From the Top Shelf - Sally's Mom, part 1

Those of you who enjoy both M/F and F/M spanking are in for a real treat, because this story has some of each. "Sally's Mom" is from Rollin Hand's collection of spanking stories, Women in Charge, and it's a very hot tale! Here is part one:

Sally’s Mom

Every boy has that one experience – that coming of age wake-up call – that WOW moment. Mine came when I was nineteen, which they say is the peak of a young man’s sexual potency. They may just be right.

Back in the 1960’s I attended a junior college in rural southwestern Virginia. My family had moved there from the DC area because of a job opportunity for my father. I hadn’t been crazy about it, and for good reason. The town was rock solid bible belt conservative in terms of culture. Being from the hip environs of Washington DC, I felt like a fish out of water in a social milieu of church bake sales and barn dances.

It wasn’t all bad. There was this really cute girl in one of my classes by the name of Sally Jamison. Sally was a vision with her long silky reddish hair and green eyes. She dressed conservatively, but I could tell that underneath the modest dresses there was a stunning figure. She was a shy girl and it took me a while to form even a casual friendship with her. At first she shied away from my attempts to strike up casual conversations, but I was persistent. I couldn’t help it. She was so sweet and appealing that I felt like I had to get to know her. Gradually she began to talk to me. We ate lunch at the student center and discussed our classes. I walked with her to class. After six weeks of just chit-chat I asked her if she’d like to go to a movie. To my delight she said yes. I said I’d pick her up at her house.

It’s always a little nerve wracking meeting the parents for the first time. You always wonder, will they like you? Will they disapprove? Are they strict? What rules will they lay down? I thought about these things as I approached Sally’s house to pick her up that first time. I went through my rehearsed “parent speech” and figured I was ready. What I was not ready for was Mrs. Jamison.

Her name was Evelyn and she was a knockout. She couldn’t have been very old, early 40’s at the most. I decided she must have married young. As I said, Sally was cute, but her mother was something else. I tried not to gape as she ushered me in. Tall, with broad shoulders and a full bust, she moved with a lithe grace in tight Capri pants that outlined a voluptuous figure. Today our notions of beauty tend toward thin and athletic body styles, but back then it was curves and abundance. Jane Russell, Jayne Mansfield, Marilyn Monroe – those were our sex bomb icons. And that was Mrs. Jamison – glamorous and larger than life. In a few years that figure would tend toward matronly, but not today. She was the only parent in the house because Master Sergeant Jamison, her husband, was overseas.

She looked me up and down and let me sweat for a minute before she said, “You look like a nice young man. Sally will be out in a minute. Come on into the living room and let’s talk.”

I followed the sway of those ample hips as she led the way into the living room and motioned for me to sit. Then came the usual third degree. Where was home, who were my folks, what was I studying, what are my interests, do I attend church, etc? I think I managed to navigate all this, but I was running out of material. Miraculously, Sally saved the day by bounding down the stairs.

Then the conversation turned into ‘where were we going?’ and ‘who would we be with?’ The answers seemed to be satisfactory, so the cross examination finally ended and we were on our way. All the while I noticed that Sally seemed cowed by her mother. There was none of that teenage mother-daughter arguing that would seem so common to me later on in life. It was all ‘yes, mother’ and ‘no, mother.’ No, it was clear Evelyn Jamison ruled the roost and her offspring obeyed the rules. It was her intensity, I think -- an air of absolute authority. The way those eyes bored into yours told you she was always in charge and rebellion would be quickly and unmercifully quashed. It unnerved me as I observed how Sally was so polite and deferential to her mother.

That very evening I got an idea of how Mrs. Jamison was able to impose her will so absolutely and ensure such strict obedience. We had just come out of the movie theater. I suggested we go to a local soda shop and talk for a while. I could tell Sally wanted to. She gnawed her lower lip and looked around. “What time is it?” she said. I told her we had time before her curfew and anyway, what if she was a few minutes late? What was the big deal?

She went pale. “You don’t understand,” she said. “Mother is very strict.” Then she proceeded to tell me that hers was a strictly religious family and they followed biblical principles. Mother mostly ran the house because her dad was gone a lot. He was in the Army and was stationed in Korea at present, so mom was the sole authority. “If I disobey, even just a little, I get punished,” she said.

“What?” I said, “You get grounded?”

She blushed. “Um…yes,” she stammered as if the question conjured up something shameful. “And worse,” she added. Clearly, this was an uncomfortable subject.

That was a curious response. I wondered what ‘worse’ might entail. I knew Sally had an older sister who lived at home and two younger brothers in their early teens. I tried to imagine what the discipline regime in a household like that might be like. I did not want to probe. After all, we were just getting to know each other, but I was certainly curious.

I took her straight home. Sally was clearly anxious to get in by her curfew, and we made it by half an hour. Still, Mrs. Jamison met us at the door (no goodnight kiss, darn it), and made a show of looking at her watch.

That night I replayed the evening in my head and tried to understand the Jamison’s better. Ok, they were staunchly religious just like many families in Southwestern Virginia. That wasn’t unusual. Ok, Sally’s dad was military and her mom clearly authoritarian. So what made Sally so afraid of bending a rule?

The next time I called on Sally, I found out. There was some tension that I could sense as Mrs. Jamison ushered me in. I was led into the parlor to wait for Sally and what should I see but Fran, Sally’s older sister, kneeling in a corner facing the wall. On the coffee table there was a paddle. It was about a foot long and highly varnished. The edges were all rounded and beveled and the handle was wrapped in tape. It looked well used. Sally’s mother noted my surprise and casually said, “Sally will be down in a minute, then Fran and I can tend to our business – isn’t that right Fran?”

I heard a muffled “Yes, mother,” from Fran. I was stunned. Fran was probably twenty. She was still being punished with a paddle? This maybe explained Sally’s nervousness from our previous date.

Sally confirmed it. “Fran will be absolutely mortified that you saw that,” she said as we hurried down the front steps. I kept looking back as if I might catch a glimpse of the action through the window.

I asked what had happened.

“She and mother got into an argument and she sassed mother. She even used foul language. Mother absolutely won’t stand for that, so she sent Fran to fetch the spanking paddle. I’m afraid she is in for a hot time.”

My next question was obvious, and I think Sally knew it was coming. “So do you get paddled too?”

Sally blushed beet red. “Yes. We all do.” Then she grabbed my sleeve and added, “Please don’t tell anyone. Please?”

Strangely, I was not horrified, I was fascinated. I wanted to know all about it. Where I grew up, spankings were not all that common. I had known a few kids who got it, mostly the kids whose families were sort of blue collar. I remember hearing stories of memorable lickings, sometimes third hand and obviously embellished, but sometimes from the unfortunate recipient of parental wrath.

I started asking her for details. How does she do it? What is the kneeling in the corner all about? How many do you get? And the most important of all—what do you wear? Or is it on the bare?

But the topic made Sally uncomfortable. “Can we talk about something else?” I said ‘sure’ and the subject was dropped. But the fascination remained. I wanted to know all about the disciplinary practices of the Jamison family. Mostly I wanted to know all about Sally’s lickings. In my mind’s eye I saw her, bottom up, skirt furled back, maybe even panties slipped down to her knees while a determined Mrs. Jamison delivered smack after smack to her shapely derriere. Or maybe she’d be turned over her momma’s knee, skirts up and panties dangling at her knees. The thought gave me a ferocious woody.

I'll bet you are all wondering too. I'm afraid you will have to wait until next week to find out out if our narrator's imaginings are close to the real thing.