From the Top Shelf - Sally's Mom, part 3

Last week we left a very aroused Tommy after Sally described the way her mother spanked her. Remember? If not, reread it here. Will Tommy ever get to see Sally be spanked? Will he be spanked too? Read on and find out.

"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.”

Little did she know how that last comment hit home. Now, I know this is crazy, but after that I was actually curious. I wondered what it would feel like. I mean, first there was Mrs. Jamison herself. I could get aroused just being in the same room with her, and now that she’d started these flirtations with me, she was beginning to figure more and more in my sex fueled daydreams. Then there was the whole spanking thing. It sounded so intimate. On other occasions Sally described spankings to me that were dished out when they were all younger. These were all pants down affairs, but Sally said mother had just used her hand. I immediately speculated as to what that might be like. Any time she touched me I got a charge, like electricity. So, imagining her palm smacking my bare butt was an arousing thought.

Little did I know I was about to have all my questions answered.

It happened at a party. Spring had arrived and one of my friends announced a get together in a nearby state park. I picked Sally up as usual and away we went, with the admonishment that we be home by midnight. Now one thing that was strictly forbidden in the Jamison household was alcohol. Any experimentation with alcohol was without question a spanking offense. Sally’s mom had made that clear. I had a beer every now and then when a buddy of mine would get his hands on a case, but that was about it. The county was dry anyway. So we were surprised to find that the party was, in reality, a keg party with a real beer keg in a tub of ice and a roaring bonfire.

Sally didn’t want any part of it. She tugged on my sleeve and said, “Tommy, let’s go.”

I was sorely disappointed. Surely we could stay for a while. I told Sally she didn’t have to drink it, so what was the problem? It looked like a fun time. I continued to ignore Sally’s pleas, thinking we’d stay just for a while then beat it. But it was a few minutes too long. County sheriff’s cars pulled in with searchlights blazing. We were all busted. They arrested the organizers but anyone just standing around with no beer in their hand, they just took their name and told them to go home. I’ll never forget the look of dismay on Sally’s face when the deputy said, “We’ll be calling your parents Miss Jamison, so you go on home now.” It seems the deputy went to Sally’s church and knew her family.

We were a glum pair as I pulled into the driveway. Sally had been fidgeting nervously all the way home.

“Relax, you didn’t do anything,” I said. “Your mom has to understand that.” But underneath I was fearful for what Sally faced at home.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “All mom will care about was that I was at a party where there was beer.” She turned to me with tears in her eyes. “I’m really going to get it this time.”

I resolved that I’d do whatever I could to shield Sally. It was my fault anyway. Surely Mrs. Jamison would see it that way.

My worst fears came true when we arrived. The deputy’s call had come through. Mrs. Jamison was standing on the porch and she looked furious. Her arms were folded across her chest and her foot was tapping as we came up the steps to the house.

“Well Sally Ellen Jamison, just what do you have to say for yourself?” Her nostrils flared as she breathed. It looked as though she could barely contain herself.

“Momma, it’s not what you think. I didn’t have any beer or anything. We were just about to leave.”

Evelyn Jamison stood stony faced as Sally pleaded her case. It was going nowhere. Then I chimed in.

“It’s true Mrs. Jamison. Sally didn’t drink any beer. We were just there – and I didn’t know there would be beer. No idea at all.” The last part wasn’t entirely true. I’d had an inkling of what type of party it was going to be. It didn’t matter. She cut me off.

“Sally Ellen, you go straight to your room and get your little self ready. You know what you have coming.” Sally let out a pathetic wail and burst into tears. “As for you, Tommy Flanders. You are forbidden to see my daughter again.” She pointed down the driveway. “Go!”

“No! No! Wait,” I said. This was a catastrophe. I could not leave it this way. Sally ran inside. I heard her shoes thumping up the stairs to her room. I turned to Mrs. Jamison. “Please, let me explain,” I said.

“There is nothing to explain, young man. Sally went to a party where alcohol was present. She knows full well that is strictly forbidden in this family and she knows the penalty.”

“Please don’t,” I said. “You can’t punish Sally. I’m the one who ought to be punished.”

Everything stopped. She looked at me with raised eyebrows. Something I’d said had struck a chord. She cocked her head, like she was considering an idea. “You know how Sally is punished.” It wasn’t a question the way she phrased it.

“Yes, I know. She told me.”

“Do you think you should get the same?” she said.

“I…I don’t know. I only know Sally should not be punished. It’s my fault. I sort of suspected what was going to be at the party and I took her there anyway.” Now I was admitting to a fib as well.

“A minute ago you said you had no idea there would be beer there. So on top of the rest, you just lied to me.”

I blushed red. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. You’ve got to let me see Sally again.”
“You never answered my question, young man. Do you think you should get the same treatment as Sally?”

I froze. A cold chill went up my spine as I thought about her question. Was she serious? Mrs. Jamison’s eyes bored into mine. It was like she could see through me. “I’ll do anything if I can still see Sally,” I said.

“We’ll see,” she said. She went to the front door and motioned for me to come in. “If you want to see Sally again you will do exactly as I say.” She came in and crooked her finger, indicating that I was to follow. She led me to the parlor and told me to sit down. “I’m going upstairs now to punish Sally…” I started to protest, but she held her palm up. “You just wait right here. Afterwards we will discuss your behavior and what it will take for you to continue to see my daughter.”

She turned and walked out of the room. I heard her tread on the steps as she went upstairs. I could only imagine how Sally felt at that moment. As I waited, I noticed something. We were alone in the house, Sally, her mom, and I. The two younger brothers and Sally’s sister were somewhere else. The significance of this fact would become apparent later. For a time the house was still. All I heard was the ticking of the big grandfather clock in the foyer. Then I heard voices. Sally was being scolded. “I told you never to go to that kind of party,” I heard her mom say. Then: “Please, I didn’t know… (followed by crying)” from Sally. Mrs. Jamison’s voice again: “Stand up, Sally and take down your panties … right now!” From Sally: “No, mom, no!”

It occurred to me that the bedroom door had been left open deliberately so that I could hear. And I heard plenty. For the next several minutes the sounds of hard wood striking bare flesh echoed through the house. This was interspersed with the sounds of scolding and Sally’s heart wrenching sobs. I felt truly sorry for her, and it was all my fault. How was I ever going to make it up to her?

Smack! “Ow, momma!” Crack! “Wahhh!” Whap! “Nhhh…please, momma!” I heard it clearly and so I had this mental picture in my head of Mrs. Jamison seated on the bed with Sally prostrate over her lap, bare bottom cocked up, the paddle raised to shoulder height then speeding to its fleshy target in a blur, the resulting crack and the wail of distress. In my mind’s eye Sally wriggled, thumping her legs on the bed or maybe waving them in the air. God help me, I was getting hard visualizing the scene.

It continued for several long minutes before it finally stopped. There were voices now, but they were softer. I couldn’t hear what was being said. I imagined it was something along the lines of “you will never do that again.” A door shut. Footsteps announced that someone was descending the stairs. Mrs. Jamison appeared in the parlor door. In her hand was an oblong paddle, about a foot long, four inches wide.

She motioned to be with her finger. “Come with me, Tommy. We have to have a talk.”

So the answer to my first question above is no, Tommy doesn't actually see Sally over her mother's knee. But a possible 'yes' to the second one. Next week we'll join Tommy and Sally's mom for that 'talk'.