That's All Roberta Wrote

It is. Literally. All she wrote about the subject at hand, that is, which is adults spanking adults. I thought I would have it all up in a year; it has taken three. But it has been a joy. And I have learned so much about today's spanking blogs, about their authors, and encountered much fine writing. Love to you all! I hope you will forgive my occasional asperities. Perhaps it is true, as one advances in years, the past becomes too idealized. But I hope you will always enjoy visiting Roberta's world. It is here, frozen in amber, as it were. No-- more like a snow globe, a world complete in itself, with vivid scenes and characters amidst the swirls of time.

Or a locket. A Victorian locket, you can open anytime you wish...

Photo: Plume Natural Perfumery on flickr.com

Your Guide to the Spankings

All works by Roberta S. Barnes.

All spankees are women old enough to know better. No men were harmed, those cowards!

All stories set in the not-so-distant past.

NOTE: There are no sex scenes and no nude pictures on this site. In point of fact, most of these are panty spankings.

NAUGHTY WIVES AND GIRLFRIENDS:

An Upstate Weekend - 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.

The Rainstorm - As she was toweling off her long brown hair, she heard Jim's voice from the living room. "As soon as you get those blue jeans off, you can come out here and take your spanking." She stopped in mid-towel and looked up, stunned. Had she heard correctly?

Spanking Pamela - 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!

YOUNG WOMEN INSTRUCTED BY OTHER WOMEN:

Amanda's Vacation - "I will not allow you to take that attitude, nor use that tone of voice with me, Amanda. Perhaps it's not a vacation you need. Perhaps what you need is a good spanking."

In Loco Parentis - "I'm afraid my husband is rather too easy on you girls. He plays the gruff disciplinarian, but he's really an old softie." She sat down solemnly on the edge of the bed. "Now take off those blue jeans, young lady, and get over my knee."

One Saturday Morning - "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."

Count on Mom - "I'm sorry, girls," Sherry said. "I know I agreed to the rules just like you did and--" she continued hesitantly, "I agreed to the punishment, too." She stared forlornly at the floor, hands clasped behind her. "So I guess I get a spanking."

In Old Tennessee - Besides, the whole thing seemed unbelievable to me. Cheryl may be just out of high school, but I'm older and a guest here. Mrs. Cooper wouldn't dare spank me.

Christmas in Colbyville - "And so for your penalty, I propose a public spanking, before the Society, here and now. Do I hear a motion?"

LONGER POEMS:

Marcie, Mary, Genevieve
Across his lap and over,

Each miscreant was placed;

Marcie, Mary, Genevieve--

Naughty wives disgraced!

'Twas the Night Before Christmas
"Oh, Santa, what is it?" cried Cindy, afraid
It wasn't the list of good girls she'd made.

Happy New Year!
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!

SHORT POEMS: "Reflections in Corner Time" and "The Perfect Wife."

Unique

I am always biased when it comes to Aunt Roberta's writing, but I think I can fairly say that what follows is something quite extraordinary. "A Rape of the Lock" for spankophiles, if I may be so bold. I will let it speak for itself: Marcie, Mary, Genevieve: The Epic Domestic.

Marcie, Mary, Genevieve; or, The Epic Domestic (Part I)

Marcie, Mary, and Genevieve

Went hurrying through the mall;

The tower clock chimed six P.M.,

On them it cast a pall.

"Their train came in 5:39,

We are already late!

Every time we all go out,

We make the same mistake!"

An afternoon of female fun

With an alcoholic coda;

A dress, a scarf, a glass of wine--

And Marcie's Scotch-and-soda.

And talk, delightful talk--

The hours sweetly flowed,

But now they had a train to meet

On which their husbands rode.

"I'll make it there in fifteen flat,"

Said Marcie purposefully;

They tossed their packages in the back,

Revved up the Cherokee.

'Now, Marcie, do be careful,"

Genevieve declared;

"If dinner's late, the men can wait,

Don't look so cowed and scared."

"Gen, you do not understand

The gravity of my situation;

Even Daniel--my pet, my saint--

Has a limit to his patience.

"Why just this morn he let me know

That for my love he'd thank me,

But if I were late again today,

He'd take me home and spank me!

"And, oh, my friends, don't find him harsh,

To hear him threaten so;

He's always there when I need him most,

So in my heart I know

That no matter where I stray,

I'm sure his love enfolds,

My heart's secure, I know he cares,

Because he spanks and scolds."

"Oh, Marcie, dear, we didn't know,"

Cried Genevieve and Mary,

"That Daniel was the type of man

Who'd spank a wife contrary."

Indeed it always seemed to them

That Marcie's word held sway;

But now they learned, to their delight,

That Dan, too, had his say.

And, oh! it moved their women's hearts

That Dan loved Mary so,

That he would take their friend in hand,

And warm her down below.

For each lady felt that wedded bliss

Sometimes required such;

Thought Gen of Tom and Mar of Ron,

Does he love me as much?

And now the station hove in view

The platform near deserted,

The men looked stern as the girls pulled up,

Could their anger be diverted?

"Dan, I can explain,"cried Marce,

Through excuses she did comb,

"Marcie, save it," Daniel snapped,

"Just wait till we get home!"

For it was a fateful interval

That the husbands, waiting, shared;

They had reached the sad conclusion

That the rod must not be spared.

For it was their manly duty,

Their wives to supervise,

To tame--not break--the spirited trio

Who brightened up their lives.

And since it was together that

Their little darlings sinned,

It would be together that

The three'd be disciplined.

So it was in Marcie's living room,

The offenders heard, aghast,

That each three dozen spanks would get

Upon her pantied ass.

A spank for every minute late

Upon their intimate apparel!

And they knew from each man's manner firm,

The men would brook no quarrel.

Said Dan, "I'll take the sofa;

Ron, make use of the settee,

And Tom will have the straight-backed chair,

With Gen across his knee.

"So now the stage is set, dear wives,

(They heard as in a trance)

When you don't obey, a price you'll pay--

Girls, take off your pants!"

Well, Mary gasped, her eyes grew wide,

She looked so pale and teary;

For up to now, to this young wife,

A spanking was just theory.

Gen clenched her jaw and stamped a foot,

As anger in her rose;

Marcie sensed a need for time

Their emotions to compose.

"Good husbands, please, we can't undress

In such a public forum;

Observe, I beg, a small parole,

A delicate decorum.

To my quiet bedchamber

Allow us to repair;

There, for this stern chastisement,

We will ourselves prepare.

For we are but the weaker sex,

And although a spanking's due,

It wil take our fluttering hearts awhile

To admit that it is true."

Part II

The Epic Domestic (Part II)

Up the stairs the ladies trooped,

Glad for any small reprieve;

"So, what's the plan?" Gen queried Marce,

"What have you up your sleeve?"

For in Gen's heart there was the hope

This paddling to evade;

"Plan? Why, none," Marcie frowned,

"Except to do as we are bade.

"Girls, we have it coming,

That fact you can't deny;

And in my little household,

With my word you will comply.

"So calm down, Genevieve, my dear,

You mustn't fume and fuss.

Your fate is across your husband's knee;

In his fairness you must trust.

"And you, sweet Mary, with downcast eyes,

Be strong, don't look so flat!

A few smart swats and you'll be done,

It won't be as bad as that."

Marcie, with these words persuaded,

And even more by what she did;

For as she spoke her belt unfastened,

And o'er her hips her pants she slid.

In a hushed and breathless silence,

Gen and Mar exchanged a rueful look,

Put their hand upon those buckles,

And their trousers they forsook!

And who would have thought that

Proud Genevieve preferred a flowered panty?

Or that Mary, demure and virtuous,

Wore briefs bright red and scanty?

Now Marcie (whose tastes ran more to lace)

Adjusted her elastic,

Then led her charges down the stairs,

To face the punishment most drastic.

Poor dears, in heels and panties,

Blushed to meet the gaze of men;

Pampered bare-legged beauties--

Was this happening to them?

Yes, it almost softened the hearts

Of the men in shirts and loosened ties,

To see the pleas for mercy

In those meek and soulful eyes.

But the husbands were resolved,

That for mischief the girls would pay,

Each took his wayward spouse in hand,

To treat in the time-honored way.

Across his lap and over,

Each miscreant was placed;

Marcie, Mary, Genevieve--

Naughty wives disgraced!

Each turned and gawked in disbelief

At her fellows' discomfiture;

Each saw herself in her comrades' plight,

Their punishment was sure!

Three delicate, silk-clad bottoms,

Turned up to face the sun,

Three lower lips were bitten,

Knowing what was to come.

There was a silent moment then,

When all seemed to think and weigh,

Each man considered justice,

Each wife prayed that she'd be brave.

Then Daniel's hand came crashing down

On Marcie's pert behind,

Next the feisty Genevieve,

And Mary, too, began to find

Things a bit unpleasant,

As a sting like fiery ants,

Grew, and spread, and finally settled

'Neath the ladies' underpants.

Three spankings going on at once,

A trinity of beats!

And, oh, what somber music played

Upon those lovely seats!

"Ron, I'll do no wrong again,"

Cried Mary, "please, no more!"

"We'll be good," piped Marce and Gen--

But the men had heard it all before.

And so the beat continued

While the guilty backsides reddened;

The wives would learn attention,

When e'er their husbands threatened.

But do not think that Mother Nature

Her daughters would forget;

In every angry husband

There lurked a soft spot yet.

For liquid eyes and whimpered sighs

And other female tricks,

All began to take their toll

'Fore the spanks reached thirty-six.

One by one the men began to slacken,

And the pace was not so much;

The spanks still fell on target,

But betrayed a softer touch.

Mortified and humble,

The three had paid their due;

Now all the women yearned for

Was a caring hug or two,

Which their men with tender hearts bestowed,

And, proudly, one could tell,

For though their wives might misbehave,

They took a spanking well.

"Is there corner time?" asked Marcie,

"No, not tonight," judged Dan,

"But each of you must home to bed,

No supper in your plan."

Each wife went home and straight to bed,

As she'd been told to do;

But here's the even stranger thing:

Their husbands did so, too!

And here our tale must end, dear friends,

With details we won't bore;

Suffice to say, the couples did

The Reign of Love restore.

So, ladies, do be careful,

When on a shopping trip,

Remember Ron and Tom and Dan,

No duties may you skip!

And, gentlemen, be gentle

With those gems you just can't leave,

How uneventful life would be

Without your Marcie, Mary, Genevieve!

Another Poetical Tidbit

Reflections in Corner Time
by Roberta Barnes

You burned my butt, you heartless clod,
Yet I won't be contrite;
Anyone who knew how mean you are,
Would surely think me right.

Just because I burned the steaks up,
Made them crispy, black, and thin,
You said that I was careless,
And needed discipline.

Just because I got my hair done,
And missed the cable guy,
I was taken up abruptly,
And placed across your thigh.

Just because the VISA statement,
Had an extra line or two,
You hiked my skirt above my waist,
My panties were on view!

Your hand came down so sharply,
Those spanks made me quite sore,
And just because I stuck out my tongue,
You gave me even more!

You're not a bit like Daddy,
He'd never yell or spank,
So if I ever get un-spoiled,
I'll just have you, my dear, to thank!

The Perfect Wife

I know the sweater that I bought is more than our finances can bear,
And I'll get the oil changed this week, my turtledove, I swear,
It's just that I'm so woozy from being in love with you,
That there are many things around the house that I forget to do.

I know that I'm exasperating, that's why you're strict with me,
Why I must take my panties down, and climb across your knee;
You spank me 'cause you love me, dear, I know it breaks your heart,
But there's no one else I'd rather have
Making my bottom smart!

You're always there for me, my dear, and so I pledge to you,
That I will be the perfect wife, and do what I must do;
I'll be prompt and sweet and thrifty, you'll never have to fret,
You'll never have to spank again-- hm-m...
But not just yet!

Adventures of the Heart

As Roberta once noted, "Her circumstances may be modest, her days seem tame and uneventful. She herself may cast envious glances at the blustering world of men. But, believe me-- women live adventures of the heart mere males can only guess at." I hope you are enjoying these "adventures," such as a woman may meet in the course of her life.

I thought it time to update our guide to the spankings. Men spanking women stories: An Upstate Weekend (Oct. 2009), Spanking Pamela (Oct./Nov. 2009), and The Rainstorm (April 2010). Women spanking women: One Saturday Morning (Dec. 2009), In Old Tennessee (June 2010), Christmas in Colbyville (Nov. 2010), In Loco Parentis (Feb. 2011), Amanda's Vacation (May 2011), and Count on Mom (July 2011). Both holiday poems, ''Twas the Night Before Christmas and Happy New Year! (Nov./Dec. 2009) feature men spanking women. I should add that "Christmas in Colbyville" is a sequel to "In Old Tennessee"; "Count on Mom" is a sequel to "One Saturday Morning."

I hope to upgrade the techie side of things. I'm not really good at that stuff-- I still don't know what's going on with the paragraph breaks on this blog, for example. So I apologize, both for the technical clunkiness and the lapses in grammar. Also, there are fragments of Roberta's writings on scraps of paper and old floppy discs still stored around the place-- I'll have to collect and edit for more lost treasures.

I have activated Blogger's adult content warning but-- there are no sex scenes depicted on this site! In fact, most of the ladies punished even get to keep their panties on. There are some literary appreciations of the female form which may not be suitable for impressionable youngsters, however.

Sometimes

"Sometimes," Roberta remarked to me on one occasion, "just sometimes..." She paused-- "but more often than you would imagine," she admitted with a little laugh, "even good girls get spanked."

Sherry is a good girl...

Read Count on Mom.

Count on Mom

Not long after Ann had been spanked by Karen for neglecting her chores, all four housemates agreed it would be a good idea if they drew up a list of rules for themselves to abide by. And it was agreed that any violations would result in a prompt and public paddling. The resulting list was posted--where else?-- on the refrigerator door, so no one could claim she didn't know the rules. And the sturdy spatula which had so thoroughly warmed Ann's bottom was hung on a hook by the kitchen door, where it served as a constant reminder of proper household conduct.

     And so things hummed along quite nicely among the girls, though, to be frank, all secretly felt that the rules, and the paddle, were being displayed pretty much for Ann's benefit. She was the only one who had been naughty; certainly, none of the other young women routinely stepped out of bounds. But who do you think was next to suffer the indignity of being spanked in front of her friends? Not Ann, certainly-- the memory of her thrashing was still too fresh for her to think of perpetrating new silliness. Not Karen, thoroughly correct Karen, chosen by the others to administer the punishment. Nor practical Linda, who was so efficient, neat, and thoughtful of others.

No, of all people it was Sherry, soft-spoken, sweet-tempered Sherry, the last of the group we would expect to earn a paddling. How could this have come about? Well, it all started with a phone call from her mother....

"Sherry, I'm only forty-eight! I'm not going to crawl into some hole just because your father and I are divorced. Now, listen, Marvin and I are spending the weekend at the lake, and we want you to come up for dinner on Saturday. It would be good for you to get away, and, well, we do have some interesting young men renting this summer that you should really meet."

"Mother, please!" Sherry expostulated. Not only was Madeleine Rinehart always trying to get her daughter married, she was also seeing somebody so soon after the divorce. Well, maybe it wasn't soon exactly. Close to a year, actually.

"Sherry, darling, I love you very much. I always will. And so does your father. He and I will always be friends, but we can't be husband and wife. You're just going to have to get used to it."

The tears were starting even as Sherry hung up. She knew she was being immature. Maybe she did subconsciously want Mom and Dad back together. But she hated to go to the lake to see her mother with-- that man!

So upset was Sherry that she forgot it was Thursday night-- shopping night. Karen was out of town at a teachers' conference, and Sherry had agreed to do the household shopping in her place. Linda, a nurse, was working late and Ann wouldn't return from her sales trip till tomorrow night. So there was no one to remind Sherry of what she had promised to do. The pert little redhead was all alone in the big Victorian house, thinking about Mom, about Dad, about marriage, about the old lake house, and getting more and more upset.

Next morning Linda called her at work.
"There's no coffee, Sherry. Didn't you do the shopping last night?"

"Oh, my God, I forgot! And I have to drive Mr. Johnson to the airport tonight. Can we hold off till Saturday?"

"I have to work today or else I'd do it for you," Linda replied. "But I don't want to fight those crowds this weekend. Besides, I thought you were going to the lake to see your mother."

"I wasn't really looking forward to it. This might be a good excuse to get out of it."

"Whoa, there, sweetheart, I don't think that's such a great idea. There things you and she need to discuss and this sounds like the perfect time."

"Don't you start too, Linda," Sherry pleaded.

Linda persisted. "It's important you go," she continued. "Ann and I will do the shopping on Saturday. No, don't argue, I've made up my mind. But there's just one thing. You are in violation of rule #6: 'All household shopping will be completed by the assigned person on the day designated.'" She paused, then added: "So, Sherry, honey, you can expect a good spanking when you get home tonight."

Sherry sat at her desk dumbfounded. Would Linda actually paddle her?

"Oh, I won't," Linda said candidly. Then she giggled. "But I'm sure Ann would be happy to oblige."

It was after nine o'clock on Friday evening before the three by-now-harried roommates were able to reassemble in the kitchen and talk about the trouble Sherry's forgetfulness would cause.

"After three days at a stupid sales convention, the last place I feel like spending my Saturday is at the supermarket,"Ann remarked heatedly.

"Well, Sherry," asked Linda, wagging her finger, "just what do you have to say for yourself? You did break a posted rule."

"She sure did," a quite-put-out Ann added emphatically.

"I'm sorry, girls," Sherry said. "I know I agreed to the rules just like you did and--" she continued hesitantly, "I agreed to the punishment, too." She stared forlornly at the floor, hands clasped behind her. "So I guess I get a spanking."

"I'm glad you see it that way, Miss," Linda said, somewhat relieved, "because I don't see how you have any way out of it either. So we might as well get it over with right now." She took the spatula down from its hook and handed it to Ann. Ann looked shocked.
"I thought you were going to do it."

"Me? Of course not. I've known Sherry longer than you have. We're too good of friends. You got the last punishment, so now you get to do the spanking."

Ann considered the spatula she was holding. She knew firsthand what it could do to a tender backside. Ann had a temper and was very annoyed at Sherry, but she knew she could never use that paddle on her roommate. She thought about the time Sherry had nursed her through the flu, and of how Sherry had gotten her through the jitters of her last job interview, and the perfect little dress Sherry had lent her for that first date with Paul.

"Sure, I'll spank her-- with a feather!" Ann exclaimed, and she handed the spatula right back to Linda.
Sherry plopped down at the kitchen table and held her head in her hands. She couldn't believe they were going on like this!

"Look," Linda said, "obviously Karen is the one to do it. But she won't be back till Monday. And if she finds out we waited till then, we'll all wind up over her knee!"

"So, what are we going to do?" Ann whined helplessly.

"I think I have a solution," said Linda, brightening. She smiled, quite satisfied with herself. "We'll just tell her mother!"

"You wouldn't!" Sherry gasped.
But Ann's eyes shone with merriment.
"Great idea, Linda!" she said excitedly.

"Ann and I agree, Sherry, so you're outvoted. Like it or not, that's how it will be," Linda spoke with finality.

 Linda made the call. Despite the lateness of the hour and the fact she was driving up to the lake the next morning, Mrs. Rinehart was more than happy to "help out," as she put it, especially where her daughter was concerned. She only asked Linda to tell Sherry to be "properly prepared."

"What did she mean by that, Sherry?" Linda asked.

"It means I'm to wait in the bedroom in my nightclothes," replied a clearly abashed Sherry. She bit her lip. Her mother lived only about ten minutes away. "I'd better get up there."

"Sounds like you've been through this before," Ann commented drily.

"For your information, not since I was seven," Sherry replied, a little heatedly. She said nothing more, but quickly headed upstairs with a worried expression on her face.

"Cup of tea, Mrs. R?" Ann asked as Sherry's mom came in. Ann knew and liked Madeleine Rinehart's brisk, cheerful personality. She had returned to work after raising her children and had become a successful real estate agent. In fact, she had just returned form showing a house when Linda had called. She was still clad in the checked skirt suit she had shown the property in.

"Oh, no, thank you, Ann. I think we should get right to it. Just let me say that I'm glad you girls have such clearly defined rules for getting along. You will all benefit from your foresight."

"Do you need a paddle?" Linda offered. "We have the spatula Ann was spanked with."

"No, thank you, dear. Sherry and I have our own little arrangement, if you don't mind. Now, usually I spank in private, but I understand Sherry saw you get it, Ann, so it's only fair that the two of you accompany me upstairs."

Sherry jumped up quickly when her mother entered the room. She was ready and waiting, wearing a pink nightshirt which ended several inches above her knee.

"I understand my darling daughter has been naughty."

"Yes, mother," a sad little voice answered.

"So you know what you have coming?"

"Yes, mother," came the quiet reply. An even smaller, sadder voice asked, "In front of everyone?"

"They're your friends, darling, and you've caused them a great deal of bother. They have a right to see that you pay for your irresponsibility."

Mrs. Rinehart took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Over Mommy's knee," she said simply.

Sherry complied without hesitation, and Mrs. Rinehart seemed used to just such obedience. The girls surmised that Sherry's last spanking was not quite as long ago as she would have liked them to believe!

As Sherry stretched over her mother's lap, the short nightie crept up her thights as the twin arches of her shapely bottom pulled the fabric tight. No one said a word, no one so much as breathed as Mrs. Rinehart delicately lifted the tail of Sherry's nightie. The roommates were instantly aware that Sherry had foregone the pair of panties she usually wore for modesty's sake. This, evidently, was also what was meant by being "properly prepared." The twin mounds of snow-white flesh glowed in the pool of light from the lamp on the bedside table. Sherry gave a little whimper and hid her face in the bedcovers, while Madeleine's long, manicured fingers smoothed and patted the girl's nervously twitching bottom.

"Mommy doesn't like to spank, Sherry dear, but sometimes she has to. When a girl misbehaves, she has to suffer the consequences." She paused, collecting her thoughts.
"It's very frustrating to need something around the house, and then to find it is unavailable, due to someone's negligence. You let your friends down by your thoughtlessness, is that correct, dear?"

"Yes, mother," Sherry answered hastily. Linda saw the soft, pillowy buttocks quiver and flinch as Madeleine's hand hovered menacingly. Then: SMACK! "Shame on..."SMACK! SMACK!"..you!" SMACK! "At your age!" SMACK! SMACK!

Before Linda or Ann knew it, fifteen or twenty sharp staccato notes had sounded on the upraised bottom, and pink roses were blooming all over Sherry's snowy flanks.

"I'm sorry, mother, I'm sorry," a quavery voice came from the bedcovers.

Mrs. Rinehart stroked the stinging cheeks soothingly. "Good, dear, I hope you take this lesson to heart." Mrs. Rinehart maintained an even, upbeat tone in her voice, as if trying to convey to her daughter her firm belief that Sherry's behavior in the future would be flawless.

As Sherry cried her tears of pain and remorse, her roommates, taken a bit aback by the flurry of spanks, thought, well, good--short and sweet, that's the way to get it over with.

But Madeleine kept Sherry over her knee. She noted the pinkness of Sherry's bottom, then continued. "Now, dear, why didn't the shopping get done?"

"Because I forgot."

"And why did you forget?"

"Because I...I..."

"Because you were moping, isn't that right, dear? You don't like me dating and you didn't want to go the lake to meet Marvin. You could have discussed the matter with me further, or called a friend, or taken a bubble bath, for heaven's sake. Instead, you acted in the most immature way possible. And I've spanked you for this before, haven't I?"

"Yes, mama."

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The strokes came at a more measured pace. Each healthy wallop landed dead center on Sherry's upraised tush. Ann and Linda watched in fascination as the imprint of Mrs. R's hand on Sherry's bottom deepened and colored. For the next minute or two, there was no sound but that of Mrs. R's palm on bare flesh, till at length she paused again.

"Now, a girl who mopes gets in trouble lots of ways," Madeleine intimated as her daughter sobbed miserably. "Has anything happened at work recently?"

"Oh, mother," Sherry moaned. It was one thing to be spanked, another thing to be spanked bare-bottom, a third thing to be spanked in front of your friends, and now to be subjected to this humiliating line of questioning! This spanking had turned out to be about a thousand times more embarrassing than Sherry had anticipated. She had no choice but to confess to further failings.

"I couldn't keep my mind on my work yesterday. I forgot to notify Mr. Johnson and he almost missed an important meeting."

Madeleine tsked and shook her head. "Some secretary you are! Can you really afford to lose your job?" SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! This time Sherry's flanks received more attention, till the whole expanse of her bottom was glowing a bright red. Having lost the last traces of her dignity, Sherry began involuntarily to twist and kick the bedcovers. Far from being perturbed, Mrs. R seemed pleased by such girlish reaction. Her work was having its effect. After all, a young girl can learn to mend her ways, whereas a stubborn, unrepentant young woman is merely obnoxious.

Suddenly, Mrs. R burst out laughing. "The next time I see Mr. Johnson, I'll tell him not to fire you, Sherry, since you've already been spanked!"

"Mother, no!" Sherry gasped through her tears, then she too couldn't help but laugh. She propped herself up and turne to look at her mother. "Mom, only you could make me laugh in the middle of a spanking!"

"Well, I'm glad you can laugh, dear. I know this hasn't been easy for you, nor, I think, for your roommates. But we do have one more thing to discuss." Everyone got serious again very quickly. "Ten more spanks, Sherry, for the disrespect you've shown Marvin and me. While I spank you, I want you to think about how much I love you, and how I always will love and look after you to the best of my ability."

The spanks came slowly, not real hard, and Sherry accepted them somberly, and pondered as she had been told. Two final little pats on her flaming fanny told her the spanking was over. She pulled down her nightie and unabashedly cuddled on her mother's lap.

"Thanks, Mom. I really needed that," she said quietly. Madeleine kissed her warmly and stroked her hair.

"There are many tears in life, Sherry, but, you know, they usually end like this, in hugs and kisses." She looked at the beaming faces of her daughter's roommates. " I want to thank you girls for giving me the opportunity of spanking Sherry again. Linda, you're our nurse, could you see to it that Sherry's bottom gets some cooling lotion? And, Ann, that cup of tea sounds delightful!"

Sherry slept soundly and late, but made it to the lake by two. The drive wasn't bad, though she was glad she had brought the pillow to sit on on the way up. Dinner was nice, and she guessed that maybe Marvin was kind of cute. Most of all she noticed how happy her mother was around him. And, yes, Mom was right, she did meet some very interesting young men. Mom was always right.  After all, maybe, just maybe, last night's tears would lead to more hugs and kisses than she had ever imagined!

A Little Understanding, Please

We've all experienced it: the bad joke at the elegant dinner party, the pointed question at the job interview, the desperate explaining to the highway patrolman. Situations that get tense, hair-trigger. A careless remark, the wrong word, some wounded pride-- who knows what may happen? Pity poor Amanda, who intends only to be on vacation. A simple matter becomes suddenly complex. How can things go so horribly, horribly wrong?

Read Amanda's Vacation.

Amanda's Vacation

Amanda wiped the rich Minnesota soil from her hands and surveyed her sister's flower garden. Zinnias and marigolds were already popping up into the May sunshine. Amanda was satisfied by a good afternoon's work among the seedlings Carol had lovingly started weeks ago. It was warmer than usual this year, Amanda thought. Hotter than back East. But Amanda was very glad she had accepted her sister's invitation to visit with her and Jason and the kids.

The kids! Cindy, the younger Stafford child, was still in school and Amanda had promised to pick her up while Carol shopped for groceries. Amanda looked at her watch. Half past two! She'd better get going. She looked over her outfit. She had on a very brief pair of white shorts and a bright red sleeveless top. It wasn't that she wanted to traipse through the hallowed halls of the Henderson School for Girls dressed like this, but she really didn't have time to change. They would understand.

Amanda parked her Escort under a Scotch pine behind the school library. She had hoped to see Cindy among the knots of girls walking toward the huge wrought iron gates of the school, but evidently the younger students were not permitted the liberty of such free exit. Amanda walked toward what looked like a side entrance.

"Young lady, where are you going?"

Amanda was twenty-four, almost finished her graduate work in sociology, and she was not used to being addressed as "young lady." She turned to find an older woman, a teacher perhaps, peering at her through old-fashioned pince-nez lenses.

"I was looking for Miss Norman's third grade class. I'm here to pick up Cindy Stafford."

"Not looking like that, I'm afraid. This is a private school, young lady, and we have strict rules of dress."

"I just need to pick up my niece. I'll only be a minute," Amanda replied, a little heatedly.

"It's out of the question. You cannot go through the halls looking as you do. It will set a bad example. My name is Miss Harper. I'll lead you to the office and you can wait until Cindy is called. Please follow me."

The woman turned and started down the hall. Amanda felt that she had in some way triumphed, until she suddenly considered that she was being conducted along like some miscreant schoolgirl.

Miss Harper opened a door at the end of the hall marked "Administration." Beneath was the inscription: "Dr. Olivia Bannister, Headmistress." Miss Harper turned to Amanda and said, "Please wait here. I'll bring Cindy to the office."

Amanda stepped in and a gray-haired secretary looked up from her desk. She could not suppress a look of surprise tinged with amusement.

"Are you here to see the Headmistress?"

Amanda could imagine the "...looking like that?" which belonged at the end of the question.

"No. Miss Harper insisted I wait here while she fetched my niece," replied Amanda in what she hoped was a civil tone of voice. Miss Harper--! Miss Busybody was more like it! She took a seat on a row of wooden chairs placed along the wall.

Boy, sighed Amanda, I lose track of time and look what happens. How do I wind up in these situations? Oh, well, Cindy will be here any minute and we can get out of here. Feeling the cool of the wood on the back of her bare thighs made Amanda very self-conscious.

Just then the door to the office opened and in walked a vigorous woman of about forty years. She was tall and imposing, with dark, piercing brown eyes and an attractive frankness of expression. She wore a pencil skirt of summer-weight wool and an elegant crepe blouse adorned with a brooch. Her long auburn hair was piled neatly atop her head. She had about her an air of quiet command.

Amanda felt herself shrink a little under her gaze. This, no doubt, was the Headmistress.

"And what have we here?" the Headmistress queried.

"I-I'm here to pick up my niece," Amanda stammered.

"I'm Dr. Bannister, the Headmistress. I think I should tell you, that we have certain rules of dress here that pertain to everyone who comes into the school. And your dress certainly does not meet standards."

"Well, if you would simply allow me to get my neice, I will be glad to be out of here," replied Amanda icily.

Dr. Bannister looked down at her for what seemed to be ages.

"Young lady, you and I need to have a talk."


The office of the Headmistress was cool and quiet. It was more home-like, Amanda thought. She noted a formal yet comfortable-looking sofa with end tables along the far wall as she took a seat in one of two straight-backed chairs facing Dr. Bannister's polished mahogany desk.

Why, oh why, hadn't she slipped on a skirt before she left the house? Oh, well. Amanda resigned herself to a talking-to, but she certainly wasn't going to sit still for much. She would listen politely and then have her say.

It was quite a scolding, no doubt about it. Amanda couldn't get a word in. Dr. Bannister was emphatic about the need for good example. The dress code must be followed at all times. And look at the situation Amanda had put her in: if she simply allowed Amanda to take Cindy home, then anyone could show up wearing anything they pleased, as long as they were in the school for only a few minutes. The school might as well have no dress code at all. The students could show up in jeans! But what bothered Dr. Bannister the most was Amanda's uncooperative attitude and lack of respect.

Amanda was stung. But still, she felt she had to plead her case. She was in a hurry this afternoon, that's all. She had lost track of time. Was that so terrible? And maybe it wouldn't be so bad if the students did show up in jeans! She wouldn't be talked to like this - she was not a schoolgirl! She was a busy graduate student on vacation and she wasn't going to allow some silly rule to spoil her time off!

Amanda finished her tirade, furious, and folded her arms. Dr. Bannister gazed at her steadily. Then she spoke.

"I will not allow you to take that attitude, nor use that tone of voice with me, Amanda. Perhaps it's not a vacation you need. Perhaps what you need is a good spanking."

Amanda gave a little laugh. "Really, Doctor," Amanda said, then her voice trailed off. The expression on Dr. Bannister's face was not one of levity.

"Yes, Miss?" asked the Headmistress. "Do you think yourself too old for a paddling? It's quite within my line of work, you know. You wouldn't be the first young lady to go across my knee and have her bottom warmed."

Amanda was momentarily taken aback by Dr. Bannister's words. It should have occurred to her that this woman was capable of administering such punishment, but unthinkingly Amanda let her temper get her even deeper into trouble.

"You petty tyrant, you wouldn't dare!"

The Headmistress remained calm.

"This is not a petty affair, Amanda, believe me. Though you are of mature years, you are lacking in discipline and comportment. You shall receive a paddling for your intemperate behavior, and I shall give it to you."

There was no edge at all in Dr. Bannister's voice. She had seen many feminine outbursts before, and she would handle this one as she always did, without losing her composure.

"Really, Doctor, can we not discuss this some other time? Cindy and I have got to be going." Amanda hoped the whole business would be instantly forgotten.

"Certainly, my door is always open for a discussion later," said Dr. Bannister, "but this afternoon-- you have a spanking coming."

She arose and went to the door. Opening it part way, she asked the secretary to see to it that they were not disturbed "for the next several minutes." Then she turned and looked at Amanda.

"Well, are we ready?"

Amanda could hardly think at all. She had always feared corporal punishment. In fact, she had never been spanked as a child. The one time she had been threatened with a spanking she had lied her way out of it. Was she now to get the paddling she deserved then?

Perhaps she could just leave. Just march out the door. And be thought a coward?

"Don't dawdle, dear. It's usually better to get it over with quickly."

Dr. Bannister walked toward the sofa. Before she sat down she went to an end table, and, opening the drawer, took out a handy little leathern paddle.

Oh, good gracious, I am really, really going to get it, thought Amanda. Should she plead? Would tears save her?

"Dr. Bannister, you're right, I'm sorry we had this argument..."

Dr. Bannister cut her short.

"I can see, Amanda, that you've not yet made up your mind that you're to be punished. I suggest you do so, because you are going to be spanked. Now, take off those shorts, and come here across my knee. You may keep your panties on."

It was with some effort that Amanda kept back the tears. She couldn't believe this was happening to her, but she resigned herself to her fate.

Slowly, she did as she was told. She slipped off her shorts and put them aside. Automatically she assured herself that her panties were completely covering the cheeks of her buttocks. They were a pair of white silk panties, perfect for warmer weather. They were, Amanda thought suddenly, very sheer. Amanda felt very exposed. She stood shyly before the Headmistress, hands crossed behind her.

Dr. Bannister simply held out her hand and said, "Come now, child." Amanda closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As she stepped toward the sofa she bent herself over Dr. Bannister's lap. She felt the slight scratchiness of a wool skirt under her thighs as Dr. Bannister grasped her firmly about the waist. Amanda now knew for sure there would be no reprieve. She turned her head, but could catch only a glimpse of her upturned buttocks. Amanda fervently hoped it wouldn't hurt too much. Her bottom felt cool and defenseless, tingling with anticipation of the first blow.

But, oh, it did hurt! Each spank stung and sounded loudly on her poor bottom. Amanda tried to be brave, but she just couldn't bear the smarting. After about a dozen spanks, she began to wiggle around, vainly trying to escape the paddle.

"Amanda, the more you squirm, the longer this spanking will be. Now be still!"

Amanda swallowed hard. No angry retort came to mind now.

"Yes, ma'am," she quavered meekly.

Dr. Bannister resumed, administering another series of swats. Amanda felt her buttocks quiver under each stinging smack. She did better this time, but as her bottom grew hotter and hotter, each spank hurt all the more! She felt herself at wit's end when Dr. Bannister spoke again, in a soothing and encouraging tone.

"First spankings can be so hard, Amanda, and yours is not over yet. I will just remind you that it's no shame being spanked, even at your age. The real shame is bad behavior that goes uncorrected."

First spanking? How did Dr. Bannister know? Was her lack of discipline so obvious to everyone? Humiliating as it was, Amanda resolved to persevere to the end of her punishment.

Dr. Bannister decided on ten more swats to each cheek for good measure, firmly applied. Finally, it was over.

"You can get up now, Amanda."

Dr. Bannister released her grip but Amanda just lay still, feeling the sharp warmth in her bottom, as tears rolled from her eyes.

"You were very brave, child. How do you feel?"

"I'm OK, ma'am." Amanda got up a bit shakily, relieved it was over, but she was proud that she had been called brave.

"In fact," she smiled, "I'm better than when I came in. Oh, Dr. Bannister, I'm almost glad you spanked me. And I'm really sorry about how dreadfully I acted towards everyone, including you."

"All's forgiven, and forgotten, dear."

With that, Dr. Bannister gathered Amanda in her arms and gave her a big hug.

"Now I think you'd better get back into your clothes, and together we'll get Cindy. I'm not such an old meanie, you know. Do come to visit again before you leave."

Amanda managed a grin.

"Properly dressed?" she asked mischievously.

"Properly dressed," replied the Headmistress.




[Photo by lavilleautady at flickr.com]

In Loco Parentis--Part II

Upstairs Kim couldn't sit still. Mrs. Dayton's tone of voice had done nothing to soothe her jangled nerves. Kim feared that Mrs. Dayton wanted more from her than a promise to do better.

Mrs. Dayton, ever polite, knocked gently and entered. In her hand was her wide, flat, oval wooden hairbrush. Kim's heart went to her throat.

Mrs. Dayton began quietly but firmly. "I hope you realize, dear, that what took place downstairs was hardly the spanking you deserve. I'm afraid my husband is rather too easy on you girls. He plays the gruff disciplinarian, but he's really an old softie."

She sat down solemnly on the edge of the bed.

"Now take off those blue jeans, young lady, and get over my knee."

Kim gulped, but again, her trust of Mrs. Dayton overcame her hesitation. She slowly removed her jeans, neatly folding them and hanging them over the back of her desk chair. (Mrs. Dayton hated picking up after them!) She felt a bit ridiculous in her pink panties and purple socks, but how she looked was the least of her worries. She couldn't take her eyes off the hairbrush. It wasn't as fearsome-looking as the paddle, but close in on a properly positioned subject-- it could be singularly effective!

"Don't dawdle, child, it just makes it harder for both of us."

When Kim made no movement, Mrs. Dayton simply reached over with an exasperated sigh, grabbed Kim by the elbow, and peremptorily hauled her across her lap. Kim barely had time to catch a glimpse of her upturned tush before Mrs. Dayton had laid the cool wood against her bottom, raised the hairbrush high, and delivered the first smart swat: CRACK!
 

"Ow-w, Mrs. Dayton, that hurts!" Kim complained, but Mrs. Dayton seemed not to hear. Indeed, further protest was rendered impossible by a flurry of spanks which left Kim breathless. Once aroused, Mrs. Dayton proved relentless. She was quite well-practiced in this motherly art, having taken over for Mr. Dayton on other occasions. Her arm operated with machine-like rapidity in adminstering the strokes, while at the same time her eye scanned Kim's hindquarters, making sure every part of that ample female bottom received its peppering of stinging smacks.

"Ouch, please stop, Mrs. Dayton," said Kim, regaining her voice,"I've Ouch! learned my lesson."

"A girl of your intelligence!" CRACK! CRACK! "To bring an 'F' home!" CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

"Oh, Mrs. Dayton, I'm sorry!" Kim wailed piteously, but Mrs. Dayton was unmoved.

"Not sorry enough, I'm afraid," she remarked as the hailstorm of spanks continued unabated. It wasn't until she had laid on several dozen solid licks that Mrs. Dayton relented, allowing Kim to slip to her knees and lay her tearful head on Mrs. Dayton's lap.
 

Mrs. Dayton stroked the girl's hair soothingly.
 

"I don't enjoy this any more than you do, dear. But you have to be properly punished. And to be perfectly honest, I think you deserve a good two dozen more."
 

Kim whimpered.

"But I'll tell you what, dear. Rest a little now while we discuss corrective behavior. Then, you can choose: the rest of your spanks with the hairbrush as before, or forty with my hand, on your bare bottom."

Mrs. Dayton paused, then spoke.
 

"First of all, Kim, you need daily study time. Every single night. I think for the time being your curfew will be 10 PM. And to further encourage regular habits, I am putting you in charge of making breakfast for us all each morning. Nothing fancy, toast and cereal is fine. Just remember that Mr. Dayton leaves the house every morning promptly at eight."
 

Her voice grew warmer.
 

"Second, why can't you be kinder to Kathleen? She is somewhat in awe of you, you know. You could help one another."

"Kathleen is in awe ... of me?"

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Dayton smiled, "she rather admires your way with the young men. There are things she doesn't dare ask me that you could help her with."

Kim brightened.

"So it's still all right for me to go out?"

"Oh, yes, dear-- once you've made some progress with your marks, of course. A young woman needs a social life. Just remember, though, your college years are a precious time for study. After all," she added dismissively, "there are always men!"

Kim had feared she would never be allowed to date again, but now she was hearing this. Evidently, there was more to Mrs. Dayton than she had ever dreamed. Her heart warmed to the woman who had just spanked her so hard.
 

She got to her feet.

"I'll do as you say, Mrs. Dayton. And I'm ready for the rest of my punishment," she added bravely. "Please spank me with your hand."

Mrs. Dayton knew Kim was only trying to make it easier on herself, but that 'please spank me' was music to her ears. Almost a year at college and finally the girl was learning something!
 

Mrs. Dayton now positioned herself farther back on the bed, so that Kim had to climb in childlike fashion across Mrs. Dayton's waiting lap. Kim's feet were fully off the floor-- there would be no backsliding this time! Mrs. Dayton eased Kim's panties over her blazing cheeks, taking them down to mid-thigh. Fresh tears welled up in Kim's eyes at this further humiliation, but she kept her buttocks still and accepting of punishment.
 

"One more thing before I continue," Mrs. Dayton stated firmly. "I insist you find a new study partner. You and Susan do not seem to accomplish very much on your trips to the library."
 

At this, the figure who had been kneeling for some time in the hall peering in the keyhole suddenly drew back, got quietly to her feet, and padded quickly back to her room.
 

Mrs. Dayton took a moment to survey Kim's shapely bottom. Forty spanks would be plenty to even out the angry red splotches the hairbrush had left into a nice, even, rosy glow.

She didn't lecture. She didn't have to. The submissive way Kim accepted the hearty slaps deeply gratified the older woman, so much so that the last half dozen spanks became playful little taps instead of punishing blows.
 

"That hurt, Mrs. Dayton, but I want you to know I'm really sorry and to thank..."--this last part was hard--"to thank you for spanking me."

"That's quite all right, dear. I guess it's part of my job. I suggest you get into your nightclothes, and perhaps you'd like something to eat. It's been a long evening for all of us, and you didn't have any dinner."

 

The journey from folly to repentance was indeed an arduous one and apt to sharpen the appetite, thought Mrs. Dayton as she watched Kim and Susan tear into the pizza they had ordered. The little party had turned into a real gabfest by the time Mr. Dayton got back.
 

"I see you are none the worse for wear after your paddling, Kim," he said. "No hard feelings, I hope?"

Kim smiled shyly, and glanced at Mrs. Dayton. She would keep their secret.

"No hard feelings, Mr. Dayton," she replied cheerfully.
 

"Good. I'll be off to bed then. Store opens early, you know."

Just after 11, Kathleen returned.
 

"Hey, pizza and everything!" she exclaimed. "Looks like this is where all the action is." Did bad girls always have all the fun? she thought to herself sullenly. "I had a perfectly boring evening at the Koffe Kup. Nobody there but some Tau Thetas."
 

"Tau Theta boys!" Kim giggled. "And you didn't have any fun? Kath, you and I need to have a talk. Better yet, we'll hit the Koffee Kup together some night soon."
 

Kim caught Mrs. Dayton's glance.
 

"With your approval, of course, Mrs. Dayton."
 

"Of course you may," Mrs. Dayton smiled.
 

"You know, Kim," Kathleen said quietly, "I'd like that."

Not long afterwards the lights in the big old Victorian began to go out, one by one. Mr. Dayton fell right to sleep. Business had been brisk, and why not-- his was a reputable establishment, and he provided a valuable service. Mrs. Dayton lay quietly at his side. She, too, was satisfied with the night's work. Her young charges were all safe in their nest now. How precociously wise they were one minute, how childishly impulsive the next! Never mind, she would be there, ready to guide and protect.
 

The light still burned in Susan's room, as she took a long look at her books. This stuff isn't that hard, she thought. I can master it. C's won't cut it for me anymore, she resolved.

In the next room Kathleen lay awake, her face aglow with excitement. She was happy about her marks, and she looked forward to going out with Kim. There were so many things to know, so many people to meet!
 

Upstairs, Kim, face down beneath the coverlet, felt herself drifting off to sleep. There was a warm, sweet throbbing in her bottom that seem to spread throughout her whole being. Never had she felt so loved and secure! She was quite sure, in a dreamy sort of way, that there was a man out there whose job it would be to make her feel this way forever. In the meantime, she thought to herself, she would count on the Daytons.

Meanwhile, across town, across campus, Jake stared out the window of his room in Tau Theta house. He could have any girl on campus, he thought-- why was he so intrigued by this one? That story she had given him: she lived off-campus, but he couldn't come with her? What gives there? He wondered where she was partying tonight.

Oh, well, he'd have to wait till he saw her in class again. He snapped off his desk lamp and decided to turn in.

In Loco Parentis-Part I

"Kim, where are you going? I thought you lived here, in Hillman."

Kim looked up at the massive high-rise, then appreciatively eyed her fellow student, Jake. She admired the muscled arms, the chiseled jaw, the eager, sparkling blue eyes. Jake had walked her all the way across campus for this moment. Kim knew what he was thinking: an afternoon's fun with a willing female in the warren of rooms up in the coed dorm.

"No, Jake, sorry. I moved out after last semester. I'm in ILP housing now."

"ILP housing? What's that?"

Kim smiled, a bit ruefully.

"I don't remember what it stands for, exactly. It does mean I live off-campus, but no, I can't take you home with me. Listen, I'll see you next class, OK?"

There was no way he could hide his look of disappointment.

"Well, yeah, OK, next class then."

I...L...P...let's see, Kim pondered as she walked the quiet, tree-lined streets of town, a world away from the anonymous bustle of the campus. In Loco Parentis, yes, that was it-- Latin for "in place of the parents." Yep, that's what I signed up for, Kim sighed to herself. She had had a rough first semester, two F's, one D and one Incomplete. Her academic counselor had suggested ILP housing, a program where students were matched with local families and lived in their homes. It was supposed to benefit the students, and improve town/gown relations as well. And so far it had worked out. Kim loved her little attic room in the spacious Victorian home of Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Dayton, and she got along well with the other girls living there, Kathleen and Susan. Well, with Susan anyway, Kathleen was sometimes hard to take. Mr. Dayton was a pharmacist and had a store in town, while Mrs. Dayton kept the whole household running efficiently. Kim found the Daytons a bit old-fashioned, it was true, but really very kind, and they seemed genuinely interested in their charges. And it had done her good, Kim had to admit, to live away from the noise, the parties, the beer, and the boys. Especially the boys. Not that she had given up those things entirely. On more than one occasion Susie had covered for her, telling Mrs. Dayton that she and Kim had been studying together at the library, when really one or both of them had been out partying. I guess I went a little too far with that sort of thing, Kim thought worriedly as she climbed the porch steps. There was a pang of anxiety in the pit of her stomach as she felt for the midterm grade report in the pocket of her jacket. She had only one F this time, but she knew her usual alibis wouldn't wash now. Last semester Kim had tossed her midterm marks aside and hadn't give them a second thought. This year she would have to show her grades to Mrs. Dayton.

Mrs. Dayton was at the dining room table, folding freshly-laundered kitchen towels. Kim tried to slip right up the stairs to her room, but Mrs. Dayton called to her cheerily.

"Why, Kim, there you are! Do come in and show me your grades. Kathleen and Susan are already home and they did fine. Kathleen all A's, I'm so proud of her! Susan did OK, too many C's, though, in my opinion."

Kim stood silent and forlorn.

"What's the matter, dear? Didn't you get your report?"

Kim just mumbled something, then reluctantly proffered the crumpled sheet. A cloud passed over Mrs. Dayton's normally placid features. She definitely did not like what she was seeing! Mrs. Dayton had raised a daughter of her own, now married, but girls today could be so exasperating! Some of them simply lacked self-discipline. She took a moment to compose herself before speaking.

"I must say I find this disappointing, Kim. I work hard to provide a good study environment for you girls. However, " she stated calmly as she stood and smoothed her skirt, "we'll discuss this after dinner." Kim could see that Mrs. Dayton was hurt, and the dignified way she voiced her disapproval only made Kim feel more miserable. Kim just wanted to run and hide.

"I'm really not hungry, Mrs. Dayton. I think I'll skip dinner tonight."

"As you wish, child. But I suggest you stay to your room. Mr. Dayton will want to speak to you."

Alone in her room, Kim was depleting her personal stash of Doritos as she contemplated the current mess she was in. At first she had been happy to be away from them all-- Kathleen was probably gushing over her straight A's. But now she was not so sure. Maybe she was in disgrace. After all, here she was in her room, nervous as a naughty schoolgirl, awaiting a summons from Daddy! Last semester after she had gotten her grades, she had gone out with some really great guys she knew who were always ready to party. After a joint and a couple of beers, Kim had managed to place the blame for that disastrous first semester on everybody but herself. Now she was in the ILP program. She wanted to feel sorry for herself-- so why was she thinking, despite her nervousness, that it was the best thing that could have happened to her?

Just then Susan knocked and stuck her head in the door.

"Kim, they want you downstairs. Boy, are you in for it!"

As she came down the stairs, Kim could hear Mrs. Dayton talking to Kathleen. "I just think it would be good for you to get out, dear. I know it's a weeknight, but you deserve a break from your studies."

Kathleen laughed gaily.

"I guess you're right, Mrs. Dayton. I could use a night out. Maybe I'll head over to the Koffee Kup."

"Yes, run along and have a good time. And, Kathleen-- back by midnight, please."

As Kathleen headed out, Mrs. Dayton turned and grimly gestured Kim toward the dining room. Why, thought Kim to herself, was one of the chairs turned away from the table? Then she saw Mr. Dayton-- and the paddle. Mr. Dayton cleared his throat uncomfotably, then spoke in his shy, formal way.

"As you know, Kim, ILP students share not only their hosts' homes, but agree to abide by their rules as well. Mrs. Dayton and I take an 'F' very seriously, and we have decided to act as if you were our own daughter. I'm afraid you've earned yourself a paddling, young lady. Now turn around and grasp the arms of the chair."

Kim had not expected this!

"Mr. Dayton, please, it's only a midterm mark."

"Which means, Kim, that we have caught this in time. This spanking becomes all the more effective, because we can still save the semester," Mrs. Dayton explained as she took Kim by the arm and led her to the chair. Kim was shocked. Mrs. Dayton was in on this, too! She instinctively obeyed the older woman though, bending herself slightly over the seat of the chair as Mr. Dayton drew near to deliver the swats.

"Really, does Susan have to watch?" Kim cried as she noticed her friend standing wide-eyed at the back of the room.

"We thought it might be instructive if Susan saw what happened to girls who get 'F's," Mr. Dayton explained. "her own grades are hardly exemplary."

Kim decided that she would allow them to go through with this silly business. She knew ILP housing was a privilege that could be revoked at any time. It was just her luck that she got stuck with a couple of old fogies. Old fogies who cared...oh, well...please, God, don't let it hurt too much. And, actually, it wasn't too bad. The paddle looked scary, but Mr. Dayton smacked her slowly and not very hard. It sounded worse than it was, Kim decided. Not that she was enjoying it. As a thoroughly modern young college woman, she felt she should be quite outraged, and so she resisted, in her feminine way. She "ouched" once or twice, she wiggled her behind, and, after five or six strokes, she turned and batted her eyelids at Mr. Dayton. "Oh, please, please stop!" she exclaimed breathlessly. He hung on for two more strokes-- and that was it.

"I am sorry I had to do this, Kim, but I hope you have learned your lesson," Mr. Dayton intoned gravely. He looked at Susan. "You, too, young lady."

Neither girl noticed Mrs. Dayton rolling her eyes heavenward in exasperation.

"My assistant has called out sick, and I must return to the store this evening," Mr. Dayton stated. "I leave Mrs. Dayton to look after you."

As he stepped from the room, Kim checked with damage control. Beneath her jeans and panties her bottom seemed unusually sensitive. It felt all warm and tingly in an unfamiliar way, but it really didn't ache. Of course, she was embarrassed at having been punished in such a juvenile fashion. But all in all, it hadn't been too awful. The thought was just beginning to cross her mind that she had gotten away with something, when Mrs. Dayton spoke.

"Susan, I suggest you go to your room and study. And you, Kim-- go to your room also. I will be in to see you shortly."

Part II

[Photo: Univ. of Washington Quad by nordique at flickr.com]

The Holidays with Roberta

The following reminiscence first appeared in a little magazine called Twilight's Garden, which some of you may remember. It appeared a few months after the same autobiographical story we published here. Roberta is continuing her account of her life in Colbyville.

I once asked her if this story was true, like the one told in "In Old Tennessee." Of course, she said, though I thought she had a twinkle in her eye. But I know a lot of your friends, I said, and I don't know a Paige Whitfield.

"I had to change the names, dear," she replied. "You can understand that. No need to embarrass the woman further."

And the matter was closed.

Read the rest of the story in Christmas in Colbyville.

Christmas in Colbyville - Part I

Many people have asked me about Mrs. Cooper, who took a hairbrush to my pampered behind within a week of my arrival in Tennessee, that first summer so many years ago. Since she had no qualms about paddling me, a relative stranger, did she ever spank anyone else outside the family? Well, as I have stated, her influence on the community was profound. She was a keen judge of character and yes, she didn't hesitate when she thought a sound spanking would do someone some good. Even if that meant spanking under rather dramatic circumstances...

I recall one incident around Christmas, my favorite time of year in Colbyville. How I would look forward to those magic days! After Indian summer and hunting season, there'd be a special chill in the air that would herald the coming of the holidays. Handmade evergreen wreaths would make their appearance on stately doors all over town, and each door, it seemed, opened on a log fire lit to lend an extra warm glow to some festive gathering. There, over cups of julep or spicy eggnog, relatives and friends would gather to sing a carol or reminisce about Colbyville Christmases past. It was all as traditional and comfortable as only a country Christmas can be.

No small part of the season was the Christmas concert presented by the Elm Street Methodist Church Choral Society. No need to tell you which formidable local matron with a rich alto voice was also president of the Society. Mrs. Cooper had been a mainstay of the choir since its inception.

It was my first year in the choir, my first year in Colbyville as a married woman. Ray and I had set up housekeeping in the second-floor apartment in his aunt's old place in town. The kitchen was miniscule, I complained to Cheryl, so she invited me to join her in her mother's kitchen, turning out the dozens of cookies that would grace hostess' tables, church suppers, and old folks' homes over the next few weeks. It was a convenient excuse for us to spend hours together working and gossiping...oops, I mean "catching up." The chief topic that winter was Paige Whitfield, the Choral Society's star soprano.

"Paige isn't much older than Cheryl, Roberta. It was such a shock, Mrs. Whitfield going so suddenly. Has it been over a year already? She was the pillar of that family, Roberta. Mr. Whitfield..." She shook her head. Harold Whitfield was a good man, but lost without his wife. Lately he was out too late at night, and drinking too much.

"Lord knows Paige doesn't go to him for guidance. Without proper supervision, it's not surprising that she's been acting the way she has. Young girls today, they go off to college and come back thinking they know all about being a woman."

"Yes, mama, I agree," said Cheryl, barely suppressing a grin as her mother launched into a lecture.

"Forget to mind their elders, lose all respect."

"Yes, mama."

"A fine state of affairs!"

"Yes, mama."

Mrs. Cooper peered at her daughter intently.

"Do you find me amusing, young lady?"

"No, mama, of course not."

"Good, dear, I hoped not. Oh, look, you dropped a pecan."

"Where?"

"There, under the table. Bend down, you can just see it."

"Where? I don't see any-..."

SMACK!

"Ow-w, Mother-r!!"


The juicy part of Paige's story was that she had taken the money she had inherited (Mrs. Whitfield's side of the family was rather well off) and bought a slick, red sports car, and soon began spending her weekends in Nashville. Paige was star-struck, a small-town girl who thought she should be a star. She had a decent voice and she certainly had the looks: good height and figure, long blond hair, and cheekbones to die for. I would have been happy having any one of those attributes, but Paige wasn't. She wanted more than what Colbyville and the Choral Society had to offer. But instead of doing the hard work necessary to develop her talents, she devoted her time to making connections and seeing the "right" people.

That was all her business, of course. All I cared about was that she was an excellent soloist, and that made us all sound good. At least I thought it did. The other topic that dominated our kitchen conversations were the disheartening comments about our Fall Concert that had appeared in an unsigned review in the Nashville Eagle. The article heaped praise on "Paige Whitfield, a truly remarkable soprano," who "succeeded in spite of a lackluster chorus backing her up." Well! You can just imagine how we all felt when we read that. All of us were insulted; some took the criticism to heart, and the seeds of self-doubt were planted. Nothing we sang seemed to sound right and each found someone else to blame. As if Mrs. Cooper didn't have enough to do, what with ordering new gowns and getting the programs printed-- she now had to deal with thirty or so females who were on eggshells every time they got together.

Tempers flared one evening at rehearsal. In the middle of a solo, Paige stopped and turned to the soprano section, hands on hips.

"Who's flat?" she inquired imperiously. "I think it was you, Cheryl. Please, do be careful!"

There was an audible gasp of shock. No one had the right to correct the chorus, except the director, let alone single out a member. I knew what a firebrand my friend could be so I quickly dug my nails into Cheryl's arm.

"Just let it pass, Cheryl, please. Consider the source."

She bit her tongue, then looked at me and nodded, but I could see the incident would not be soon forgotten.


Just a week later came the night of the concert itself. Cheryl and our mutual friend Edna Carter were with me in the loft of the Old Church, the annex which had originally housed the congregation, but which was now rarely used. We had on our new gowns, lovely floor-length dresses of rich burgundy velvet. The rest of the choir were downstairs in the regular meeting hall where we held rehearsals, but Edna, Cheryl and I had just had to get away. I mean, here it was--our big holiday concert, the church beautifully decorated, the choir in gorgeous new gowns--yet our hearts really weren't in it. Rumor, accusation, and worry had taken its toll on all of us. The bad review in the Eagle, our shaken confidence, the tense, fractious rehearsals-- we were downright gloomy on a night in which we should have been on top of the world.

I was giving Edna a final lookover while Cheryl stared moodily out the side window.

"Our prima donna has arrived," she announced. "Late, of course."

Edna and I continued fussing till Cheryl fairly shrieked, "She's got a man with her!"

Paige had pulled the car up at the corner of the quiet street, where there was just enough light to reveal that there were indeed two figures inside, now locked in a passionate embrace. After a hot goodbye kiss, a tall, well-built man discreetly let himself out and began walking to the church. Evidently, he and Paige could not be seen going in together.

"Who is it, who is it?" the three of us cried as we jostled for position at the tiny window. The figure was nearing the brightly-lit entrance of the church.

"I don't know him."
"Never seen him!"
"Ohmigod, it's Cousin Ewan!"

Cheryl and I drank in all we could as the tall stranger strode up the steps and into the church. Then we turned on Edna.

"And who, pray tell, is Cousin Ewan?"

"Mother's first husband had an older brother, use to live out near Monroe. Ewan's his boy. They moved to Nashville years ago, but we still run into them now and then."

"Nashville?" Cheryl asked. She looked thoughtful. "What does he do?"

"Oh, he works for one of them newspapers."

Cheryl and I stared incredulously at Edna. Cheryl took her by both shoulders.

"Edna, is he a reporter?"

She nodded.

"It wouldn't be for the Nashville Eagle, would it?"

"Eagle? Bugle? Can't say for sure, Cheryl. You know I don't bother much with the newspapers."

"Edna, you ninny, don't you see? It was Ewan who wrote that crummy review, just to please that blond vixen. I can just picture the two of them cooking the whole thing up. They figured they'd just use us country bumpkins to advance their own careers. They think they're so smart! I could just spit!"

"Oh, Cheryl," laughed Edna, "don't be impressed by Cousin Ewan. He's just a local boy. My mama says, 'No matter where you go or what you do, everybody comes from somewhere.'"

Cheryl paused a second.

"Edna, sometimes you almost make sense, that's why I love you so. Cousin Ewan's a local boy and Paige is just a small-town girl."

A smile spread across her face.

"A small-town girl who needs a whippin'!"

She turned quickly and made for the stairs.

"Cheryl, where are you going?" I cried.

"I'm telling Mom!" she yelled gleefully.

Part II


[Photo: A Warm Welcome by photogramma1 at flickr.com]

Christmas in Colbyville - Part II

As soon as she walked into the rehearsal hall, Paige knew something was up. Every eye was on her, and you could hear a pin drop.

"You are late," Mrs. Cooper stated crisply.

"By ten minutes," Paige answered archly. "Is that so terrible?"

"Watch your tone of voice, Miss. This is not the first time you have kept us all waiting. Secondly, you are in a lot of trouble. I'll get right to the point: did you or did you not have anything to do with that shameful review in the newspaper?"

The question hung in the air for several moments as Paige weighed the odds that we knew something. She tried a little finesse.

"That review was just someone's opinion. I don't see why anyone would be upset by it."

"That review, Paige," Mrs. Cooper emphasized, "was biased and unfair. It hurt all our feelings. It was written solely to enhance your reputation at our expense. And it was written by Mr. Ewan Pierce, at your instigation. Can you deny it?"

A worried frown now creased Paige's pretty features. We evidently knew more than she had first thought.

"All right, Ewan did write the piece. But I didn't tell him what to write."

Mrs. Cooper exhaled in exasperation.

"My dear young lady, might I suggest that the nature of your relationship with Mr.Pierce would make it abundantly clear to him what you wanted him to say? And, further, I venture that tonight's review has already been written and approved by you!"

Paige blushed so brightly red that we knew instantly that Mrs. Cooper's surmise was absolutely on target. Any further pretense of innocence would be futile. Paige lowered her gaze and bit her lower lip as Mrs. Cooper continued.

"I hope you realize how serious a matter this is, young lady. We are all very, very upset with you. You are guilty of riding roughshod over other people's feelings in selfish pursuit of your own ends. Your punishment must be swift and sure."

Paige looked up, startled, at the mention of punishment, and she shifted her stance apprehensively.

"What you have done is most immature," Mrs. Cooper continued. "You are still a young woman, Paige, in need of a great deal of guidance. If only your mother, bless her soul, were still here. But what's done is done. And I'm sure she would agree that you must suffer the consequences of your misbehavior. And so for your penalty, I propose a public spanking, before the Society, here and now. Do I hear a motion?"

"So proposed, Madame President," several voices called out.

"Seconded," came the reply.

"Are there any objections?" asked Madame President.

Paige frantically scanned the room for support, but no one spoke up for her. In her defense, she could only voice her own anxiety.

"Ladies, please, you can't be serious. This is so...so...unthinkable! Please, you mustn't go through with it!"

Even as she pleaded, Mrs. Cooper had the bench from the rehearsal piano brought out to the middle of the room.

"Please check the corridor for roving males," she requested. "This will be a sight for women's eyes only."

She sat down, regally, near one end of the bench, and looked expectantly at Paige.

"Don't disappoint me with recalcitrance, dear. We'll all feel so much better when this is over."

As planned, Cheryl and Edna came forward to "assist" Paige. Mrs. Cooper would never tolerate dragging a girl to her punishment, but she thought a little "moral support" might be necessary in this case. Paige stiffened as Cheryl and Edna each took an arm, and I thought she might try to stand her ground. But Cheryl spoke to her in calm, confidential tones.

"I know you think you are going places, Paige. Maybe you will. Believe it or not, I wish you well. But just remember, Colbyville will always be your hometown. And if you ever want to have a friend in this town to talk to again, tomorrow or twenty years from now-- you'll get across Mama's knee this instant!"

Paige said nothing but she did allow herself to be led to Mrs. Cooper. She looked so mournful and sorry for herself I almost burst out laughing, but then I remembered how scared I had been in similar circumstances. You only had to look into Mrs. Cooper's commanding blue eyes to realize there was no escaping your fate. Indeed, Paige balked again, and there might have been an unpleasant scene were it not for Cheryl's quick thinking. Deftly, she released Paige's arm and delivered a forceful swat to the hesitant behind. The shock of that humiliating spank took the starch right out of Paige, and Chery and Edna had no further problems drawing her across Mrs. Cooper's lap. She settled compliantly into position, resting her head on her hands at one end of the bench, her fanny over Mrs. Cooper's thigh at the other, her long legs stretched out behind her.

At a nod from Mrs. Cooper, Edna reached down for the hem of Paige's gown. Paige gasped as she felt her long skirt coming up higher and higher. Cheryl stood at her waist, and gathered in the folds of velvet as they bunched about the girl's silken thighs, till at length Cheryl flipped the mass of fabric up and over to reveal Paige's exquisitely-shaped derriere, fetchingly clad in a pair of diaphanous pink silk panties. Paige could not clearly see the extent of her humiliation, nor--as Mrs. Cooper presently warned her not to cover herself--could she reach around and feel, so she waggled her behind to confirm what she already knew: her skirt was all the way up, her lingerie was in plain view, and she was about to get the spanking of her life.

With the room in a hushed and expectant silence, Paige swallowed and composed herself as best she could. Then she spoke in a surprisingly clear voice.

"Mrs. Cooper, ladies-- I want you to know I really am sorry. I didn't want to hurt anyone. The review just sort of came out like it did, and I let Ewan print it. I'm ashamed of myself and I apologize for upsetting you. I'm not trying to get out of my spanking, believe me. I...I...I just want to be friends again."

Well, she nearly stopped the show with that little speech. I guess being used to center stage helped; I don't know how else she could have gathered herself together like that.

"Oh, Paige, we are friends," Mrs. Cooper replied warmly. "We wouldn't bother to spank if we didn't love you. And I'm glad you're not trying to get out of this spanking, because we've come too far along for that. But I shall be fair. Now be still, and we'll get this over with as quickly as possible. I don't think it will be as bad as all that."

Anyone who applies correction regularly tends to develop a certain style. Mrs. Cooper always took her culprit over her knee, she always spanked over the panties, and she always said "It won't be as bad as all that" or something similarly encouraging. (Except it usually was as bad as all that.) What I didn't know was that Mrs. Cooper was quite capable of improvising when necessary.

"Oh, Cheryl, could you bring me a hymnal? The Second Revised, I think."

There were scattered giggles and I wondered what was up. Was she going to sing? I was mystified until she got the requested edition in hand: it made a perfect paddle!

Mrs. Cooper raised the hymnal high, Paige covered her face with her hand, and a large WHAP-P! resounded through the room. Beneath the sturdy book, Paige's flawless buttocks quivered.

WHAP! and again, WHAP! Mrs. Cooper held nothing back. The strokes came at a stately, measured pace, as befitted the formal nature of the proceedings. It was not long before Paige was squirmy, first pushing up on her toes--which only sent her bottom crashing into the hymnal--then bending at the knees--which only pressed her more firmly into the lap of her disciplinarian. She embarrassed herself no matter what she did, but it must have hurt so much she just couldn't help herself.

WHAP! WHAP! Mrs. Cooper was not dissuaded from her purpose by Paige's movements, and Paige eventually had to settle in as best she could, lying still and humbly accepting the full force of each well-laid-on spank. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! The hymnal was of a size to squarely cover both cheeks at once, and I really felt sorry for Paige as I watched her poor bottom redden, right through the sheer fabric of her panties!

Remember the old Zen puzzle: what is the sound of one hand clapping? How about: how many spanks in a good sound spanking? I stopped counting after thirty. With Mrs. Cooper you could never tell--she relied on her intuition as to when to stop. It was a combination of her sense of justice, the remorse of the miscreant, and, yes, mercy. Mrs. Cooper was often merciful. But I will say I'd never seen anyone defiant after a session with her. She didn't waste anyone's time: if you went over her knee for a spanking, you definitely got all you could handle.

So Paige was in tears when Mrs. Cooper finally told her it was over. She was not distraught, but I'm not sure how much more she could have taken. Around the room comments like "Serves her right!" and "About time!" had given way to "The poor dear!" As usual, Mrs. Cooper had judged the moment precisely.

"Up now, dear, and finish with those tears. There, your skirt is back in place. And we'll fix your hair and makeup, don't worry. You'll want to look nice for your solo."

"Oh, Mrs. Cooper, I can't go out there and sing--not after this!"

"Paige, I'll not have you sulking. You will sing, and sing beautifully, for those good people. I know you can do it. Just because a girl gets a spanking, it isn't the end of the world, you know."

Mrs. Cooper sighed, and looked benignly at the headstrong girl before her.

"You are a handful, young lady, and a trial to a mother. I can see that I will have to keep a close eye on you from now on."

Paige looked dubious, but finally a small, resigned smile tugged at her lips.

"Yes, Mrs. Cooper," was all she could say.


Mrs. Cooper was right about one thing--we all felt better after Paige took her punishment. The weeks of tension were over, and we positively sang our little hearts out. Paige was superb. And when she shed real tears during her solo, she had the audience in the palm of her hand. How were they to know those tears were inspired not by a sure sense of musical style, but by a certain aching part of the soloist's anatomy?

Paige had us over for New Year's open house. Mr. Whitfield didn't touch a drop; nevertheless, he smiled from ear to ear, telling everyone how lovely his daughter looked, and how nice it was to have a houseful of guests again. Paige seemed suddenly more content, and the little red sports car was often seen around town, even on weekends. Cheryl and Paige buried the hatchet, becoming fast allies in schemes to lure one Mr. Ewan Pearce more and more frequently to Colbyville. But that's another story. And, oh yes, the very next issue of the Nashville Eagle restored the fine reputation of the Elm Street Methodist Church Choral Society.

Mrs. Cooper was very well pleased.