From the Top Shelf - Sally's Mom, part 2

Let's continue with Rollin Hand's short story, "Sally's Mom". We met her last week, and she certainly seems like a no-nonsense woman.

There were two things that happened gradually, but they both proceeded in parallel. First, Sally and I became an item. We studied together, lunched together, and went out on more dates. Naturally our feelings for each other began to grow, and our relationship took on a physical aspect. The local lovers’ lane became our go to spot after a movie or a party. But this was the 1960’s and while my hands were allowed to roam freely, I could not get farther than third base. That was still pretty good. I got very good with my hands. Seems I had the right touch, and I learned how to bring Sally to a nice climax while she bucked and groaned, thrashing all around in the back seat of my old hand-me-down Pontiac. She, in turn, learned how to stroke my shaft and to arrive at just the right time with the tissue for my explosive ejaculations. We had talked and we were working up to doing it to each other the French way -- with our mouths and tongues, but so far not yet. I think she was afraid it would turn into IT, the real thing, and still the big no-no.

The other thing was Mrs. Jamison. She became very friendly. Soon I was being invited over for dinner, family picnics, major holidays – those sorts of things. It was like being assimilated into the family. Plus, I sensed she seemed to be flirting with me. She still gave me the eye, but now it was with a smile that was almost of the come-hither type. Sometimes she greeted me in clothing that seemed intentionally provocative. One time she was wearing a bathrobe that parted accidentally (?) giving me a real eyeful. Once I came calling only to find that Sally was out shopping. Mrs. Jamison asked me in. My eyes almost popped out because she wore a bikini that was for its time, pretty skimpy. She had me come into the back yard and put suntan lotion on her back. I think I was hard as a rock by the time I’d finished running my hands all over her body.

“Ummm, you have nice hands, Tommy,” she said. I nearly lost it.

She’d touch me when she spoke to me. It was just a hand on my arm or wrist at first, but then it graduated. On more than one occasion she actually patted me on the butt. She made sure nobody saw it. It was just an affectionate gesture, but I could sense something else happening.

Then came the night Sally opened up about family discipline. We had parked and my hands had started to roam when Sally said, “Ow. Please go easy.” I had just cupped her rounded bottom and was rubbing both cheeks all over with my hands. “I’m still sore back there,” she said. I asked her what had happened. She let out a big sigh and said, “Mother spanked me.” And she proceeded to tell me all about it.

“It started out over nothing. I wanted to go to the library to study with Corrine for Mr. Hall’s class. Mother did not want me going out. She said we were going to Wednesday night services.”

I knew the church they attended had services every time you turned around, and that it was getting to be a source of irritation for her the older she got.

“So I stamped my foot and said something like how I hated the damn services. Mother got her dander up and told me I was going, like it or not and to mind my language. Things got pretty heated from there and I called her a hateful bitch at one point.”

I knew that wasn’t good. Mrs. Jamison did not tolerate that kind of back talk and bad language.

“So I stormed out and stomped up to my room. Later, it was time and we piled in the car and went. Nobody said another word. I thought it was over, but when we got back, she told everyone to go upstairs and get ready for bed. But to me she said, ‘Sally, put on your PJ’s and fetch the paddle. I’ll be waiting for you in the parlor’. All my apologies and protesting did me no good at all. I was going to get spanked and that’s all there was to it. My sister shook her head. My brothers snickered and mom threatened them with the same if they didn’t move it and go upstairs.”

Then Sally recounted the shameful preparation. She took her clothes off and put on these skimpy PJ’s. “I wondered if I should put panties on underneath, but I don’t usually wear them. And anyway,” she admitted, “they would just come down.”

This was the first time she’d talked about this to me. I knew if we’d had some light in the car, I’d see her blushing. “So you get it on the bare?” I said.

“Yeah. Almost always.”

“Then what?” I don’t know if she realized it, but this was getting me excited. I could see her in my mind’s eye, trooping downstairs holding the paddle in her hand.

She gave out a big sigh. “I came downstairs and there was mother. She was sitting upright on the sofa, just waiting. She held out her hand for the paddle and I handed it to her. Then, while I stood in front of her, she launched into this lecture about respect and my attitude and everything. Finally she told me to pull my PJ pants down and get across her knee. I hate that part. It makes me feel so juvenile. It’s like I was ten years old.”

“Was it pretty bad?”

“It hurt. It always hurts. It’s this really intense sting that just gets worse and worse till you can’t stand it. You squall like a baby in the end, no matter what you do. It’s awful. And she’s talking, giving you this lecture while she spanks. It’s five or six swats on the behind, then she scolds, then five or six more swats. Your behind feels like it’s on fire and you can’t stop it.”

I had this vision of what that must look like, her bottom upended over her mom’s knee, panties down exposing that cute bare fanny of hers, and that paddle flashing up and down, landing with loud cracks that made her wriggle and kick her legs. My erection was in blue steel mode.

“She paddles until you cry, and this time was no exception. After that I had to kneel in the corner for half an hour. Then I got to get up, pull my pants back up and take the paddle back. It hangs on a hook in her bedroom.”

“Wow,” I said. “That sounds pretty bad. It must be really embarrassing too.”

“It’s awful. You just can’t believe what one of mom’s spankings is like till you get one. She spanks hard and long and it doesn’t stop until you’ve been really punished and are crying. So now you know. And that’s why I’m still tender back there, so rub me easy, ok? I still like the way you touch me,” she added. Then her hand unzipped me and slipped inside my chinos. “My, oh, my,” she said. “What’s happened to you? Did my talking about mother’s spanking do that?” She looked me in the eye with a knowing smirk. “You’re a wicked boy. You should get one of mother’s spankings too, then you’d see.”

Will our narrator find out what mother's spankings are like? Wait and see!