Spanking Her Bottom - Volume 1: tales of corporal punishment & domestic discipline

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They simply must look, but not be seen or they both might go over the knee of enthusiastic newbie, old-time Vicar. Mind you, thought Tasha naughtily, that might not be such a bad thing. Ladies of the PPC over a knee – it had a certain ring The spit in her mouth had gone, her knees went weak as she saw Mummy swell before her taking a deep breath. Her eyebrow lifted and vanished beneath her fringe. She sat down, and opened the envelope. I countered by saying that I was too old to be spanked, and asked what would happen if I simply refused to submit to the punishment, as she wasn’t my parent nor my teacher. This was actually very untypical and rather daring of me – but Aunt Pam simply said that I was most certainly not too old to be spanked. “Boys are at their naughtiest in their teens – they need more spanking rather than less as they get older!” she said.

When she went to catch the bus now, it was wiggle of a young woman. Even the man with the bowler hat who sat in the same seat every day started to smile, and greet her with a tipping of the hat. She had no idea that he began to see her differently, she just assumed it was cordial familiarity with a regular person he saw on the bus.Karen liked the strange feeling she felt (in a certain in a certain intimate area) at being exposed. Mummy looked into the mirror, at this distance it was like a well framed photo, her on the bed, her shapely daughter with her upturned rump fine and round, catching the light. She looked at herself, doing what a good loving Mummy should do…her duty. This all changed when I was 13. Aunt Pam was a Christian fundamentalist, and in my teens I’d sometimes stay weekends or for a time in school holidays at her lovely house in Amersham, and she became a kind of tutor to me too.

Tasha just tingled a great deal more, and longed for her fingers to go and explore down in that place which sends you to space, but that could wait, and Mrs F’s own technique she just had to see. (A little plan formed in her head).

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Penny sat on very cold stone, at first a yelp and then a wriggle, then settled her cheeks in for the duration. Tasha draped over the matronly knee, Penny, though bursting at the seams to begin, stroked the target of her frustration and admiration – the magnificent moon of her pal. So recalling some of the lesson learnt from this morning’s tutorial show, she raised her hand above those cheeks and whapped it down as first shot in an opening salvo. The barrage went on and Tasha did shout out, most satisfactorily “ow!, Oh!, Ah!, aaah” and of course then added “that hurts!”. It is an old line but time-served. Now she had a vehicle for her pride. She had always been proud of her daughter, a bright intelligent daughter. Not many from the village had got into Grammer School in recent years. She knew that a lot of her peers in the W.I. Would be saying that very night…”I hear Karen got into Grammer school, she deserves it, her Mummy will be so proud.” A poor crying Karen thought it was over, but Mummy was reaching for the slipper. Karen looked to the mirror and saw it, she looked over her shoulder, up to meet her Mummy’s eyes. Mildred was walking by, the strains of the spanking symphony drifted through the window turning into a cocophony of sound, hard whups! and long, long howls of pain! She nodded satisfactorily. “Good old Mummy, keeping up the standards, that’ll teach her!” Almost a minute passed, but it felt longer. Karen looked at her beautiful Mummy, the rounded body looked so cosy and even at this moment strangely comforting, her Mummy bear almost. She saw her Mummy looking at her bush, her hips, she could almost read the thoughts in her head…”My my, my little girl is a girl no more.”