From the Top Shelf - Once Upon a Time, part 1

I found this story on an old, inactive blog that featured stories from British spanking magazines. This tale, told in three parts, is silly, but it's also quite humorous, and there's plenty of spanking. So relax and enjoy "Once Upon A Time" by Gerald Sinclair, originally published in Janus magazine.

Long ago, in the days of legend and magic, there was a King who had three beautiful daughters. Crystal was the eldest at 21, then came Miranda who was 18, and finally 16-year-old Lisette.

* * *

King Fedor's realm was a happy place on the whole, but problems did arise from time to time. There came a day when a panting messenger fell to one knee before the King and gasped out, 'Sire, a ferocious dragon is ravaging the western provinces!'

'Damn it!' frowned the King, irritably thumping the arm of his throne. 'They'll probably want a reduction of taxes as they did after the Ogre Invasion three years ago. The dragon's going through the usual routine, I take it?'

'Yes, Sire,' said the messenger. 'Killing all the men it can catch, reducing the crops and cottages to ashes with its fiery breath, carrying off beautiful maidens to meet a fate so bizarre –'

'Yes, yes, you needn't go into that,' said the King, uneasily aware of Queen Marguerite's formidable presence at his side. 'What are the local people doing about it, though? There were supposed to be some good dragon-slaying teams in the west. Gramarye United were near the top of the first division last year.'

'Alas, great king,' said the messenger. 'Gramarye United went forth to do battle against the monster a week ago. All we could find of them afterwards was a couple of broken spears and a scorched jockstrap. This dragon is really something special.'

'It's the enchanted variety I suppose,' said Queen Marguerite, impatiently. 'Protected by magic spells, immune to ordinary weapons. You'll have to consult the Court Magician, Fedor. It's time he did something to earn his keep apart from performing dubious conjuring tricks at the men-at-arms' stag parties.'

'Just what I was thinking, my dear,' said the King. 'Someone go and tell Master Erasmus he's wanted immediately.'

Shortly afterwards Master Erasmus stood before them clad in his bright and gaudy official robes; a plump, curly-haired fellow with dimpled cheeks and shifty eyes. The problem was explained to him and he went through the motions of his craft. He consulted ancient cobwebbed volumes, peered into a crystal ball, read teacups and burned peculiar-smelling herbs.

'The answer is not altogether clear,' he said, 'but it seems that the dragon can only be overthrown by a brave knight who has a lady's handkerchief tied to his spear. The handkerchief must be stained with the tears of a royal princess who has been soundly whipped.'

'What?' It was a simultaneous shriek from the King's three lovely daughters.

Queen Marguerite turned to look at the quaking, blushing princesses. 'Fortunately,' she said with a grim smile, 'that can easily be arranged.'

She pointed to Crystal, a long-legged, delightfully curved young lady with big blue eyes and long, gleaming golden hair. 'As the eldest, Crystal, you always take precedence over your sisters. We will now go to your bedroom and –'

'Oh, but Mother!' blurted out Crystal in dismay. 'I don't want – I'd rather not – isn't there some other way?'

'Your bedroom, Crystal!' was the Queen's only response as she arose and took a firm grip on her reluctant daughter's wrist. She led Crystal through the astonished and amused courtiers, out of the Throne Room and up the stairs. By which time, Crystal's cheeks were crimson with embarrassment.

'You can't be serious, Mother!' protested Crystal as they entered her bedroom. 'I – I haven't done anything to be punished for.'

'That has nothing to do with it,' said the Queen, opening a drawer and producing a formidable three-tailed leather tawse. 'Being a member of a Royal family means one must sometimes make sacrifices for the good of the people. Bend over!'

Taking up an all-too-familiar position over the end of the bed, Crystal grumbled, 'That's all very well – but it's my bum that's going to be sacrificed!'

'Don't whine, Crystal,' said her mother, briskly turning up the princess' skirts waist-high to reveal very shapely legs clad in the sheerest silk, and charmingly dainty white lace-trimmed knickers. 'You haven't had a real leathering for nearly six months, so you're overdue for one anyway.'

She deftly drew the knickers down to the stocking tops, feeling a maternal satisfaction at the sight of Crystal's plump, bare, cream-skinned bottom. 'I'm afraid I've been neglecting you, Crystal,' she said, giving an affectionate pat to those tempting curves. 'I'll try to make up for that.'

She stepped back, raised the tawse and brought it down hard.

'Ow!' yelled Crystal, with a convulsive jerk, as she felt the agonising sting of tough leather across her sensitive buttocks.

The tawse swung down again. 'Ooooh!' And again. And again.

'The handkerchief!' wailed Crystal, squirming wildly as her tender bottom burned. 'Let me wipe my eyes and then you can stop!'

'Master Erasmus did say soundly whipped,' said her mother somewhat breathlessly. 'I think another six should do it.'

'Oh no, Mother, please!'

'Oh yes, Crystal!' said the Queen.

Whack! 'Aaahoww!'

Below, in the Throne Room, the courtiers waited in attentive silence. Although the bedroom was some distance away the sound of Crystal's tearful lamentations reached them quite distinctly. Cautious glances of satisfaction were exchanged between those who had often found the Princess over-haughty and inclined to insist on the dignity of her exalted rank. Much tingling excitement was felt all round at the sounds of the tawse striking her bottom.

Eventually the Queen reappeared, holding a handkerchief which was not merely stained but saturated with Crystal's heartfelt tears. She handed it to her husband.

'Give this to Sir Bevis,' she suggested. 'He's supposed to be rather good with dragons and I'm tired of having him hanging round the palace and seducing the serving wenches.'

After Sir Bevis had ridden off on his big white charger with the handkerchief tied to his lance the courtiers, with a slight sense of anti-climax, settled down to wait for news. Princess Crystal emerged from her bedroom, very red about the eyes and unusually subdued, and sent a smirking page to hunt out the plumpest, softest cushion in the palace.

Will Sir Bevis slay the dragon. We'll find out next week.