Woody Woodpecker #070
3 hours ago
You’re now wondering if this was a one-way street and, of course, it wasn’t. But I’m not like Andy. I’m calm, organized, level-headed, and I don’t do crazy stunts. My flaw? I make a mistake and I’m down on myself. I beat myself up. For example, I pay the bills on time—every month. One thing I absolutely hate is late charges. A few weeks ago I missed one, I guess, because when the new bills came, there it was—a $39 late charge. I was upset and I fumed about it. “How could I do this?” I yelled at Andy. “I cost us $39 for nothing.” Andy, of course, told me to calm down, that it wasn’t that bad, anyone can make a mistake. But I just went on ranting and railing. He said, “You’re going to upset the kids, let it go.”That was a turn of events I hadn't anticipated. it seems that Andy is in charge after all, at least some of the time.
But I couldn’t, and for a weekend I made everyone miserable. Monday morning, the kids got off to school on the bus and Andy said, “I think we need to have a talk.” I said, “What?” He stood, gripped my arm and said, “Rachael, you will accompany me to the rec room.” And I was thinking ‘why can’t we talk here?’
But by now he’d escorted me down there. He turned to face me and said, “Rachael, obviously this thing with the late charge has got you upset and you feel very bad about it. So bad in fact that you are taking your frustration out on everyone in sight. Well, I wouldn’t be a very good husband if I didn’t do something to help you get over the fact you made a mistake.” Now all this time I couldn’t help but notice that Andy was rolling up his right sleeve and this little light of understanding was beginning to flicker in the dim recesses of my brain. “So” he continued, “I am going to relieve you of your feelings of crushing guilt for having made a $39 mistake.”
He pulled a chair away from the wall, sat on it and pulled me right over his lap. I had on a light housecoat and he pulled that up over my hips.
Underneath I wore panties and a tank top. Before I could process this Andy’s fingers were in the waist band and I was naked from the waist down. I sputtered, “Andy! What are you doing?” And he said calmly, “Well, dear, you feel so bad about your accounting mistake—you must take better care of the finances—that I thought I’d punish you for it, then we could all forget about it and life would be grand again. It was what? $39?” I said, “yes,” and he said “Ok then, 39 good smacks. Here we go.”
Andy spanked me hard and said “One. 38 to go.” And then he started to spank, first one cheek, then the other. The spanks sizzled, I have to admit, and I was yelping and squirming. But no matter what I did, Andy just held me over his lap and steadily spanked away while calmly counting, “21…smack! 22….smack! 23…smack!” Meanwhile I was wriggling and yelping because it stung. I marveled that Andy was so strong that he could hold me over his knee, grip my hands to keep them out of the way and just keep spanking.
And it was then I realized that when I had been spanking Andy, he could have overpowered me at any time and stopped the whole thing—but he hadn’t because he loved me and had allowed me to chastise him for his faults. I came to the realization that he was spanking me now because he loved me and had figured out that this was what I needed. I had been making everyone miserable. It wasn’t the damn $39; it was my attitude and my inability to let it go.
So it was about at spank number 30 that I quit squirming and started lifting my bottom to meet Andy’s descending palm. I just gritted my teeth and told myself how much I had deserved this. Andy continued until the count reached 39. My bottom was burning hot. My butt cheeks probably looked like two red stoplights. He was rubbing them, kneading them. It felt delicious.
Even so, when Andy said, “Now, do you think you have paid fairly for your mistake?” I was silent for a minute then I said, “No. You should add 10 more for interest.” Andy sighed and said “As you wish, dear.” He laid on 10 more scorchers that really had me gasping.
I’ll also have to say that as a result of Andy’s dominance, my nudity, my squirming across his thighs and the heat in my bottom, some heat was being generated elsewhere. When Andy let me up, I threw off my housecoat, panties and top and dragged him to the couch. If he was late getting to work, he could make up an excuse. It was one fib I was going to let slide.
At the time, in the early 1950s, I was of that age when I fitted that Victorian term, "a great girl". I was between 17 and 18 and, although womanly in build, not in any voluptuous way. I was childish and gawky in manner, the youngest and the only girl in an Irish middle-class family living in the country. Daddy was in business. Both my brothers and I adored Mummy. We had a live-in cook and a "day-girl", yet we were not rich nor was our home extravagant - an old rambling place at the end of a long drive, once owned by an Anglo-Irish family who had left upon the advent of Irish independence.
My shaping event occurred on a day in summer. I was on holiday from school which I had one more year to attend. As I often liked to do, I went for a bike ride to a nearby pal's house. She, I discovered, was out; and on my return journey I was caught up by another cyclist. A man! I suppose he was in his mid-twenties with a small case and his jacket in a carrier on his bicycle. He wished me good day and we began chatting as we rode. Eventually he suggested we stop for a rest. I thought he was quite handsome and though shy I was flattered. He was, I think, a clerk or such like who, in those pre-car days, often used to bicycle on business journeys. As we sat on the bank and chatted he remarked how hot the sun was and perhaps we might find a shady spot.
Remounting our bikes we went on until we reached the two stone gateposts, so common in Ireland, at the end of our drive. Just inside was what we called the "soldiers hut", an old stone hut, used perhaps by the Black and Tans to guard the Anglo-Irish family during the 'troubles', now used as a hay store for our pony.
Without much, if any, persuasion, the chap and I leaned our bikes against the wall and went inside. In the dim light and on the soft hay it was but a moment before I was in the arms of the young man. He kissed me - my first real kiss indeed - then the long drawn out but really harmless embrace, his hands all over me, my thin blouse undone, my lower clothes just raised and my thighs stroked. Such kisses. Tongues - oh the lust of me too - yet a sort of unspoken line drawn, his realisation of my innocence and his decency. Yet how aroused I was! Him too - I could feel it - I was not that innocent! We clung together for an hour, maybe two, then my new and still unknown friend had to leave me. He cycled off towards the town and I wheeled my bike up to the house. I knew I looked dishevelled, though I had done up my buttons and smoothed my hair.
No sooner had I put my bike in the shed than Mother called me in. Her face was furious. She knew! She somehow knew that I had been what they called 'bold'. And when Mother told Mrs. Carney to come into the drawing-room I knew I was for it! Previously only my brothers had been beaten by Mrs. Carney at my mother's request. Now it was my turn! When the oh so hefty looking cook came into the drawing-room she already knew the reason, saying I should be more careful where I took boys.
In a daze I was ordered over the table, my thin skirt removed, knicks left on. Then Mother said to the cook, "You know what to do. She is becoming a wanton girl and the boys' cane will teach her a lesson!" I was in terror. I had seen my brothers' bottoms after a caning, such weals, and how they yelled! Now I would be the one to feel it!
Mother told Mrs. Carney, "As hard as you can. Make her feel it!" No mention of how many strokes! I thought it would be at most six. At the very first swish I thought I would die. By four I was howling, then two more and I thought it was over. How wrong I was! I took ten strokes. I thought I truly would die and again I was certain it must be over. Dimly I heard Mother's voice, "Give her another ten. Then we'll see how it looks" - and that woman thrashed me, each cut of the cane making me add a fresh note of agony to my bellows.
At last I'd had the second ten, and I felt my knickers pulled right down and a cool hand examining my raw flesh. Then, "Six more on her bare bottom - and make sure she feels them!" I recall begging for mercy, to no avail. Those final six cuts burned into my flesh and I fainted, coming round to find my mother again running her hands gently, and I thought lovingly, over my tender burning bottom. She ordered me to stand up, pull up my knickers and put on my skirt.
"Now, young lady, you may not be so keen on disgracing yourself with men!" she said. Then I was told to get my tea, hardly able to walk let alone sit at table, then I was told to go to bed with the threat "Next time you are caught with a man, I'll have you horse-whipped!"
How unjust it seemed. I surely had done no harm. A few lovely kisses and lying in a man's arms. Later, as I lay in pain in my bed, I had the strangest feeling, as if the caning, agony though it was, had been part of a wonderful experience. It was one that began an inner desire - totally subdued for years - for that delicious combination of pain, love and pleasure with which many of us here are familiar.
In which a sassy young miss underestimates the amount of time it takes to ride the roads and discovers that kindling is not the only thing in woodsheds that burns...Aha! Another convert.
I slammed my Harley into Three Mile curve with the throttlecranked damn near open, wind howling in my hair and hot summer air blasting my face. The speedometer needle quivered around 85 and the hog ate the tarmac like a pig in Wendy's. I was six miles down the back road with another six to go. I hunched lower on the saddle and opened the throttle even more, 85, 90... Throttle down, clutch, drop gears, clutch out, down to 60 and open the throttle again for the curve.
At this rate I'd cover the distance in about ten minutes.
I was on my way to see Jeanette. Sassy Jeanette.
At least, sassy when she thought I was safely in my workshop with my Harley in half a dozen pieces all over the goddam floor. The thing was, when she started sassing me on the phone I hadn't had time to mention that I'd pulled an all-nighter and got the machine back together.
So after a fair amount of sass, I said, "You know, Jeanette, what you really need is a spanking."
"Oh, sure," her voice had come back over the line, smug and smirking, "You and whose army, big guy?"
"I have half a mind..." I said.
"...to come over there, get your mom's leather paddle off the wall, and take you out to the woodshed."
Her mother had a really nice leather paddle she'd got a shoemaker friend to make up. It got used mostly on the young kids in the family. Had been used on Jeanette when she was young. I figured she had probably forgotten what it felt like.
"Yeah, well, it's a long walk and I wouldn't be here when you got here," she giggled.
"How long do you think it would take me to get there?" I asked.
"Longer than your dong." Giggles.
"Alright," I said, "tell you what, smarty pants. I'll make you a deal. You go out to the woodshed and wait a half hour. I'll start from here. If I make it in a half hour you get the spanking. Deal?"
"What if you don't?" Pouting. She had it made, no question.
Good old deBarquet humping his ass down the highway in the futile hope of spanking sexy little Jeanette's well-packed bottom.
"I'll buy you something."
"Maybe. But you aren't allowed to hitchhike or get a ride from friends."
"OK," I said, smiling from ear to ear, "no hitching, no getting a ride from friends. Deal. Now, you hang up the phone and go out to the woodshed. Take Sandi's paddle with you."
She had hung up with another giggle.
I knew this little witch. She would do exactly that. Take the paddle and go out to the woodshed. And wait exactly half an hour. Then probably she'd get her bicycle and pedal down by Rafter Ridge, so she could spend a delightful half hour or so watching deBarquet humping along the highway far below. Then she'd make herself scarce, her little ass safe from the deadly leather paddle. I had to laugh as I leaned the Harley into the last curve before Jeanette's cabin came into view. She would be in the woodshed, giggling away to herself, probably swinging the paddle in the air, whistling a little ditty she'd composed based on my second name, which is Edmund, by the way.
I wondered when she would first hear the throaty roar of the Harley. Probably as soon as I came around the Stone Finger about a half mile from her place. I could just see it. The blood would drain from her face as the little witch heard the motorbike. At first she would hope it was Lazy Billy, who rode a hog and lived about three miles further along. She'd wait, rembling, listening for the Hog to roll on by and on up to Lazy Billy's.
I looked at my watch and laughed again. 3:23. We'd hung up our phones at 3:12 or so. About twelve minutes. She'd have to stay in the woodshed nearly twenty more minutes.
I throttled down, then rode leisurely past her rutted driveway, knowing that behind her cabin, in the woodshed, a snippy little miss would be breathing a sigh of relief, perhaps rubbing at her bottom. Just Lazy Billy. Edmund's bike was still in pieces. Her firm little bottom would not feel the paddle today.
Or would it?
About a hundred yards along I swung the Harley around and drifted back to her driveway. Now she'd be sweating. What would she think? That Lazy Billy was riding by and suddenly took it into his head to drop in?
I moved up the driveway, the heavy cycle bouncing a bit on the ruts, the rumble of its pipes echoing off the cedar forest all around me. I swung around the corner of her cabin, noting that there was no sign of life. Good. Sandi and the little ones were out. That would make it easier. I pulled up on the packed earth of the back yard, clutch in, gently cracking the throttle with my right hand. There were a couple of chickens scratching at the packed dirt. A rusting child's swing set stood abandoned nearby. The back of the woodshed was directly before me. I didn't have too long to wait.
Jeanette came around the corner, her face pale, walking like she was stepping in dog dip the whole way. Her eyes widened when she saw me.
"Eddie..." she said.
"Cor-rect," I laughed.
"Is fixed. Was last night. You just didn't ask the right question."
Jeanette licked her lips, and ran a nervous hand through her long, curly black hair. She was wearing a yellow halter top that didn't do much to conceal her budding young breasts and her hips were encased in tight, faded blue jeans. She was wearing black leather, ankle-length boots with a silver chain around the right ankle.
I swung off the bike, setting the heavy kick-stand and killing the engine. I could hear birds singing in the sudden stillness of the yard. From somewhere came the crackle of a grasshopper. A light breeze had come up and played through Jeanette's hair.
She looked at her slim-line watch. I laughed. No help there. I'd made the trip in less than 15 minutes, including the time I'd spent screwing around and making her think I might be Lazy Billy. No Lazy Billy today, darling. Just Spanky Edmund.
I walked over to her, smiling a victory smile. Her eyes got even wider.
"Ah, you want to go inside for a beer?" she tried as I drew up to her.
"Well, I sure would," I smiled, taking her by her arm.
Relief flashed across her beautiful face. Thank god. It was just a joke. Just for a moment her right hand caressed her ass through the skin-tight jeans.
"But first," I said, gently turning her around towards the woodshed, "there's a little business in yonder shed, right?"
She dug her heels into the yard earth, hanging back from the suddenly dreaded woodshed. Did her no good. I was six foot one of young muscle, and slinging her over my shoulder was effortless. Draped over my shoulder, her little ass was perfectly positioned and I gave her a cracking spank with my right hand!
She kicked, but I had her legs wrapped in my left arm. I started to walk into the woodshed. God, but her little ass felt good. So round and firm. I couldn't resist.
I gave her another spank on the seat of her jeans!
"OW!!" she yelped, tightening her little ass, "That's enough, Eddie! It's enough!!"
I stepped into the coolness of the shed, beautiful Jeanette still draped over my left shoulder. There on the floor beside a massive chopping block was the leather paddle, just where Jeanette had dropped it when she heard the Harley roll into her yard. I bent forward, placing Jeanette's feet on the floor. The shed was cool and smelled of fresh cut cedar, a smell that has stayed with me ever since. I cannot smell fresh wood without thinking of that sultry summer day and Jeanette. Beautiful, sassy little Jeanette.
Before she could say anything I had stooped and scooped up the leather paddle, an ominous eighteen-inch double strip of heavy leather, stitched up the sides and well-worn from a generation of bottoms.
"It's time, babe," I said, grinning at her, not letting go of her arm.
"Eddie, I take it back, what I said," she said, apprehension in her violet eyes. "I didn't mean..."
"You didn't mean it if my Hog was snortin'," I laughed, "trouble is, you thought it wasn't even gruntin'."
That was enough talk. I suddenly sat on the chopping block and spun sexy Jeanette over my knees. God, she looked so beautiful lying there, her tight little ass projecting up, just the balls of her feet resting on the earthen floor. She twisted to look back over her shoulder at me, her eyes wild.
I reached my right hand under her hot little hips and deftly sprang the button on her jeans, sliding the zipper down. She gasped and tried to thwart me by driving her hips down tight onto my knees. Didn't work. I got the zipper down.
"Goddam you, deBarquet," she snarled as the zipper hit the base of her fly. "You're not..."
"Oh yes I am," I smiled, grabbing the back of her jeans and starting to work them down her hips. She squirmed and reached back with her right hand, trying to get a grip on her pants. Her bottom heaved and stretched with the effort. My dong got very hard.
Grabbing her by the right wrist with my left hand I continued working her pants down and away from her delightful little bottom. It was the first time I'd seen Jeanette's ass and in all the years since that day, through all the spankings I've given, I have never seen anything so absolutely delightful. Sweet Jeanette. As the faded jeans came past her hips I could see the cleft of her gorgeous little ass under the thin yellow silk of her panties. She was heaving around on my knees, trying to keep me from getting the jeans down, and I could see her sex now and again as she flexed her ass.
"DAMN YOU DEBARQUET YOU BASTARD NOT MY UNDERPANTS!!!" she howled as I grabbed the elastic of her panties.
"Right, babe, them too," I said, pulling the skimpy briefs down and away from her ass.
There before me was Jeanette, naked where it counted, her ass white where her bathing suit had shielded her from the sun, a tawny tan on her legs and back. I rested my right hand on her hot flesh.
She tightened her ass in spite of herself.
"Useless to squirm around, girl," I said, bringing my hand down on her ass with a sharp CRACK.
"OW! GODDAM YOU!" Jeanette yelped as my hand print appeared in pink on her straining ass.
I reached down to where I'd propped the paddle and picked it up, getting a firm grip on the worn handle.
"JESUS CHRIST YOU BASTARD NOT THE FUCKING PADDLE!"
The paddle rebounded off Jeanette's ass.
"AAAIIIEEEEEEE!" she screamed.
Now there was a rectangular pink area across her heaving cheeks.
I brought the paddle across Jeanette's ass again in a searing spank that made her damn near climb out of her skin. Christ it was hard as hell to hang onto her. Goddam hillbilly girl with muscles like whipcord. She kicked her feet out, trying to squirm off my knees. I locked her down with my left forearm across her back and applied the paddle again.
Jeanette howled and twisted back again, jacking her ass upwards and trying to move backwards off my knees. Couldn't do it, I still had the hammer lock on her right arm.
Now her heaving ass was turning a bright and cheery red in the dim light of the shed.
"AAAAAHHHHHOOOWWWW!!!" she howled.
No Miss Smarty-pants now, by Jesus. I brought the paddle whistling down again on Jeanette's naked bottom.
And then again and again.
Now my little smarty wasn't even trying to get off my knees. She was howling and kicking, her feet drumming the earth, her ass straining, clenching, writhing. I could see sweat beading on the ridged muscle of her lower back and on the straining cheeks of her well-packed little ass.
I applied the leather paddle with a rhythmic cracking, letting it fairly bounce off her heaving little backside. Jeanette wasn't cursing now! She was just howling!! Howling, kicking, clenching. It was absolutely unbelievable. Her feet just touched the woodshed floor with each kick, then came flying up to nearly touch her glowing ass. A dozen. Two dozen. I could have spanked my willful miss all day.
Then I decided she'd had enough. Her beautiful little ass was absolutely red, just flaming. I stopped the paddling and rested my hand on her burning skin.
"Well, my lady," I said, breathing hard, "think you'll jack me around on the phone anymore?"
Jeanette was slumped over my knee, her legs still, her bottom radiating heat. She was snuffling and blubbering. That had been a marvel of a paddling, probably the best (or worst, depending on whether you were Jeanette) that she'd ever had.
I let go of her and she stumbled to her feet, desperately rubbing at her wounded ass, oblivious to her near nakedness. God she was so damn beautiful, even with her face tear-streaked and her hair in a tumbled disarray. At last she gingerly pulled her panties up over her blistered ass, then her tight jeans. She didn't do up the zipper or snap.
"So girl," I said, "where's the beer? You going to be good, now?"
She surprised me. Stepping back she gave me a strange look, a look I would come to know much better as the summer went on, and said "I'll be good, Eddie. You just might be surprised how good..."