“Let’s go to town,” said Amanda. It was morning and the sun was out. There was not a cloud in the sky and it promised to be a glorious day. “We’ll stroll the boardwalk and shop. Have lunch. What do you say?”We will have to wait until next week for Libby's spanking, and do you think that Uncle Henry has finished with Amanda's punishment? No, me neither.
Uncle Henry had left to attend to business in town. They headed out to the garage where Amanda helped herself to one of the family’s automobiles. There were several stored in the spacious outbuilding adjacent the main house and by the looks of the dust covering them, they didn’t get much use.
“Do you know how to drive?” asked Libby. “Why not just have Charles drive us and pick us up?”
Amanda brushed the question aside. “It’s more fun this way. I’ve driven a car before. Let’s take this one.”
The car she selected was a cute red roadster, a convertible with an open top. Libby wasn’t at all sure Amanda knew what she was doing because when she put the key in and started it up, the car gave a lurch forward and abruptly died.
“I think you have to put in the clutch,” said Libby. “That pedal there.” She pointed to the left. “Then let it out slowly.”
“Yes, of course,” said Amanda with some irritation. “I’d forgotten.”
After a few fits and starts, Amanda seemed to get the auto under control and managed to get it out of the garage without hitting anything. Her friend’s apparent lack of skills behind the wheel made Libby more than a little nervous. She had to wonder if Amanda was authorized to drive a car at all. They roared out, blowing right by Charles who did a double take, shocked that someone else was operating a family roadster. She wondered what Uncle Henry would say, and suspected he would not approve of this lark.
Her worries dissipated as they drove towards town. It was a beautiful day and they were two girls off on an adventure as the car sped along the country road with the top down and the wind blowing through their hair.
They made it to town, then parked on a side street and headed for the boardwalk that ran along the ocean. Shops, mostly cheap tourist joints filled with vacation memorabilia and chintzy knick knacks, competed with restaurants and bars for frontage space. Towards the center where a pier jutted out into the ocean, attractions of a more carnival-like nature beckoned, no doubt calculated to separate tourists from their money.
“Let’s go in here,” said Amanda, peering through the window of one of the more luridly appointed junk shops selling frou-frou. Libby followed her in, but couldn’t fathom why her friend would be interested in such cheap stuff. Amanda strolled the aisles, looking at this and that until her eyes settled on a bin of wooden objects. In it were paddles. Obviously intended as humorous novelties with pithy or corny text, they also bore cute drawings of boys and girls bent over with stars emanating from rear ends that had been spanked. The paddles were light and thin, clearly not serious implements of discipline, and Libby suspected that parents bought them in full view of the kids as an unsubtle warning. Still … they were paddles and were capable of executing their intended function, joke items or not.
“I think I’ll get this for Uncle Henry,” said Amanda, picking one up. “As a joke.”
“Are you serious?” said Libby. It seemed to her that giving Uncle Henry a spanking paddle was inviting disaster, or at least a sore bottom. Whatever was Amanda thinking? She’d been disciplined by Henry on two occasions, and both had been the real thing as far as Libby could tell.
“Well if you must know, Uncle Henry is the family disciplinarian.”
Libby had to feign ignorance. “You mean he gives out spankings?”
“Yes, actually, he does,” said Amanda.
“Has … has he ever spanked you?” Libby asked innocently.
“On occasion,” said Amanda after a moment’s hesitation. “But only if I’ve done something seriously wrong.”
“Wow! Is it bad?” said Libby, knowing full well it hurt, but not wanting to admit what she already knew. “And, he’s, well … a man.”
“Yes, he is. And that makes all the difference. Look …” Amanda seemed on the verge of spilling something. She hesitated then and said, “Look, if I tell you something it must be our secret. Do you swear not to tell?”
“Yes,” said Libby in a conspiratorial whisper, “I won’t tell a soul.”
“When Uncle Henry punishes me, it does something to me. In a womanly way. In a very grown up womanly way.” She halted trying to find the words. “He doesn’t see me as a woman, but I want … I want him to.”
“Do you love him? Is that what you are saying?”
“I think – I don’t know if it’s that. I just …” Amanda looked away, letting her eyes drift, focusing on nothing in particular. “I just want him.” She whipped around and stared Libby in the eye. “He’s a man. He takes control of a woman. Not a boy like those Yale boys… ”
“I’ve noticed,” said Libby in a dry tone.
“Then you understand,” said Amanda, relaxing. “You don’t know what it feels like to have a real man take you in hand. It makes you desire things. You want to do things with him. Wicked things.”
Actually Libby did have an inkling about that. She had certainly felt it. But she bit her tongue and said nothing.
“But to him I’m still this little girl.” Amanda sounded frustrated. She blushed then recovered her composure. “Well, what do you say we get a stiff drink? I need one.”
Libby regarded her friend with eyes wide as saucers. “Like … alcohol? But that’s illegal. Anyway, where would we get it?”
A wicked smile lit up Amanda’s face. “C’mon. I know a place.”
* * *
The place turned out to be a speakeasy joint a block or two off the boardwalk. They spent more time inside than they’d intended, enjoying the attentions of the male patrons who were only too pleased to buy drinks for the two attractive college girls. When they emerged several hours later, both were somewhat wobbly.
Somehow they managed to make it back to the car, start it up and push away from the curb, but in her inebriated state, Amanda began to weave around and eventually ran off the road into a ditch on the outskirts of town. If that wasn’t enough, a patrolling constable had seen the young woman veering all over the road and had followed her. He was too late to prevent the unfortunate crash, but not too late to assess the state of intoxication of the roadster’s occupants. There was nothing to do for it but haul them to the local jail. Eventually the sergeant of the watch extracted Amanda’s identity and did the one thing Libby feared. He called the Pierpont house.
Taken to a special section of the jail reserved for more high profile detainees, Amanda and Libby were ushered into an empty cell to sleep it off. Though the police were well aware of the clout wielded by Amanda’s family in the region, they could not allow the girls to leave in the condition in which they’d been found. Instead they placed them in more comfortable surroundings away from the general population. Her head spinning still, Libby lay down and dozed off.
Footsteps echoing loudly in the corridor startled Libby awake. She looked over at Amanda who was in the process of slowly coming back to consciousness. A tall shadow cast by a man in the doorway made Libby gasp. It was Uncle Henry and he did not look happy.
* * *
“Exactly what did you two think you were doing, going into that speakeasy? Amanda, you know very well that’s illegal.” Uncle Henry scolded them as they sat in the back of his Bentley while he drove. “Not only that, but you took a car out of the garage. Do you even know how to drive? Apparently not.” Uncle Henry answered his own question without waiting for her response. He was just getting warmed up, it seemed to Libby. “May I remind you that you are a Pierpont, and your actions reflect on the family? I see that I must, and I intend to do just that – in a way you will truly remember.”
“Uncle Henry, please,” said Amanda. “No harm was done.”
Henry nearly exploded. “No harm? No harm? You take a car you can’t drive. You sneak into a speakeasy. You put your car in a ditch because you don’t know how to operate it, either sober or under the influence of alcohol. You both could have been hurt. Hurt in a serious way. And you say ‘no harm.’”
By then Henry’s car had pulled up to the front entrance of the Pierpont house. Uncle Henry gave the keys to Charles then ushered Amanda and Libby into the house. Once inside, Henry stopped for a second and glared at both girls, as if trying to make up his mind.
“Both of you – go into the library and wait for me.”
So, Libby thought, she was to be included too.
“Wait, Uncle Henry,” said Amanda. “Don’t you want to see the present I bought you in town?”
Libby couldn’t believe her friend was doing this. She was egging him on – as if he needed to be provoked at this point in time. Henry was already furious, and Libby’s knees were quaking. He was sending them to the library – that could only mean one thing, and Amanda was about to hand him that novelty paddle.
“Here,” said Amanda with a smirk on her face, handing him a plain brown paper bag.
Henry’s face wore a puzzled expression as he took it. He fished out the paddle, and cocked his head toward Amanda, frowning. “Well. I see you’ve thought of everything,” he said in a droll tone of voice. He hefted the paddle and smacked his palm with it. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but it will do for a starter.” He handed the paddle back to Amanda. “You hold onto this. Now – into the library, both of you.”
Amanda turned on her heels and, flouncing her skirt, marched toward the library without a word. Libby grimaced and followed after her friend. Once there, they waited. Amanda went to the window and looked out, her head moving as if searching for something. Libby took the opportunity to inspect the odd rolled arm couch, the one over which Amanda had bent to receive her strapping that first night.
Finally Libby had to ask. “What is this?” She casually ran her hand across the cylindrical side wing of the sofa. It couldn’t be an armrest. It was too high. At the opposite end, the similar wing was a low armrest, giving the piece an unsettling asymmetrical look.
The question snapped Amanda’s attention away from the window. “Oh, that. They call it an Edwardian Punishment Couch. Quaint, isn’t it? The high end is made so you can bend your body over it while standing and thrust out your rump. Positions the buttocks perfectly for a good thrashing. And that’s what is coming, you know. A good thrashing for us both.”
Libby backed away, her hands behind her as if unconsciously protecting her seat from the notion of bending over and presenting it.
“Yes, I think you are for it too. Not as bad as me perhaps, but Henry has definite notions of what he considers to be proper behavior. He thinks we are in on it together and we’ve both behaved badly.”
Libby wanted to say that Amanda obviously deliberately set out to misbehave. She had as much admitted that the whole thing was a game to her. She started to speak but was interrupted as heavy footsteps announced that Henry had returned.
He strode into the room, and Libby backed away as he approached. Her heart fluttered and her legs shook. Amanda leaned against the window sill, an amused smile on her face as if she didn’t care what he did. He held the toy paddle in his hand, sat on the Edwardian couch and crooked his finger at Amanda.
“Come here, Amanda.”
With a toss of her head Amanda ambled over to stand next to Uncle Henry. She folded her arms.
“Well?” she said with a hint of insolence.
“Do you think this is a game?”
Amanda shrugged. In Libby’s view she was going out of her way to be a provocative brat.
“Lift up your skirt.”
Both girls were wearing the straight skirted dresses favored by fashionable young ladies of the day, currently nicknamed “flappers.” Amanda had to wiggle to pull the skirt up and over her hips. Libby was sure she put something extra into it just to tease Henry. Once she got the garment up, Henry’s hand shot out and grasped her around the waist. She gasped in surprise as he hauled her across his knee.
Underneath the skirt she was wearing silk step-ins with lace trim. Henry picked up the little paddle. “All right, Amanda. Here’s the first lesson. You are not permitted to just drive off in a roadster.”
The paddle came down and Amanda squealed it is it hit with a series of sharp pops. Henry spanked Manda’s bottom steadily, delivering a volley of brisk cracks that had Amanda yelping and squirming.
“This little piece of wood stings, doesn’t it, Amanda?”
“Yes! Yes! Ouch, Uncle Henry – please. Oh … ow!” Amanda was laid out along the couch, her hips propped up right over Henry’s lap. She fluttered her legs, her toes thumping on the couch cushions.
“Not a toy is it?” The paddle snapped down again and again, meeting Amanda’s thinly clad bottom.
“Ow! No – please stop. That’s enough!”
Amanda was clearly in distress. It seemed she had underestimated the punitive power of what was supposed to be a toy implement. Uncle Henry spanked her briskly for several minutes, smacking her fanny all over and doing a thorough job of it. Then he let her up. She shot to her feet and rubbed her bottom.
“That stung!” she said.
“Now stand over there. Face the wall,” he said, pointing.
He turned to Libby. “Libby, I’m afraid you’re in for it too.”
“Me?” said Libby.
“I’m afraid so, if you wish to stay the rest of the month. Partners in crime share everything,” he said. “Lift up your skirt and come here.
“Let’s go riding,” said Amanda at breakfast the next day. Uncle Henry had apparently left them to their own devices. He was nowhere in sight. That sounded good to Libby, and so they donned riding habits and headed for the stables. It was a sunny morning. Only a few wispy clouds remained in the sky, remnants of an overnight shower. There were several horses to choose from and the girls strolled from stall to stall, looking them over. Amanda picked a horse, then recommended one for Libby.I'm afraid Lizzy was caught peeping again.
“I’ll ride Diablo,” she said, stroking a black stallion that pawed at the ground as if raring to go. “Why don’t you take Lucky?”
Lucky was a white mare, a seemingly gentle steed. Then Libby remembered something. “When we talked to Uncle Henry about riding, didn’t he say something about riding Diablo? Wait,” she said, “We’re not supposed to ride Diablo…are we?” She recalled a dinner conversation in which the subject of the stables had come up, and the available horses for riding. Uncle Henry had been very explicit that Diablo was off limits. Amanda had argued, but Uncle Henry had held firm.
“Pooh,” said Amanda. “What does Uncle Henry know? I’m as good a rider as he is, and I can handle him. You want to run, don’t you boy?” she said, patting its flanks. “Besides,” she said, turning to Libby, “Uncle Henry went into the city. He won’t know.”
Libby didn’t know about that. It seemed to her that Amanda was being either reckless or deliberately provocative. The strapping she’d endured in the study hadn’t been a bit of a deterrent.
The estate sat on considerable acreage that extended through fields and into rolling hills beyond. They began with a casual walk, advanced to a trot and then came to a broad field. Amanda wanted to let loose. “This is a perfect place to give the horses their head and let them run. What do you say? Shall we race?”
Libby had a feeling this was another bad idea. Diablo seemed jumpy. He snorted and pawed the ground, but Amanda appeared not to notice. “See, Diablo wants to run, don’t you boy?” With a shout she spurred the horse, and Diablo leapt forward. Lucky jumped, startled, and Libby had to hang on. But then she started after Diablo, following the stallion so she wouldn’t be left too far behind. Libby, not as accomplished a horsewoman as Amanda, held Lucky to a canter, content to keep Amanda in sight, but certainly not of a mind to race. The black horse sped across the field like a dark bolt. Libby watched, transfixed. Amanda appeared to be attempting to slow Diablo down but was failing at it. The horse was running away with her. Up ahead the powerful black horse ran full out. Libby’s heart caught in her throat as she saw Diablo jump over a log and Amanda come down with a hard bounce. She lost her grip, flew off the saddle and landed right on her face. The horse just kept on running.
Libby hurried to check on her friend. As she got there Amanda pulled herself up, spitting out grassy stubble and brushing herself off.
“Damn,” she said. Diablo was out of sight.
“Are you all right?” said Libby.
“Yes, I’m fine.” She sounded disgusted. “Here, let me ride with you. Did you see which way he went?”
“There.” Libby pointed to the far side of the field. Diablo had slowed down and at a fast trot appeared to be heading back toward the stables.
“Double damn,” said Amanda. “Let’s get back, quick.”
Amanda rode behind Libby on Lucky. At the slow pace, the return trip took time. Finally, they came in view of the house only to see a figure on a horse approaching.
“Crikey. Now we’re in for it,” said Amanda. It was Uncle Henry.
Libby braced herself for the angry scolding that she knew was coming, but to her surprise the first thing Uncle Henry did was to dismount and approach them with a quick stride, the concern plain on his face. “Are you hurt, Amanda? And Libby, are you all right?” He breathed a visible sigh of relief as Amanda assured him she was not injured. Then his demeanor turned serious.
“What were you doing on Diablo? The horse came back riderless, and George said that you had taken him out.” He put his hands on his hips, his eyes bored into Amanda’s and his mouth became fixed in a tight line. “Well?”
“We, er, I … look, Uncle Henry, I know how to handle Diablo,” she asserted. “He just … got a little excited and jumped over a log I didn’t see.”
“So I see,” said Uncle Henry. “Let’s go back to the barn, girls.”
To Libby that sounded ominous. Hell, this wasn’t her fault. Amanda had taken the horse out; she just rode along.
Back at the barn they dismounted, and Henry said, “Libby, take Lucky into the stable and give her to George. You may want to help George water her and brush her down.” Libby breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t in trouble.
“Amanda, you will accompany me to the tack room.”
A chill went up Libby’s spine. It was going to happen again, she just knew it. Then another thought hit her. I want to see. That had got her in trouble the last time, but Libby didn’t care. The whole episode had been a delicious thrill. She walked Lucky in and handed the reins to George. “I’ll be back,” she said. Now where was the tack room? Of course. It was at the front of the barn. She had walked right past it. Then she noticed a ladder that led to a second story where the hay was stored. She climbed the ladder and made her way back to the front part of the barn. When she figured she was over the tack room, she looked for a knothole. She needn’t have bothered. The floor slats had wide gaps. She lay on her stomach and looked through one. Perfect. She could see everything.
Uncle Henry stood in the center of the room. Amanda leaned back against a saddle that sat astride a saw horse. She affected a casual air, as if this were much ado about nothing.
“Damn it all, Amanda. I told you in no uncertain terms. You were not to ride Diablo.”
Amanda actually yawned, then waved her hand. “I’m all right. I was fine with Diablo until he jumped. I wasn’t ready for that.”
“You continue to provoke me, Amanda.” Uncle Henry’s face had flushed and Libby could tell Amanda’s attitude was the cause. It looked like she was baiting him. Then came the order.
“Turn around, Amanda.”
Amanda huffed, but did as commanded. Now she faced the saddle.
“Lie across the saddle,” said Uncle Henry as he strode over to the wall. Amanda was a vision in her jodhpurs. They fit her like a second skin emphasizing the round curves of each bottom cheek, the sinuous divide between them clearly delineated. She bent over thrusting her bottom out. Henry waited patiently, flexing a riding switch between his hands that he had taken from a peg on the wall.
She lay face down across the saddle, her perfectly formed derriere presented to Henry’s gaze. Amanda was a tall lissome girl with narrow hips, but her derriere was full and rounded, protruding impudently, the fleshy mounds encased in skin tight fabric and perched over the saddle in a provocative fashion, as if begging Henry to do his worst.
Uncle Henry moved to her left and tapped Amanda’s bottom with the switch…once … twice, then swish…thwack! His arm moved in blur and the leather flap on the end struck Amanda’s left bottom cheek.
“Ouch!” Amanda squealed. “That hurts!”
“It’s no less than you deserve,” he said, delivering another stroke to the opposite cheek.
Whap! Smack! Crack! Henry delivered several licks with a short flick of the wrist. Libby winced in silent empathy as the strokes of the switch seared her friend’s bare seat.
“Nhh … uhhh … ow!” Amanda whimpered and shuffled her feet.
“I doubt you really feel this, Amanda. Stand up.” Henry motioned with the crop.
“What? Why?” said Amanda, half rising.
“Take your pants down.”
Amanda stared at Henry and bit her lip. She stood there for a moment, then, by inserting her thumbs in the waistband and jerking her hips this way and that, she worked the skin tight jodhpurs down to her knees. Underneath she was bare.
“There! Is that what you want?” Her tone was defiant.
Henry merely said, “Back over the saddle, Amanda.”
Amanda let out an exasperated sigh, but obeyed.
It was a scene out of a Victorian drama -- the fair debutante in riding togs taken down to her knees, prostrated over a saddle with her bare backside sticking out, while her wicked uncle in a tweed jacket thrashed her with a riding switch. Henry’s arm rose and fell. The flap on the end of the switch thwacked across Amanda’s hindquarters with authority. Her bottom cheeks jiggled on impact. Blotches of red appeared on the white flesh. She wriggled her bottom in a lascivious dance, trying to shake off the awful sting as again and again the crop smacked her wobbling fanny.
Libby was transfixed with excitement. Her breathing became shallow, her face and limbs flushed and her hand stole inside her pants, inching toward that nub that begged for her touch. When she found it, she began to pleasure herself, but with a profound sense of shame. She couldn’t help it. It was too exciting to see her friend being punished. But mostly she fixated on Uncle Henry and imagined herself in Amanda’s place. She wondered how she would feel, prostrated over the saddle, offering up her behind for his attentions. Once he glanced upward, distracted, as if he had heard something, and Libby jerked her head back with a sharp intake of breath. Had he seen her? Please, not again. No, it seemed. He resumed the punishment and laid another half dozen strokes across Amanda’s quivering rear.
“Now,” he said, as he ambled over to the wall to replace the switch, “do you think you can obey me, or do you need more?”
Amanda had not moved. She continued to lie bottoms up across the saddle, breathing heavily. “You know what I need,” she said. It was sotto voce but Henry must have heard.
Uncle Henry leaned over and whispered something in her ear, but Libby couldn’t hear it. He stood straight again. Amanda rose and touched her backside, wincing and hissing as she rubbed and shifted from foot to foot. Libby moved as quietly as she could and made her way back down to the ground level where she returned to the stalls and pretended to help George. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything.
Libby’s thoughts returned to the present.Libby certainly is a spanko! Will Henry eventually have his way with her? Or will that prize be bestowed upon someone else? Stay tuned.
What had earned Amanda her punishment? The nightclub incident and the report from the school. She had been part of that too. If she confessed that to Uncle Henry, what then? Her curiosity got the better of her.
Her heart was in her throat as she approached the library. Uncle Henry was in there, seated at the desk. Amanda had gone to the village to do some shopping. Libby had begged off, complaining of a headache. The staff was largely home for the weekend.
“Uncle Henry, can we talk?” said Libby.
“Ah, Libby, I’ve been meaning to talk to you as well,” he said.
“You have?” What would he want with me?
He regarded her for a moment, one eyebrow cocked up and a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve been a naughty girl, Libby.”
Libby felt a shock go through her. What had he said?
“You have. I know that you spied on Amanda and I the night you both arrived. I had to chastise Amanda, and you snuck down and watched.”
Libby gasped. How could he know? “I…I didn’t. It, it was an accident,” she said trying to cover up her culpability.
“You saw it all. I saw you. You peered through a crack in the door.”
Libby tugged at her skirt. All of a sudden it felt too short. She looked around as if someone would arrive and save her from further embarrassment.
“You’re not going to deny it, are you?”
Libby looked at the floor and blushed.
“Libby, look at me. Up here.” Uncle Henry pointed to his eyes. He got up and stood in front of the desk. “It’s not polite to spy, is it?”
“No, no…I’m sorry. I just…” She did not have words.
“But you came to see me,” he said, changing the subject. “What about?”
What should she do now? All of a sudden her plan to satisfy her curiosity seemed to have exploded in her face.
“I was…just so you know, I was part of that disturbance too. It wasn’t all Amanda’s fault. We met some boys and got back late, after curfew. I was all for it.”
Henry folded his arms. “Well it’s a little late for that, isn’t it? I’ve already punished Amanda.”
“I just thought you should know,” said Libby, now very unsure about any of this.
“You know what I think?” said Henry, leaning back in his chair. “I think you feel responsible and now it seems unfair Amanda was punished and you got off scot free. Isn’t that it?”
Libby fidgeted. “I don’t know. I suppose, yes.”
“Will your parents be displeased? Will they punish you?”
“No,” said Libby. “Mother will scold me, but it will end there.”
“I see,” said Henry. He rose, strode over to the wall, grabbed an armless chair and dragged it in front of the desk.
Libby watched, curious as to what he was about. But she sensed something was building.
“Do you know what I think, Libby? I think you feel guilty. I also think you will feel much better if you share, to some degree, in Amanda’s punishment.” Henry sat in the chair. “When was the last time someone took you across their knee and gave you a good spanking?”
Libby gasped. Her hands fluttered at her side then moved in a wholly unconscious reflex to shield her bottom.
“Because I think that is exactly what you need, if for no other reason than the spying.”
“A…a spanking?” said Libby. Her voice quavered. Her knees shook and an icy finger ran up her spine.
“That’s right, Libby. A good sound spanking right on your behind. I think you deserve it. Now come here.”
Libby inched forward obediently. It was his eyes. They bored into hers. She felt like she was no longer in control of her own actions. Instead she was a puppet pulled on strings by a will stronger than her own. Henry reached out and caught her by the wrist. He pulled her forward and Libby felt herself falling, face down across Henry’s knees. He gripped her around her middle and adjusted her so that her bottom was the highest point of her body. It was a vulnerable feeling, an embarrassing feeling, and she blushed. Her skirt was raised and she protested. “Please, you mustn’t -- it’s indecent!” But secretly, she was thrilled. Uncle Henry would see her bottom, which she knew was curvy and cute, just like the rest of her.
“Bah! You won’t feel a thing through that skirt. As you saw, Amanda got it bare, so count yourself fortunate.”
A jolt like an electric shock ran through her as she felt Henry’s broad palm resting on her buttocks. He alternately rubbed and patted, testing the resilience of her wobbly cheeks. She squirmed, hot shame competing with arousal.
“I’m going to spank you soundly, Libby, and I hope it will improve your behavior. This is for your own good.”
“Oh…oh,” she said, not quite believing she was really in such a humiliating position. She, a young woman of nineteen over a man’s lap with her bottom exposed, clad only in thin silk drawers, and on lewd display. It was both humiliating and delicious. Libby felt her sex lubricating.
Splat! Smack! Crack! The first few smacks of Henry’s palm were like a dousing with cold water. The sensation was electrifying. A sharp tingle, then a warming that with repeated smacks grew to a burning, like backing into fire. It was much more intense than the game in the dorm. The spanking continued, relentless staccato flurries of smacks that were at times delivered lightly at a rapid fire tempo, and at times slower with more force behind each one. Libby’s body reacted to each spank with a flinch, throwing her feet up behind her, fluttering her legs.
“Ow! Ooh!” she squeaked.
“Yes, my girl, I think a good bottom warming is exactly what you need,” intoned Henry as his palm smacked her bare behind sharply in a steady deliberate tempo that was almost leisurely.
Now it was beginning to sting more and she understood why spanking was such an effective punishment. The discomfort escalated, making her brain scream for it to stop or at least abate. It was a steadily climbing, searing heat that overwhelmed all her other senses.
Smack! Whap! Crack! Both the sound and the feel of Henry’s striking palm assaulted her senses. She felt like a little girl, powerless in the grip of a strong willed male. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought, waahhh! My stinging behind!
“If you’ve never had your fanny spanked properly, Libby, I’m making up for lost time,” said Henry calmly as he delivered another volley of spanks. “I think this is something every young woman needs from time to time.” Even as he spoke the spanking continued – left cheek, right cheek, squarely across her sinuous divide.
“Yow! Ow!” yelped Libby as brisk spanks from Henry’s palm peppered her bottom.
Heat. Heat. Steadily climbing heat. Her behind was being scorched by Henry’s sturdy palm. She wriggled. She squirmed, humping, bobbing, her breath coming in gasps. There was one final barrage of smacks that nearly had her coming out of her skin. Then he stopped, resting his hand on her bottom, rubbing in circles. That actually felt good. The sensation began to shift to arousal again and she felt her sex becoming slippery. She felt an urge to rub her pelvis on his knee. Would he notice?
Abruptly Henry stopped and put her back on her feet.
“Now, that, my girl, should be a salutary lesson. I’d say you and Amanda are even. Do you feel better now?” There was a bit of mirth in Henry’s eyes.
Libby rubbed her bottom shamelessly, then remembered to pull her skirt down.
“I…I…yes, sir,” she said, imitating her friend’s response.
“Good,” said Henry. “I have some business to attend to and you should compose yourself.” He took her arm and escorted her out of the library.
Upstairs Libby lifted her skirt and inspected her bottom in the mirror. Her bottom cheeks were red, like ripe tomatoes and the heat throbbed. It was not unpleasant though, and at that moment she realized she would have gladly offered herself to Uncle Henry to have his way with her … any way he wanted.
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