Have you ever given or taken an intentional one-sided spanking? Yesterday, our good friend Devlin O'Neill published a post that illustrates this perfectly. What a coincidence!
Alan: Not had that exact experience, but my first disciplinarian discovered
the power of delivering multiple strokes to one cheek and then the other
until my whole bum was a flaming mess. I was shocked the first time she
did it because it overwhelmed my defenses and resolution "to take my
punishment like a man" There is no chance to recover when alternate
checks are repeatedly spanked and I went from enduring it to losing it.
We both really wanted that, so it was all good. But when she let me up I
knew I had been well and truly spanked by someone who now meant
business. It was surely the most severe spanking I had received till
that time and considering the psychological shock of it one of the most
severe I have ever received. It made a lasting impression.
morningstar: Yes I did ...... and I didn't like it one little bit. I realized how
alternating cheeks gives me time to process the pain (for lack of a
better explanation).
Bonnie: Not an entire spanking, but enough to know that I really dislike that unbalanced feeling.
Roz: As the others said, balance is best. I don't think I have had an entire
one-sided spanking, but certainly all attention paid to one cheek then
the other on occasion.
Graham: Yuk! Wouldn't want to give or receive. To each his/her own.
Prefectdt: No I have never intentionally been spanked in this way nor do I ever
want to be. I would "Safe Word" this kind of thing during pre spanking
negotiations or chat. I thoroughly hate being "Lop Spanked". It brings
me out in quotation marks :)
Jack: My wife wants to insure I have trouble sitting, so both cheeks are equally spanked.
Barrel: We have not. We do have spanking game we haven’t played yet called
“Count To Ten”, where each cheek gets first one, then two, then three
and so on up to ten. From the discussion at the table, I don’t think I
want to play it. And it seems to me that surface area matters. The
more surface area covered, the more satisfaction?
Rosco: The last thing Irene would do would be to think about details like this.
But yesterday, we escaped to a nearby private cabin so she brought only
her leather ping pong paddle and no other “toys”. She started fast and
hard, and gave multiple whacks to one cheek before switching to the
other. 5 seconds reprieve can help a cheek prepare for the next swat but
was not to be had.
Generally she’s much more egalitarian in her approach to spanking - one then the other.
In
days gone by, with switches especially, Irene would fail to realize
that some strokes were wrapping around and getting my hip bone. I would
interrupt if necessary but it lessened my mood to do so. After she would
see the bruising and eventually she learned to keep the end of any whip
closer to the middle of the far cheek.
Ronnie: Never had an entire spanking of one cheek and happy it hasn't happened.
Pete: I have many times had a one butt session. HATE IT !!!!!!! Am told it is the best reminder that this is discipline and not a game!
Wendel: It would be a half-assed job. Someone had to say it.
A.J. "Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance, order, rhythm...." - Thomas Merton.
(N.B.: I'm only a fun spanker/spankee, with no interest in delivering - or getting - a "REAL!" spanking. I just think and do it because it's fun.)
It
was my question, and the background was a short video clip of a woman
spanking some guy OTK. And she was pretty damn good! With just her
hand. (But if that hand had held a hairbrush or paddle...(Shudders....)
I noticed something while watching, and then re-ran that clip a couple
more times and took count. Over about 110-seconds - 93 firm spanks, 78
of them delivered to the poor guy's northern hemisphere!
I had a
small laugh at that because I have been in that guy's position where my
GF had concentrated so often on my northern hemisphere to the point I
had to look back and remind her, "Hey! I have two cheeks!" Because it
really hurt! Whereupon she would smile sweetly, apologize, promised to
make up for her error, and proceeded to do so. And as the spanker, I
admit have been guilty of that carelessness, too. Besides, pink is a
nice color and it should be spread around, amiright?
I assumed
that one-cheek-samba in the clip was, like my experiences -
unintentional. From the reader responses it looks like my assumption
has been wrong. Ouch!!!
QBuzz: A 'one-cheek samba' is my girlfriend's preferred technique, she spanks
one cheek many times and then the other many times, and so on. It is
certainly effective and it always evens out in the long run... I have commented on it in the past but she has no intention of changing so I just have to be a good boy and accept it :D
Hermione: Ron is usually good about giving both cheeks equal treatment. The only time he intentionally punishes one side more than the other is when he uses the flogger. The right cheek is the only one that feels the effect.
"Let's be careful out there." - Sergeant Phil Esterhaus, Hill Street Precinct.
I hope everyone is staying home and staying safe. We are both well and are going out for supplies only when necessary. We took a drive downtown yesterday and it was an eerie experience. A usually bustling shopping district was practically devoid of people, except for a few hardy shoppers.
Our good friend A.J. suggested this week's topic. He told me it was inspired by a video in which the disciplinarian devoted all efforts to a single cheek, instead of alternating between left and right buttock.
Have you ever given/taken a spanking where a one-cheek samba was intentional?
Please leave your response as a comment and I will publish an edited summary of our conversation once everyone has weighed in.
We went for a walk yesterday afternoon. The weather was chilly but the air was still and it made a pleasant change from sitting indoors. Many other people had the same idea. We passed several couples, mothers with children, dog walkers or lone strollers. Each time, we smiled and said hello, keeping our social distance by stepping into the road or onto a lawn. Cyclists rushed past, and we had to dodge an entire family on scooters.
The streets were mostly deserted and cars were infrequent. We could have walked down the middle of the road, and in fact, we saw a man playing ball hockey by himself in the middle of an intersection. It was odd to see so many cars in the driveways of the houses. Most people were at home instead of working. Non-essential I guess. Squirrels raced back and forth across the streets, invincible as always, but safe from motorists this time.
There were signs of life, however. In one block, children had been busy with coloured chalk on the pavement, and the message "Hi neighbour, you look lovely" made me smile. I also tried out the longest hopscotch I had ever seen. A sign in a window read, "Hello from inside". Colourful wreaths and other decorations on the outside of houses showed that many youngsters were keeping busy with crafts.
I wrote about our neighbourhood once before, in my short story, Carnaby Calling. Perhaps you would like to reread it or enjoy it for the first time.
Last week we found James at the bedroom door of two of the girls in his boarding house, listening while Molly described her spanking. He was caught by Mrs. Reed, and you can guess what happened next.
Mrs. Hansen’s Boarding House — Part 2
She was standing there with her arms folded and a smirk on her face.
“Eavesdropping, James?”
“Er..ah I …” James was tongue-tied. “I was just…I thought I heard a noise.”
She shook a finger at him. “Don’t lie to me, young man. You were listening at the door. Maybe you were watching through the keyhole, hmm? Yes. Trying to get a get glimpse of some girls in their underwear, weren’t you?”
“N-no, ma’am,” said James. “Really, no.”
She huffed a disgusted sigh. “This is despicable, James. You should be ashamed of yourself.” Then she turned and, crooking her finger, said imperiously, “Well, I know the cure for that, young man. Come with me.”
James had no choice but to follow. He followed her upstairs past his floor to a portion of the house he’d never seen. The motion of her hips was mesmerizing as he followed her up the stairs. She wore a tight form-fitting skirt and James could not keep his eyes off of the side to side sway of her hips.
On the top floor a long corridor that meandered to a remote end of the house led to a door. Mrs. Reed unlocked it and ushered James inside. His eyes took in a bedroom, apparently in disuse, but clean. A large four poster bed, vanity table, a chest, a wardrobe—it had the look of a woman’s bedroom, the walls painted in soft pastels. Ida Reed ushered James inside and shut the door. She stood in front of James, hands on her hips.
“Well, James, what should we do with you? Should I tell Mrs. Hansen what you did? She will be very angry with you.”
“Uh, no, please Mrs. Reed. Don’t.” James held up his hands in supplication.
“Because you know what she will do, don’t you? Spying on the girls is forbidden and sinful.” She said it with almost a hiss. “She will bring out that paddle and paddle you bare—in front of the girls. I saw her do that once to a boy caught spying on the girls. Oh, yes, I did.” She nodded her head up and down. “She sat on a chair and took his pants right down in front of them all. They giggled and laughed as she put him over her knee. But he wasn’t laughing, oh no. He cried big salty tears, that’s what he did. Twenty licks as hard as she could make them. He was a sight, kicking and yelling, but she held him down, right across her knee. Oh, he was one very sorry boy, let me tell you. You should have heard him squealing. Just like a girl.” Then she added, “Why, he couldn’t sit at supper for days. He had to eat off the mantle in the parlor.”
“Mrs. Reed, I’m sorry. I won’t do that again,” pleaded James. The prospect of twenty swats to his bare behind with that paddle was terrifying, not to mention the embarrassment.
She turned and sat down on the chest at the foot of the bed, crossed her legs and regarded him for a moment. James fidgeted nervously under her scrutiny.
“I suppose we could keep this between ourselves,” she mused.
“Yes, oh, yes,” said James, at last seeing a ray of hope.
“But you deserve punishment.” She swung her foot back and forth. “Don’t you James? Haven’t you been…naughty?” The voice had turned almost seductive.
This was taking a different turn. “I—I suppose,” said James. “Yes, ma’am,” he added.
“Then if we don’t involve Mrs. Hansen, I’ll just have to punish you myself, won’t I?” she said, a thin smile emerging at the corners of her mouth.
“What?” said James, now alarmed.
“That’s right,” she said. “You didn’t think you’d get off scot free, did you? Such a naughty boy,” she chuckled with a throaty laugh. “Now come over here.” She gestured for him to come around. “Stand to my right side.” When he stood as she’d ordered, she said. “Now put your hands on your head.”
“My head?” said James.
“Do I have to say everything twice?” she said sharply.
Hesitantly, James put his hands on his head. He looked down. Mrs. Reed was unfastening his belt.
“W-what are you doing?”
“I’m taking your pants down,” she said very matter-of-factly. “You’re getting a good spanking, young man—on your bare bottom, of course.” Sternness had returned to her voice.
“I—I…please, no,” said a panicked James. Bared and spanked by this woman? At the same time an inconvenient surge of a mixture of fear, adrenaline and sexual arousal hit him. His penis began to thicken. His belt was unbuckled by the deft fingers of Mrs. Reed, and his pants fell to his ankles. Then she slipped her fingers into the elastic of his briefs and tugged them down to his knees. His penis popped up, hard evidence of his arousal. It stuck straight out and bobbed slowly up and down.
“Well,” said Mrs. Reed in an icy tone, “how do you explain THIS?”
James blushed from head to toe.
“You can just put yourself right across my knee this instant,” she declared.
James looked down only to observe that Mrs. Reed was hiking back her skirt, exposing legs clad in nylon hose and held in place by garters. James’ eyes bulged and his erection grew.
“Right now,” she said, pointing to her lap.
James eased himself across her knees, and as he did so she parted her legs slightly. His erection slipped down between her legs and when he had settled across her lap she brought her legs together effectively clamping his erect member between her thighs. The feel of her nylons gripping his penis was electric and he willed himself not to have an accident. For a moment he lay there in that embarrassing posture, a cool breeze raising goose bumps on the flesh of his bare behind. He needn’t have worried about any accident.
Crack! A hot sting exploded across his bottom as the crisp smack of Mrs. Reed’s hand on his bare behind erased, at least for the moment, all thoughts of arousal.
Smack! Whack! Crack! Three more followed in quick succession.
It stung like blazes! She spanked him rapidly, and with hard meaty smacks that blazed like white heat making him squirm and buck over her lap. At first she alternated between left and right cheeks, right on the crowns of his buttocks. The pain intensified with each spank and he bowed his back as if trying in vain to diminish the target area. Then she worked her way down to the tops of his thighs. It was a steady relentless rhythm of hand meeting flesh, and James’ distress increased with every brisk smack.
“Ow…ow…ow!” He could not stifle his cries. It was a fiery sting, burning him like a flame applied to his rear end. He squirmed involuntarily. He had wanted to get through this with as much dignity as he could muster, but it was proving to be quite impossible.
“Be still,” said Mrs. Reed, applying a fast flurry of spanks to his rapidly reddening bottom cheeks. “I’ll bet you’ll not eavesdrop again, James, will you?” Her hand flashed up and down in rapid succession, planting a fusillade of sharp spanks on his quivering bottom.
“Ow..ow…no ma’am!” wailed James. Ahh, this stung—more than any spanking James could remember. He bucked over her lap, flopping around. But this movement had the unfortunate effect of stimulating his engorged penis which was sheathed between Mrs. Reed’s thighs. Mrs. Reed must have felt it because she began to spank slower, mixing the spanks with little pauses to rub and pat before unleashing another rapid flurry of crisp smacks. It kept him quite off balance. With that came a change in tone to her voice. It now had a flirtatious sing-song quality.
“Are you going to be a good boy now? (Smack! Crack!) Will you James? (Smack Spank!) Such a nice plump boy bottom you have! (Smack! Crack!) Perfect for spanking. See how it wobbles. (Spank! Crack!) And young frisky boys need their spankings. Oh yes, they do. (Smack! Crack!).”
James arched his back in pain, hissing through his teeth. He was about to lose it. But mercifully, she stopped.
“Now can you be good?” she said, resting her palm on James’ bottom and rubbing slowly in circles. “Such a good boy, James,” she said, stroking him.
“Ahh, yes ma’am. Please ma’am, no more.” His rear was burning up and his eyes were watering.
“I think you can be, James, but I could feel that naughty thing. You know what I mean, don’t you?” Something had changed. She’d gone from harsh disciplinarian to sly seductress. “Kneel down,” she said in a throaty whisper. “Between my legs.”
James did as she asked. He knelt between her legs. Slowly she slid her skirt even higher. “Have you ever seen a woman, James? Down there I mean?”
James shook his head. “I’m going to teach you about a woman, James. Her skirt cleared her waist and to James’ amazement she reached under and slid her panties down. “Now,” she said, “I’m going to teach you to pleasure me, and if you’re very good, I’ll take care of that naughty thing of yours. You’d like that wouldn’t you, James?”
Warning. Explicit sexual activity ahead.
By this time James was too far gone in a confused mix of arousal and fear to refuse. She pulled his face into her furry nest and told him to lick, showing him exactly where she wanted his tongue. He complied, even finding the little button with his tongue as she instructed. After several shuddering climaxes she took James on her knee like a little boy and ran her hand, the hand that had spanked him so unmercifully, up and down his engorged shaft until he exploded, his cum spurting in milky jets while he nearly shook apart with pleasure.
Once the edge was off she rose and took off her dress until she was clad only in the garter belt and hose. To James’ delight, she was stunning, with a narrow waist, long legs and of course, those oh so prominent breasts. That vision, and Mrs. Reed’s manipulation, served to renew James until he was ready again. This time she lay on her back and pulled James on top of her. She inserted his penis and it was a feeling like nothing James had ever experienced. They rocked slowly at first, then faster, always at the pace she dictated. Pleasure welled up from below like a volcano of sensation, threatening to erupt. Ida Reed sensed it. Once when he started to go too fast she slapped his buttocks sharply. “As I say, James. As I say.” He did what she said. He stroked her, in and out, with an agonizing slowness that was halfway between agony and ecstasy. Finally when she was ready, she slapped his ass hard and told him to go ahead, faster. He plunged into her with a fury and both of them came together, in a frenzied thrashing and gasping for breath.
/copulation
Back in his bed, James tried to assimilate what had just happened. Mrs. Reed was a different person entirely from whom he had assumed her to be. And despite the throbbing in his bottom and the shame of it all, he realized that what he wanted most was to do it again.
Baxter: I worked from home this past week. the big difference was my alarm not going off at 430am which then signals my climbing on the bus at 540am that connects with a train which arrives at Union Station at 650am and into my gray cubicle at 705am. So this week it was no alarm, sleeping until 615am and sitting with my company laptop at 705 am. I did not miss my coworker over the cubicle giving off with her conspiracy theories or bad news. I did not miss the unfriendly coworkers that don't say good morning or anything at all. It is now the weekend with a statewide shelter in place proclamation from the governor to go into place at 5pm today. It's ok because I can watch birds in the backyard from my kitchen table, I can read, I can work on my model railroad and we can always have sex and spankings. That is how life will be until April 7 at least. The unfortunate thing was that I was to have total knee replacement surgery on March 19, but it was cancelled as it was an elective surgery. Oh well, it will happen at some point. I hope that everyone on this blog stays safe and healthy. We will get through this, together.
Xen: My daughter got sick with an unknown flu-like virus about a week and a half before everything locked down here. My husband and I put a halt on harder spankings (for ME... we don’t spank the kids!!!) until we were sure we were both healthy, which we seem to be. I told him to lift that whenever he felt like it, and at this point I’m stressed enough that I am really needing/craving a good beating.
In terms of non kink life... we are luckier than most. My husband has a job he can do from home that isn’t likely to disappear anytime soon. We have some savings and are trying to do take-out and support local businesses remotely when we can. We have a good sized backyard where I can send the kids when they’re driving me insane. I’m in the US but our governor has had one of the more aggressive responses (which I’m glad of) so schools have been closed for a week and pretty much everything else closed soon after.
I have asthma so I am worried about myself, but I’m more worried about my parents and inlaws. I’m also very worried about many of my friends who’ve had to close down businesses, have lost jobs, or are likely to lose their jobs soon. One thing I do feel grateful for is that this thing isn’t really hitting kids... this would be unthinkably terrifying if it were targeting children like many illnesses do... as it is my main concern for them is some other kind of emergency happening when the hospitals hit peak overload.
Fred: I am hunkered down, not going out at all. I am doing some work from home. I have to be careful as I do have some medical issues that make me more vulnerable. Kinky stuff is completely on hold. But I do intend to write stuff for my much neglected blog. Stay safe everyone.
Nena: I live in the part of the Netherlands with the highest number of patients.
I still have to go to work. It is impossible to do my work from home and we are supposed to come to work unless we show symptoms. So my alarm still goes at 3.30, work starts at 5 and I get home between 11 and 12.
What I love is that my husband works from home now, so we can have lunch together when I get home and because he needs to get away from the computer every once in a while he usually has done some laundry or he unloaded the dishwasher by the time I get home.
The kids, both teenagers, don't have school, but our youngest has been home with depression and anxiety disorder for the past months, so no change there and the oldest had only one test left this year and than he was already supposed to have 6-7 weeks off till the final exams.
It's such a weird situation, things are scary, but at the same time, everything seems so surreal, like it's not really happening.
Since our youngest is always home, there hasn't been any kinky stuff going on for months. We just can't figure out how to make it work. But that has nothing to do with the virus.
morningstar: I've posted a couple of blogs about my anxiety over this Covid 19 - I'm slowly (I think and hope) getting a handle on it. Sir Steve can't work from home -- but thankfully he drives himself to and from work and there are only 6 employees in the office. Our town hasn't any cases yet which also helps to alleviate some of my anxiety.
On the bright side my girls have been in touch via Facebook messenger every day ... and my brother has scheduled a video chat tomorrow with me. I noticed the other day how quiet our town is... peacefully so..... though it is a bit eerie not to hear the cars roaring down the road. On the sunny days (what few we've had) I sit on our front deck and the few folks out walking smile and say 'hi' -- there's a part of me that hopes this neighbourliness continues once this is over.
As for kinky activities we haven't had the lil one this week (and next) so we have had some nice adult times...
Hoping everyone stays well and safe.
Roz: The biggest impacts for me so far are friends being in self isolation due to travel, visiting Dad. The apartments he lives in have restricted visitors to close family only and only between certain times. We would normally go out for lunch too, which we will no longer be doing (they haven't closed restaurants and cafes yet, but numbers are restricted).
Shopping is also a huge frustration. The shelves are still empty...of everything!
Work wise, at the moment we aren't set up to work from home which means I still take the train to work, however they have banned cash and may put in measures to try and keep people separated. My organisation also plays a big part in the covid response, so the situation at work is a bit fluid and we could end up being deployed to different jobs than our usual job.
Doug: My daughter and her son went grocery shopping for us tonight, and, to her surprise, the store was practically empty of customers and she found everything on the shopping list, including hand sanitizers. So, perhaps hoarding is slowing down.
On the kinky side, my wife and I are completely alone during this corona crisis, thus making it easy for her to paddle me twice a week, as scheduled. Something I enjoy a great deal despite the moderate pain.
Wendel: We both have the ability to work from home. The spankings and sex have actually increased as a result. I have to stand as I write this because of the paddling I received an hour ago. The Misses does video meetings from her laptop which made for a few good paddlings for her prior to the meetings. It is fun to see her try to sit and be serious on a video call when her bottom is burning and sore. Wonder if the the people on the other end notice anything different about her.
QBuzz: Obviously it's difficult for everyone, but I always like to put a positive spin on things, and me and my girlfriend are very much looking forward to much spanking and other 'sexual harassment' going on (in both directions) while we're both working from home... the only problem is deciding who gets to be the boss and who gets to be the secretary/assistant :D
Prefectdt:
1 - My last two opportunities to get a spanking both got scuppered by the present situation and it looks like I will not get another chance for some time. It has been many months since I have had a good bottom warming and am now feeling decidedly pain slutty.
2 - My working week has been reduced to 2 days next week.
3 - The shops in my region have successfully restocked, so that's one good thing.
4 - I am hoping that this will be a psychological kick in the ass to the whole world and that every one realizes that we have to find real solutions to real problems and stop listening to extremists and populists.
5 - I have to do something about my recent compulsion to write everything as lists.
Bonnie: We're doing OK, maybe better than most because we have each other so we're not entirely alone. We are working from home and with a bit of adaptation, it's satisfactory. No-bra Wednesdays have rapidly spread to other days of the week and the only dressing up I do is for Randy.
Speaking of which, we have shortened the interval between spankings. What once were weekly appointments can now happen at almost any time. I find that the anxiety reducing properties of a small lexan paddle, when applied vigorously to the skin of the buttocks, are extremely effective. I'm still ouchy from last night and that makes me smile every time I sit down.
So, yeah, we're doing all right so far.
Barrel: I moved my office home on Tuesday and now work from our dining room table. By moving everything, I also brought my freestanding camera as we are now doing a lot of video conferencing. I’ve been thinking how to use that camera on my personal computer to video our next session so I can see what it is like from the delivery side. My wife has been telling me I need a session...maybe due to the constant closeness?
These are crazy times. Be well. Cheers!
Abby: I'm so happy to see this brunch is still happening! I've been trying to get to it all morning but the dogs suddenly required baths - don't ask. Hello Hermione, Bonnie, Prefectdt (I think it's been about a decade since I've said hi), and everyone!
So far we're doing well - I'm back on my blog as of last night and Mr. W is busy crafting spanking paddles. So far, it is a kinky quarantine. My adult stepson has lived with us for the last five years, but on Friday he temporarily moved in with his girlfriend's family for quarantine while she's home from college. It only took the end of the world, but we got our house and our kinky lives back! We're feeling fortunate right now, though there's also the fear that it's just the calm before the storm.
Hope everyone is able to stay mentally and physically well during these times.
Sam: As I write this, I am sitting on a pillow. After a week of both of us working from home,
I was getting more and more cranky. Beth said strip and within a few minutes she took
the paddle to my bottom and brought it to what she calls "the shade of red that
indicates she has done a good job.
Prepared breakfast in only an apron. Humiliating to feel a paddle now and then as
I set the table. Off to corner time.
Ronnie: We're doing OK. Thankfully spankings are still happening.
Shopping is a big frustration. I can't believe the selfishness of people stockpiling. They should be shamed. Pubs, cafes, leisure centres and gyms are closed. Our over 70's have been told to stay at home for 12 weeks and in the next few days 1.5 million people with underlying health issues will be getting a letter advising them to stay at home for 12 weeks. Our neighbours are over 80 so I keep checking in on them to make sure they have everything they need.
Hermione: We are both retired so our regular routine has changed little, except that we no longer go mall walking for exercise when the weather is bad. We are relatively safe - only five cases here so far - but schools, stores, churches, restaurants and theatres are closed. I go out for supplies as Ron is more at risk than I am since he is a few years older. Everything seems to be available except toilet paper and hand sanitizer. My only social outlet is singing in a choir, and that too is on hold right now. I am very thankful that I had my second cataract surgery before all elective surgery was cancelled.
Spanking goes on as usual; no need to stop that, right? It's a merciful distraction and lets me have something else on my mind for a little while.
Be safe, everyone, and keep your distance:)
Can't find toilet paper? Here are some alternatives.
Welcome to a special edition of our weekly spanko brunch. I try to make this blog a pleasant, upbeat place where like-minded spankos come to escape and enjoy themselves. But the world is a dark place these days and we are all struggling to come to terms with the pandemic that surrounds us.
How is the novel coronavirus (COVID-19) impacting your life? What has changed for you, either in your spanking routines or your regular, vanilla life? Can you think of anything positive that has come about as a result of these changes?
This is your chance to speak your mind about your fears and challenges. Please do so by leaving a comment. I will publish an edited summary of our conversation on Monday. Until then, stay safe.
Today we begin a short story by the late Rollin Hand. He explained that it was not planned beforehand; he wrote it on his blog, section by section, inventing the storyline as he typed. I think that's an interesting way to create a tale, so let's get started.
College Junction, Minnesota, 1962.
The first thing that struck James about Mrs. Greta Hansen was the fact that she seemed so formidable. Tall and solid with blonde hair in a bun, a round face and hard grey eyes, she looked like some Midwest farmer’s wife capable of everything from plowing fields to hauling water to chopping wood. With her imposing bust, wide hips and stout legs, James could also imagine her as a Valkyrie warrior in some German opera wearing one of those horned helmets.
James had been directed to Mrs. Hansen’s boarding house by his mother, who had arranged for him to live there while at college. James’ mother had insisted on the Hansen house, and in James’ household, mother’s word was law. What James had really wanted was to be out from under his mother’s thumb, finally. He thought that leaving home for college would do that, and he had wanted to live in a dormitory with other boys his own age. His mother would not hear of it.
“In one of those filthy dormitories? I won’t permit it. It’s all arranged, James. I have spoken to Mrs. Hansen and I must say I am impressed. She runs a tight ship.” Then she had put her arm around her son’s shoulders. “It won’t be so bad, James. Why, I know that a former classmate of yours, Fran Blackman will be living there too. Mrs. Hansen takes in both boys and girls.”
James knew Fran Blackman, a cute girl from his high school. He hadn’t known her well. Enough to say hello in the hall, but that was about it. He had, from somewhere, heard that her parents were strict. Just like his own parents. That maybe explained why she had ended up at this Mrs. Hansen’s house. So James was resigned. But after a quarter of community college and having to stay at home, James was ready to leave. He’d been accepted at State University and would arrive for the start of the second quarter.
So on the appointed day he had packed his things for the drive to the quaint college town in which State University was located. He and his mother had an appointment with Mrs. Greta Hansen.
She sat across from James and his mother in her parlor, sitting stiffly upright in an old chair. Mrs. Reed sat next to the pair who were relegated to an uncomfortable looking loveseat. Between them was a tea set. She had insisted that they have tea. So he sipped tea politely while she alternately grilled him and dictated the rules of her house. They included no drinking, be in by curfew (which SHE would establish), no guests in rooms, no smoking, no swearing, and absolutely no going into the girls’ quarters. The girls and boys rooms were separated—the girls were upstairs on the second floor and the two boys’ rooms were on the third floor. Then there were chores. These would be distributed fairly but everyone would be required to share. Rooms tidy at all times.
James’ mother nodded with approval at all of this. “I think you will find, Mrs. Hansen, that James is a very obedient and well behaved boy. I’m sure he will study hard and be no trouble. Isn’t that right James?”
James blushed. They were talking about him as if he were some little kid, but he knew the consequences of rude behavior so he merely said, “Yes, ma’am,” and averted his eyes from Mrs. Hansen’s penetrating gaze.
“And one more thing, young man” she said.
He’d been about to stand up and leave, thankful that she was finally winding down. How much more? He’d been asking himself if it was going to be worth it.
“On Sunday evenings there will be Sunday supper at 6 O’clock sharp followed by the weekly reckoning. Everyone must attend. No exceptions.”
James was puzzled. “A reckoning?”
“To go over the week and see how everyone behaved. I keep very close tabs on my boarders, James, and every week we must settle accounts.”
James could not fathom what she was talking about, so he shrugged and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“What do you think, Mrs. Reed?” she asked, turning to her cousin.
Ida Reed narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “He seems like a nice boy. If he can obey the rules, we should all be fine.”
That look gave James the chills. Like cat sizing up a mouse. Who was this Mrs. Reed? A relative, really? An old friend? The relationship between the two was odd. They never called each other by their first names, but there seemed to be some unspoken bond between them, some shared secret. He was dismissed while his mother and Mrs. Hansen continued to chat.
Outside the parlor he ran into Fran Blackman who had returned from class. James explained that he was starting late and would make up the first quarter in the Summer if his credits did not all transfer.
Fran liked the idea of having James in the house. First, he was cute and that was nice. Second, she figured a boy might take some of the heat of Mrs. Hansen’ scrutiny off of the rest of them. Fran and the others had been appalled to discover how Mrs. Hansen enforced her edicts. It had been an extension of Fran’s own strict Christian household. She’d thought she’d outgrown the need for such childish discipline, but her parents had insisted she live here. She later discovered that Mrs. Hansen was of the same fundamental denomination as her parents, and they shared with each other their views on the appropriate discipline of children. It was on this basis that the Blackman’s had placed Fran in Mrs. Hansen’s house. But it galled her that they still thought of her as a child. She consoled herself with the knowledge that the sorority houses on campus used some of the same methods.
Her own experience throughout childhood had been that her parents did, on occasion, spank. She recalled with embarrassment the trips upstairs to her mother’s bedroom. The humiliation of being put across her mother’s knee for a painful spanking with her sturdy palm or later, the back of her flat-backed wooden hairbrush. The feeling of being so helpless while her mother had spanked a painful tattoo on her bare bottom. The wriggling. The crying. The admonishments to stay in place while hand or brush imparted its painful lesson. And even worse were those incidents, thankfully rare, in which she had endured a strapping with her father’s belt while bent over the end of her bed.
But she downplayed this aspect of the house in her conversation with James. “She tends to mother her student boarders. But she is really old fashioned, and strict.” Then she added, “which is ok if you follow her rules. You have to pitch in with chores and you also have to keep your grades up. She’s a bit odd that way. She monitors your report cards. And there are her rules—she’s very strict about that.” James noticed she shook her head with a slight grimace at that last part. He thought maybe Fran was holding something back, something she didn’t want to share, but he dismissed it.
James asked, “How many students stay here now?”
Five, she had told him. Four girls and now you.
James’ mother, having finished with Mrs. Hansen, said her goodbyes to James and drove away. James moved his things into the third floor room. That evening he was introduced to the others around the supper table. There was Molly, Betty and Lisa, all attractive girls. James’ mood improved. This could be interesting, he thought, sharing living quarters with four other pretty girls.
He registered and classes began. The first week was uneventful.
Sunday afternoon at the library James by chance happened upon Molly and Lisa engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation. He thought he heard Lisa say ‘I saw it on the board. You did have four. She knew you missed curfew.’ And Molly said, ‘how could she know? Her lights were off. I went out to meet Doug after she’d gone to bed.’ Lisa shrugged. Molly took a deep breath, a worried look on her face.
“What’s up, girls?” said James. The girls’ faces brightened. James was nice to have in the house. He was a good looking guy, even if Fran had said hands off. But Lisa was thinking all’s fair in love and war, girl.
“I couldn’t help but hear—four what? Did you sneak out?” He was laughing.
“Molly did, and now she’s in trouble with Mrs. Hansen. I think Betty has demerits too. Her room is a mess. It could be a hot time after supper tonight,” said Lisa with a knowing smile.
“Hot time? What are you talking about?”
Lisa stared at James, her jaw dropped wide open. “You mean Fran didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“The way Mrs. Hansen and Mrs. Reed enforce the rules.”
“No. What does she do?”
Lisa’s face turned pale. She licked her lips. “Did you know that she was at one time a bible school teacher?”
James shook his head.
“She was. And thinks that we should be treated just like her bible school kids back then. So she has this paddle and when you get demerits, it’s over you go. Grab your knees, hold still—and then you get it.” Then she added, “ask poor Betty who’s in for it tonight.”
James stared in stunned silence. What? Impossible!
“I see you don’t believe me. But you will. Wait and see. Her and that Mrs. Reed. Tonight. She calls everyone into the library and if you have demerits it’s licks with her paddle. If you don’t like it, you can move out. And that’s not all,” Lisa said.
James leaned in to hear better. Lisa blushed. “If you do something she considers sinful, like sneaking out or smoking or swearing, she’s threatened to punish that person in a special way—in private. And that’s why Molly is so worried,” she said, casting an eye at Molly who blushed.
* * *
James could not believe it. Paddled? That’s what happened if you misbehaved? But he was practically an adult. But he was stuck. Mother and father paying his way to college meant living by rules they set and living at Mrs. Hansen’s was one of them. The thought was unnerving, not only because she was a complete stranger but because of the authoritarian demeanor she and her friend carried about. And both were well built women, ‘stacked’ as his friends always said when referring to women with large breasts and curvy hips. The idea of being disciplined in that way by those women gave him a woody. It shouldn’t have, but it did, and that was strangely disturbing.
Like many of his generation, he’d been subject to spankings even through his teen years. His mom’s hairbrush, his dad’s belt. They had come out for sass, for poor grades and of course for downright disobedience. Although to his relief his mom had not spanked him since he was twelve. It had been his dad who had meted out the discipline. So the thought that once again a woman would have to power to punish him in that childish way was frightening and embarrassing.
* * *
So James was on high alert at the formal sit down supper on Sunday at 5:30. Molly toyed with her food. Betty, a pretty honey haired blonde, looked nervous and said little. Mrs. Reed served the food then sat down next to Greta Hansen at the head of the table.
“It is so nice to have a young man in the house, isn’t Mrs. Reed?” said Mrs. Hansen, trying to make conversation.
“Yes, it is. And such a handsome one, too,” said Mrs. Reed with a smile that seemed to James as almost predatory.
The girls said little as supper progressed, and James assumed that their nervousness was related to the ‘reckoning,’ as Mrs. Hansen had put it. At supper’s end Mrs. Hansen announced that they would all retire to the library. The girls shoved back their chairs and without a word took their plates into the kitchen then headed for the library.
“You too, James. The library, please,” said Mrs. Hansen pointing.
“Yes, ma’am.” James followed the girls. This was it. Now he would see the infamous Sunday night reckoning.
They had seated themselves on either the loveseat or the straight backed uncomfortable chairs placed along the rear wall. The room was large. Books lined shelves that went all the way to the ceiling and all around the room. It was dead still. The books seemed to muffle any sound. No one said anything. The air was electric. Mrs. Hansen came in, followed by Mrs. Reed. James sucked in a breath. Mrs. Reed carried a paddle. It was oval, about a foot long, four inches wide and maybe a little short of an inch thick.
Mrs. Hansen stood in front of the hearth. “Now girls. We begin. This week, Betty, your room was not well kept. As I have told you before, cleanliness is next to Godliness. This will not do. Four demerits, I’m afraid.”
Betty bit her lower lip.
“Stand up and come here, Betty.”
Betty stood and approached Mrs. Hansen. She was a pretty girl, medium height, short blonde hair in a pageboy style.
“Lift your skirt, turn around and bend over, Betty. Hands on your knees.”
Betty fidgeted. “But, ma’am, Mrs. Hansen, please. James is here. He’ll see my panties.”
“And you will no doubt see his when he is to be punished. Now lift your skirt and bend over. Everyone must witness the consequences of not following the rules.”
There was a collective gasp as the other three realized that James would be witness to this humiliation. James tried not to stare as Betty lifted her skirt, revealing an attractive bottom clad in white cotton panties. She gathered her skirt and bent over, gripping her knees, her flared skirt held at the small of her back. Now that pretty bottom bulged out like a pair of ripe melons.
Mrs. Reed proffered the paddle to Mrs. Hansen who took it and stood to Betty’s right. She tapped Betty’s bottom a time or two and Betty flinched.
“Remember to hold your position, Betty,” said Mrs. Hansen. “If you get up, that one won’t count.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Betty in a choked voice. Her knees were knocking.
Mrs. Hansen drew back the paddle and brought it down in a flat arc. There was a sharp crack! as it struck the crowns of Betty’s buttocks.
“Oww!” wailed Betty. Her body jerked with the impact.
Three more times the paddle smacked Betty’s bottom, eliciting cries of “ouch!” and the shuffling of feet. Mrs. Hansen took her time, allowing ten seconds or so between swats so that a trembling Betty could reposition herself.
“Thrust your bottom out, Betty,” said Mrs. Hansen at one time. “Let’s have that naughty girl seat prominently positioned for my paddle.” James thought she said it almost gleefully. Mrs. Reed watched with rapt attention, her eyes excited, her chest heaving. Betty groaned and stuck her bottom back out to await another painful swat.
James took it all in, the whoosh and crack of the paddle, Betty’s jerk at impact, the way her flesh seemed to flatten then spring back. He realized that he was hard and his penis was poking through his pants like a tent pole. He fervently hoped no one noticed.
When the four swats had been doled out Betty was allowed to stand.
“Now let that be a lesson to you, Betty,” she said, handing the paddle back to Mrs. Reed. “You are all now dismissed.” They started to leave—“except for you, Molly.”
Molly stood stock still. Mrs. Hansen fixed her with a steely gaze. “Molly, you will come with me. We have something to discuss.”
Molly looked stricken, but after casting a worried look at her friends she followed Mrs. Hansen out the door and down the hallway toward her quarters.
“What is that all about?” asked James to no one in particular.
Lisa spoke up. “It’s what she warned us about, I’m afraid.”
“What?”
“Molly stayed out after curfew and Mrs. Hansen caught her. She warned us that certain offenses would be dealt with more harshly, as she put it.” She looked down the hall. “I’m afraid for Molly. She’s the first one of us to be caught doing something like that.”
They stood there in silence straining to hear. From down the hall came the faint sound of slapping, at a measured cadence. It went on for quite some time, at least a full two minutes. From behind the door they could hear muffled crying.
* * *
“It was awful,” sobbed Molly, snuffling. She lay on the bed, head in her hands. She was in PJ’s which were, at the time, pulled down to her thighs. Lisa rubbed cold cream into the flesh of a very red and very swollen bottom.
It was a big house with meandering corridors. The girls lived in rooms on the second floor in a wing apart from the quarters of Mrs. Hansen and Mrs. Reed. That is why James took the chance. He wanted to hear what had happened. So he carefully snuck downstairs from his third floor room and positioned himself outside Molly’s door.
“I had to follow her to her room,” said Molly. “She sat on this flat bench at the foot of her bed and made me stand in front of her while she lectured me all about sin and how I could get into trouble and such. She caught me coming in late and made be confess that it was to see a boy. I don’t know what’s so wrong with that, but she thinks it’s terrible. After that she gave me this horrible scolding. Then—oh it was so awful—she told me to take off everything but my underwear.”
“Oh my gosh!” said Lisa. “Did you?”
“What could I do?” said Molly. “If she kicks me out I’d be disgraced. My mom, my dad—they’d be mortified.”
“So what happened next?” said Fran.
“I stripped down with her and Mrs. Reed watching. That woman gives me the creeps. I was standing there in my bra and panties and that’s all. Then Mrs. Hansen picked up this big hairbrush and waved it at me. She said that there was a sure cure for a delinquent girl who would disobey her rules, and that cure was a sound spanking. And I just froze. A spanking! For me. I’m nineteen years old. I mean the paddlings are bad enough, but at least they do that in the sororities, so we are no worse off than those girls. But a spanking!
“Anyway, she made me get over her lap like I was ten years old. It was so humiliating. Then, worst of all—she slid down my panties to my knees. She said I was going to get it on the bare. And there I was, over her knees, my bare bottom sticking up, ready to get it.”
James could not believe his ears. A spanking! And on her bare bottom. He resisted the urge to stroke himself even though his penis was hard from imagining Molly across Mrs. Hansen’s lap, bottom bare, poised to take her spanking.
“Then did I ever get it! She started to spank with that big hairbrush and believe me, that thing stung like crazy. Each smack felt like a hot iron pressed onto my bottom. She paddled my poor fanny up one side and down the other until I was bawling—well you probably heard. It was like a fire lit on my backside. She spanked from side to side and all over. I thought I was being skinned alive. At one point she stopped and told me to stop wriggling so much, but I was in tears and couldn’t help it. It was the most awful thing-- it just went on and on. Finally, she made me count ten slow stingers for her and say I was sorry after each one. I broke down completely. It was the most humiliating thing ever.”
“Gosh Molly, that’s awful,” said Fran. But she could sympathize. She’d got the same treatment as a teenager at home sometimes.
James figured he’d stayed long enough. He turned to slip back upstairs to his own room. He turned the corner at the end of the hall—and ran straight into Ida Reed.
Bonnie: Randy says that he watches my breathing for deep panting and my body for relaxation.
Jack: My wife will stop only when I lay limp over her lap,crying and saying I
am sorry. I can try and fake it, it does not work at all she knows.
Yorkie: My wife and I have a standing agreement that I won’t drag it out so I
work out what implements I’m in the mood for and try to work out the
most bang for my buck, so to speak. I usually try to make sure my bottom
is burning for at least a half hour after the event.
Joe: It usually ends when my wife is tired; after she has spanked me for a long
time her arm gets tired and she stops. Sometimes my bottom turns bright
red before that and she will decide it is time by that but it does not
happen too often.
Roz: Similar to Bonnie, Rick watches for signs, body language, how vocal I am
etc and also the state of my bottom, stopping if he thinks it's red
enough or marked.
Wendel: I fell for the tears and crying that she will be a good girl several
times when we first started spanking. Turned out it was not enough and I
had to give her another spanking. Now I will only stop a spanking after
her bottom is red and hot. Her bottom will be too sore to sit for an
hour or two.
Fondles: It's never timed for us. More a case of when I give the signals that
tell him I'm at the point where he doesn't need to continue... not
because of the pain so much, but more because I'm all relaxed and ready
to move on to other things, or when I've let go of the stress, or when I'm feeling re-centred again.
Or when he's ready to stop and move on to more fun things :)
Prefectdt: Unfortunately most of the spankings that I receive, both with fellow
enthusiasts and pay to plays, are time restricted and so the issue
seldom arises. On the occasions when time is not an issue and the action
can go on for a long time, I usually ask for some short (enough time to
have a little tote on my e-cig or a smoke break in previous years) pre
arranged, breaks in play. At these times it is a good time to have a
little chat and see how long myself and the other party would like to
continue.
Willie: It all depends on why the spanking is taking place to begin with. If it
is a punishment it is usually the state of my skin or until he's worn
himself out. If it is for him, it is the markings he likes. If it is
anything else, it is my body language. When we first started years ago,
he would ask me questions. It wasn't the answers he was listening for
but how I answered. From there he learned to read my body language.
Rosco: Good question. I’ll ask Irene. But I’m guessing she doesn’t think about it, but just stops when she feels like it.
Generally
one of our dates involves 2, 3 or maybe 4 spankings with other
activities in between. I know sometimes she’ll tell me I’m going to
have another round but then she’ll decide she’s ready for my tongue and
spanking usually but not always comes to an end.
I try hard to
play the reluctant submissive and follow Irene’s instructions. But
sometimes if I’m craving especially harsh treatment, I’ll mouth off a
bit or touch her in ways not permitted so I can get an especially hard
or long spanking. Often she’ll demand an apology, so I can extend a
spanking by being slow to comply.
But I’ll ask and report back.
* * *
I asked Irene how she decides. As I suspected, she said she didn’t know.
Occasionally
she’ll spank me for some minor transgression like not washing and
folding her lingerie. But there’s never any spanking for any serious
disagreement.
Now that we’re north of 60, we generally have a
“date” about once a week. It’s pretty much all roleplay. She’ll be a
princess or a teacher or a señorita or a southern belle, and I’ll be
some naughty recalcitrant boy who’s failed to obey the rules. I’ve told
her various fantasies over the years and she does what works for her.
99% of the time Irene punishes me as much as she likes, then straddles
my mouth, followed by intercourse (though there’s a lot of variation
within the theme).
Barrel: My wife generally delivers thrashings in sets of 20’s with a pause to
judge the color, the marks and my breathing. She will administer one
implement to get the color she desires, then switch implements, as each
delivers a different result. While I am almost never vocal, I do moan
which she monitors. Additionally, I have learned to try to breath
smoothly but as the intensity of the spanking increases, I will begin to
breath heavily. She will then give me a few minutes to settle, before
continuing.
My wife will usually asks me if I’ve had enough.
To my recollection, I have never said yes, but my extended pauses trying
to slow my breathing signals she thinks I have had enough. When I
don’t answer and I’m bright red with purple spots, she determines we
are done. The only other stopping point is when she uses the thin cane,
which results in deep red weals, and when she gets enough of those, she
stops.
It is interesting to learn from others when enough is enough. Thanks for sharing.
Spanky53: There's been a good deal said on this topic. It sounds as if it is all
very situational. For me it has always been about energy and feeling
based upon how well I know someone. When I played at parties or dungeon
spaces where time was limited I still went by body reactions and what
responses I was getting back. it wasn't uncommon to stop well before the
allotted time.
Hermione: Ron will stop if he sees a blood blister forming, or if an implement has broken. Otherwise, he goes by the clock every time.
Thank you all for sharing. That was so interesting.! Please stay safe this week, and wash those hands!
The world has become an increasingly frightening place, and no one is safe from the current virus stalking our cities and countrysides. Let's shift our thoughts to more pleasant topics like, say...oh, I don't know. How about spanking? Yes, let's do that. Thank you, Barrel, for today's topic.
Other than a timed spanking, when does the spanker know when enough is enough? Is it by the desired red/purple color, the welts, the weals? Or is it based on the spankee's actions or signals?
Please leave your response as a comment, and I will publish an edited summary of our conversation on Monday. In the meantime, wash your hands and stay safe.
My eyes have both been repaired now, and wow! What a difference it has made. I can see perfectly without glasses for the first time since I was eight years old. I'll still need them for reading but I'm fine with that.
Thanks to our provincial health care, everything was free - visits to the surgeon and technicians, the surgery itself, followup appointments, even the sedative used during the procedure. ("Go ahead and have it," the anaesthesiologist told me. "It's free.") I only paid a small part of the total cost for three different eye drops and an upgrade in the lenses inserted into my eyes, because I wanted the best kind available.
Both times I was told after the procedure that I had done well. I suppose they say that to everyone, but really, what choice did I have? Lying on a stretcher, face covered, heart monitor leads stuck to my chest, a blood pressure cuff around my left arm and a nurse holding my right hand - I wasn't going anywhere. But when I questioned the surgeon, she said that that some people simply couldn't keep still. Little did she know that I was used to holding the position I was told to assume, and not move until I was told I could:)
Rollin Hand introduced his short fantasy tale The Island with this:
"When your husbands are West Virginia state troopers it pays to heed their warnings about dangerous places. Who knows? In some remote mountainous areas there could be cannibal hillbillies still about. Wait–are you kidding? Cannibal hillbillies?"
THE ISLAND
The boat sat there all ready to go. It was just a stupid green rowboat, but there was no wind. The lake was as smooth as glass. The island beckoned. But they had been forbidden to go there by their husbands.
“Do you think they’ll know?” said Cath nervously.
“How would they?” sniffed Luanne. “They’re off hunting or fishing-or doing whatever it is with the sheriff’s office.”
“I don’t know,” said Cath. “They told us to stay away from the island and they got really mad when we went anyway. Do you think that there really is a cannibal hillbilly clan on that island?”
The men had told them to stay away from the island. The first time the girls had ignored the warning and had gone exploring. They landed in a few spots just to check it out. Gus had chewed out Luanne up one side and down the other. Jake had given Cath a piece of his mind, too. The second time they went over there, they’d just lied about where they’d been, but Luanne thought maybe Gus had sniffed it out. They’d have to be more careful.
Luanne turned and put her hand on her hip. She gave Cath a look of utter disgust. “Don’t be a little girl. They said that to scare us. That old story has been told in these parts for decades. Nobody’s ever seen a deranged hillbilly over there or anywhere else. Don’t be stupid. Cannibal hillbillies-sure,” she snorted.
“I-I don’t know…” Cath was the more cautious of the two.
“Look, it is private property, but that old ghost story was concocted probably to keep people off the island. What are you, chicken? We do know that pot grows wild there. We also know that there is a cove with a sand beach where we can go swimming. The men go off hunting for snipe or whatever and they expect us to cool our heels doing what? Needlepoint? Look, I’m on this vacation to cut loose and have fun, and that island is fun. So let’s load the rowboat and go.”
“I know that Jake was serious when he said to stay off that island,” said Cath. She looked around nervously, maybe expecting Jake to pop out and take her to task for even thinking about it.
“Or what? What’s he going to do? Honest, Cath, you’d think this was the middle ages.”
“Well, you don’t know Jake when he….”
“When what? When wifey misbehaves? Let me tell you, you need to take charge, tell him what’s what. That’s what I do with Gus.” She folded her arms in a huff, but she knew that last statement was not at all true. Gus, like Jake, had set boundaries for his wife, boundaries that were enforced rather emphatically. There was a short strap that hung on a nail in the closet at their house and it came out when Luanne did something stupid or dangerous. And a willful hothead like Luanne was always getting herself in trouble. But Luanne would never let Cath in on that little secret.
Luanne was a blond country gal built like the proverbial you-know-what. In short Daisy Dukes and a halter top she could stop traffic—and often did. Cath was a slender redhead and pretty as a picture. She wasn’t as buxom as Luanne, but what she had was perfectly proportioned. Everybody said Gus and Jake had married the prettiest girls in Parkersburg. But being the wives of West Virginia state troopers they found they had to walk a tight line.
It was a working vacation, their husbands said. They got to use the highly sought after state cabins for free if Gus and Jake would help the sheriff of Greenbrier County with some problem. It had to do with watching for some activity of certain persons on the lake. And the best part was, they could do it while fishing. So off they went, leaving the wives behind.
Well, one thing was sure, thought Cath. She wasn’t like her daredevil friend Luanne. She didn’t finish telling her how Jake sometimes expressed his displeasure. But, what the hell, you only live once. And she was bored. The men had gone fishing off in the opposite direction in Gus’s motor boat while all they had was the stupid green rowboat. So why not go back to the island?
It didn’t take that long to row over there. The cove was delightful on a hot day and yes, there certainly was wild pot growing. They found some leaves that had dropped and dried in the sun. They helped themselves to it and whiled away the afternoon getting giggly and feasting on munchies.
“Let’s get nekkid and go swimming, girl,” said Luanne with a gleam in her eye. Cath was too far gone say otherwise. Soon both beauties, one red haired, one blond, were splashing naked in the water.
The girls cavorted in the water unawares. They didn’t see the eyes peering through the thicket at the edge of the beach, taking in the whole scene. When they finally emerged from the water, they were in for a surprise.
“Where are our clothes?” said Luanne looking around.
“They were here. Right here.” Cath looked at her friend. “Luanne, this isn’t good. Someone took our clothes. What are we going to do? Ohmigod, even if we row back without being seen-what if our husbands are back? They’ll know.”
They were startled by a voice coming from the woods. “Get your hands up, girlies!”
Cath and Luanne shrieked. A figure emerged from the trees. She was in her fifties and stout-not fat, just solidly built. She wore an old fashioned dress of a type that had been out of style for 60 years. Her hard lined face was framed by gray hair held in a bun. And she held a shotgun. But it was her eyes that were the most scary. They were a piercing vivid blue and wild looking.
“Well, well, we got us a couple o’ plump morsels here, yes, we surely do. Turn around slow, so’s I can see what we got here.” The girls did a slow turn as the woman admired the high set breasts, the well toned legs, the flaring hips and the curvy bottoms on the girls. “Yes, indeed-y,” she cackled.
“Look, don’t hurt us,” said Luanne. “We didn’t mean any harm.”
“Please,” pleaded Cath. “We were just out for…”
“You was out trespassin’ that’s what you was doin'” She pulled the shotgun higher.
“No, no-we didn’t mean to. We’ll just go.”
“What, so you can come back tomorrow? No, that dog won’t hunt. That dog won’t hunt at all. I own this island and nobody comes on lest I say. And trespassers are persecuted.”
“Won’t you please at least let us put some clothes on?” said Luanne.
The old woman smiled grimly. Her eyes shown wildly. At first Cath thought the woman was probably deranged, on some drug or something. Then she realized, no, it was just the eyes. Still it gave the woman a frightening, off kilter appearance.
“Nope,” she said. “Not for what I have in mind. We’re all done with clothes now.” She looked over her shoulder. “Ordell, Jasper, get out here.”
Cath and Luanne shrieked when they beheld the horrific vision that emerged from the woods. Two rough men dressed in dirty overalls and caps strode out of the bush. It was their faces though, that had made the girls scream. Both had either been severely disfigured or—their faces were masks. That had to be it. They wore hideous masks made of skin of some type, like that leatherface character Luanne had once seen in some horrible drive-in movie. Something about a chainsaw massacre.
The woman gestured with the shotgun. “Tie them up, hands and feet,” she said.
“They look tasty, ma. We gonna take ’em to the stew pot?” said one. He spoke with a guttural drawl, the mask making his speech sound almost inhuman.
“No, no,” shrieked Cath and started to run, panicked now. She had barely hit the water when one of the men caught her and dragged her back. The other one grabbed Luanne. She fought but he was too strong. The men produced ropes and tied the girls’ wrists and ankles securely, immobilizing them.
“Naw, boys you aint gonna eat ’em. You still got them hippies that come over here lookin’ for our crop still danglin’ in the smokehouse. Somebody will miss these gals. No we’re just gonna teach ’em to stay offn’ our island.”
“Yes, yes, let us go,” pleaded Luanne. “We won’t tell anyone. We promise.”
“You gals gonna learn a good lesson first. You boys string ’em up from that branch over there.”
“Yes, ma,” said one. They pulled the girls over toward a low tree branch and tossed ropes over it, then tied the ropes to the girls’ bound wrists. They hoisted the girls’ arms up, pulling them until they were standing almost tiptoe. Neither Cath nor Luanne had ever felt so exposed and vulnerable. They were naked and stretched, arms overhead while these hulking men in their horrible masks leered at them.
“Now cut you some switches, make ’em couple feet long, real swishy. These gals are gonna find out what happens to trespassers hereabouts.”
“We gonna whoop ’em, ma?”
“That’s right, Ordell. You and your brother are goin’ take a switch to some sassy behinds. Teach these little misses a lesson.”
“Ma, I still think they’d make awful tasty stew.”
“Now you hush, Jasper, or I’ll take my strap to you in the shed.”
That pronouncement had the girls crying and pleading again. “Don’t whip us. Please no, not that!” Luanne looked in horror as the two brothers took knives and cut and began to peel some switches.
“Humph! A little whippin’. You rather I let my boys put you in the stewpot? Hunhh? Would you?”
That shut them up, but they watched anxiously as each brother readied a switch. The slender withes made a sick whining sound as the two men tested them by swishing them through the air.
“All right little misses, now we’re gonna see you dance. Boys, lay on with them’ switches. I wanna see some red be-hinds on these two.”
Ordell and Jasper took up positions behind the girls and tapped their bottoms a few times, testing the flex in the switches. The girls recoiled at the touch of the springy switches. Then they drew back their arms. Cath and Luanne heard the whine of the switches before they felt the stinging lines of fire across their bottoms as two switches landed nearly simultaneously driving the girls up on their toes.
“Yeow!” shrieked Luanne.
“Ahhh…ow!” Cath matched her friend in volume.
“Give it to them again,” said the old woman.
The switches whined again.
Swick! “Yowee!” yelled Luanne flinching.
Swish! “Ouch!…Ouch! No!” pleaded Cath.
“All right boys, keep going. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
The two hideous sons, Ordell and Jasper, then commenced a stinging switching of the two girl’s bare bottoms. Lashes fell steadily a few seconds apart. The glade echoed with the swish of the withes and the cries of the two girls. Lick after lick found the tender bare cheeks of the girls’ bottoms as the two hillbillies administered a thorough switching, urged on by their deranged mother.
Luanne and Cath yelled as each stinging lick landed. Before long their bottoms were covered with red weals. They were dancing on tiptoe as strokes from the switches seared their bare seats. Neither had ever felt anything like it. The switches’ whip-like strikes felt like hornets stinging. Luanne thought someone had lit a fire on her bottom. She could only imagine what she looked like, dancing on her toes, tits jiggling, her bottom bounding lasciviously. We’ll be lucky if they don’t rape us afterward, she thought.
Swick! Swick! Swick! The switching continued without letup. These men were like automatons, whipping them over and over with those switches. Luanne imagined that her bottom cheeks were quivering as the switch bit, probably inflaming the lusts of these horrible hill clan men. She just hoped the old woman would hold them in check.
“”Oww…oh, oww…”. Both girls were crying freely now and were dancing from foot to foot as much as their bound ankles would permit.
Cath could feel the burning mount with each successive lick. As she vainly tried to evade the switch, she was aware of the spectacle she must be presenting-dancing like a whipped slave girl, nude fanny jiggling with each lick. Her seat felt like a mass of stinging red welts and each new stroke stung worse than the one before it. She was crying like a baby. This hurt worse than any spanking she’d ever had. If only she had listened to her husband.
After several minutes the woman called a halt to the awful switching. By that time though, tears were streaming down the faces of the girls and their behinds stung atrociously.
* * *
When they put the Luanne and Cath back in the boat, they tossed their clothes in after them. The girls could not row fast enough to get away from the island. They never saw the cannibal hillbillies depart. It was as if they had melted back into the woods. It was only after they’d cleared the island completely that they put their clothes back on.
It was agony having to sit in the boat and row but they made it to the dock and the cabins. Their husbands were not back from their trip, they discovered. That gave them time to shower and rub aloe on the welts.
“Somebody has to do something,” said Luanne. “Those hillbillies are dangerous. They were talking about actually eating us!”
“I know, I know,” wailed Cath. “But that means we’ll have to tell the men. They told us to stay away from that island.” Jake would be furious. That little novelty store paddle would make its appearance. A cold shiver ran up her spine.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Luanne, but even as she said it, she rubbed her bottom unconsciously. She’d never admitted to Cath how her state trooper husband kept the worst of her bratty impulses in line.
When the men arrived they were told the harrowing tale. Naturally they wanted to see the evidence.
“Whooee, Luanne, that was quite a licking you got,” said Gus as he beheld his wife’s welted bottom. Jake confirmed that the state of Cath’s behind was similar as he emerged from their bedroom. “We’re glad you are all right, girls, but damn, why did you have to go there again? We told you, dammit!” Now Gus was furious.
“And it could have been a lot worse,” said Jake.
“Jake,” cried Cath, “they wanted, they wanted to e-eat us. They ate some hippies they said!” And she dissolved in tears.
“They whupped my behind so bad, I can’t sit,” complained Luanne. Even as she said it, though, she realized that it was probably the current state of her lush seat that kept Gus from thinking about tanning it for disobeying him. She gulped when she realized that that might come later.
“Good God,” said Jake. “I knew there were some nasty folk around that island, but this…. Gus we should go over there after them.”
Gus shook his head. “We’re out of our jurisdiction, Jake. Besides it’s too dark. They know that island and we don’t. We’ll talk to the sheriff first thing in the morning.”
Both men assured their wives they would get law enforcement on it right away. They had their guns, but it was too dark now to even think about going back to the island and capturing the cannibal hillbillies or whatever these horrible creatures were.
* * *
“Was my deputy a help?” asked the sheriff. He was sitting in his office at the county seat listening to Gus and Jake make their report.
“She certainly was,” said Jake, who smiled and nodded at the solidly built gray haired woman with the piercing blue eyes, now clad in the uniform of a Greenbrier County deputy sheriff.
“Good,” said the sheriff. “I guess she can get back to the stakeout now. We’ve been waiting for those people to show up and harvest that marihuana crop. Our biggest problem is keeping the civilians out.”
“Well,” said Gus, “our wives surely won’t be going back in there again and potentially ruining things.”
Jake and Gus let themselves out. Gus put his hand in his pocket to fetch his keys and felt a slip of paper. He pulled it out. It was a receipt–“Ace Costume Rental-2 ‘Leatherface’ masks, $7.00 ea.” Wouldn’t do to have this turn up in the laundry, mused Gus. No, sir, it wouldn’t.
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