From the Top Shelf - Geraldine

This week's story is from a 1992 issue of Janus magazine, written by Laurence Piper. It brings to mind the more recent case of  Max Moseley, although this time the protagonist is on the other end of the paddle.

On Wednesday afternoons, I spank the delectable Mrs. Bradley's pretty bare bottom.

Not every Wednesday, of course. Sometimes the natural rhythms of life make it impossible. At others the lady prefers to experience the tawse or the flat, emphatic impact of a hairbrush and, once in while, she even enjoys the stringent kiss of the cane.

If, eighteen months ago, you had told me I would be able to write those words, that I would regularly take the blonde, delectable Geraldine Bradley over my lap in order to smack her bottom, I would have said you were mad.

I knew her, of course, by sight. We had never exchanged a word, although we lived but a few hundred yards apart. One doesn't, not in large cities anyway.

That, of course, was before the story broke. You must remember it, surely? 'Kinky Company Director Spanks Terrorised Secretary.'

Yes, I rather thought you would. It was headline news in the tabloids - I even forced a hijacking off the lead story. All blown out of proportion, of course. After all, I had been spanking Miss Jenkins once or twice a week without any protest on her part, apart from the usual tears, for almost five years. Why on earth she had to go to the press then, with my wife only a few weeks dead, I shall never understand.

Luckily I had enough money, so that the obligatory sell-out to my partners in the wake of the bad publicity was no hardship. Truth to tell, I had been longing for a way out for years. All I needed to do then, after the nine day's wonder of the revelations, was to sell the house and move, not even that far. Three-quarters of a mile, actually; which in this city is like moving to the far side of the moon. There was even a small profit on the transaction, my new house being in a slightly less fashionable, even if, to my mind, rather more pleasant, area.

Taking things all round then, my life was not really ruined as so many are by such lurid headlines. Indeed, in some ways, it altered for the better. Some things were hard to lose, of course; the golf club membership was cancelled abruptly and as for my position as the church warden...well, needless to say things like that were a little tough. Otherwise the difference was minimal. I hardly lacked for the company of my friends, for although they tended to ignore me when their wives were about, they were eager to stand me a drink and nudge me knowingly in the ribs when they were not.

It was the ladies who surprised me. They knew where I had moved to almost before I did, for there is a great deal of bloodhound in your average woman; but, to my surprise, they were at pains to let me know I was not an outcast. In fact invitations were, if anything, more numerous than before.

Understandable, I suppose. Then, I had only been steady old dependable Frank Luke, a bit of a bore and interesting only in the way that wealthy widowers are to the ladies. Now, almost to a woman, they forgave me. Indeed I gained a tint of that glamour that 'dangerous' males have for suburban housewives, who can thus enjoy a thrill of erotic menace. A dozen times a day, if their menfolk were not around, they would stop me in the street or the stores for friendly enquiries about my health.

'The incident' was never mentioned, of course. There were plenty of sidelong, enigmatic glances, but no direct allusion. Except, eventually, by Geraldine Bradley. Who, on one hot and sunny afternoon, waylaid me in the car park of the supermarket, holding me perspiring and rapt with her cool beauty while we exchanged the social currency of trivialities.

I nearly melted at the mouth-watering vision Mrs. Bradley presented. Tall, slim, golden-haired and magnificently full-breasted, she was a poem of loveliness clad in a light summer dress and, apparently, very little else. I tried to look easy and unflustered but it was difficult, and I know I did not succeed. Mrs. Bradley has a lively and humorous blue eye, and I could swear it was no accident that she stood between me and the sun, and when she walked away the stir of those delicious buttocks beneath the gossamer light fabric of her skirt was almost more than mortal man should be called upon to bear.

After that, we seemed to run into each other regularly; which, knowing what I do now, is of course easy to contrive. I am a man of regular habits who likes to do certain things at specific times because it is easier that way. So at first these meetings took place at the supermarket (11 am every Thursday), the fishmongers (same time on Fridays) or one of my other regular ports of call. Gradually, however, we drifted into a regular but unstated meeting in the supermarket coffee shop on most days of the week, each of us affecting great surprise at the encounter.

I am not a particularly subtle man, and I have never before been laid siege to by a beautiful, clever woman; that is, if I were, for I could scarcely understand why the gorgeous, almost-30 year old, Mrs. Geraldine Bradley, should actively seek the company of a man no longer needing binoculars to see sixty on the near horizon.

These meetings became so much an essential part of my day that I had ceased to speculate on how or why they had begun. Yet it was almost six weeks before Geraldine made her move, with a disparaging remark about my new home.

She had driven past it, she told me, the day before, remarking with a smile between sips of coffee that she had almost stopped and rung the bell.

"Why didn't you?" I asked.

She smiled into her cup. "I didn't think the time was ripe."

Ripe? Ripe for what? Excitement began to tingle in my belly; stirrings that I had almost forgotten roused in me, and I gripped my cup tighter.

"Such a pretty district," she was saying, carefully. "Quite a nice area, considering..."

"Considering? Considering...what?" I scarcely dared to think why she had gone out of her way to look at where I lived.

She laughed. "Well it is a bit off the beaten track after all." She hesitated, her face slightly pink, then her wide blue eyes met mine full on. "Still, I suppose it is nice and quiet there; convenient for your little, um...hobby?"

"For my what?"

She continued to stare at me. "For your little interest, shall we say?"

Light dawned and I must have looked a little startled. "Oh! You mean that - er - business in the newspapers!" I smiled. "Sorry, nothing like that these days, I'm afraid."

Her perfectly arched eyebrows shot up. "Nothing? " She sounded genuinely astonished.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Once bitten, twice shy," I murmured, wondering how I felt able to discuss the whole business with someone who was, after all, a relative stranger. " It wasn't very pleasant, you know," I went on, "being splashed all over the front page. I wouldn't want to go through all that again." I returned her absorbed gaze. "I still don't know why the wretched girl blabbed, but I'm not about to give anyone else a chance!"

She smiled sympathetically. "Money, I dare say," she observed. "That is usually the case with girls of that class. You should have restricted your activities to real ladies, those you could trust."

I sighed and mustered my patience to endure yet another homily. The worst thing about being found out is actually not the social consequences; it is the endless sanctimonious lectures to which one is subjected.

"Well, then," I said forcing a smile, for beauty has its privileges and I could not bring myself to squash the lady. "I'm out of luck, for I do not know where on earth one can find those absolutely dependable females."

Mrs. Bradley sat back in her chair, an exaggerated expression of disappointment on her flawless face. "Oh dear! What a disappointment you are proving to be! Do you know, you are quite ruining your reputation with me as a devil-may-care, irrepressible spanker. Where does one find such females indeed! Why I dare say I could name one or two myself."

"Who, for instance?" I asked, entering into her game.

She smiled. "Well...me, for instance."

I goggled at her. Would you believe that I once thought of women as artless, honest creatures without a lewd thought in their heads, more fit to be kept on a pedestal than to mingle with the commoner clay of man. Now I could only stare speechlessly at Mrs. Bradley while she smiled at me.

"Wednesday afternoons would be most convenient," she added, and sipped demurely at her coffee. "Your place, of course."

"Ur...um...I...er" was all I could manage.

She quirked the corner of her mouth impatiently, "Or perhaps I'm not your type. maybe you don't want to spank me?"

The spell broke, suddenly, in the realisation that I was about to blow the most marvellous opportunity I ever had.

"Oh no...er...I mean yes! Absolutely I do! I mean..."

I was still spluttering like a moron when Mrs. Bradley put down her cup and gathered her bags around her. "How very noble!" she said ironically. She stood up. "Then, shall we say, two-thirty?"

Without waiting for an answer she swayed away, while I just watched her go as if in a dream.


* * *


The five days until Wednesday passed slowly, in a fever of doubt and speculation. Had Mrs. Bradley really said that? Was it a wind-up? Half of me pondered crazily, but the other half became unaccountably certain that she had meant every word. For all that, the ringing of the doorbell on the following Wednesday afternoon - bang on to the second - took me by surprise, so that I could only stand aside wordlessly as Mrs. Bradley pushed past me into the hall in a heady aura of some exotic fragrance.

I gestured towards the lounge, still incapable of speech, watching as she moved ahead of me in a cool, steel blue wide-skirted linen dress, a necklace of white beads harmonising with the white bag, gloves and shoes, while her broad-brimmed straw hat of dark gleaming blue with white band had the hallmarks of expensive simplicity.

All this, I noted, as it were, subconsciously, so that I could afterwards have drawn a detailed picture of Geraldine Bradley as she appeared that afternoon, though on a conscious level my attention was centred on the provocative stirrings of her full breasts and the exciting sway of her haunches as she walked; while in my breast my heart hammered furiously.

She stood in the lounge gazing critically about, her cool blue eyes noting and clearly dismissing my apparently poor taste in pictures and furnishings.

"Won't you take a seat?" I asked with a strained formality, finding my voice at last. With neither look nor gesture she sat in an easy chair about as far from my own seat as it was possible to get.

"Would you like a drink?" I continued, having flogged my moribund brain into action.

She nodded. "White wine and soda water, please," she murmured, crossing her slim and shapely legs.

I busied myself at the drinks cabinet, eyeing her cautiously through the conveniently placed mirror, watching as she ran a finger along the shelf at her elbow, surveyed her fingertip, and rubbed her gloved fingers together with an expression of mild distaste.

At this point I began to feel irritated. I have a good daily woman, and I pride myself on my own housekeeping skills. That shelf was free of dust; I knew it was.

I sat opposite her, raising my own glass in ponderous salute. Mrs. Bradley sipped cautiously, stared wonderingly at the glass, shrugged lightly and put it down.

"So," she murmured, glancing round with a raised eyebrow. "This is your new domain. It's really quite...quaint."

"Is it?" I said with barely suppressed anger. Fury swept through me. I felt that if this...this woman patronised me much more I would be driven to murder. So angry was I, in fact, that I surged to my feet intent on showing her the door.

She was in the act of removing her gloves as I did so, and she shot me a frightened glance and all at once I understood that all this was a big act. Mrs. Geraldine Bradley was not the ice cool, poised, self-confident creature she pretended to be. All that cool, sarcastic talk, that remote superiority, was nothing but an attempt to hide the fact that the socially superior Mrs. Bradley was very, very nervous.

I sat back in my chair, suddenly calm, completely in control of myself and the situation.

"You don't like your drink?" I snapped.

Her face flamed red. "No...I mean, yes, it's fine...thank you."

"Drink it then," I said admonishingly.

She reached out quickly, so quickly that she almost knocked the glass over, and drank, eyes suddenly fixed on mine like a mesmerised rabbit.

I smiled to myself. Now I understood. Not quite everything, of course, but many things had become clear. Geraldine was a natural. Probably she had always had a penchant for recreational CP, and all her superior posturings and aloof put-downs were nothing but attempts to provoke that which she simultaneously feared and desired. I watched as, still staring at me, she emptied her glass.

"Another? Or shall we attend to business?"

"No thank you...no drink I mean..." The low voice was almost a plea. I nodded benevolently and pointed to her head.

"That hat is rather going to get in the way, don't you think?"

Her eyes turned up involuntarily, as if to try and stare at her own head, while her cheeks flamed anew.

"Ummm...yes...I suppose..."

"Well then," I was severe and testy, "take it off, girl, take it off!"

Her hands trembled as she hastened to obey. I grinned with satisfaction as, no longer able to meet my eye, she held it helplessly, looking round for somewhere tidy to place it.

"Just lay it on the floor, " I ordered. "My carpet is quite clean after all!"

A barely audible murmur answered me but she obeyed unhesitatingly. I settled myself further into my chair.

"Look at me!"

It seemed to take an enormous amount of strength for Geraldine to lift her eyes to mine; and when she did, what a difference! The poised and aloof Geraldine Bradley had gone. Forever as far as I was concerned. In her place was a timid, uncertain little girl who gazed at me with moist eyes and slack mouth, the breath panting lightly through parted lips. Even as I watched, her tongue darted out in a vain attempt to moisten those lips, and her clasped hands burrowed awkwardly into her lap.

Now that the moment she sought was upon her, Geraldine Bradley was a very nervous young lady indeed.

I sat there as long as I could, drinking in the sight of her terror. Now the half smile of total superiority was on my lips, and she was forced to face it. Geraldine became more and more unsettled until, at last, her fear was such that the breath was rasping in her throat.

For a moment pity touched me, for she was in such a state of anxiety that it seemed only fair to off her an escape.

"Having second thoughts?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, and her glance began to fall towards the carpet. "Look at me, I said!" I reminded her, harshly. Her eyes obediently snapped up again to meet mine.

"Well?"

An infinite, breathless pause; then, almost imperceptibly, she shook her head.

"Very well, then. Come over here."

I was almost ready to bet that her legs would not support her. But they did. At last I had her just where I wanted her. Standing before me, slightly pigeon-toed in her tension, hands clasped nervously before her, eyes downcast, legs shaking. I had intended to catechise her faults, but so extreme was her trepidation that instead I contented myself with silently holding out my hand.

Geraldine lifted her head and stared at me, eyes wide, stunned and enquiring. I gestured briefly and her fingers, trembling and slightly moist, clasped mine.

I squeezed them reassuringly.

"You're going to be all right," I said softly, with all the assurance I could muster. A fleeting nervous smile crossed her exquisite features; the next moment, of her own volition, she was lowering herself over my lap.

Can there be anything to match such a moment, when a beautiful and willing woman places herself across one's knees for the first time? For myself, at any rate, I know that there will never be another moment to match that in my whole life, when the light but surprisingly solid wight of Mrs. Geraldine Bradley settled over my lap that afternoon.

That the lady had thought and dreamed of such an encounter many times was proved by the completely natural and convenient way she disposed herself, settling in so that her head hung just free of the floor on my left side and her shoes dug into the carpet, about eighteen inches apart, on my right. All trace of nerves had left her now; and as I reached to raise her skirt there was even a hint of eagerness in the way she lifted her hips to let me clear the target area.

Here at last was the moment I had devoted all my waking thoughts to since that fateful meeting, the moment when my eyes beheld the knickered bottom of Mrs. Geraldine Bradley! At that, the knickers were not much more than a silken scrap, a minute light blue silk triangle secured by silk ties on either hip, which for all practical purposes left the buttocks bare.

And what buttocks! As round, as silken, as flawless as the most fanatical bottom man could desire, they reached up to me,urgent for the benison of my palm. But not yet, for I required those buttocks to be totally bared to me; the ultimate submission of that gorgeous bottom! Two quick tugs of the strings and the triangle fell away...

How warm, how resilient, how vibrant those wonderful cheeks felt, cupped within my palm. As her backside was bared completely, Geraldine released a long, soft sigh, and at the first touch of my hand upon her naked bottom a great wracking shudder swept through her body, reminding me that there were limits to her endurance of suspense. With a feeling, almost of awe, I raised my hand and brought it down with medium strength full on the left cheek of that delicious bottom.

A moment later and my hand fell again, this time on the broad, expectant round of her right cheek and, as I watched, the outlines of my fingers bloomed across each buttock in turn. It was only then, I think, that it really dawned on me that I had the beautiful Geraldine Bradley bare-bottomed over my knee. Until that moment I had seemed to be in a dream, an extension of those fantasies I had been playing over and over in my mind since our initial conversation. Now the sensation of smooth resilient flesh lingering on my palm and the delicate blend of scent and femininity which teased my nostrils jerked me into a full awareness of what we were about. I see it now, in my mind's eye; feel it again every time my palm tingles. That quiet room, her bare gleaming bottom. It was as if I had died and woken up in Elysium as my hand rose and fell briskly, searchingly, on to the silken wobbling flesh of those ripe nude globes.

As I spanked busily away, an odd thing happened. Geraldine's body, which until then had been as taut as a bowstring, seemed to relax, to sag accommodatingly into me. She moved with the rhythm of my spanking and in complete harmony. How long I smacked those wonderful bare cheeks I do not know - certainly long enough to turn those creamy mounds into quivering masses of scarlet, to impart a furious sting into my own palm, and to draw deep sighing moans and soft protests from Geraldine, who whispered that she had "quite enough, thank you...for the moment anyway."

* * *

I awoke from a light but satisfying doze as Geraldine stirred uneasily in my arms. She sat up in my bed, the covers falling away from her full firm breasts as she dug fingers unavailingly into her tousled blonde hair.

"What's going on?" I said, wide awake suddenly and remembering everything. I reached for her again, urgently needing to sample the delights of her warm, yielding body once more, but she avoided me gently, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek by way of compensation.

"Oh Lord, I must be going," she said frantically. "Look at the time! My husband will soon be home from work and I should have the dinner on by now!"

I was not prepared for the pang of jealousy that pierced my heart as I thought of her sitting at the dinner table with her husband. Maybe my feelings showed, for a moment later her naked body was pressed reassuringly against mine.

"Thank you, sweetheart," she whispered, and kissed me once more. "I needed that. All of it."

I held her fiercely. "Did you?"

"Yes." She snuggled into me. "Funny, isn't it? I nearly didn't come here this afternoon, you know. Worried about my dignity."

"And now?"

She laughed lightly and self consciously. "Well that's something I don't have to worry about with you any more!"

I grinned and reached out to fondle her bare bottom but she quickly pushed my hand away.

"No, darling, please. Not now. Don't get me worked up again, please. I have to get home."

"But you can't leave me in this state!" I protested.

Geraldine eyed me mischievously. "Good for your self control, " she said. "Try and save it for next week."

With that she was out of bed and scrambling into her clothes. Women are deceptive creatures. No one who saw us a few minutes later, as we shook hands formally at the door, would have dreamed that the immaculate Geraldine Bradley had been bare-bottomed over my lap less than two hours previously, or that such a very short time before we had made passionate and very satisfying love before she sprang naked from my bed.

"Well, Mr. Luke, thank you for having me," she said demurely but with a mischievous smile on her face. She turned to walk down the path while I watched her swaying hips with newly acquired knowledge.

"Same time next week?" I said, as she walked down the path and she raised an elegant hand in confirmation, turned and mouthed "Two-thirty."


And so it has continued. On Wednesday afternoons I spank, strap or cane the delectable Mrs. Bradley's pretty bare bottom...and then some!

And we both enjoy every minute of it.

White wine and soda water? Really?