birching. Luckily after a pillow biting session with styptic, liberally applied to her ravaged bottom by a grinning Katherine, the unrelenting soreness was much better. The small welts that had textured her bottom were now mostly smooth.

Katherine too was reluctant to sit, but her mind was elsewhere and her gaze kept straying to Alice who sat demurely sipping soup from a spoon as by royal appointment.

“You have something on your mind Katherine?” Alice said once the bowl was empty and the spoon was elegantly placed at the correct angle for a completed meal.

Katherine coloured and shot her governess a look. “I am not sure if…” she looked at Mary who was reaching for another bread roll.

Katherine had said nothing to her friend the night before and the fact that Alice had been smoking was so far just a secret between her and Alice.

“Not sure about what?” Alice pressed her.

“It would be impertinent,” Katherine said firmly.

Mary stopped mid mouthful and looked up. She was missing something.

Deciding on another tack, Alice took a deep breath. “I was going to wait until the end of the week, but following a letter to Mrs Baxter… well, you may as well know that you are graduated. On my recommendation you have been accepted as Sinclair Governesses… ladies you have passed.”

Mary screeched and leapt up, all burn in her bottom momentarily forgotten. Even Katherine grinned and for long seconds both women hugged.

“Oh Miss Eden… Alice I… oh my,” Mary gushed.

Alice waited beaming proudly until the girls settled down.

“What next?” Katherine asked.

“Certificates, handbooks, study guides and letters… they will all come in a few days,” Alice shrugged. “If there is a post or task available you may be given details. Else you may be called to the mother house or somewhere else for a seminar or further training.”

Katherine grinned and Mary began bouncing up and down like a kid again.

“It doesn’t mean you will be perfect and you won’t stumble. You will even require a mentor as you go forward. That can be me or another, depending on how you feel. I know I am not perfect.” Alice let the words hang.

Katherine suddenly felt she had been a bit prissy and oversensitive about her discovery of the smoking incident. It didn’t really matter, not now.

“If you do discover wrong-doing among our sisterhood or your future charges, what have you learned to do? Mary?” Alice sounded like an instructor again.

“No compromise. Blister those bottoms,” Mary said with relish.

“You beast,” Alice laughed. Then to Katherine she asked, “Do you agree?”

“Yes Miss Eden, I do,” Katherine felt relaxed now and smiled.

“Then Katherine, do you have something to say to me?” Alice said sharply.

“I saw you smoking,” Katherine accused. “That is not very ladylike and somewhat hypocritical of you.”

“Quite right and I apologise. What do you intend to do about it?” Alice asked.

Katherine swallowed and looked at a still gaping Mary. “What would you suggest, as my mentor I mean?” Katherine said as she turned back to Alice.

“You could write to Mrs Baxter or perhaps request that I do so,” Alice answered without a flicker. In fact she intended to do just that herself anyway and take the consequences.

“That would feel disloyal Miss Eden,” Katherine said bluntly. “I accept your apology.”

“Then I should spank you,” Alice said with a shrug.

“Indeed,” Katherine swallowed, “Shall I fetch a hairbrush?”

“Good girl,” Alice chuckled and then she took a deep breath. “I will write to Mrs Baxter on my own account, it is my duty. However, I feel I have failed you. So if you fetch a hairbrush you might consider which of us it is that deserves a spanking or something harsher.”

“I don’t think… I…” Katherine was flustered now.

“Think it over, when the papers come you will be a Sinclair Governess and until I am formally assigned as your mentor, if you accept me in that role, then we will to all intents and purposes equals.” Alice said.

Katherine and Mary exchanged glances.

To be continued…

Here are two (allegedly real) pictures of corporal justice. Not sure of the details of either. Both apparently depict informal sanctions from two very different communities. The first is supposed to be a news pic from a South American press agency where a young women is apparently hoping that she will be able to forgo prosecution if she takes the stick. No idea if she was punished or not.

The second is apparently (harder to swallow this one) a community college tutor metering out some justice to a student. Posted to Facebook in good faith and said to be from the noughties. It may just be a mislabelled birthday spanking picture.

Given that these are real people possibly neither is a suitable subject for prurient schadenfreude, but looked at honestly both fuel many fantasy that have graced fiction here and elsewhere.

Knowing me I may have previously published them at sometime in the last nine years, and with a completely different caption, but that does negate the point.

Our story began here.

The packages had come in the morning post, one each addressed to Katherine and Mary.

Katherine read and reread the letter. She was a Sinclair Governess. There were other documents and a handbook, but she would look at that later. She knew that she would have to go to the mother house and meet Mrs Baxter and while there she would be under strict rules. But she would receive further training and supervise in-house students as a prelude to… she took a deep breath, it didn’t matter. She may never follow that path; she now had the confidence to face the world.

Mary was sitting properly for the first time in days and like the girl of old smiled dreamily as she read her own letter.

“It is odd isn’t it?” she said as she finally put the letter down.

Katherine made a quizzical face and waited for her friend to explain.

“We won’t be spanked again,” Mary tried the words out in her mouth and wondered if she liked the idea.

“Well not here I suppose, but… well we will always subject to discipline, certainly at the mother house we will be.” Katherine reminded her.

Mary weighed this up and then with a clatter and from a very great height the penny dropped. “Do you think Miss Eden… Alice I mean, do you think that she is still spanked?”

Katherine shrugged. She certainly ought to be, she thought. “About that…” she said with a sigh.

“You’re thinking about the smoking thing aren’t you? I don’t see what the fuss is about, not really. Alice is not our responsibility,” Mary didn’t want to think about it.

“No, you are right, in one way I suppose, but she hasn’t really talked to us for days and I think…” Katherine took a deep breath. “I think she needs a spanking to clear the air. I think that is what she was trying to tell us.”

Mary gaped. “I couldn’t, I just couldn’t,” she gasped.

“Oh I think I could,” Katherine said as she dug deep for some steel.

*

Katherine found Alice in the bay window seat reading a book.

“Katherine, are you pleased?”

“Yes of course,” the younger woman said. There was a hard uncomfortable pause.

“But you have something on your mind?” Alice closed the book and put it down.

Katherine nodded sadly and took a deep breath. “I am not sure where to begin,” she said.

Alice nodded. Her throat tightened and she shifted uncomfortably as if she knew what was coming.

“Tell me, what would you do if you caught a girl doing something unladylike and against the rules. Something like smoking perhaps?” Katherine asked.

“Is this a new girl finding her feet?” Alice replied. She sat up straight now and adopted a neutral expression.

“No,” Katherine said tersely.

“Would this be a first offence?” Alice swallowed hard.

“I doubt it,” Katherine said pointedly.

“So do I,” Alice agreed.

There was another long pause but it was Alice who broke eye contact first.

“I would make an example of her,” Alice said and looked up to meet Katherine’s gaze.

“Specifically?” Katherine growled.

“You tell me you’re the governess in this situation,” Alice countered.

Was this a test, Katherine thought and weighed up her options?

“You have a stout long-handled hairbrush,” Katherine said. It wasn’t a question. “Bring it to the kitchen.”

Alice frowned, “The kitchen…? Eh…I mean… yes miss.” She tried not to laugh and bit her lip somewhat nervously. None of this felt real and for the most part she dispassionately viewed Katherine and the situation as if this were a training exercise. Nonetheless her tummy was assailed by energetic butterflies that she had not felt since her last talk with Mrs Baxter.

*

By the time Alice returned to the kitchen with the large hairbrush a very determined looking Katherine and a rather miserable Mary were waiting for her. The older governess’s gaze was immediately drawn to the cane that had been laid on the kitchen table and she almost scolded Katherine for taking from her room. Just in time she bit her tongue and gulped down her apprehension. She hated being on the wrong end of the cane, she absolutely loathed it.

“I think you know why we are here,” Katherine said, sounding every bit like authority itself.

Alice all but gulped and managed a nod.

“Do you accept my authority today?” Katherine asked.

Alice drew in a deep breath, conscious now that she was blushing and Mary was watching her every move. “For this day and until the sun rises tomorrow,” she said, not really knowing why she had been so expansive.

“I am sorry I saw you smoking, really I am,” Katherine sounded like herself again, “I would have preferred…” she floundered.

Alice sighed and said, “The blame is mine, the error is mine… I failed you, not the other way around. I failed both of you… I… I’m sorry.”

“Very well,” Katherine found some steel again. “Remove your skirt and slip; in fact strip right down to your blouse, brassiere and stockings.”

Alice’s face was a mask but she took a deep breath and ignoring her blushes did as she was told.

“The panties too,” Katherine told the older woman once she had removed her skirt and stood in her stockinged feet.

Alice licked her lips and felt small tears prick at her eyes. “Okay then,” she muttered as she stooped to tug at her silk underwear and drew them over her thighs.

As she bent Mary and Katherine saw the older woman’s bare bottom for the first time and it was hard not to admire their governess’s film star figure. The impromptu mooning was all too brief as Alice quickly stepped from her panties and stood up to smooth the hem of her blouse down over exposed upper thighs and the dark triangle of hair between. Even then the lower curves of her bottom peeked from under the cotton hem.

“I fully intend to spank you and spank you soundly, right here in the kitchen where Mary can watch, and anyone else for that matter,” Katherine informed Alice, “But before that you will go stand in the corner with both hands neatly on top of your head and think about that.”

Alice started and made to protest. Of course Katherine was right but that didn’t make it any easier.

“Yes ma’am,” she whispered and mentally braced herself.

Then turning to face the corner opposite the kitchen door that led to the garden she walked as casually to it until her nose could be pressed into the seam where the two walls met. Then with cold deliberation she raised her arms and placed them elegantly on her head.

This last action lifted the hem of her blouse and once again fully exposed her bare bottom in all its vulnerability.

Behind her back Katherine relaxed and gaped at the scene:, she had done it. She turned in amazement to Mary who now far from miserable looked impressed. She was beginning to enjoy this too.

“Now stay there,” Katherine threw out, trying to sound stern again.

“Yes Ma’am,” Alice answered navy-style.

*

Katherine had been sitting at the kitchen table for almost an hour. The pages of the magazine turned before her eyes, but not one word had she read. All that while Alice had stood unmoving while light goose bumps peppered her thighs and her smooth white bottom tasted the morning air.

Every now and then Mary had fussed with something or other but most of her attention had been upon Alice’s bare bottom so starkly exposed in the corner.

Finally Katherine got to her feet and took up the hairbrush. She was nervous.

“I hope you have contemplated your sins Miss Eden,” she said,

“Yes ma’am,” Alice whispered; humility stung her eyes.

Behind her Katherine dragged a kitchen chair with a scrape across the floor and sat down. “Come here now,” she said to Alice, who startled suddenly.

The governess lowered her arms and then peeled herself from the corner. This was real then, she thought.

“Over my knee,” Katherine ordered and patted her lap.

Alice swallowed and then with reluctant steps crossed the room. There was some awkwardness as she stumbled across Katherine’s lap and the sensation of a woman’s thighs to hers was unfamiliar. So too was the touch of air on her bottom as her behind thrust up as two exposed domes.

“Ready?” Katherine asked as she patted the older woman’s bare bottom with the flat side of the brush..

“Yes ma’am,” Alice breathed.

There was a pause as the younger girl contemplated the bare bottom in her lap and then she struck with a firm satisfying thwack.

Alice gasped.

As ever the impact was more surprise than pain, like a red flower, the sting needed time to grow. Katherine gave it now time and swept the second spank down in a wide sweep that caught Alice on the under curves of her bottom. This time she felt it more keenly.

“I want this to last,” Katherine told Alice, “This is going to be a very long hard spanking.” She struck twice more.

The tight white curves of Alice’s bottom reddened up nicely and quickly too. Bright strawberry ovals quickly dominated the blonde’s tender curves and in quick order a dozen spanks had landed. By this time Alice was beginning to breathe heavily as if indulging in exercise.

“Are you feeling it Miss?” Katherine said with relish.

“Yessss,” Alice hissed.

“Good,” the younger woman shot back and added a short volley that made her sorry charge buck.

“Oh my,” Mary whispered.

“Should I go easy on her?” Katherine asked her friend.

A dumbstruck Mary could only shake her head.

Katherine grinned and picked up the pace, landing two dozen spanks in half as many seconds; each delivered with a full sweep of her arm. The noise of these impacts was terrific, but in short order Alice cried out loud enough to be heard over the thwack of wood on skin.

“So red,” Mary murmured.

“Oh yes,” Katherine agreed and warmed to her task. Then to Alice she snarled, “Will I catch you smoking again, will I? Will I?” With each word she spanked and hard.

“N-no, no,” Alice wailed, her cries now tinged with tears.

“Good girl, good…” she spanked extra hard, “girl.”

Between heavy breathing Alice sniffed and willed herself to retain some dignity.

“I’m sorry,” she wailed, “I won’t smoke again, I won’t…”

“Liar,” Katherine responded angrily and redoubled her efforts. “You’re an addict, all we ask is for some discretion, some self-control.”

The accusation struck home and Alice began to cry.

“Tears already,” Katherine teased, “And we have so far to go.”

Mary glanced at the kitchen clock. The spanking had been underway for almost 10 minutes now and she had a hunch it wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

To be continued…

Not having a lot of time lately I am still doing things in haste. Not a good idea when you are communicating with people you don’t know. Even allowing for often absurdly insecure cadre of individuals drawn to this world, email is not a good medium and unless you write a very well-crafted approach or response it is so easy to offend.

So as it is I might have offended a few people lately, for which I am sorry. I am sorry too to the three or four people I owe emails to, but prefer to reply when I genuinely have time.

I have been cleaning up and refreshing the links on the right, some being dead or absurdly out of date and few new ones have been added.

There isn’t a lot to report in written content, click on a link for newer info on this. But the pictures above are just a quick cross-section from around this week and some link credits below. One picture above is in somewhat bad taste, but I had to do a double take when I saw it. Credit goes to the Spanking Blog for this find, you will probably know the one I mean.

There is a bit of a sorority theme going on this week, Richard Windsor’s paddle gang being not least. As he pointed out the girl not holding a paddle is holding her behind. Also another from the Spanking Blog, which features some stills from the 1980 exploitation movie Coed Fever.

I also include the last of the Halloween pictures, including one from Spanking Art 3D and Spanking Toons.

Others include Devlin O’Neil, Chicago Spanking Review and Asa Jones.

It is already Thursday and I haven’t posted since Monday, you may have noticed. It is all a question of time. I hope to post The Sinclair Method later this week and then on with In the Service of the Wolf.

It is all about time really and that got me thinking about time and how attitudes change.

I saw the line drawings above, which originally from a New York exposé magazine from the 19^th century. If I recall the article (which I could not find) it was about rough justice way out west. The article decried how the westerner was no respecter of women and that they could receive the same handling as the men if not worse. The picture depicts a quaint custom called riding the rail, a fate often reserved for con-artists, uppity outsiders and even anti-slavers.

Sometimes men like this were lynched, but to the women they were more merciful and were merely stripped naked and whipped. Riding the rail involved sitting a woman (and sometimes a man as pictured above) on a rail fence for some hours or made to ride a narrow pole or plank and run out of town.

Apparently a lady reporter from the East went to investigate and very nearly met the same fate herself. When she demanded justice from the local law officer he actually spanked her and put her on a train. Undeterred the woman snuck back into town. This time she was captured by a posse of townswomen and stripped naked and treated to a ‘good old-fashioned switching’ or two. She didn’t come back.

No doubt the town’s people thought it was fake news.

Nor did these things end with the 19^th century. The cowboy above is demonstrating how they handled party girls, loose women, Sunday raiders (no idea what that is), liberals and hippies.

There are several westerns where the heroine is tied to a tree and switched or hung from her wrists. Perhaps an echo of this tradition, if one can call it that.

In 1970 a young lady reporter from New York went in search of answers.

For one ex-sheriff and his wife this was considered overkill.

“Damn if any women like that came to my town I would just turn them over my knee and spank their bare bottoms for them. If they needed a switching too then what is wrong with the barn or a woodshed. These aren’t bad kids, just a bit wayward.”

What about reporters? They were asked. One can’t help wondering if our intrepid reporter wasn’t a touch nervous at this point.

“Them too if they gave me too much sass or came on too nosey,” the old man told her. “For the girls anyway, I have my gun for these so called gentlemen of the press.”

Our story began here.

Alice was panting hard and desperate to keep her composure. Her bottom ached and burned and was well beyond sore. The cherry stain that had taken hold was a close match for her red-rimmed eyes which leaked copiously down her face. She was not quite bawling and had so far managed not to cry out beyond the occasional gasp or grunt.

The hairbrush, which had paused in Katherine’s hands, began yet another series of impacts and a whine escaped Alice’s throat.

“Not again,” she muttered and tried to suck it up.

“Oh again,” Katherine told her; she sounded almost angry, “And again, and again,” her words matched the spanks which continued at a pace.

“I… oh God,” Alice groaned, like so many before her, desperate for a form of words to making the spanking stop. From long experience on both sides of the hairbrush, she knew there were none.

Mary worked her mouth in wonder and glanced for the 10^th time at the clock. It was more than 25 minutes and counting, she was amazed that Katherine could spank so hard and long.

“Please, oh please,” Alice said thickly, her words wet and slurred.

Katherine remembered the flick and raised her arm to its upmost and then flicked her wrist as it came down in a gravity assisted power swat.

Alice cried out in earnest for the first time.

“Getting there are we?” Katherine spanked again.

“Yes,” Alice answered in a strained wail, this time there was a sob.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten the cane?” Katherine reminded her.

Alice gaped in true woe; she had. Then she broke.

Katherine glanced at the clock; it was two minutes off the half hour: as good a time as any to end this.

“Remember, Elizabeth Sinclair was English and they have a long tradition of the cane,” Katherine knew from a conversation they once had that the cane was Alice’s bête noir.

Alice nodded, bawling like a child and scarcely aware that the spanking was over.

Katherine put the brush down and patted her mentor on the shoulder. “Take your time, you needed that,” she whispered.

Alice sobbed hard but managed another nod.

Katherine waited until Alice had half composed herself.

“There we go,” she said, “Now into the corner with you. We will let the hour go by at least before you are caned.”

Alice bowed her head and sniffed. It had been so long. Perhaps too long, she thought. She was beginning to regret also writing to Muriel Baxter confessing her smoking sins. No doubt once her old guide and teacher was done with her, Alice would have fond memories of this afternoon.

It was hard to stand and her bottom burned like a son of a gun. She was also a bit shaky, but that was not as bad as the embarrassment of being sent to the corner by one of her recent charges. She had surrendered herself until sunrise the next day and she would stand by that. Damn fool.

The corner accepted her penitent vigil as it might any naughty girl, even one who had once served in the navy.

“My goodness Katherine, her bottom is so red,” Mary said in a tone of awe.

These words were enough to bring on more tears in Alice, although she almost felt better. Talk about a good cry, she ruefully thought.

“It is isn’t it,” Katherine agreed, “Maybe she needs longer in the corner to think about the cane so that we can study the splendid effect of a spanking. After all, we still have so much to learn.”

Mary giggled at this and Katherine joined her. Alice had to contend with a red hot face as well as bottom. Oh well, I guess I have it coming, Alice thought.

*

It had a while since Alice had been confined to the corner and the incessant burn at her bottom had given away to a tender ache. The discomfort of standing for so long too was beginning to be the more irksome and even the embarrassment was being overshadowed by the boredom. Katherine has learned well, Alice thought with a rueful subdued pride.

Alice thought about the cane and her stomach did a somersault, maybe she should be careful before wanting her corner time to end.

The knock at the kitchen door startled everyone. Katherine turned to answer it but it opened unbidden and in a strained male voice said, “Where do you want this?”

Alice knew true horror then and her eyes became saucers as she froze in place facing the wall.

The young man who staggered in with the box of supplies looked desperate to put them down and finally fixed up on the kitchen table while Katherine fluttered like a bird and wondered what to do. Mary just gaped and hand to mouth stood watching events as one might a car crash.

The woman who followed him they had seen before. The comely brunette in her late 30s was from real estate office that was re-letting the house now they were all going. Katherine struggled to remember her name as she impotently tried to block the young man’s view of Alice’s semi-nude state.

“I had to come this was so I gave young Lionel a ride,” the woman was saying as she entered, “It is further than I remember perhaps some coffee…” If she was to say more it died on her lips.

At the same moment the realty saw Alice, so did Lionel and if Alice’s eyes were wide, his were out on stalks. “Oh…” he blurted.

“We were just… I mean, I am just taking care of some housekeeping,” Katherine managed a semblance of composure.

“So I see,” the woman still gaped, one glove was off her hand and held in the other as she was frozen in the cation of removing it.

“Did you say you wanted some coffee?” Mary put in and moved to do the necessary. She was beginning to see the funny side.

Alice, who had so far not move a muscle, definitely did not and wondered if it were possible to die of embarrassment.

“Y-yes if… if…” Amid her surprise the real estate agent struggled to find words.

“Ma’am?” the young man, no more than 19 was still dumbstruck and although not entirely unappreciative, he did not know where to look.

“Lionel, go wait in the car,” the woman said at last as she came to herself.

Lionel took one last look at Alice’s exposed sore bottom and hastily fled.

“Coffee,” Mary said again with a smile once he had gone.

The woman dropped into a kitchen chair and managed a relaxed smile of her own. “My, you are strict around here.”

“We are, aren’t we Miss… I mean Alice?” Katherine agreed.

“Oh yes,” Alice said through gritted teeth.

“As a matter of fact we were about to finish up here,” Katherine continued, “Perhaps you would care to watch.”

“To see how it is done,” the woman beamed. “I would love to. I could probably do with some tips, my daughter thinks she is too old for a spanking these days.”

“I assure you she is not Mrs…?” Katherine replied.

“Kendal, but call me Emma, Miss…?” the woman smiled pleasantly.

“Anders, but call me Katherine,” Katherine told her. “This is Mary.”

Mary smiled politely and tried for all she as worth not to laugh out loud.

“Well isn’t this cosy?” Alice sighed glumly from her penitent corner.

Katherine addressed herself to the cane on the kitchen table and rolled it between her fingers. “I w3as going to take things into the study but we can do it here,” she said. “Miss Bowman, please turn around and come bend over the back of the chair.” As she spoke she pulled a kitchen chair away from under the table.

“Yes Miss Anders,” Alice mumbled; every nerve in her body a jangle and she still had gotten over the shock of the boy seeing her like this.

Alice kept her breathing even and walked with all the dignity she could muster towards the chair.

“Miss Bowman,” Emma Kendal gasped as she recognised her lead tenant for the first time, “Are you the… I thought…?”

“This not a revolution I assure you,” Katherine told her, “But as you see no one here is too old for some sound discipline. Miss Bowman included.”

“So I see,” Emma exclaimed, but amid the shock a small smile twitched on her lips.

Alice sucked in her cheeks to form a pout but the very vivid blush ruined the effect somewhat. She was almost happy to hide her face as she folded herself over the back of the chair and took firm hold of the seat.

“Quite a job you have done there,” Emma whistled in appreciation, “And if I may say so Miss Bowman, you have a nice undercarriage, it is almost a pity to exclude Lionel from the show.”

Alice felt her ears melt and scowled into the leather padded seat. She prayed Katherine wouldn’t invite the boy back in, not considering what else might be on show with her ‘undercarriage’ as this darn woman styled it.

“Say thank you Mrs Kendal,” Katherine prompted the now thoroughly humiliated governess.

“Thank you Mrs Kendal, I am sure,” Alice said bitterly.

“Alright then,” Katherine said perkily, “Heels together and bottom out Miss Bowman; remember you are a Sinclair girl.”

Alice complied, hating the presence of an outsider for this. However, she had to admit that Katherine hadn’t planned this and had handled it with dignity given the circumstances.

“That’s it,” Katherine said in a clipped voice and tapped the cane across Alice tight proffered bottom.

It did not go unnoticed that Emma Kendal shifted excitedly in her seat as she watched.

Mary too hugged herself in expectation. Despite her reluctance to punish her friend and mentor there was a certain sense of schadenfreude, revenge even for the situation.

“Ready?” Katherine asked the shamed woman.

“No,” Alice wailed.

The cane hissed as it cut the air and landed with a sharp thwack across Alice’s bare bottom. The deep red was for a moment marked with a clean white line before that swelled a little slowly turned maroon.

It took a moment for Alice to take a breath, but once she did she let out an undignified squeal.

“How many strokes are you going to give her?” Mrs Kendal politely asked.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Katherine replied but most of her attention was on Alice’s bottom and her tongue protruded a little in concentration. Then she caned again.

Alice twisted a little as her bottom bobbed up and down. The sharp white line stung like a bitch as its pale gave way to purple-red, nor was she given much time to process the pain as another stroke landed almost at once.

There was more to follow and Alice quickly became laboured in her breathing. The cane was worse than she remembered, damn the girl for learning it so well. Nevertheless, the governess was proud of her former trainee, albeit for the moment grudgingly so.

“My God, you are raising ridges like worms on that bottom,” Emma Kendal said in a shocked tone of admiration, “Worse than any switching I got from grandma and back in those days I usually couldn’t sit down for a week after.”

“A switching, you mean country style? I do I hope I have rather more finesse than that,” Katherine let her irritation show. “Maybe you should be next.”

Alice was crying again, although her composure remained. But she took the exchange between Katherine and the realty agent as an opportunity to get her breath back.

Emma Kendal sat opened mouthed, her gaze swinging from Alice’s bottom to Katherine’s steely gaze and back again.

“After all you did barge in here without an invitation,” Katherine continued.

Emma swallowed hard and pointed at the supplies still in their box on the table. “The boy…” she mumbled.

“Lionel had a reason to come in and at least he knocked,” Katherine replied and hefted the cane in her hand as if considering something.

“But I…” It was Emma’s turn to blush and she began to stammer. “Look maybe I’ll come back when it is more… I’ll go,” She stood up.

Mary choked down a laugh as the woman all but ran for the door. “I don’t think she’ll be back,” she said.

“If we stick around too long I might invite her over on the pretext of discussing her daughter,” Katherine said with an evil grin.

Alice coughed. She had recomposed herself and felt very exposed bending over a chair with her bare and very sore bottom sticking up in the air

“Sorry Alice, where were we?” Katherine lined up for another stroke.

“I counted 15 or there about,” Alice said in a voice dripping with dread.

“About 15, you say? You don’t seem sure,” Katherine said thoughtfully, “Let us call it 12, that allows for another dozen,” adding, “A baker’s dozen I think.”

“Oh God,” Alice groaned and braced herself.

*

Alice winced as she chased the last mouthful of food around the plate. It was awkward standing at the dining room mantle to eat, but sitting at the table was completely out of the question for the moment.

At the table with Mary, Katherine eyed the vivid ‘scars’ that temporarily marred her mentors bare bottom and screwed up her face in sympathy. “That looks sore,” she said with a tone of regret.

“Don’t go soft on me now young lady,” Alice scolded her as she half-turned from her meal, “Or I shall spank you. I had it coming and you did just what the doctor ordered.”

Katherine half laughed and bit her lower lip. She wondered if she should remind Alice that until the following morning Alice was still under discipline and such impertinence could earn the governess another trip across her knee. No doubt Alice would appreciate the irony, but Katherine decided to let it go.

“What will Mrs Baxter say about you smoking when she gets the letter?” Mary asked.

Alice frowned and returned a childish pout. “It is not so much what she will say, but what she will do. If you think this is bad you should see what I am in for. I may not sit down for a month.”

“Then why…?” Mary gaped.

“I believe in standards and sometimes a girl needs a good spanking,” Alice sighed.

“And birching,” Mary chuckled, thinking back a few days and the faint traces still on her own bottom.

“And caning,” Katherine said huskily with a lick of her lips. She had enjoyed caning Alice and wished now she had been more severe.

“Then there is the good old paddle,” Mary offered ruefully.

“The Canadian prison strap is always fun,” Katherine said without conviction.

Mary looked horrified and shuddered.

“Yes, yes, I felt them all and probably will again after a refresher with Mrs Baxter,” Alice groaned.

“Do you… I mean… getting a spanking… do you sort of… like it?” Shy Mary was back.

“Do you?” Alice asked the girl.

Mary blushed and studied her plate for the answer. “Sometimes a little,” she confessed, “Just over the knee, I mean,” she added hastily. “The birch was beastly.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Katherine agreed, “But I think I may enjoy things from the other side rather more.”

“I guess,” Mary sounded uncertain, “But I want to give something back. I mean, I was so lost before and Miss Bowman I have to say this, thank you. You put me on the right track with an application of hairbrush right where it did the most good.”

“Here, here,” Katherine said toasting the all with a glass of water from the table. “Thank you.”

Alice turned, incongruously naked form the waist down, and raised her own glass. “No, thank you, I am so proud.”

“To a good sound spanking,” Mary said enthusiastically and stood up to raise her own glass.

“Bottoms up,” Katherine said before exploding into laughter, as did they all.

*

They were packed and ready, even Alice’s trunk with the canes and paddles. The cab would be there soon and then they would take one last ride together to the railways station.

“No doubt we will meet again,” Alice said with a dour smile.

“I am counting on it,” Katherine gushed, “You will be my mentor won’t you?”

Alice smiled more warmly and nodded. “But I warn you, you had better had been a saint when we next meet or someone is going right across my knee.”

“I am counting on that too,” Mary admitted with a shy smile.

Katherine frowned and gathered herself to ask something. “Alice, you never did answer Mary’s question?”

“Do I enjoy getting a spanking?” Alice went straight to the point.

Katherine nodded. Mary was listening intently now.

Alice looked thoughtful and looked off into the middle distance. Then she said, “I like the idea of it, I like the challenge of it, and once I have been spanked I feel clean, shiny and new. But at the time, when it is about to happen for real and certainly when I am getting it… oh no,” she winced.

“Yes I think I feel the same,” Katherine said wistfully.

“And what about giving a spanking?” Mary asked mischievously.

Alice glanced at her watch, “Do you think I have time to give Mary a spanking?” she asked Katherine.

Mary blushed and gaped at them.

“Oh I think so,” Katherine said in faux seriousness.

“Oh come on…” Mary backed away.

“I think my hairbrush is to hand,” Alice said crisply.

“Here use mine,” Katherine said with an evil grin and handed Alice her brush.

Alice took it and sat down on her trunk and patted her lap.

“Not here,” Mary exclaimed. “The driver will see when he comes.”

Alice shrugged and patted her lap again. “The house is locked up.”

“Please Miss Bowman I was only asking, I…” Mary protested all the way to Alice barely aware that she was surrendering herself.

As tipped over Alice’s lap her skirt proved lose enough to flip up and in quick succession her panties came down and she was bare-bottomed across Alice lap.

“This is the bitter end,” Mary wailed.

“Indeed,” Alice agreed and began to spank Mary’s bare bottom.

“You’re loving it,” Katherine teased, beside herself with glee.

“Ow, I’m not,” Mary wailed.

“Then I must be doing it wrong,” Alice chuckled and spanked harder and faster.

End

Another week and another hike in visitors, it is almost as if I never went away. Thank you everyone for your continued support.

I have haven’t forgotten the Prussian material, some here soon, although I use Prussian is the loosest sense here, looking at it some of it might be Bavarian from the same era.

Coming up this Friday we have Love Our Lurker’s Day, championed by Hermione, so head over to find out more.

Also new to the community are several new blogs and sites listed over at Bonnie’s.

Some great contributions from Firm Hand Spanking, found via Cutiepie, including a classic last chance to see Niiki Flynn, who retired again while we were on sabbatical, strapped with Amelia Jane Rutherford.

Yet more Amelia action from Dallas, also pictured above. Also, some old vintage shots from Devlin and Stan and old drawing found on the Spanking Blog.

Prussia was the largest country in what is now Germany, occupying the north of that territory with its capital in Berlin. I will spare you the history, but by reputation Prussian society was austere, militaristic and disciplinarian in outlook.

This attitude extended to the raising of women, particularly in the Junker (gentry) class who were expected to live by high standards and toe the line until they could be found an equally severe husband.

In truth the Prussian attitude could be found further East into Russia and most of the Czech countries where wife-spanking was practically a daily art form.

There is also little evidence that Prussian society was any less disciplinarian than their German cousins in Bavaria or other German states, but it is Prussia that gave its name to an attitude to discipline that prevailed in Europe from before the 17^th century and right into the 20^th.

The PN Dedeaux novel The Prussian Girls (as illustrated below by Hans Braun) cemented this reputation among spankos of course and for any that have read it you will know that this sexualised exploration often wanders into the extreme.

The Prussian Girls is about a girl’s school of the type featured in such German films as the 1931 Madchen in Uniform and other less well known films from that era.

Of course the true Junker maiden would not have gone to school and would have been under the iron hand of a governess or tutor.

No doubt situations varied from household to household but interesting accounts exist.

In 1836 one Prussian household, having exhausted a host of fashionable French governesses for being too soft, employed a Scottish one. The main argument for a British governess was to teach the ever more important English to girls of good breeding, but also it seems many English and especially Scottish educationalists were not so corporal punishment adverse.

So it was Elisabeth Campbell arrived at a large estate just outside Konigsberg to take up her post as tutor-governess and was surprised that the youngest of her charges was almost 17 and her sisters 19 and 20; conventionally too old for a governess in Britain.

By her account she was not above applying ‘a stout slipper to a girl’s naked behind’ and ‘should it be needful, denuding a girl entirely for a prolonged application of the (birch) rod.’ Nor was she opposed to giving a ‘fine old spanking’ to a girl of 20 or more, “Great giddy girls being more commonly apt to indulge in mischief and defiance,” as she explained.

What did surprise her was that a whole room was set aside for these corrections and in it she found ‘all manner of sticks, whips and straps for both the restraint and application to bare posteriors.’

Furthermore she was surprised by the strictness of the rules. At first she confesses, ‘one might think some restrictions petty in the extreme and certainly worthy of a sanction no more serious than a good scolding.’ But soon she seems to ‘go native’ and warm to her tasks.

Exact details are scant, but spanking seems to have been routine and a trip to ‘that room’ not at all uncommon.

Native Prussian governesses of the period seem to have even less scruple in ‘flogging a young woman senseless’ or ‘striping their tails until they could scarce sit for their meal times.’

To give one a true flavour one said, “A whipping that draws tears is essential, one that draws blood is sometimes necessary.”

These governesses would have come from good families themselves and would have suffered the same treatment so long as they lived at home.

A 1920s Berlin libertine said as a young girl her father would lay lines of welts across her bare bottom until she ‘sang.’ “No doubt he would do it now if he could see me,” she added with a wink.

First of all a big thank you to all of those who commented for Love Our Lurker’s Day on Friday. I know many of you commented for the first time and that took a lot of brave.

I have a tough week so posts here are going to be patchy. In the Service of the Wolf is pending and we will have more Prussians and perhaps a return to Abraham Heights.

Pandora has drawn our attention to a great article that she contributed to entitled ‘What the BDSM Community can teach us about Consent.’ Pandora is quoted in the article as saying ‘This idea that consent is a contract is really pernicious,’ Blake says. ‘Consent is revocable and ongoing, and being encouraged to change your mind is necessary for consent. By saying you’ve changed your mind, you’re helping your partner respect your boundaries.’ You can read more here.

There are a couple of contributions from Dallas, if you want to check out his latest offerings, a nice picture found on Ronnie Soul , the cartoon was on Stan’s blog.

A few others I found knocking around.

As forewarned I have been a little busy this week and I haven’t had chance to finish the next installment of the Wolf. Fear not there is some progress there and elsewhere. Meanwhile I thought I would take this opportunity to thank everyone who ‘likes’ and ‘follows’ this blog.

I saw on an unrelated forum that people were arguing that they had unfollowed someone because they had been so rude as to not follow back.

This got me thinking about one of the messages I got about that invited me to follow the person who just followed me and out of curiosity I clicked the link to look at their blog only to find a profile and no blog. No worries, I get it, he had an account to use other functions. However I am not sure I would have followed back if he had had a site.

I know these are the new values of the 21st century and etiquette increasingly promotes the idea that if you follow some they will follow you, so apologies if I sound like old-fashioned git here or a grumpy old man. But I get enough email and notifications, I don’t find this useful. As for likes, I really appreciate it too, but I don’t judge this blogs success by likes and I don’t judge other people by the number of likes they get.

I do often look at the people who like and follow if they have a blog and that is useful, but ultimately random and obviously many people will get missed.

Around 5,000 people look at A Voice in the Corner every day and I do notice and appreciate that. Thank you one and all, that is incredible given that we only came back in August, that is halfway to the heyday of two years ago.

If you are trying to build traffic to collect likes and followers for your own project then why not comment and include your url in the form. You can bet your life that I will click on that and if your site is on topic and regularly updated then you may even get a permanent link.

I hope I didn’t offend anyone (I am excellent at that apparently) and once again thank you for all your comments, likes and following, but above coming here in the first place.

Part I here

Stacy decided her room would be the best place to hang until the day settled in and she got forgotten and then she would see what she could see. She figured that anywhere that wasn’t locked in the house was fair game, after all Augusta hadn’t put anywhere in particular off limits. Only that she was not to leave the main house. Maybe she could find some family memorabilia or something to provide evidence that the family Stone were not all they seemed.

In the end she waited an hour flat on her back tracing the wood grain in the ceiling with her eyes. Then she tried the door. It wasn’t locked and squinting-a-peek down the hall revealed no one. Stacy made with the frog lips and released them with a pop. Good to go girl, she thought.

The passage leading to the kitchen had two doors, one that led out to the yard and another deeper into the house. Still encountering no one, Stacy half crept and half strolled through the latter into a lined with pictures and old china plates. There was even a grandfather clock with a brass face, painted above which were a couple in colonial clothing: a man in a blue coat doffing a tricorn hat to a simpering girl in white. The plate beneath the Roman numeral clock face announced ‘Earnshaw, London,’ and in smaller writing, ‘1786.’

Stacy pretended to look impressed even though no one was watching. There wasn’t much else in the way of antiques; a stout shaker chair, two coffers and chest of draws that looked expensive.

The pictures were mostly family, some of who she recognised, but none suggesting anything other than ordinary Montana ranchers. The top draw of the chest had napkins and what looked like a wooden case of decent silverware. The second draw had stationary, unused greetings cards and old biscuit tins with ordinary domestic bric-a-brac that she might find anywhere.

For an awkward moment she couldn’t close the second draw and glanced up the hall in case someone was coming. Then it gave. She was quick with the last two, deciding that table cloths and flashlights were not going to be all that illuminating.

Stacy guessed that anything to ‘incriminating’ wasn’t going to be this close to the common areas of the house. All the same she opened the coffers and looked over blankets, some old books and a shotgun that looked like it was broken.

At the end of the hall there was a wooden staircase that led up to the next storey and two more doors. That end was dark and smelled of old wood and varnish. Stacy took a deep breath and opened the left hand door ready to tell occupants that she was looking for a bathroom.

There was a boardroom table and some bookshelves.

“Looks like I found the clubhouse,” Stacy whispered and closed the door. The books could be checked out later, first she wanted to see the other room.

The smaller room facing down the passage to the kitchen was a study of the home-office variety. It was small but there was a computer and some box files on shelves. The desk draws were locked but the box files might be interesting.

Stacy had just got as far as putting her knee on the desk to reach up when there was a sound behind her.

“Can I help you?” Stacy froze and put on a false grin.

“Hi Mrs Stone,” she said breezily, “I was…”

Augusta stood glaring with her arms folded.

“This is my office, bills and groceries mostly… Garrick’s study is locked and on the other side of the house. Anything valuable will be there,” she said.

“I wasn’t stealing I was…” Stacy protested.

“Snooping, or investigating perhaps?” Augusta said sharply.

“Yah… kind of,” Stacy blushed and stood back to dust herself off from phantom grime.

“To be expected I suppose, but don’t do it again… ever,” Augusta warned. “There are some books next door you can borrow. Make the most of them. Tomorrow you can work in the laundry, and you can help in the kitchen too.”

“Sure…” Stacy replied, not really knowing what else to say and wondered if Augusta expected a protest. She could do chores. Why not?

“Books you say?” Stacy made a teeth-point smile and half pointed to the other room.

“Knock yourself out,” Augusta shrugged and turned to go.

*

Adam and John studied each other for any sign of weakness. It was John who usually blinked when they were kids. He was always the one who would try and chicken out of any planned mischief.

“You sure about this?” Adam said at last.

“No, but I think you are right, we should do it,” John sighed.

Adam like to look sage as if he was still contemplating his next move, but in truth the decision was made. “Dad will be pissed,” he said.

“Dad started this,” John said angrily, “What if he is wrong about Stacy? If she is one of Coleridge’s people they may retaliate and take Alice, we have got to go get her. Anyway, it was your idea.”

“You are not going to put this on me when Dad finds out are you?” Adam laughed.

John grinned and extended his arm as he had done when they were boys, “All for one…” he said.

“And one for all,” Adam completed for him. The Two Musketeers were about to ride again.

“How do we get out of the compound?” John said as if that small detail was unimportant.

“Through the gate of course, I don’t know… more supplies maybe. Who will stop us?” Adam shrugged.

“We’ll go after midnight, whoever is gate duty will have to risk challenging us or getting Dad or Sundance out of bed…” John suggested.

“…And why they are thinking about it we are out of here.” Adam liked his brother’s thinking.

“And we have a plan,” John said in eager boyhood tones.

*

Alice couldn’t sleep. John and Adam rolled around in her mind until her head hurt. At first it had been fun and she had switched on a light to examine her bruises again before slipping back into bed for further explorations. Usually that was enough to take the edge off and let her sleep, usually.

This time she tried it twice before considering a pill. This time when she was up she noticed the car outside across the parking lot. Its lights glared at her cabin for a moment before dimming and she saw someone come out the bushes and gesticulate wildly at the driver.

Alice switched out her light and pulled back the drapes. All was quiet but no one stirred in the car and she wondered why whoever was there didn’t get out or at least turn on an interior light. Also there was no sign of whoever had reacted to the headlights either. Then she noticed a man smoking by the vending machines outside motel reception. He looked like he was trying not to be seen in the shadow of the Coca-Cola machine, but the glowing end of his cigarette gave him away.

She had an uneasy feeling about this and for the first time in days thought about packing up and leaving town. You are just being silly she chided herself. Then straight ahead the dark undergrown exploded into light to reveal a man lighting his own cigarette. For a single moment he was looking right at her and then the black swallowed him. The man had been large and certainly wasn’t whoever she had seen before, that made at least three of them and whoever was in the car. She shot a glance at the man by the vending machine. He hadn’t moved, but although she couldn’t see his face, she knew he was watching her too.

*

Marsha MacLeod kicked at the dust and then fell back to leaning in the gate post. Rachel Hemmings and Danson had headed off for a sweep of the perimeter, leaving the 30-year-old to watch the gate. God she hated guard duty, especially when she had to work with oh-so-popular Rachel and that weasel Danson. Still the stars were incredible and at least she was excused duty the next morning and could sleep in.

Many thought of Marsha as the dumb blonde, an image she tried to shake off by having an opinion on everything. Not that she saw it that way; it was just that she hated being ignored. She hated too not being in the loop and being ordered around by that also-ran Danson. She hated too that if he hadn’t been the lead guard tonight then they would have given that job to Rachel over her.

There were a lot of things Marsha hated and most nights alone or when on guard duty she liked to rehearse them over and over in her head.

The jeep that appeared at the gate took her by surprise and it wasn’t until its lights went on that she even saw it. Her heart still pumped as she thanked her stars that it was inside the perimeter and hadn’t snuck up on from outside.

“Open up Marsha we have to make a run,” Adam said in sharp voice from the driver seat.

Marsha swung her flashlight beam into the car and saw the other occupant was John and she relaxed. “No one is supposed to leave,” she said.

“Damn right, keep it that way,” Adam ordered, “But we have to make a sweep of the outer roads.”

“No one told me, Jared told me himself to keep it tight. Garrick’s orders,” she replied.

“So no one told you, maybe they did and you didn’t listen,” Adam said in an annoyed voice, “Come on open up, you think we want to be out here. One sweep and back to bed, that is if you don’t mind.”

“B-but… I am not supposed to…” she looked around to see if Danson was coming back with Rachel yet. Maybe someone told him and he didn’t bother to share. She bet he told Rachel though.

“Look, I don’t know who has screwed up here, if you have got to call the house then do it, but get on with it,” Adam snarled.

Marsha glowered at him, it was hard to face down Adam Stone and it was a cinch that he had permission and no one had told her. “I guess I did hear something…” she took one last look for Danson and then unhitched the gate. You got a walkie in case…?”

Adam waved her away and the jeep pulled moved forward. “Yeah, yeah, but alert the outer guard that we are coming through. I don’t want any more screw-ups tonight”

Marsha felt an idiot and wished to hell Danson had come back. Then she shrugged and reached for the walkie to alert the outer perimeter.

To be continued…

This morning I tried to broaden the search of spanking sites I look at to see what is going on only to find a few Tumblr’s closed and many old favourites haven’t updated for quite a while.

Tumblr doesn’t surprise me, I have had two Tumblr blogs and both were closed without warning, no reason given. The first, Crimson and Black, was very tame in content compared to the many such blogs and their sexual content which seems to miss the cull for year after year. The other was a Vintage image site, showing rarely more than a bare bottom and nothing still in copyright, in case the latter had been the issue for the previous blog. I console myself with the thought that both drew quite a lot of traffic and maybe they just got noticed.

I mention this because I notice too that some blogs have closed due fears of harassment and prosecution, sometimes by the ‘authorities’ and other times by commercial players, who understandably fear image theft.

Sadly I know of at least two ‘professional’ erotica photographers who have made false and systematic allegations against blogs and the hosting companies just take the easy road and close them without checking.

The problem with this, admittedly atypical, tactic is that if the ocean of amateur blogs is drained the few dozen decent professional sites will be easy pickings for the censors.

If you are a visitor here I do urge you to support and patronise the professional spanking sites, many of which are listed on the right.

On that note one I have always liked is Scarlet Hill, I used to buy many of their books before the Internet, but strangely their site is not well designed and looks like it hasn’t been updated in years. It has and its content is good (if you can find it) it is just an impression they give.

In better news Christmas is coming and if you are looking for that special gift and live in the UK the last London Alternative Market (LAM) is happening this Sunday together with the after market party where it really does all happen.

The round-up of images come from sites that include: AAA, Dallas, Devlin O’Neill, CutiePie, Chicago Spanking Review and Au Fil des Jours.

Part I here

The knock at the door did not so much wake Alice as send her six feet in the air. She had been lying there for hours now, starting at every car in the lot and every footfall expecting the door to burst open any moment. But when they came calling she wasn’t ready.

“Who is it?” she called.

The answer was another even heavier knocking and Alice swallowed hard and swung her legs out of bed.

“Who is it?” she said more impatiently and hauled on her robe. She glanced nervously at the small rear window and wondered if she might get out, but a shadow moved against it and she guessed someone was already waiting.

“You Eden?” the voice at the door said, more growl than words.

“What do you want?” Alice tried to sound calm and righteous.

“Open the door,” the heavy male voice demanded.

“I am not dressed,” she protested.

“Oh fuck this,” another man muttered from outside and with a lurch the door screamed open.

The two men were large and leather-clad. They were both clean-cut and clean shaven and carried themselves with an almost military bearing.

“What the hell do you think you are…?” Alice screamed. She made for the house phone but the larger of the two men, black and handsome she couldn’t help noticing, lifted her from the floor and sealed her mouth with his hand.

“Should have come quiet,” said the other man who ignoring the struggle began gathering up Alice’s clothes and other belongings.

Alice was suddenly more mad than afraid and kicked vigorously hoping to catch something vulnerable with her heel. The struggle that followed was futile.

By the time the twins’ jeep pulled up in the motel parking lot Alice was already being bundled across the forecourt in her night clothes and hauled to a waiting car.

Adam felt sick at the scene. He had deliberated like he was John while his enemies had acted.

“No gun,” his brother said from the passenger seat. They had agreed that gunplay would be unnecessary if they were quick, another John idea and now they both regretted it.

Adam drew on the beast and hit the gas pedal. The jeep surged forward as if to run both Alice and her abductors down but at the last it swung and rammed the waiting car driving it 10 feet backwards.

Meanwhile John didn’t hesitate. Opening the jeep door he leapt out as he dragged off his coat and then legs akimbo he let forth an unearthly scream. If the birds had sung at night they would have fallen still. As it was the two men and two more that had been running forward stopped dead and gaped.

John Stone stood bare-chested and somehow larger than he had been, but it was his eyes that transfixed Alice, they seemed to glow with a primeval with an inhuman light.

Daniel Brady, the large black man leading the group saw it too, but unlike his captive he was unmoved. Not that he was unafraid. This was supposed to be a quick snatch job not a confrontation with the demons, and he hadn’t come prepared.

“Let her go,” John growled, but it wasn’t his voice, it was scarcely a voice at all.

Alice could scarce draw breath, her abductors were nothing now, all she wanted to do was run.

Obliging Daniel stayed calm. He relinquished his hold on the lawyer’s arm and in one deliberate move he drew a .50 Desert Eagle from his should holster. Loaded with dum-dum bullets, the cartridges of his chosen weapon each held a small sphere of silver contained in the heads. Still he felt naked. He could only hope that one of his people had loaded silver into a 12-bore, but most he knew weren’t seriously packing.

The large hunter levelled his gun at John and clicked off the safety. At less than 20 feet he could not miss. Then two men jumped on John and tried to bring him down as they robbed Daniel Brady of a clear shot.

Alice stood in horror while her brain tried to make rational sense of what she was seeing. John swung one of his attackers as if he was nothing more than a paper doll and hurled him over the tops of some parked cars. The other he slammed to the ground so hard something went nauseously crunch and she knew the man wouldn’t get up again that night. Then for a second she locked eyes with the man she thought she knew and saw some recognition. Finally she could breathe.

Somewhere someone fired a shot gun and the windshield of the Stone brother’s jeep shattered, a wide shot missing the still raging John. But amid this mayhem Daniel stood calm and levelled his Desert Eagle with a professional eye.

Alice saw all this in slow motion and her mouth went dry and she froze. Then she watched as someone lashed out with treacle-like moves to deflect the big man’s aim even before she knew it was herself.

The pistol roared and Alice screamed but the two heavy shots were deflected.

Alice herself was sitting on the ground while more shouts and shooting railed around her, by the time she looked back at Daniel Brady he was hanging inches from the floor while John held him aloft by the throat.

“John,” she screamed, and the man she loved was himself again and let go of his prey.

Daniel staggered back and realised he had dropped his gun. Amid the chaos he was still scanning the ground for it when a huge wolf jumped on the hood of the jeep.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” someone screamed and finally the hunters began to scatter.

Daniel felt dizzy but he kept his nerve. He had heard the stories and seen the photographs but never in his life had he thought he would see anything this close. He was a dead man but he didn’t care, he had seen it with his own eyes; the world was not as he was raised to believe it was.

“There is a God,” he rasped in wonder.

Alice might have sat babbling but the sight of an overlarge wolf with preternatural eyes was too surreal for her to take in. Instead she turned to John who had only stopped to kick the Desert Eagle across the parking lot and who was now stooping to help her up.

“Time to go,” he said.

The wolf dropped from the car hood to the asphalt in a parody of canine playfulness and then padded across to Daniel until its great head was just inches from his chest.

“Do your worst… oh hell… oh fuck,” Daniel spat, at last his nerve failing.

Scooped over John’s shoulder, Alice looked back expecting to see the large hunter torn limb from limb. Instead the great beast circled his prey like a cat might a mouse.

John didn’t wait. Unceremoniously he dropped Alice into the back seat of the jeep and then from the passenger side slid into the driver seat. For a sickening moment the dented vehicle coughed stubbornly as he engaged the ignition and then it came to life. Then leaving the wolf to his supposed meal the jeep reversed hard and screeched around to face the road. Then it was gone.

*

By the time John and Alice returned to the compound Garrick, Sundance and Jared were already at the gates. It seemed whilst the outer guard had past John and Adam out, he had not been as gullible as Marsha and had called it in.

Garrick’s eyes of steel regarded his youngest son as he helped Alice from the jeep. “Where is Adam?” he asked. A simple question, but for a moment the universe hung on John’s answer.

“He will be along,” John replied confidently, “He was hunting hunters last I saw him and not…” he glanced at Alice wondering what she now knew, “…in a mood for discussion.”

Sundance sniffed and gently placed the back of his hand onto John’s naked chest. “Not the only one who shifted his… mood tonight,” he said in a tone of ancient sagacity.

“Did the hunters see…?” Garrick began.

“Oh yes, they are in no doubt now,” John shrugged and took a stance that said he was ready to take whatever was coming to him.

Just then far out in the woods there came a howl and all eyes shifted to the forest. Jared was grinning.

“Good,” he said with a leer.

“So be it,” Garrick sighed, “Was it worth it?”

John met his father’s gaze and said emphatically, “Yes.”

To be continued…

The prurient interest in flagellation and the cloistered nuns goes back as far as the Sisters of Vespa in pagan Rome. Medieval engravings depict myriad floggings of nuns, by nuns and not always in the context of suppressed erotica. If the images above are anything to go then nothing much has changed.

Flagellation was thought to be good for the soul and the daughters of Eve particularly susceptible to sin and requiring severe chastisement to drive out the devil.

Whilst the Christian brothers favoured the scourge on the back, the good sisters often resorted to the ‘lesser chastisement’ by application to the ‘naked buttocks,’ as the 19^th century Abbess de Chartres of Lyon explained.

It was one of her predecessors who cleaned the mother house by sending the old guard away and inviting the local Father to whip the sinning sisters on their bare bottoms for their sins. A task he felt needed to be repeated after many a confession time and again lest the devil return.

Rumour had it that the zealous young Abbess too asked to be also ‘cleansed’ in private sessions in her chambers, the stuff of fantasies surely, but many stranger things occurred among the cloistered of both sexes.

Anecdotally there is much evidence.

In 1676 French woman, Juliette des Court, was unsuccessfully prosecuted for attempting to corrupt a priest. It seems her confessions were so scandalous, or so the priest said, that he was forced to chastise her. Guided by her confessor she was frequently stripped naked on her knees and made to offer her naked hind end to his rod. She was thrashed vigorously ‘until her flesh was razed and she screamed out for forgiveness.’

The repentant girl returned over and over in attempt to save her soul. It wasn’t until another priest discovered the punishments that the priest was accused of being overzealous and he in turned claimed the girl had seduced ‘him with sin.’

The charges don’t seem to be taken too seriously but Juliette herself ended up in a nunnery, eventually rising to be Abbess.

Whether because of her experience, or despite it, in later life she gained a reputation as a flagellant. It seems she had a penchant for guiding young novices in her order. She defended her actions by stressing that she only permitted ‘scourging of the inferior kind,’ that is whipping the bare bottom, as opposed to on the back as was the wont of monks.

In Prussia and elsewhere it became the custom during the 18^th century to employ nuns as governesses. It was thought that ‘high discipline’ and strong religious guidance by means of the rod was good for young women. After all who could accuse a nun of being other than kind and forgiving? Some art from the period perhaps suggests otherwise.

Even in the 20^th century some orders employed the scourge and other means. Certainly many have testified to the terror of the penguins and ‘horror stories’ have emerged as far afield as Ireland and the US.

Candace Truman, later known as Sister Mary, had a strict catholic upbringing in New York.

She later recalled her senior class years. “Some days the good sisters would tackle my bare bottom so enthusiastically with a strap that I could scarce sit down for days. Nor was I alone in my misery. Many a time did a class full of my fellow students line up to feel the same. The shower room usually displayed more bruises than not and right where they would do the most good.”

In England as late as the 1970s Barbara found love and discipline were often conjoined. Encourage to scourge herself she was troubled that it was ineffective and consulted an older woman of the order.

Her friend offered to aid her and twice weekly she was laid face down on her bed naked and ‘lashed on the bottom until I cried lustily.’

“Afterwards I always felt so good,” she wrote.

An affair ensued but after Barbara came out as a lesbian she left both the order and the church. “It turns out that a thoroughly good spanking was all I really needed. As a girl I was so drawn to rules and more so to the dreaded consequences of not obeying them.”

This spanking life is hard and I don’t just mean on bottoms. Being in charge when things go wrong must be like being captain of a ship that has sprung a leak. Hopefully you shouldn’t sink but it is worrying all the same. This is worse for the lady who is looking to you for guidance; sometimes just saying everything will be okay is just not enough.

I love my wife and I work hard at our relationship, but sometimes not hard enough, and sometimes I don’t work smart. I am not usually given to these personal insights but today it seemed so disingenuous just to write something fluffy. Tough week, mostly outside stuff, but it puts a strain on things and shows up the cracks that need mending.

One of those paddle shaped trowel things is good for plastering. I wonder what else they can be used for.

Before I bring everyone down let’s indulge in some good old fashioned schadenfreude and look how other people have handled it.

Circa 1970 Betty J wrote to Forum magazine in a feature called most embarrassing experiences.

“As a teen I was given to tantrums, a habit that carried on into my 20s. When I finally met the man of my dreams, so to speak, I nearly messed everything up with one of my irrational outbursts. Safe to say Geoffrey took no nonsense from me and in the dunes at West Wittering he put me across his knee, lowered my shorts and spanked my bare bottom tomato red until I howled apologies and then some. He warned me then that any nonsense from me, ever, and I would get the same and he didn’t care who knew it.”

“So it was that after we married whenever I created or overspent, certainly if I had a tantrum, Geoffrey would take me in hand and spank my bottom silly and put me in my place. I didn’t particularly like it, but it worked for us and, so I thought, must work for everyone.”

“About seven years into our marriage, now with two kids, I went to the new shopping centre with some girlfriends and in the multi-storey carpark I managed to dent the car. I was about 30 at the time but at home I was still going across Geoffrey’s knee on a regular basis and then I would cry and we would kiss and make up. I had got so used to it by then (as far as anyone ever does) that I happened to blurt out to my friends that ‘when Geoff sees the car I am so not going to able to sit down for the rest of the week.’”

“It all went a bit quiet and then Gillian, a friend from school, asked what did I mean? So realising what I had said I came clean and said, ‘you know, I am so going to get a spanking.’”

“The reactions were initially of shock but then Gillian burst out laughing. I was teased about it for months. I can’t believe that until then I thought all wives got spankings.”

Emily S had another story.

Writing at FemFirst she related this tale:

“I trained as a barrister and as far as I was concerned I was the best. I got cases easily and it never occurred to me that some of my senior colleagues prioritised me for any ulterior motives. Consequently I was never short of a date and if I was too busy to turn up then so what, they would either forgive me or I would get someone else.”

“I didn’t really have time for men and mostly I went out with well-heeled disposable types, boring, but if they picked up the tab I might sleep with them, or not. I was so unhappy.”

“Tom was different. He was a bit nervous and bumbling and although he paid like a gentleman, he didn’t exactly take me to expensive places. But four or five dates in I realised that I was relaxed with him and he made me laugh. Mostly I was relaxed because I absolutely knew it was going nowhere.”

“Then my career started getting strained and I had a nasty run in with a judge which ended with me hauled in before the senior partner for an official warning. Actually it probably wasn’t that big a deal but I wasn’t used to losing or being criticised. Anyway I took it out on Tom by being a bitch to him all night and went as far as to take him home hinting that me might have sex for the first time expressly to shatter his hopes. My attitude was ‘who did he think he was, he was totally out of league.’”

“Tom took my put down well; he was amused and said ‘tell me something I didn’t know.’ I came back with ‘no you tell me.’ It was really childish, but I was genuinely impressed with his sang froid at this point. He came back with, ‘you are such a brat, if I could be bothered I would take you down a peg.’”

“I responded with the usual ‘big talk’ or ‘you haven’t the balls,’ my best sneer before dumping a bloke was pretty good. We were sitting on a sofa next to each other at this point only a second later I was across his lap getting swats on my bottom. I was totally surprised and after some choice language I began to plead and I even said sorry. He dumped me, literally, on the floor and got up to leave.”

“I was confused and I think for the first time I had got a real reaction from someone so I asked him to stay. I was so miserable about work and my life. He told me to get stuffed until I offered to let him into my knickers. He just said, ‘the only reason I would take you knickers down would be to give you more of the same.’”

“I said something like: if that’s what you want.”

“I was so spanked, and spanked. My bottom was so sore. The sex was amazing and afterwards he spanked me again. I didn’t hear from him for days and for the first time in my life I called him. He told me I was bad news and I promised to behave. He said he would give me a chance but if I gave him a reason I knew what I would get.”

“I gave him many, many reasons, both then and since. Years ago now but my husband Tom still spanks me, I don’t always like it, but serves me right. So in response to CathT above, you are right women need to stand up for themselves against some men, but also be confident enough to surrender. I know some here will be offended by this story, but I am much happier now.”

Christmas is coming and maybe things are slowing down before the rush. So expect a rash of red-bottomed girls in red velvet and fur around the spankoverse.

This week I had a lot of nice comments and a couple of very nice emails. You may notice I have updated some of the links.

I followed a comment on one of the blogs while surfing that said the best paddling scene ever filmed. I think it may have been an old Rig-East video, but it wasn’t clear. Paddle picture above was lifted from short sequence along with another school scene.

Other images are from Ronnie Soul, Grumpy Old, Devlin, AAA and ASA Jones.

Coming up at least one short and In the Service of the Wolf continues.