One Saturday Morning

Karen, Linda, Ann, and Sherry shared the big Victorian at the end of Maple Street, the one that old Mr. Harris wanted to tear down to make room for a video store. If it hadn't been for Dan Jenkins, the real estate agent, he would have. But Dan persuaded him that the young women would make excellent tenants, and would fix the place up in exchange for reduced rent. All were local, had steady jobs, and had known each other since high school. The capable, high-spirited foursome put in a lot of work, which was why the property looked so nice. And why Karen was so upset one Saturday morning last month.

"This place is a disaster area!" she exclaimed as she surveyed the living room. "And last night's dishes aren't done. Whose turn was it?"

"Ann's," said Linda, who had cleared a space amid the clutter and was flipping through the pages of an old magazine. "And, yes, she was supposed to clean this room up, too."

As the eldest, Karen Croley felt the most responsibility, both to Dan, who acted as landlord, and to her roommates. She taught social science at Green Valley High, so she knew what it took to keep a group effort going. Over time she had become the informal leader of the household.

Sherry looked up from feeding the goldfish. "What else can we expect, now that she's seeing Paul regularly. She always was forgetful. Now she'll be even worse."

"Hmmph!" stewed Karen. 'Forgetful' wasn't the word. 'Spoiled' was more like it. Ann had always been a popular girl, as used to compliments as she was to getting her own way. Her job as sales rep for the local pharmaceutical firm seemed to bring her into contact with a prodigious number of young men, all of whom vied for her attention. She was quite caught up in the social whirl, thought Karen-- and guilty of neglecting her responsibilities around the house!

"What time did she get in last night?" asked Karen.

"I went to sleep at two," answered Sherry, "and she hadn't come in yet."

"You and your murder mysteries!" laughed Karen. But then she grew serious. "I really think it's time for a showdown with Ann. This shirking has got to stop, and it won't until we put our foot down."

"You're absolutely right, Karen," agreed Linda. "I've had it up to here with her."

Just then a sleepy figure made her way down the stairs. As if exhausted by the effort, she stopped near the bottom, yawned, and sat down, resting her head on her drawn-up knees. "What time is it?" asked Ann groggily.

Her eyes were a bit puffy, and Karen surmised that Ann may have had just a little too much to drink. Still, Ann's dark, tousled hair framed her sapphire eyes prettily, and as she perched on the step clad only in a roomy pajama top and lacey peach satin panties, Karen knew any man would find her irresistible.

"Past eleven," answered Karen, rather tartly.

Ann took no notice of her roommate's tone of voice, but instead closed her eyes dreamily, looking as if she would fall right back to sleep.

"Having a rough morning, are we?" asked Karen.

Mm-hmm," was all Ann managed.

"Well, it's going to get even rougher," Karen intoned. "You've got dishes to do from last night, and this room to straighten."

"Oh, Karen, lighten up. I had a perfectly wonderful evening with Paul and I'm not going to let you spoil my mood. Let the dishes sit--big deal. They'll get done."

"That's just the problem, Ann. We always wind up doing your chores. Well, this time it's not going to happen. You get yourself into that kitchen right now."

"Right," agreed Linda. "I'm tired of doing your work, Ann."

If Ann had been more awake, she would have noticed that even sweet-tempered Sherry wore an expression of determined resolve. Instead, she remained obstinate.

"No one's going to order me around," said the seemingly imperturbable Ann. "I'm going back to bed." She stood and started up the stairs. But Linda quickly blocked her way.

"Oh, no, you don't," said Linda. "You heard what Karen said. You just hop to it, young lady."

Ann stood her ground, and glared haughtily at her roommates. Then she spoke.

"You're all pathetic. Just because I had a date last night and you sat at home!"

Up until then the girls would have been satisfied with even a sulky compliance with their reprimands. But this was the last straw. Was there no end to Ann's impertinence?

"That remark, young lady, was entirely uncalled for," said Linda menacingly as she gripped Ann firmly by the arm. "We're through talking to you. You're beyond that. What you need is-- is-- a good spanking! Are you with me, girls?"

With that, the three young women as one surrounded Ann and bundled her down the stairs and to the sofa. Each seemed to know what the other was thinking. Ann, on the other hand, didn't have time to think. She quickly found herself drawn bottoms up across an accommodating lap, viewing the living room from a most novel angle. She became acutely aware that all she had on were those pretty panties, and that her turned-up bottom seemed to be the center of everyone's attention.

The girls had seen fit to put Ann across Karen's knee. Karen grasped her firmly about the waist and confidently pulled her in, placing Ann's fanny into perfect position for a thorough warming. She then spoke coolly to her cohorts, almost as if Ann weren't there at all.

"We should all have a share in this spanking," Karen declared. "After all, Ann has offended everyone by not doing her work. We should each give her, what, a dozen swats?"

"No," smiled Linda, admiring the deft placement of Ann's derriere. "You're doing just great. I think you should handle it."

"Yes, I agree," said Sherry with finality. Gentle Sherry, who wouldn't hurt a fly. Karen could tell she was not looking forward to witnessing Ann's punishment.

"OK, I'll be the mommy," Karen laughed.

"Oh, girls, get real! Let me up!" Ann demanded petulantly.

"You just be quiet, Miss," replied Karen. "You're in no position, shall we say, to negotiate. Instead, I suggest you ready yourself for some good, old-fashioned discipline."

Actually, Karen was a little unsure about the next step. She hesitated a moment, then just blurted out, "Well, do you think I should take down her panties?"

That proposal had an immediate effect on Ann. She realized her friends were serious, that they were really going to spank her! Maybe she did deserve it, but bare-bottom was just too awful to contemplate.

"Oh, no, girls, please, not that!" Ann begged. "OK, I admit I've been a bad girl, and I'll take my licking. But please, let me keep my panties on. Aren't I being humiliated enough as it is?"

"Karen, let her keep them on," Sherry said quickly, but Linda considered carefully. Should Ann suffer an even greater indignity? It suddenly seemed to be up to Linda, who more than once in the past week had finished up her roommate's chores. She took in the sight of her vibrant young friend, stretched out and helpless in that ignominious posture. Ann was going to pay for her misbehavior, no doubt about it, but how much was enough? Ann's eyes pleaded.

"Make it fifty spanks," Linda decided, "and let her keep those cute little pants on. It is her first punishment, Karen. Maybe if she's negligent in the future..."

"OK, Linda, I'll go along with that. We might need something to ensure future good behavior. Do you understand what we're saying, Ann?"

"Yes, I do," breathed a clearly relieved Ann. "I'll get it worse if I'm naughty again. But, believe me, I won't be."

The thought crossed Ann's mind that some further words of repentance might spare her the present unpleasantness too, and she tried desperately to think of something that would do the trick-- but that hope was quickly crushed.

"If she gets to keep her panties on, I'll need something to paddle her with," Karen said firmly. "After all, a spanking is supposed to hurt."

"I know just the thing," Linda said, and hurried into the kitchen. She returned a moment later with the long-handled, hard rubber spatula she used so expertly in her baking.

Ann turned to look as best she could. "Oh, no!" she moaned.

"Oh, yes," replied Karen. "I guess we've kept you waiting long enough. You've been needing this for a long time, Ann. Now uncover that naughty bottom."

When Karen had threatened to spank her bare-bottom, Ann had instinctively grasped her behind, even hitching her fingers under the elastic on the legs of her panties. Now she reluctantly uncovered. She moved her hands, still in two little fists, to her front, burrowing a little into Karen's thigh. Karen waited till Ann was still, drew in a breath, and raised the spatula.

Whap-p! The hard rubber bit sharply throught the thin fabric of Ann's panties. Ann squealed at the sting, then swallowed hard and gamely resolved to bear the rest in silence.

Whap! Whap! Each spank echoed loudly in the hushed little household. Karen took her time, applying five spanks to one cheek, then five to the other. She didn't want Ann to smart too much-- one mustn't be vindictive. Still, it didn't take long for Karen to tell from Ann's reaction when a small flick of the wrist at the end of each stroke gave it just the right amount of sting.

Whap! Whap! Whap! Karen made sure each spank landed to good effect. Ann had a lesson to learn, and Karen would teach it thoroughly. Ann took it well, though-- Karen had to admit. She was quite sure that shapely bottom had never felt so much as a disapproving tap; well, Ann was feeling it now.

Indeed, as her chastisement continued, seemingly without end, Ann began to squirm and raise her legs at the knee. Sherry came over, sat by her on the floor, holding her legs down, soothing and encouraging her. For her part, Linda watched from the chair by the door. She was not unsympathetic to Ann's plight, but she had seen the look of cold fury on Ann's face when she had blocked her way up the stairs, and now she noted with satisfaction how the defiant set of that jaw had softened.

Whap! Whap! Karen counted out the spanks carefully. Forty-eight...forty-nine...fifty! The last stroke was applied as vigorously as the first, but at least it was all over.

"All right, Miss, you can get up now," Karen said simply.

Ann jumped up, cupping her behind in both hands. She felt a hundred hot pinpricks there that she was powerless to do anything about. Great tears welled up in her eyes. Last night's sophisticate was looking a bit disheveled.

"That was the worst punishment ever!" she wailed. "You're all mean!"

"Ann," Karen replied menacingly, "aren't fifty spanks enough? Do you want more?"

Ann swallowed hard. She could feel her tender, flaming buttocks beneath the cool satin of her elegant undergarment. She looked with alarm at the utensil that Karen gestured with pointedly.

"No-o," Ann quavered. "I...I...just wish Paul were here."

"Oh, Ann," said Sherry, "you certainly have fallen for that guy, haven't you?" She embraced Ann closely. "But you don't want him here right this minute. I mean, with you and the place looking quite like this?"

Ann couldn't suppress a tiny smile.

"You're right, Sher." Slowly she looked into the faces of her friends. "You're all right. I really did have that spanking coming to me."

"It's okay, Ann," said Linda. "C'mon, I'll help you. We'll have this place fixed up in no time."

"We'll all help," said Karen with a wry grin. "Just once more, that is."

"Thanks, guys, and I really mean that," said Ann. She eyed the spatula in Karen's strong hand. I do mean it, she thought, even as she caressed her derriere again.

Wow, thought Linda, can you believe the transformation in her? I guess everyone acts like a jerk sometimes, but if you're lucky enough to have friends who care, it's only temporary.

And Ann, she reflected happily, has friends who care!



[Photo: Houses on High by Cindy Funk on flickr.com]

Happy New Year!

A NEW YEAR'S EVE PARTY by Roberta Barnes

Formal attire just heightens desire
Thought Blair as she scanned the scene,
A New Year's Eve party, the guests all decked out,
It was beautiful as a dream!

There were limousines, music, and dashing young men,
Just everyone was there!
Holiday trimmings brightened the walls,
And the tables were loaded with fare.

There were hams and turkeys and ancient French wines,
And punchbowls brimming with ice;
There was chocolate and cheesecake and brandy and pears,
But, oh, those men looked nice!

Just then she felt a pinch on her arm,
She returned to reality;
Her Nathan was frowning, he looked very stern,
As he warned her most pointedly.

"No nonsense from you, this is a New Year,
You've got to learn to behave;
You are my wife, no longer a girl,
Who can flirt and wiggle and wave."

"So it's all very well," she said, "for a man
To swagger and brag and converse;
But just let a woman try to have a good time
And she's some kind of hussy, or worse!"

He snarled, "Just be good!" and turned on his heel,
Then she did a very bad thing;
She watched till her husband was quite out of sight,
And quietly slipped off her ring.

Ah, wine! Ah, music! Ah, heady romance!
Of these she would drink her fill;
She flirted, she dazzled, she danced all around,
Till she met a man named Bill.

He tarried, she smiled, they waltzed and conversed,
She wondered how far this would go;
She barely noticed how he took her arm,
Led her straight to the mistletoe.

Eyes closed, lips parted, she waited enthralled
To feel his lips on hers;
She had played with fire, feared and wanted that kiss--
The kiss that would never occur!

For out of the shadows came a jealous man,
Whose heavy tread bode ill;
He glared at the duo, then clamped down his hand,
On the shoulder of the one named Bill.

"My wife--" said her husband, "Your wife!" said Bill,
And slowly he edged away;
He'd woo a lady, but to break up a pair
Was not a game he would play.

"Where's your ring?" Nate demanded, "you bad little girl,
I bought it for you to wear."
"You did," she admitted, "Seems a long time ago,
But now I think you don't care!"

"Don't care?!" he exclaimed, "we'll see about that!"
He felt like she'd slapped his face,
He had to do something to win her again,
But he needed a private place.

When a man loves a woman, he has to make plain,
That it's to her his life he devotes;
Blair needed to learn that, so Nate led her up
To the room where they put the coats.

A small fire was burning, he cleared out a space
Midst the jackets heaped on the bed;
"Nate, what are you doing?" she wondered aloud,
"You need a good spanking," he said.

She gasped in surprise as he reached out an arm,
And took both her wrists in his hand,
"Hey, wait, just a minute," she yelled going down,
"Just where is YOUR wedding band?"

Along with the fire, there glowed Nathan's face,
Red with both anger and shame;
Before he could spank her for the things that she'd done,
He'd shoulder his part of the blame.

"Blair, I admit it, I took my ring off,
When you wander it makes me feel blue;
But I searched every corner, every face in the crowd,
And there's no one here lovely as you!

"So I'll just have to take you, both naughty and nice,
And everything in between;
Just as you'll find yourself over my knee,
Whenever you make a scene!"

Well, some girls would listen, and some would be mad,
And some would stay proper and prim;
But all Blair thought while she pondered all this was
"How nice to be wanted by him!"

And so he preceded to lift up the hem
Of her little black cocktail skirt;
She shivered a little in the cold winter's air,
She knew this was going to hurt!

Her panties were satin, and really quite thin,
His stroke was quick and bold;
In just a few minutes it crossed Blair's mind
That she'd really preferred the cold!

Her cheeks were blazing, and bouncing about,
She couldn't keep from crying;
This thing called Love is very strange,
And often very trying!

Just then the clock on the mantelpiece
Sounded a gong to mark the hour;
He had to laugh in spite of himself,
As he softened the spanking's power.

"Twelve" it sounded and twelve more he gave her,
But loving now and slow;
She smiled through tears as she felt the caress
With which he ended each blow.

And if you think by these strange goings on,
That the midnight tradition was missed,
You're wrong, my friend, the rite was upheld,
Her other end got kissed!

Twelve strokes at midnight, their love was rekindled,
A New Year's resolution;
There are some things, 'tween a husband and wife,
For which spanking's the perfect solution.

So Happy New Year to all couples courageous,
Who set out on Love's stormy sea;
Godspeed and good voyage, be soft and be strong,
And happy together you'll be!

A Bit of Holiday Froth

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS reinterpreted by Roberta Barnes

'Twas the night before Christmas and Cindy was beat,
Her holiday chores knocked her quite off her feet.
She'd shopped all down Main Street, bought presents galore,
Cut holly, hung tinsel, baked cookies by the score.

Put a bird in the oven, took a cup of eggnog,
Sank into her armchair, fell into a fog;
Visions of single men swam in her head
As she dozed by the fire that glowed orange and red.

Then all of a sudden from her nap she awoke,
Some guy on her sofa was having a smoke!
It was Santa! He puffed on his pipe and looked sad
As he checked his long list of those good and those bad.

"Oh, Santa, what is it?" cried Cindy, afraid
It wasn't the list of good girls she'd made.
"Well, there's Nice," said Santa, "that's one of the two--
"And then there is Naughty, which brings us to you."

And slowly he searched in the bag by his feet,
And pulled out a paddle so handy and neat;
With a wink of an eye and a touch on his nose,
Cindy was helpless as up her skirt rose!

And then at a nod of that grizzled old head,
She found herself over those knees clad in red;
"Oh, Santa!" cried Cindy in shame and alarm,
As she snuggled down into that lap soft and warm!

But it wasn't so cozy when the paddle came down,
"This geezer is strong!" she thought with a frown;
The strokes started coming so lively and quick,
This guy was no slacker, we're talking St. Nick!

Those cute little buns he turned into toast,
He knew how to do it, he spanked coast to coast!
She squirmed and she struggled, her movements did quicken,
She couldn't take Moore, it hurt like the Dickens!

"Oh, Santa, I'm sorry!" he heard her to say,
"I don't want to be naughty, I try to obey;
I try to be good, but you know what I fear?
I won't learn to be good from one spanking a year!

"Send me a guy, I know you can do it--
When I need a sound spanking, just let HIM see to it!"
"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed Santa, "that's a really good plan,
By Kris Kringle, I'll do it, I'll send you a man!"

And so he relented, put her skirt where it was,
She planted a kiss on his lips through the fuzz--
Then out of her hand fell the cup with a clatter,
She jumped! "What a dream, what a curious matter!"

She thought as she reached for the cup on the floor,
"It's just that I wonder why my bottom's so sore."
When what to her wandering eye should gleam,
But eight flashing messages on her answering machine!

From David, and Daniel, and Parker, and Benson,
From Conrad, and Kirby, and Donald, and Vincent!
With eight men to choose from, she'd keep one for her self,
One real man was better than any old elf!

"Thanks,Santa," she whispered, and smiled with delight,
"Merry Christmas to you, and to all a good night!"

A Bit of Holiday Froth

I know, it's trite, but Roberta really did write it: a "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" send-up with a spanking theme. Forgive her, she adored Christmas, but I guess she couldn't resist. I think it has a youthful brashness and cheer about it, although she wrote it in her middle years. Think of it as a piece effortlessy tossed off by a master of the craft at the height of her powers!

Off to London

Roberta set "Spanking Pamela" in London, as a lark, I think. She did enjoy the English novel--weekends at the manor, pink gins in the drawing room, adulterous bishops, etc., and so she thought she'd try her hand at something like it. It's also one of the very few stories Roberta chose to write from the male point of view. It's not that she didn't like men. She was married to Ray Barnes--who cheats at cards--for 44 years! It's more that she thought that not a lot happened, for the most part, in the male psyche. At least not until a woman came along, and focused his mind for him.

Unfortunately, as you can see, our story is posted backwards. It looks a little funny there on the screen, but it's not a problem, really, now that the nights are chillier. Print the story out (on nice paper), make yourself a cup of hot chocolate, get in your jammies, get under the covers, and enjoy!

Spanking Pamela (part II)

"Thanks ever so much for dinner, Ian, but you needn't have, really. I invited you, after all."

He had picked up the check. Pam's protestations, he felt, had been half-hearted.

"What would you like to drink?"

He requested coffee, and looked about Pam's fashionable flat. She thought it necessary, "for business reasons," to maintain a posh address. He thought it a frivolous expense, but they'd had that argument before, so he kept his silence.

"You look fabulous, Pam. Smashing 'do and-- new suit?"

She had on a cream-coloured blouse with a navy wool suit rich and elegant enough for evening wear. It had been chosen with care for the occasion and set off with a showy silver pin.

"Thanks. Yes, from Harrod's."

"Not on the credit card, I hope."

It was none of his business, really, but he felt he had a right. Just three months ago he had lent her a tidy sum, and now here she was buying new and obviously expensive clothes again.

She took it ill.

"Don't lecture me, Ian," she snapped. "I can manage."

She was as headstrong as ever. But also very defensive. Knowing Pam's history with credit cards, he was suspicious.

"You can't be doing that well from the Duncannon contract. He's a notorious tightwad."

"Ian, please, I didn't invite you up here to ask for a loan."

"Well, I'm surprised," he stated, suddenly very angry, "since that's the usual reason."

"How dare you, Ian! I thought you were concerned about me."

"I am, Pamela. I want you to get on your feet financially. But this has been going on for too long."

"Finances? Do you think that's all I care about?"

"Well, yes, isn't that what we're discussing?"

"Ian, you're impossible!"

Pam turned to stalk from the room but he was in no mood for a display of temper. Before he knew what was happening he had her by the arm.

"You've got the rent for this fancy joint on your credit card again, don't you?"

"Ian, that's none of your business."

"It's true, then. You pretentious little snip!"

"Let go of me, you...you... dusty, loveless old bachelor!"

He couldn't remember exactly how he had gotten her over his knee so quickly, nor why he felt it necessary to raise her skirt; only that it had done his heart good to crush and rumple that sumptuous fabric as he bunched it above her waist. Good it would be, too, to worry the sheer silk of those panties.

"I'll show you what love is about, young lady."

"Ian, let me up!"

Of course, being Pamela, she would not cooperate, and Ian was hard put at first to keep her in position. But he was determined to see it through. Ian spoke between strokes.

"Love is..." SPANK! "patience..." SPANK! "prudence..." SPANK! "...hard work." SPANK! SPANK!

"Ouch! Ian! Stop it! Love is...is... just love! It doesn't have to make sense!"

His hand sounding loudly on her derriere was his only reply. She wiggled and squirmed, but the elegant panties provided scant protection, and he managed to turn her pink pastel bottom a bright shade of cherry red before he loosened his grip. Let her, he thought smugly, wear that for a while!

"Ian, Ian, how could you?" she complained bitterly, regaining her feet. As she rearranged her skirt there came a rush of furious tears. With a great sob she made for the bedroom. She stopped at the door, though, reached down and took off a shoe.
"Clueless bully!" she wailed.

The wicked, spiked heel missed his head by inches.


His gaze fell on the shoe, now lying spent in the middle of the floor.

'Clueless'?

Now he saw it all. Good Lord, he thought, what a fool I've been! Blind, silly, unfeeling, pompous old fool!

Of course, the whole evening had been a romantic set-up. Pamela felt as strongly about him as... as... yes, as strongly as he felt about her.

He got up and tapped on her door.

Her reply was soft and light. She was in her pyjamas, sitting upright in bed.
He stood at her threshold and began hopefully.

"Pam, can you ever forgive me?"

A cautious smile began to light up her face.

"Dear Ian," she said, shaking her head in wonder. "Dear, sweet, methodical Ian! Have you finally thought it all through?"

"Not really," he replied. "But love, you know, doesn't have to make sense."

"Oh, Ian, Ian," she laughed as she reached out to him. He bent to take her in his arms, first softly closing the bedroom door.

[Photo by Carlos A. Martinez at flickr.com]

Spanking Pamela (part I)

Finally, he had gotten her to bed, so to speak. The woman he'd never really wanted to take to bed-- well, she was there now. He could hear Pamela's muffled sobs through her closed bedroom door. Tightly closed: he had heard it slam. He had never seen her so angry. And now the tears were coming freely.

Listen, old man, he told himself, don't start feeling sorry for her. You didn't hurt her. She's crying over her hurt pride, not her smarting bottom. You've put up with quite enough from her over the past two years. She's a woman who'd finally gotten what she deserved; of course, there were going to be tears!

He rubbed his own stinging part, his palm. He would wait till she calmed down, he decided, then leave quietly. After a cry and a sulk she'll be fine, on the phone to Janet, or Phyllis, or Molly. I guess I'll come off as the heartless brute, he thought, but maybe one of them would help her see the humour of it all.

What a strange evening, though. He wished he had stayed home, with a volume of Trollope and a glass of good port! Oh, well, what's done is done, he thought, but how had things come to this particular pass?

It had all started innocently enough. Pam had called that afternoon and reminded him it was her fortieth birthday, a milestone. How about dinner at Le Chateau? Great, he had said, glad she wasn't letting forty get her down, and it was just like her to arrange her own celebration.

Wait a minute-- had she been angry because he hadn't remembered her birthday? No, it wasn't like that. They weren't sentimental--they had come to know each through work and, though there had been the briefest of dalliances at the beginning, nothing had developed. They were still friends, but they were so different. Pam was outspoken, brassy, ambitious. He was sober, reflective, content with the position years of quiet hard work had won. It was Pamela who had left the firm to set up her own business, Pam who relished the challenge, Pam who had lived hand-to-mouth till the contracts started coming in. Even now she went through rough spots--he knew that firsthand, for he often helped her through them. It seemed he was always going out of his way to provide a lead or arrange a meeting. He had even, on more than one occasion, seen Pam's rent through to the end of the month.

So, what then? How had a companionable evening turned into a farce?

The events of the past hours tumbled through his agitated mind. The meal had been pleasant enough. True, he would have preferred a steak at Baxter's (his usual Thursday night) to the artfully arranged concoction on his plate at Le Chateau, but he had gone along with her choice without complaining. Too many ruffles at Le Chateau, too many flowers, a place you took a date.

A date!? The thought brought him up short. Had Pam actually had romance on her mind?

Of course not, he told himself. Pam? The bold, confident career woman? Pam, who turned to staid, dependable Ian only when she needed a favour? Nothing more was involved. Besides, it was probably Molly who had picked the restaurant, not Pam. Why else had Pam spent ten minutes on the phone with his secretary before Molly finally gave him the call?

Of course it was Molly, he thought, trying to calm himself. Le Chateau was Molly's kind of place. Sweet, silly Molly. Yes, it was Molly, all right. Suddenly he froze, then jumped from the sofa with a start. Sweet, silly, romantic Molly! Happily married Molly, the kind of young wife who thinks everyone should marry, including her boss!

He had to find the liquor cabinet. Romance? At his age? His hand was shaking as he poured himself a good, stiff Scotch. A middle-aged man in an affaire de coeur engineered by his secretary? Impossible, undignified, out of the question!

He began to pace the room, but quickly forced himself to stop. Settle down, old man, he admonished. Don't make a fool of yourself. Be objective. What do you and Pam always argue about? The answer to that was easy: money. And what was this row about? Money. Romance wasn't in there at all, see?

All very well so far, he thought, but how had he wound up spanking her, for God's sake? He couldn't get the sight of her soft, delicately-pantied bottom, lying like a rare flower before him, out of his overheated mind. Pretty pink panties they were, softly tracing the curve of her shapely cheeks above the dark stocking tops. Love had nothing at all to do with how that vision stuck in his mind, of course, but he had to be sure. He would reconstruct the last half-hour, bit by excruciating bit.

Part II

(Photo: London Streets by Nokia N95 User)

Through the Year with Roberta B.

I was very glad to get the first story up. I've always thought "An Upstate Weekend" was one of Roberta's most charming stories. Has a bit of a Tracy/Hepburn feel, doesn't it? And it fits the season. Here in the Northeast the leaves are turning, and the cool, sunny days prompt folks to head for rustic parts.

I was thinking we could go through the year with appropriate postings. Roberta loved the seasons, and there's just enough material to take us through a year, more or less. I'll try to post in a timely fashion. Stay in touch!

An Upstate Weekend

"How could you do such a thing, Charlotte? And to Miriam Bennett! She and I have been friends since high school. I almost wish you hadn't told me!"

Charlotte was taken aback by her husband's reaction. She had made a confession, it was true. She had been feeling guilty. But Charlotte had not expected Brent to get so upset. Now she was inclined to agree with him: she was sorry she brought the whole matter up.

Truth was, the incident in question revealed something about herself that she didn't like. She was a bit, um...avid, to put it politely, at least where her passion for antiques was concerned. A few weeks ago she had given Miriam fifty dollars for a Steuben goblet that she knew perfectly well was worth close to two hundred. It was more than driving a hard bargain and she hadn't meant to take advantage of a friend, but sometimes she lost control. Now she was too embarrassed to bring it up with Miriam and make amends. Seeing similar pieces at the Brower County Antiques Fair had prompted her to mention it to Brent.

Her Brent, whom she hated to see unhappy! He was usually so solid and accommodating that it still intrigued her to see what got to him. They were married almost three years now, and had driven upstate for the weekend as a sort of anniversary celebration. Heaven knows they both needed a break. Charlotte had been so busy at work, as she always was at the beginning of the term, getting the new girls to settle in. She taught art at Fairfield Academy, while Brent had his hands full as an engineering consultant. Brent had worked hard to establish himself, beginning as a construction laborer, then going into business as an independent contractor. Now, seasoned and in his fiftieth year, his advice was sought on projects throughout the state. To Charlotte, he always seemed so refreshingly direct and honest. Brent's business dealings over the years had taught him a lot about people. He surprised her with his intuitive understanding of them. Fourteen years her senior, he sometimes seemed like a father to her.

Yet he was always so eager to learn! Charlotte loved sharing her knowledge of art and antiques with him. They had met at the local artists' show held at the school each spring, the year that Charlotte had moved to Fairfield to take up her teaching post. Her divorce had been painful, and the first months in her new job had been very lonely. Brent courted her joyously, smoothing her way around Fairfield, introducing her to his prodigious circle of friends. They had married that same year, moving into a stately Victorian that Charlotte lovingly decorated.

No, thought Charlotte, nothing was going to spoil this weekend.


After a full day exploring the local shops, they were heading back to the inn to relax before changing for dinner. They had reservations at a charming little restaurant by the lake that Charlotte had always found especially romantic. But the silence in the car troubled her. And she knew what was on his mind.

"Brent, I'll make it up to Miriam."

Brent smiled, in spite of himself.

"How is it you always know what I'm thinking?"

"I should think that after three years I would know something about you."

"What is it you'll say to her?"

"I'll tell her...I'll tell her I saw a similar piece up here and I didn't realize how valuable they were."

"Yeah, I'm sure Miriam will fall for that one: your not knowing the going price for an antique."

"Well, even if she does see through it, she'll be polite enough not to say so."

"Charlotte, really, is that all you care about? What people say? There's a principle involved here!"

Chalotte was abashed.

"Oh, Brent, please don't scold me. I know it was wrong. I just didn't think. And I am sorry."

Brent softened a bit.

"Well, tell your little story to Miriam. It's not right to fix a swindle with a lie, but in this case I guess it's the best you can do."

He sighed, and looked at her pointedly.

"You know, Charlotte, sometimes--just sometimes--I think you could really use a good spanking."

Oh, thought Charlotte. Oh, dear. I'd better be still and not say a word, and maybe that thought will pass. Brent was not a violent man, but in many ways he was very old-fashioned. One didn't cheat, one didn't lie, and a man was responsible for his wife's behavior. A spanking! The very word upset Charlotte. She shifted uneasily in her seat and fixed her gaze on the passing landscape.

Ineluctably, her thoughts drifted back to her childhood. Her father had employed a novel system of discipline for the children. They had a choice of a paddling or extra chores. The extra chores usually turned out to be weeding and mowing the terrace in their expansive backyard. Charlotte and her younger brother spent so much time out there that they called it "Punishment Hill." She smiled even now to think of it. But her older sister Melanie always chose to be spanked. Melanie and Charlotte would argue their preferences. You spend all afternoon in the sun being punished, said Melanie, but I get mine over with in a minute. Charlotte could see the logic there, but she was always too scared to take a paddling. She admired the way her older sister confronted things. Charlotte, on the other hand, usually tried to sidestep issues.

But not this time, Charlotte thought suddenly. She had looked forward to this evening with Brent for weeks; she had to resolve things quickly. Almost immediately, she knew what she had to do.


Before the fireplace in their room at the inn was a fine old Empire sofa. Upon entering,
Charlotte asked her husband to sit there, she had something to say.

"Well, what is it, Charlotte?" asked a puzzled Brent. Instead of sitting down, Charlotte had her back to him and was going through her carryall. "Do you want to talk, or not?"

Charlotte turned toward him with her wooden-backed hairbrush in her hand.

"I don't want to talk, not really, Brent. I want you to do what you have to do. I deserve it, I'll admit it, and I'm going to take my medicine. Brent, go ahead and spank me."

"Oh, Charlotte, I don't want to spank you."

"Yes, you do. I have it coming. Don't make this harder than it has to be."

With one hand Charlotte proffered the hairbrush, while her other hand rested on her behind--seemingly in anticipation of what she might soon be getting. Suddenly it seemed to Charlotte her whole body was tingling with excitement.

Brent searched his wife's face for some sign that she was joking, but all he saw there was a resolve he had to admire. As Charlotte held her breath, he took the hairbrush from her hand. Then he reached behind her and took her other wrist. Charlotte found herself thinking how handsome Brent looked in his grey wool slacks and cashmete sweater as she felt herself being pulled lower and drawn across his knee. She had always known his strength, but now she gave herself up to it completely. Brent gently settled her into position, then grasped her firmly about the waist. Bottoms up, yet cozy across his lap, Charlotte thrilled to the posture traditional for chastisement.

Charlotte had chosen a white sweater top and a Talbot's tartan skirt for the day's outing. She gave a little cry as Brent raised that fashionable skirt. Beneath were Charlotte's favorite pair of satiny blue underpants. They were a very nice pair, lustrous and trimmed with lace, only Charlotte was not keen on sharing her taste in lingerie with what seemed to her to be all of Brower County. She felt so exposed!

"Brent, is that really necessary?" gasped Charlotte.

"Well, yes, dear, I think it is," Brent replied. "What were you expecting-- a few pats on the back of your dress?"

Charlotte wasn't sure what she had expected. The cool air played about her satin-covered hindquarters. Whatever had possessed her to suggest this humiliation? She turned to look at her husband. He was grinning at her predicament!

"I'm glad you find this amusing, sir!" she huffed. "I must admit I'm getting a little worried myself."

"Why, darling, it's nothing to worry about," Brent maintained, sounding almost cheerful. "Just a little overdue domestic discipline, to be applied to the seat of the problem. You know, I think this will do us both a world of good. And," he added cordially, "as long as you cooperate, I won't have to take your panties down."

"Oh, no, Brent! Please, you mustn't!"

Charlotte was shocked. She certainly hadn't considered that possibility! Things were moving much too fast for her. She had to talk him out of this. She'd try a different tack.

"Brent, darling-- I know I did behave badly and-- I will talk to Miriam-- but you forgive me, don't you, honey? I really have learned a lesson here today and..."

"Charlotte," Brent chuckled, "you're not getting out of this. You yourself said you had it coming."

"It-- it just seems a bit drastic to me now."

"Charlotte-- " he intoned warningly.

"Oh, Brent, please reconsider!"

"Charlotte, once you make a decision, you should stick with it. Now, we've settled on a spanking, and a spanking it will be!"

She knew from experience that there was nothing more she could say to dissuade Brent. She had to surrender. Snuggling deeper into his lap, she couldn't help a small sniffle. Tremulously, she awaited the first spank.

It fell fully on her thinly-clad derriere. Be brave, she told herself. The second and third sounded quickly after. Oh, this is dreadful, thought Charlotte as the blows kept coming. Each spank was loud, and she could feel her shapely cheeks bounce and jiggle under each sharp swat. She thought to squirm free, but Brent's grip was tight. She would have to bear the pain and embarrassment. She was sure the other guests in the inn knew exactly what was going on. Naughty wife in Room 210! Brent continued unfazed, calmly applying the hairbrush with an expertise Charlotte had not anticipated. She could feel her buttocks rapidly warming beneath the cool satin of her panties. As her bottom heated, each spank stung all the more, and the more it stung the more Charlotte wiggled and squirmed, in a most unladylike fashion. She didn't meant to, for she had truly hoped to be able to take her punishment gracefully, but her whole backside was on fire! Brent was being so mean! A woman of her sensitivity, being treated like this! Sure she could stand it no longer, she burst into tears.

Brent hesitated, then applied just a few more spanks, softer ones to finish with. His elegant, lovely wife, suffering so! A wave of tenderness swept over him.

"That's all, sweetie. That's it. Come on now, don't cry," he admonished softly, trying to calm her.

Charlotte felt all in disarray. Her skirt was up about her waist, she had lost a shoe, and her poor behind was smarting terribly. She got up quickly and rearranged her skirt. It was soothing to have it back where it belonged. Through her tears she found and reclaimed her shoe, then stood meekly before her husband.

She sought his eyes, anxious to know what he was feeling. There was a curious, concerned look on his face. It was all the sign Charlotte needed. She plopped down on his lap.

"Ouch," was all she said.

He put his arms around her and pulled her close.

"That's all you have to say? 'Ouch?'" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "That's all I have to say. That, and-- I want this to be over with. I'm tired of talking about that damn Miriam. Let's just get on with our weekend."

"You've got it, sweetheart," he replied, and kissed her with passionate enthusiasm.


Later, over dinner, she coyly questioned him. He had never really wanted to spank her, had he? She watched him closely as she waited for an answer, thoroughly enjoying the look of panic that flashed across his eyes.

"No, of course not, Charlotte," he stated guardedly, "it was ... just an expression."

She smiled sweetly.

"Of course," she said.

The rest of the evening, the rest of their life together, looked to be very interesting.

Roberta S. Barnes (1940-2005)

I've been meaning to do this for a while now, ever since Aunt Roberta passed. First of all, she was my cousin, not my aunt. But since she was some seventeen years older, it was only natural to call her "Aunt Roberta." She was a remarkable woman, in many, many ways--writing was only one of her talents--and she deserves more than this small tribute of mine. But let it stand, poor as it is, as a last labor of love. And let it stand, too, as a monument to our mutual past, to a time that is not so long ago. Aunt Roberta wrote most of her stories in the 1970s and 1980s, but they of necessity echo her own memories of earlier times and her temperament, which some may find "old-fashioned." She did, of course, keep up with the latest trends and fashions, and she always took a keen interest in young people, but I think you will find her fiction speaks to those deeper, more lasting yearnings of the feminine heart, and will of necessity reflect a more structured and, if I may say so, a more dignified and elegant society.

In the stories to come, some ficitonal young women will have their bottoms spanked. But the watchwords here are Cute and Wholesome. Aunt Roberta always respected women's sensibilities. Here, ladies, you may tarry safely, and always, I hope, feel warm and loved.

I