Friday's Scream Queen
4 hours ago
Myra walked out of the courtroom and down the steps of the House of Justice. She felt grateful that the trial had been held in private, without the archaic mummery of bewigged barristers and the gaping faces of moronic jurors pretending to give wise verdicts upon matters they could not possibly understand. Just the three Assessors, considering the evidence against her and courteously listening to her defence.Whew! I need a cold shower after that! And it was only the first of three spankings. There's much more to come in the next two weeks, and Myra will be very, very sore by the time she has served her sentence.
Not that there could really be any defence. Even now that sentence had been passed and she wore the scarlet sash from shoulder to waist to announce her assessed guilt to the world. She was glad she had not tried to lie, to bluff, to make futile excuses for an offence which had been so blatant. The quiet, grave voice of the Senior Assessor had asked the only question that really mattered. "Myra Leverson, did you pollute the atmosphere and breach the climate control regulations by using an illegal petrol-engined lawnmower on the fourth of April, two thousand and thirty eight?"
Which of her neighbours had informed on her she didn't know, and it hardly mattered. Whoever it was, she felt almost grateful to them. How could she have been so irresponsible as to tinker with that shameful relic from the Years of Waste, the antique machine inherited from her grandfather, and then bribe that sly, smirking man with the dubious reputation to obtain the petrol for it? As it was she could only be grateful for the compassionate laws which allowed consideration to be shown to her sex. A man convicted of the same offence would certainly have gone to prison. As it was...
Her friends were waiting for her at the foot of the steps, Lucille and Toni and Cheryl. It was plump, loquacious little Toni, incapable of discretion, who asked the inevitable question, "What did they give you, Myra?"
Myra licked her lips and swallowed, reluctant to say the words, as though to repeat the sentence would somehow confirm the awful reality of it. But it was real and somehow she must accept and endure her punishment as many a foolish woman had done before her. When it had happened to others she had laughed and made unfeeling jokes, as people did. She did not feel like joking now. She took a deep breath and said "Three-Two-One!"
"Oh!" That was Lucille, always tender-hearted, Myra's cousin and oldest friend. "Oh, poor Myra!"
Myra shook her head. "I deserve it," she said. She managed the ghost of a smile. "Next time I visit one of you I hope you will find me your softest cushion to sit on!"
"How long, Myra?" asked the practical Cheryl.
"The sentence has to be completed by two weeks from today. I-I suppose I better start as soon as I can."
Three-two-one. Three sound spankings, two thrashings with a formidable tawse and one application of a supple stinging cane, at least twelve strokes on Myra's naked, squirming buttocks. All of which Myra would have to arrange herself.
It was not considered desirable for the State to maintain official chambers of punishment as paid agents of correction. Instead the culprit, once sentence had been passed, had to seek out for herself those who would carry it out. It might only be a single spanking. It might, for serious offences such as tobacco addiction, amount to six months of regular exemplary chastisement, at the end of which the culprit would be utterly determined never again to offend against the law.
When the system had begun there had been attempts to evade it. Some women had persuaded or bribed people to merely go through the motions of punishment or to omit it altogether an simply sign the official form certifying that correction had taken place. In every case the deception had somehow become know to the Assessors and their reaction had been draconian. By the time that a dozen people had started long terms of hard labour it was generally agreed that only an idiot would try to beat the system. Even the slightest suspicion that any of the punishments had not been carried out with sufficient vigour meant that the culprit could expect an order for it to be repeated.
"For God's sake, let's find a pub!" said Myra. "I've never needed a drink so badly."
When they entered The Grapes several of the other customers glanced with sympathy or amusement at Myra's red sash, but only the buxom blonde barmaid commented. "Hard luck, dear," she said. "I got done last year for vandalising my boyfriend's car when we fell out. Before the month was up I was sure I was never going to sit down in comfort again."
"If that was meant to be consoling," said Myra, when she had served them and left, "it didn't work! It's no use putting it off, I'd better take my first spanking today. Now who's the best person to ask for a good smacked bottom?"
Parents and blood relations were generally ruled out by the law. "Not," remarked Myra, "that I would fancy going across my mum's knee for the first time at twenty-four years old!"
Sometimes husbands or other male partners were called upon to execute justice. "The trouble with that," observed Cheryl, "is that once they've had the chance to tan your arse, they just want to keep on doing it. It doesn't take much to give some men ideas."
"It doesn't take anything to give my Gunnar those ideas!" said Toni plaintively. "I've been spanked at least once a week the past year whether I deserved it or not!"
They all knew and liked Toni's burly Swedish flatmate.
"It's because you have such a lovely spankable bottom!" said Lucille. "Honestly, sometimes I'm tempted to put you across my knee! Anyway, when Gunnar spanks you, you know it's not really punishment!"
"Well it feels like it by the time his big hard hand has been smacking my poor bum for five minutes!" pouted Toni.
"I suppose you've been spanked, Myra?" asked Cheryl. "I mean, surely we all have at some time, haven't we? Who was the last person to turn you over and spank you?"
"It was a man called Terence Sheldon," said Myra, thoughtfully. "I worked for him for a little over a year. He spanked me five - no six - times."
"Bare bottom?" asked Toni with prurient interest.
"The first time I got it on the seat of a tight skirt and he laid it on long and hard enough to make me very very sore! When he realised I wasn't going to make a fuss about it - I had deserved it, after all - he promised to take my knickers down the next time - and he did! Yes, I think Mr Sheldon would be a good man to approach."
When she phoned him a little later his voice was comfortingly matter of fact. Yes, he'd heard about the conviction. Of course, she could visit him that evening.
Had there been a trace of amusement in his voice? Myra hoped not; he was perfectly civil and good-natured when he welcomed her at the appointed time.
"Come in, Myra, nice to see you again. You remember my wife don't you?"
Yes, Myra remembered the tall elegant woman who smilingly greeted her. The family also included, she recalled, a teenage son and daughter. As though reading her mind, Mrs Sheldon said, "Michael and Fern are out with their friends. We thought you'd rather not have them here while..."
"That was thoughtful of you," said Myra, blushing. Of course, Mrs Sheldon knew why she was there. Her nervousness and embarrassment increasing, Myra looked from husband to wife and stammered, "Shall we - can we - ?"
"You wouldn't like a cup of tea first?" enquired Mrs Sheldon. "Oh I suppose you'd rather get it over with. You won't mind if I watch, will you?"
Of course, Myra did mind, but there was supposed to be a witness present during punishment. Anyway she could hardly banish Mrs Sheldon from her own living room. Myra gulped, "I'm ready when you are, Mr Sheldon."
Mr Sheldon calmly removed his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and sat down. "Come here, Myra. I'm sure you remember exactly what to do."
Remembering all too clearly, Myra went towards Mr Sheldon and went across his lap, wriggling until she was in the right position, keeping her balance with outstretched hands and toes. That afternoon, Myra and her friends, giggling nervously, had discussed the most appropriate costume for a young woman who was going to be soundly spanked. As a result she had ruled out anything provocative, despite Lucille's suggestion of, "Wear your sexiest knickers, and perhaps he won't smack quite so hard!" She was wearing a plain white sweater, a short, pleated fawn skirt, white ankle socks and flat brown shoes. Now she felt her skirt being turned up, and her simple white briefs pulled down almost to her knees. She recalled the extremely unhappy occasion when she had last displayed her bare bottom to him. This time she was also displaying it to Mrs Sheldon which did not make her feel any better.
"If it's any consolation, Myra," said Mrs Sheldon, unexpectedly, "I know exactly how you're feeling - and I don't suppose it will be long before Terence has me in that position again!"
Myra was so surprised she almost laughed - until Mr Sheldon's hand descended with the first resounding smack. As spank followed stinging spank it seemed obvious that Mr Sheldon had been keeping in regular practice. No doubt the graceful Mrs Sheldon had often gasped and yelped and wriggled just as Myra was doing now. Smack! Smack! Smack! Mr Sheldon's hand slapped Myra's bare burning cheeks with a relentless rhythm and her eyes filled with tears. She had always tried to take her punishment bravely, not to start weeping too soon, and though her bottom was stinging furiously she knew that the spanking was far from over. He hadn't even smacked her legs yet.
When at last he commenced a methodical slapping of her soft white thighs it was almost a relief, momentarily, to have her suffering bottom spared the impact of his practised hand. By the time her legs had been thoroughly smacked, though, Myra was howling, sobbing and imploring as she writhed across his lap.
"Oh, p-please, sir, please, I'm sorry! That's enough, surely that's enough?"
"I must make sure, Myra," he said, "that the sentence of the court is adequately carried out. We'll continue with something you haven't had before, at least not from me. Jane, do you remember where that big wooden-backed hairbrush is?"
"Where you left it last time you paddled me with it!" was his wife's reproachful reply.
"Bring it to me, will you? It's just what Myra needs."
"It's not fair!" wept Myra, wriggling. "The court only said sp-spanking. That means with your hand."
"It means with hand or slipper or hairbrush, as you know full well," said Mr Sheldon. "I really should have used the hairbrush on your delightful arse while you worked for me. How fortunate to have the chance to to make up for missed opportunity!"
Myra did not feel at all fortunate when she heard Mrs Sheldon return and felt the smooth, hard wood of the brush resting on one roasting bottom-cheek. She stared at the floor with tear-blurred eyes and remembered that she was only at the beginning of her fortnight's penance, that there was much worse to come. Then she shrieked as the hairbrush smacked into her bottom for the first time.
The mystical nectar that the young nurse had given me in the early hours of sleeplessness seemed to have incited Morpheus, the God of Dreams, to enter my mind, and I became tortured by white-robed virgins who caressed my body with their sweet breath, and hordes of inexhaustible nymphs and orgiastic wenches seemed to have their little heathen fingers around my rampant John Thomas.I suspect this gentleman will have a long convalescence.
Hallucinations gradually gave way to a blurred cloudy realisation of a soft hand performing a lewd act under my bedclothes. A sudden spasm of the flesh woke me and, as I opened my heavy eyes, I found that the fingers were my own.
"Good morning, Sir."
It was the young nurse shaking my shoulder, waking me from my salacious dream. "Here is your tea." She placed the tray on the table beside my bed, walked over to the large window and opened it wide to allow in the refreshing sunny morning air.
"Are you new?" I demanded.
"Yes, Sir," she said, coming to my side. "I began my training yesterday. My first job was to give you something to make you sleep , but it was dark and you probably don't remember me."
"I don't," I smiled. "But I see you are very pretty - do you have a calling for nursing?"
"Well, Sir, I have no alternative. I had to get away from home, since my mother married again and my stepfather...." she paused then continued, " But now I'm here, Sir, yes I do believe I have a calling, yes I do."
As she prattled on about her noble ideals, I noticed how her blonde hair peeked out of her nurse's cap to harmonise with her lily-white cheeks. Her clear blue eyes sparkled innocently and her pert little nose moved in time with her rosy lips.
"And what is your name?" I asked, simply to stop her silly prattle.
"Very well, Patsy. I see that speaking of your home life distresses you, and I am sorry about that, but I am sure you are an excellent nurse."
That had a strange effect on her, for she suddenly burst into tears. "Oh no, Sir," she sobbed, "oh I'm not, I'm not!" She looked at me strangely. "Are you alright this morning, Sir?"
"As a matter of fact, no," I replied, "I feel rather strange."
"Oh dear, oh dear, it's my fault! The medicine I gave you last night was the wrong sort!"
There was a long pause.
"I see," I said at last, "Well it can't have been too bad or sister would have dismissed you!"
"Oh Sir," she said," she will if she finds out. Please don't tell her, Sir!"
"You didn't tell anyone?"
"That was your biggest mistake! I might have been severely ill. I might have died!"
Her innocent distress and the nearness of her were rousing my cock, giving me thoughts of having this gorgeous young creature in my power.
"Then you must be punished for your carelessness, Patsy. You do seem to be a very careless girl."
"A nurse cannot afford to be careless."
"No Sir." she said meekly.
"Shall we send for Sister?"
"Oh no, Sir, couldn't you do it...couldn't you spank me or something, better that than being discharged and my whole future destroyed."
Another pause ensued, whilst my John Thomas rose stiffly to the occasion.
"Lock the door then," I said, "if you really want me to punish you. Come and kneel on the bed beside me and I shall see what can be done."
"Oh thank you Sir!"
"Lean over me."
She knelt on the bed by my side and bent submissively forward at my command. A hand to her back quickly collapsed her so that she lay across my lap. She was surprisingly warm and desirable, and she was trembling and taking quick little breaths. Fortunately the bed clothes hid my risen state as I slowly peeled back her long dress to discover she had no knickers on!
I felt a lot better, recovered enough to enjoy beating her though not, regrettably, to fucking her, not this morning anyhow.
I gently eased her chubby thighs apart and caressed her trembling flesh higher and higher...
She suddenly realised what was happening. "Sir, what you are doing is indecent," she cried, and started to wriggle, "I am only seventeen."
"Well I would not dream of taking advantage of you," I said, though leaving my hand where it was. "I should send for Sister then."
"No! No! " She began to cry. "I can't go home. I would be disgraced and my step-father would be furious. He would beat me worse than ever, Sir!"
...I ran my fingers round and round her splendid white buttocks. They would redden nicely. "Get up and fetch one of my slippers," I said," and then come back here, over me like this."
She came back reluctantly but obediently with the slipper and wriggled back over my lap.
"Pull your dress up," I ordered. "Continue to lie on your stomach and hold it up at the back with both hands."
"Oh Sir, this is so wrong -"
"Be quiet, you stupid girl!" I snapped. "I will punish you my way or not at all! Well?"
"Yes Sir," she snivelled," Whatever you wish, Sir."
"You think your step-father is worse than me?" I asked, my cock nearly bursting at the thought.
"Oh yes, Sir! Real nasty he is, Sir"
She pulled up her dress as I had ordered, and I gazed upon her naked bottom with relish. Then I ran the slipper over it. Her soft, plump flesh recoiled in dread, but when she started to cry and sob, my eagerness became all the greater. I was overwhelmed with an urge to punish this wench severely. My practised hand descended viciously upon the shrinking flesh.
Patsy began to yelp with every stroke of the slipper and after a few minutes her yelps turned into moans, then into screams so loud I had to stuff a handkerchief into her mouth. At last I was satisfied and she fell off the bed onto the floor.
"That will do for now," I said. "But you will come to me for further punishment every day until I am discharged. I hope I shall be more fully recovered before that!"
She ran off as fast as her feet would carry her, and I reached for my bottle of rum, then hungrily drank from it before slumping back on my pillow to reflect on a good beginning to my stay in England.
He hears footsteps and he looks up. He can see Aunt Joan’s high heels appear as she descends the stairs. She is coming to fetch him.Oh dear! I hope Aunt Joan doesn't catch them. But she will probably be too busy disciplining Mr. Buxton to notice.
She addresses him from the bottom of the stairs. “Go to your room and take your suit off. Hang it up neatly. Do not put on any other clothes. Wait for me there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” He says. There is no use arguing. Aunt Joan has been nice to him during his visit, but there has never been any doubt that she rules the household. There is a reason why the younger children are polite and well behaved and Tim suspects the family paddle is part of that reason.
Tim does as he is told and goes down to the guest room they have fixed up, which is just off the basement recreation room. He is shaking all over. How bad will this be? It sounded terrible when Debby was getting it. And the shame of it, too. He would have to bare his bottom to his aunt, a woman he hardly knew, and go across her knee like a little kid. He is a high school senior. This isn’t right.
Tim undresses as instructed. He sits on the bed waiting, clad in his underpants, a tee shirt and socks. Soon he hears the tread of Aunt Joan’s steps on the basement stairs. He sees her through the doorway as she approaches, paddle in hand. Aunt Joan has changed clothes. She has put away the Sunday dress and is wearing white shorts and a halter top. Her long lean legs are on display.
Aunt Joan pulls an armless chair away from the wall and sits down.
“Come here, Timothy,” she says. “You’re going over my knee.”
Tim quails. That paddle looks serious. It looks solid and Tim has no doubt that it will sting like anything. “Please, Aunt Joan. We didn’t mean any harm. We were just there. We didn’t drink anything.”
Aunt Joan is undeterred. “You are going over my knee right now, Timothy. Your parents approved this and you are going to get just what Debby got. Let’s go, young man.” She slaps her legs.
Tim moves forward and stands at her side. He gasps as she lowers his briefs to his knees. To his chagrin his erection pops out and wags up and down. Aunt Joan sees it and frowns. “Well, I never,” she huffs indignantly. “Get over my knee this instant!”
Reluctantly, Tim lowers himself across Aunt Joan’s lap. His cock slides along her thighs as she adjusts him so that his butt is sticking up high.
Tim feels a few pats with the wood then -- Splat! The paddle strikes, making an earsplitting crack.
“Yeow!” It hurts like crazy. Four more times in rapid succession the paddle cracks down, sending Tim into a frenzy of squirming. The hot sting is incredible. He has never felt anything to compare with this.
Aunt Joan tightens her grip. She taps Tim’s bottom a time or two, and launches into what will be a long and intense spanking. Her delivery of paddle smacks is deliberate -- a steady smack-crack- whap. One spank per second. She covers every square inch of Tim’s flesh from the junction of his bottom with his thighs to the crowns of his sit spot. For Tim it’s agony. His fanny is on fire. Tim can scarcely breathe, the pain is so shockingly intense.
The crack of the paddle resounds in the basement recreation room. Tim wails and flops over Aunt Joan’s lap while she concentrates on the task at hand, keeping her rhythm, spreading the spanks around. Such a cute boy bottom, she thinks to herself. It’s round and firm, almost like a girl’s. Not like her husband’s whom she sometimes takes to task. She can feel that hard penis sliding around on her thighs and reminds herself that it may be time she had another session with Mr. Buxton.
Tim finds himself pleading. “Ok, ok, Aunt Joan. Stop! It hurts! Ow! Ow! Ok!” His legs are scissoring. In response Aunt Joan clamps her right leg across the back of Tim’s thighs pinning him, shoving his face to the floor. Having secured the boy, she launches a new barrage of spanks soundly applied to the crowns of his beet red buttocks.
Smack! Splat! Smack! The paddle’s impact overcomes Tim. His sniveling turns to outright sobbing.
From their vantage point in the flower bed by the casement window, Billy and Shelly see it all. What luck that mom didn’t take their cousin upstairs. They watch in awe as their mother gives Tim a classic fanny tanning -- one that turns his bottom fire engine red and has him bawling like a baby.
Tim can’t believe anything could hurt this much. The tales of other kids’ spanking didn’t do it justice. Not at all. This is the most awful experience of his life. It is a relentlessly increasing hot sting that blazes hotter and hotter.
Smack! Splat! Crack! Tim breaks down and bawls. He is trying to plead, but it all comes out as incoherent blubbering. That seems to satisfy Aunt Joan, finally. She stops, stands Tim on his feet and tells him that he’d better not do anything like that as long he is staying with them.
* * *
Tim and Debby have to spend the day in their rooms. They are allowed out for Sunday supper where pillows are thoughtfully placed on the chairs. Tim’s bottom is still throbbing and he tells Debby. Debby says her seat still feels twice its size. Later on, both of them will experience an intense arousal and the pair will contrive to be alone where they can inspect each other’s damage. When that happens, hands will caress, and sweaty bodies will entwine. There will be French kissing and maybe the unimaginable.