From the Top Shelf - Uncle Henry, part 1

I had totally forgotten that Rollin Hand gave me this yummy story to share with you. It's called "Uncle Henry and his Girls", and what a tale it is! It's quite long, so I will share the first part with you today.

As the car made its way up the lane that led to the Pierpont summer mansion, Libby heard Amanda suck in her breath as if startled. There was one other car, a silver Bentley, parked in the wide circular drive that that formed the formal entry to the country estate. The house itself was an impressive French style chateau set far back from the road, and accessed by this rather long driveway lined on either side by tall Norwegian pines.

Amanda Pierpont had invited Libby Hutton to the family’s house in the country for a month of summer break, and they’d been picked up in the Rolls at the train station by Charles, the chauffeur.

“What is it?” said Libby. Her chum from school was clearly agitated.

“Uncle Henry. He’s here.” Amanda leaned forward and craned her neck, scanning the house and its lushly manicured grounds.

“Who is Uncle Henry?”

Amanda appeared to compose herself. “He is the son of my mother’s aunt, so that makes him actually a second cousin. He manages the family trust.” she said. “And he pays my tuition at Litchfield,” she added.

“So? You seem apprehensive.”

“It’s nothing,” said Amanda, sitting back flipping her hair away from her face. “He’s nice. But strict. You’ll see.”

Libby sensed some nervous apprehension on the part of her schoolmate. They were good friends and shared most everything. In appearance they were a study in contrasts. Amanda was tall and lithe, a picture of studied elegance with long black hair, dark eyes and sensuous lips. Libby was short and blonde, a pretty girl with a heart shaped face and a ripe body that attracted male attention like sugar attracts flies. Both had a nose for trouble and often got into scrapes together, although it was Amanda who usually instigated, and Libby who followed.

Libby’s curiosity had been roused by her friend’s reaction, but there was no more time for questions. It was time to greet Uncle Henry.

* * *

As far as Libby was concerned, he was far more than just nice. She nearly swooned at her first sight of the man. An exceedingly handsome gentleman in his late thirties, he was tall and fit, with the sinewy build of an athlete, or maybe a movie star like Errol Flynn. His hair was dark and full with some graying at the temples, and when they made eye contact, his intense dark eyes made her want to melt into a puddle. On top of that, he engaged her in dinner time conversation like an adult, making her feel more like a serious and erudite woman of the world instead of a nineteen year old sophomore at an exclusive girls’ boarding school.

Libby observed that Amanda verbally sparred with Uncle Henry throughout the meal, gleefully challenging him with modern views on politics and current events. This frequently provoked frowns of disapproval that a woman would hold such opinions, but Amanda seemed to relish the challenge, and it seemed like she was getting under Uncle Henry’s skin. She refused to take him seriously. It was as if she were deliberately trying to goad him, and incidentally making a fine job of it in the process. If Uncle Henry corrected her or expressed disapproval, Amanda either dismissed him with casual reproaches like, “Oh, Uncle Henry, you are such an old fig sometimes,” or deliberately contradicted him.

So, while Libby chatted enthusiastically with Uncle Henry, trying to be as grown up as possible, Amanda played the bratty femme fatale. Finally, Uncle Henry had had enough.

He rose from the table, made a slight bow and said, “Ladies, I now bid you good night.” Then he turned on his way out and said, “Amanda, get ready for bed, and then I’ll need to see you in the library. You know why.”

Libby watched Amanda’s face as he said it. She was pale. All the color had drained out.

Once he had left, Libby turned to her friend. “What is that all about?”

* * *

“Mother sent Uncle Henry,” said Amanda as they sat on Amanda’s bed. “He’s here because my marks this past semester were not up to snuff, at least in mother’s opinion. Or maybe it was that row in town and the missed curfew. He agrees, I’m sure, and, he pays the bills. So I have to behave … or else.”

“Or else, what?” said Libby. “You’re being very mysterious.”

“Or else I get a visit from Uncle Henry and we have a little chat.” Then she added nervously, “Uncle Henry is rather old-fashioned and, well, strict.”

“A little chat? Now? Just before bedtime? And what do you mean by strict?”

“Uncle Henry thinks that’s the best time for a chat.” Amanda noticed her friend’s concern and diverted her attention to more mundane matters. “Don’t worry about it. Here, I’ll show you your room. You’ll like it. We’ll have fun here. We have a pool that is the bee’s knees, horse stables and there is the boardwalk in town along the shore, shops, movie theaters, a concert hall.”

Libby let Amanda show her a bedroom down the hall. It was spacious and comfortable with a large four poster bed, a vanity and a large closet.

“We’ve had a long trip, so you relax while I go see Uncle Henry,” said Amanda with a wry smile.

* * *

But as soon as she had slipped on her nightgown and was ready for bed, Libby realized she felt too wide awake for sleep, notwithstanding the long train ride. There was an excitement in the air like an electric charge. Libby did not know where it had come from, but she suspected the odd interchange between Uncle Henry and Amanda. Uncle Henry was strict. What did that mean? Something was about to happen, Libby just knew it. In her energized state she heard soft footsteps, and peeked out of her room just in time to see Amanda in a nightgown walking down the carpeted hallway. Should she? There were butterflies in her stomach, and an intense curiosity to see the exchange between Amanda and Uncle Henry. As silently as she could, she waited for Amanda to reach the stairs, and then she tiptoed out, following her.

As Libby approached the study below, all was silent. No one was around. The servants had all retired. The library door had been left open a crack and Libby peered in. Amanda stood before study desk. Uncle Henry sat perusing a piece of paper. Libby strained to hear what was being said.

“Your mother and I are very disappointed in your behavior, Amanda,” said Uncle Henry, slapping the paper. “Caught in town after curfew with young men?”

“Yes, sir,” said Amanda. She stood ramrod straight, hands at her sides. Libby was surprised to see that Amanda wore only a silk nightgown that fell to just below her hips. A tall, willowy girl, she nevertheless had high set breasts, shapely legs like a dancer’s and a prominent pear-shaped derriere that jutted out impudently.

So that was it. The report that had placed them both in detention, along with the several others who had gone to the village on Saturday only to meet up with boys from Yale and go nightclubbing, a most forbidden activity, had been sent home. They had lost track of time and missed curfew. Libby supposed her parents would get a copy too, but no matter. Nothing would come of it. She was blonde and cute and daddy was wrapped around her little finger.

“This is not up to our standards or yours,” he said, frowning and clearly displeased.

“Yes, sir.” Amanda began to fidget nervously.

“We have talked about this before, Amanda, and I fear it has fallen on deaf ears. Sometimes you make poor decisions.”

Amanda said nothing.

“Your mother and I have decided that a more forceful sanction is called for -- one that will impress upon you the seriousness with which we view this.”

“Uncle Henry, please…” said Amanda, gesturing with her hands as if imploring Uncle Henry to stop.

“And so,” said Uncle Henry, rising, “you must be punished. You must be taught a lesson. Go stand by the couch, Amanda. You know how I want you.”

“Uncle Henry, no. Not that!” Amanda put her hand to her face and bit her lip.

“I’m sorry it has come to this, Amanda,” he said, opening a cabinet door behind the desk.

Libby’s heart caught in her throat as she watched the drama. Inside the cabinet door several thin canes, multi-stranded martinets and gleaming leather straps hung on pegs. Libby gulped. What on earth? It was clear now. Amanda was to have her bottom whipped. How embarrassing … and by a man, no less. Libby nearly gasped aloud, but stifled it. Still, she thought she caught Uncle Henry turn his head in her direction, glancing ever so briefly toward the door.

He selected a strap with three split tails at the end and walked toward the sofa. Amanda stood to its side. In Libby’s view it was a curious piece of furniture. On one side was an armrest of ordinary dimension. At the other end, where Amanda stood, the armrest formed a high oversized bolster, a large padded cylinder.

Libby’s heart was pounding. The handsome Uncle Henry now seemed ever more the stern taskmaster who must be obeyed. Standing before Amanda, feet planted solidly, the strap stretched between his hands, he was the implacable male bent on dispensing punishment -- and of such an intimate nature! Amanda must offer her bottom up to him for chastisement. Oh, what must she feel? She thought. Libby felt weak in the knees. A strange excitement gripped her, and a part of her wondered what it would be like to exchange places with Amanda at this very moment.

“Amanda, raise your nightgown and bend over the couch,” he said.

Amanda obeyed, raising the diaphanous nightgown to her waist and bending forward, prostrating herself across the raised arm of the divan. The posture thrust her buttocks into full prominence as her body curved over the padded cylinder. Under the nightgown she wore thin tap pants with dainty lace at the legs. Libby could scarcely believe her eyes at what came next. Uncle Henry flipped the nightgown up onto her back and inserted his fingers into the tap pants to slide them down, baring Amanda’s bottom. The twin moons bulged like ripe melons, pale flesh rudely exposed and vulnerable, jutting upward prominently, awaiting correction by the strap.

Henry stood to the side and laid the strap across the quivering mounds.

“Twelve strokes, Amanda. Do not move or put your hands back to protect your bottom. We would have to repeat that stroke if you did.”

“Yes, sir,” said Amanda.

Swoosh…splat went the strap. The sound was like a shot and Libby almost jumped, it sounded so startling. A red band appeared across Amanda’s bottom. Libby heard a harsh intake of breath, a hissing sound as Amanda reacted to the smack of the leather on her backside.

Swoosh…splat! Again the cruel strap smacked her friend’s derriere, making it quiver. Another red stripe formed.

The strap rose and fell. Each splat landed with a sharp retort that bounced off the study walls. How can she remain still and take this, wondered Libby?

Smack! “Whahh,” seethed Amanda, half rising.

“Steady, Amanda,” said Henry. “You deserve no less.” He raised his arm, the strap falling back over his shoulder then reversing direction to speed to its target with a downward swipe of Henry’s arm.

Whack! Another earsplitting crack and a moan from Amanda. Shouldn’t the servants awake? thought Libby.

It must sting like crazy, thought Libby. Amanda’s womanly bottom lurched and bobbed under the onslaught. Toward the end there were gasps and the drumming of toes on the floor. Amanda’s full and shapely behind wobbled lasciviously each time the strap struck. That made Libby wonder – could Uncle Henry be aroused by such a sight? Libby was definitely aroused. She could not help it. This tableau of such male dominance over a nearly naked female subject -- a sound whipping on her bare bottom -- was making Libby wet between the legs.

When it was done, Uncle Henry told Amanda to rise. She did, placing her hands behind her and rubbing her inflamed bottom as Henry lectured her on the need for behavior more appropriate for a young lady of her station. Libby realized that the punishment session was at an end. She departed for the stairs and her own room as quietly as she could.

Libby waited for her friend, thinking she’d ask her what had happened and perhaps console her, but time passed and Amanda didn’t come. That’s quite odd…whatever are they talking about? It was the last thought she had before falling asleep. She never did hear Amanda return.

Did Uncle Henry see Libby spying on them? Will it be her turn next? Stay tuned.