Wednesday, 28 October 2015

TWTMC (Dedicated to Muses that I have known)

Do you ever wonder, if hotel rooms could talk, what kind of conversations they would have with one another. Would room 42 talk to 103 about the nice couple from the Mid-West who so loved taking photos of the Cathedral and Castle?

Or would hotel rooms, like humans, prefer to gossip of the more salacious events?

The illicit afternoon trysts, the fevered sexual activity, with one eye always on the time?

What would this room, room 53, have to say about the events about to take place this afternoon?

I know! My mind is wandering as I await for you to arrive.

Ideally you would have been the first to arrive, for me to then swan in and take control of the room, and of course control of you. Sadly our journeys distances and workplace problems negated such an arrangement, forcing me into being the one awaiting your arrival.

But, I am a patient man! Even if the waiting has made my mind thinking of the concept of gossiping hotel rooms!

After all, you can only busy yourself for so long, as that pre-meeting tension builds up. Once I had entered the room, I unpacked. Not my travel bag, as that is just a mere prop, for the sake of the hotel receptionist.

No, it was my black briefcase that I unpacked, like the Dreamseller in the Lindisfarne song Meet Me On The Corner. Accept my wares were laid out upon the bed, rather than on the ground.

Firstly, the paddle takes pride of place; despite being English my love of Americana makes this innocuous looking eight holed paddle my implement of choice. I say innocuous looking, as it is small with the air holes giving it an almost comic look. An overgrown hairbrush with ambitions of being an implement of correction?

I imagine that will be your initial reaction as you view it? Don't be fooled though, as this ash can, and will, really bite your ass. Yes, my dear young lady, I think you will be surprised by the bruising stinginess that this little slice of wood can deliver!

Next to that, is lain a large ginger root, still to be cut and trimmed. Should corner time be called for, then this little fellow will certainly spice that up!

Next to that is the tawse, a solid looking relic that was perhaps a little to familiar to me in the nineteen seventies. I placed it there more for visual impact, though of course that could change, as and when my mood takes me.

Lastly we come to my cat like flogger, it lies there like a true feline, sleeping, but at any moment it can burst into action. It's leathery tongues, flicking and licking at the most intimate of places!

Then I think of you. I wonder how you will look upon your arrival?

Will it be The lady in red that walks through the door? The brown eyed personification of beautiful shyness.

Or a business executive? An alpha female, dressed to address a boardroom, but content for these precious few hours to relinquish all control and choices into my hands.

Or Boho chicness? Wafting through the room with balletic grace and haughtiness, only to kneel before me to accept the rose collar' and there by offering her total submission to me.

I never stipulated, merely gave my favoured options of your attire. Should you take those suggestions as instructions, is your decision, and yours alone.

Of course, one thing that was unwavering was the colour of your underwear. That, was carved in stone, and would be the first thing to be checked. The style, the material, all for you to decide.

But, the colour?

No, that little foible of mine meant mint green was the only order of the day!

So, now I wait and wonder, just what tale of debauchery this room will have to tell by nightfall?

THE END?

Thursday, 22 October 2015

An excerpt from my story......enjoy! :)


Amy was slumped on one of the sofas and Adam sat down next to her.

“So, how are you feeling?”

 She sighed loudly. “I feel lousy.”

 “I hear you had quite a party last night.”

 “Yeah, but I'm suffering for it now.”

 Adam shrugged. “You deserve to be.”

 “I know that, but you don't have to gloat.”

 He smirked at her, feeling satisfied.

 There was a long silence while Amy was plucking up the courage to ask him something. She stared at her fingers, twisting one of the gold rings she was wearing. Adam knew exactly what was going to happen, and he waited patiently.  

 “I want the rules back,” she said eventually.

 Adam tried to look surprised. “Oh, and why is that?

 “I thought I was better off without them.”

 “But you aren't are you?”

 “No.”

 “Do you know why?”

 She shook her head. “Tell me, please.”

 “Because you need structure in your life, you need order and discipline to keep you level headed and sensible.”

 “You’re saying I need all the things that you provided me with before I opted out.”

 “Yes, Amelia, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

 Amy turned to face him and saw the smug look on his face. “You're enjoying this aren't you?”

 He smiled at her. “Maybe a little. I was sure that you'd come around to my way of thinking sooner or later.”

 She stared at her fingers again. “So can we go back to the rules?”

 Adam's mouth twisted as he considered her request. “I'm not sure. I've got used to this new way of doing things.”

 Her head shot around, her eyes were imploring him, begging. “Please. I can't go on like this anymore.”

 He dropped his gaze and a dark expression formed. “Do you promise to live by my rules?”

 “Yes.” She nodded sincerely.

 “Yes, what?”

 “Yes, Sir,” she replied timidly as butterflies took flight in her stomach. She was inwardly praying that he would go back to the way things were.

 “That’s better. So when do you want the rules to start?”

 “Can they start now, please?”

 Adam wanted to prolong her agony; to make her wait until she was on her knees begging, but the pitiful look on her face made him crumble. She had such a hold on him that he couldn’t tease her any longer. “OK.” He nodded.

 “Thank you!” She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Will you do something else for me?”

 “Sure. What is it?”

 Amy took a deep breath. “I want you to spank me.”

 He shook his head. “That's not going to happen.”

 “What? Why not?” Her eyes were wide.

 “Because you didn't ask me properly. You've already forgotten at least two of the rules.”

 Her face flushed pink. “I’m sorry. Would you spank me please, Sir?”

 “That's better. I'll be very happy to spank you, but first I want you to do something for me.”

 “OK.” She nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll do anything.”

 “Go and stand in that corner.” He pointed to the corner nearest to them.

 “What?” she gaped.

 “You heard me, Miss Beaumont. Go over there and stand in the corner facing the wall. Hands on the top of  your head.”

 “I take it you are joking.”

 “Do I look like I'm joking?”

Amy frowned at him for a moment, but no trace of humour was evident on his face. “No, but this is the sort of thing they used to do at school!”

 “Well, if you're going to behave like a child I'm going to treat you like one.”

 By now the situation seemed totally surreal. “But how long do I have to stay there for?”

 “Until I say you can come out.”

 “Yes but when will-“

 “I don't want to hear another sound out of you, Amelia,” he interrupted. “How can I trust you to obey my rules when you behave like this?”

 Amy squared up to him and then did the only thing that seemed right. She dropped to her knees and assumed the submissive position.

 Adam frowned down at her, hardly believing his eyes. She was perfectly still and silent, a picture of submissive perfection.

 He cupped her chin and tilted her head back. “I’m glad you remember your training. I expect to see a lot more of this obedient side.”

 “Yes, Sir,” she almost whispered.

 “Now I want you to go and stand in that corner. Go.”

 Amy reluctantly walked over into the corner of the room, her legs were like jelly and her stomach was in knots.  She felt totally humiliated and embarrassed, but determined to prove to him that she could behave well and do as she was told.

 “Hands on your head,” he instructed. “Feet slightly apart.” He moved her arms and legs into the correct position, and then stood back and studied her. “Good,” he nodded. “Are you going to behave yourself now?”

 She nodded obediently. It all felt so surreal, but here she was standing in the corner like an errant child.

 “You're going to stay here just like this for 15 minutes, and you're not going to move or make a sound. Understand?”

 She nodded again.

 “Good.”

 It took all of Amy’s resolve and willpower to keep still. She longed to look around and see where Adam was. She didn't even know if he was still in the room, but she resisted the urge to find out and kept her head pressed up against the wall. The minutes dragged by and felt like hours. Her legs itched infuriatingly but went unscratched. She was determined to prove that she could obey Adam no matter how difficult it was. 

 Eventually she heard a movement behind her, and then felt a hand on her shoulder turning her around. She submissively hung her head and stared at Adams feet, wondering what he was thinking. 

 Unbeknown to Amy Adam smiled at her. He felt proud of her achievement and determination, but didn't intend to congratulate her just yet. He had a very important job to do, and he planned to enjoy it. Adam placed his hands on either side of her face and stared deep into her eyes.

 "Ready to make amends are we?"

 Amy stared nervously at him, not daring to move or speak.

 "You're allowed to answer me now," he told her.

 "Yes, Sir," she all but whispered.

 He smiled knowingly at her, and then took her by the hand and led her over to the sofa. He sat down on the edge of the sofa and gazed up at Amy, her face was flushed and she was trembling. 

"Take off your clothes."

 Amy opened her mouth as if to question or argue, he wasn't sure which, but she thought better of it and obediently began to undress.

She took her time, first pulling off her sweater, and then her socks and jeans. Finally she removed her bra, and slipped off her panties. Adam watched with fascination as she performed her tantalizing striptease, he hardly even blinked as her beautiful body was stripped bare in front of him. His gaze fell upon her neat landing strip of pubic hair, and he felt an all too familiar stirring in his pants. Adam tried to curb his sexual appetite, but it was impossible. This girl was damn sexy and he simply could not resist her.

 After neatly folding her clothes Amy placed them on the coffee table and turned to face Adam again. She saw more than a glimmer of approval on his face and felt confident that she was doing well. The next part was going to be tough though. 

 Adam caught hold of her left hand and tugged hard, pulling Amy down and across his lap in one swift movement. She felt winded briefly, but managed to shuffle into a more comfortable position. Her heart was pounding so quickly in her chest that she thought it might burst, and the sound of blood rushing through her ears was almost deafening. 

 Adam gazed down at his gorgeous naked girl. Her skin was flawless and pale, and he couldn't resist the urge to tenderly stroke her back. Her hair had fallen in a tousled mess, so he smoothed it to one side, revealing her face. She had a hint of a smile, but it didn't conceal the fear in her eyes. His hand followed the curve of her back all the way down to her magnificent behind. He caressed each cheek and then ran his fingers down the cleft making her squirm. She expected a smack and the order to keep still, but it never came. Adam continued down the back of her right thigh to her knee, and then his fingers travelled up the back of her left thigh until it reached her behind again. He paused briefly to squeeze her left cheek, and then brought his hand down hard across the centre of her backside. 

 Amy let out a squeal and her legs bucked. The slap had stung and taken her off guard. There was a burning heat across both cheeks and she clenched them tightly, trying to ease the sting. If only he'd rub it better.

 The tortuous process began again. Adam caressed her behind then raised his hand. Amy tensed waiting for the slap, but instead Adam caressed her back. Just as Amy relaxed the smack landed hard across her behind. She let out another squeal but this time Adam admonished her.

 "Quiet!" He ordered.

 Amy swallowed hard and buried her face in the throw, using it to muffle her gasps and moans of pain. Her backside was burning already, and he'd only smacked her twice. How many more were to come?

 Adam resumed caressing her back and thighs and then eventually rubbed her bottom. It felt soothing and gentle and Amy sighed with relief, but it was short lived as Adam delivered an even harder smack. Amy cried out despite her best efforts. 

 "I said quiet." Adam scolded. His eyes were narrowed as he studied his handiwork. The centre of Amy’s behind was a deep shade of pink; it was a stark contrast to the rest of her pale skin. While Amy was trying to control her actions Adam smacked her again, harder and in exactly the same spot. There was a muffled cry but Amy remained stoic. This was going well and Adam was impressed, but now it was time to up the tempo and really test her.

 "Your behind is a beautiful shade of pink. It looks lovely. Pink really suits you." He gently caressed both cheeks. "I wonder if red suits you too." He already knew that it did, but his comment had the desired effect of making Amy tremble. "How many have you had now?'

 "Four, Sir," she replied quietly, her voice shaky. 

 "I'm going to give you six more, and these will be fast. I want you to stay silent and still, understand?"

 "Yes, Sir," she breathed.

 "Keep your hands in front of you. If you reach back or make a sound I'll start all over again. Is that clear?"

 "Yes, Sir." Her eyes were clenched shut in preparation. She knew this was going to sting like crazy but she had to obey him.

 Adam gripped her tightly and then spanked her hard six times. He landed each smack right in the centre of her behind again, and they were in rapid succession. Amy held her breath throughout and gripped the throw. Her legs were rigid and her toes curled. It was a long while after Adam stopped that Amy drew breath again. Her behind was on fire and tears had formed in her eyes.

 "Red does suit you," Adam observed with a smirk. He gazed at Amy adoringly as she writhed and fidgeted over his lap. Her long legs were still crossed at the ankle but her thighs were parted now, he had a clear view of her labia and could see she was getting wet. He ran his hand over her bottom. "There's a lot of heat coming off your ass. Give me your hand."

 Amy reached back with her right hand and Adam guided it across her bottom.

 "Feel the heat?"

 The heat coming off her behind was incredible. "Yes, Sir but I can also feel something else."

 "Oh, and what's that?"

 Much to Adams surprise Amy reached back with her left hand. She slid it slightly underneath her and grabbed his erection. He hadn't realised she could feel it pressing into her belly. He longed for her to rub and stimulate him but he had to play out this task.

 "You are a very bad girl, Amelia."

 "Yes I know, Sir. I'd like to make it up to you."

 "And how exactly do you intend to do that?"

 "By fucking you with my mouth."

 Adam had to contain a gasp. She wasn't usually so brazen and it completely threw him. Amy had managed to turn this around and take control of the situation, and he had to regain authority over her. His manhood throbbed uncomfortably and he ached to be inside her. He could smell Amy’s arousal and the atmosphere was electric. It took a moment for him to focus. 

 "That's an interesting proposal, but I need to finish with you first. You've had ten so you still have another two to go. The same rules apply and if you disobey me I will start the whole thing all over again. Understand?"

 "Yes, Sir," she replied quietly. She had hoped her sexual advances would spare her any more spanking, but it hadn't quite gone to plan. She reluctantly braced herself. 

 Adam smirked at her, knowing his little minx was trying to outplay him. He gripped her tightly and delivered the last two smacks. They were so hard that Amy felt winded and the sting was overwhelming, but this time Adam rubbed her behind immediately and soothed the burn. 

 After a few minutes he leaned back and raised his hands. "Ok, young lady, time for you to make it up to me."

 Amy looked back at him and then manoeuvred herself off his lap; she positioned herself so that she was kneeling between his legs. She looked like up at him nervously, but he gave her a reassuring smile that gave her the confidence to proceed. 

 After caressing him through his sweat pants, she managed to tug them down along with his boxers. His erection sprang free. It never failed to impress her. Amy took it in her hands and began squeezing and twisting it, then leaned forward and took him into her mouth.

 Adam threw his head back and moaned loudly. He relinquished himself to her gladly as she shielded her teeth with her lips and began to suck hard. 

 She was good at this, really good and a few seconds later Adam could already feel himself getting close. 

 He didn't want to come so soon though, so he tightly gripped Amy’s hair and began controlling the pace. She fought against it at first, but then realised why he was doing it and gladly let him take control. Maybe this was part of the test?

 There were low guttural moans coming from Adam as he released Amy and allowed her to take charge again. 

The sexual stimulation was so intense that he was now desperate for his release, and moments later it came huge and powerful. Adam cried out and his body bucked under Amy as she drained every drop from him.

A while later Adam got his breath back and smiled adoringly down at Amy. He took her head in his hands. "My beautiful girl, my amazing and talented beautiful girl."

Amy beamed at him and he kissed her passionately, their tongues explored each other and he tasted his ejaculate. When he eventually leaned back he gripped her under the arms and pulled her up so she was sitting astride his lap. He held her tightly for a while and then lifted her up, gently easing her back down onto his erection.

 “Ready so soon?” she teased, but now it was Amy’s turn to moan, and she closed her eyes, relishing the sensation. 

 Adam gripped her behind and moved her up and down, setting a steady rhythm. She was lost in her own world of sexual pleasure and her whole body was tingling. 

 "Lean back baby," Adam instructed. She did and seconds later a smile beamed across her face. "That's it," Adam grinned, knowing he was now stimulating her g spot.

 "Oh my God!' she cried, "That’s amazing." She continued to move up and down, feeling her orgasm building through her thighs and stomach. Then it closed in around her and her whole body tensed. Her orgasm exploded around her and she let out a long and high pitched cry.

 Everything went dark and quiet. Eventually there were sounds of breathing and when Amy opened her eyes Adam was grinning boyishly at her.

 "That was incredible," she gasped as she collapsed against him.

 "That was your reward."

 "My reward?" she frowned.

 "For being such a good and obedient girl."

 "Did I do well then?"

 "Baby, you were perfect."

Amy smiled tearfully. "I will try to behave myself, I promise."

 "I know you will, and you'll have a great incentive, because if you don't I'll be working on a darker shade of red."

 Amy blushed furiously and buried her head in his shoulder. "If I'm good can we have sex like this again please, Sir?"

 "Oh most definitely!"

I'm back!

Hi spanking fans. Sorry I've been away from the blog for such a long time, but due to personal reasons I felt it difficult to focus on writing. My co-writer and dear friend Tomas has done a wonderful job of keeping things up and running though.

Since February I've been working on a novel inspired by other well known books. Tomas has persuaded me to share some excerpts just to see if I've still got what it takes, and I'll be posting them on the blog later.

All comments are welcome, either positive or negative, so please be honest and tell me what you think.

Oh and one final thing, it's so good to be back ;)

Lori xx

Tuesday, 8 September 2015

Memories - By Firestarter

Every once in a while, you will hear a song, or read a story that truly catches your spirit and mood. This poem is such a thing for me, as the pure beauty of it tore into my soul.
The author has kindly allowed me to re-post it, and I'm hopeful of posting more of his work over the next few weeks.
I hope everyone enjoys this as much as I do, anyone who has loved and lost, could not fail to in my humble opinion. Comments would be more than welcome.
Tomas.


Another day drifting away, can't end soon enough.
My head on this old pillow, worn out and no fluff.
The mattress has seen better days, still no where I'd rather sleep.
The sheets torn and tattered, stained from countless days of weep.

Crickets play their symphony, a dull drone that never ends.
Upon that mattress time stands still, it's where my heart mends.
Tears trickle down my face, joining countless others from days past.
The tears you shed so long ago, as leather descended fast.

Those all too familiar footsteps on the stairs as her scent fills the air.
Shadows disperse in her presence, quickly scattering everywhere.
A chill comes over me as the door quietly opens and closes.
Her perfume always constant, stargazer lilies and a hint of roses.

My face feels of frost as her lips press to mine.
Hands tingle and turn numb as fingers intertwine.
The bed shifts and groans as her weightless form lays beside me.
Curling her legs around mine, my soul both captive and free.

I turn to wrap my arms around her, though her body isn't there.
Waking up in a cold sweat, I still sense her everywhere.
Her lipstick on my cheek, her favorite flogger placed upon the chair.
The laughter in her voice as "Goodnight Sir" drifts through the air.



Sunday, 16 August 2015

A Birthday Spanking - by Viola

This story is by a very good friend of mine from Germany, I hope all of our readers enjoy this as much as I do.


A Birthday Spanking

It was in the middle of the night.

She was awoken by a hand softly fondling her back and bottom. Her nightie was rucked up as she felt his hands on her skin. He murmured softly.
“Happy birthday, my love“.


She tried to wake herself up. Yes, it was her birthday. Since about two or three hours perhaps….


“I want to give you your birthday spanking. Now. You know I can’t give it to you during the day," he explained "and it won't be possible tonight either, because of the party.”


She squinted. Candles were burning and the silence of the deep night embraced her. What had he conceived?
Once she had let him read one of her stories, also telling of a birthday spanking. He said he had found the idea... inspiring. It was something which wasn't common in Germany. Mostly in Britain or the USA. But, obviously he had seized the idea and was now about to perform it.


"Would you please turn round" at these words he got up and took the cane, that he had already laid out in readiness.


"Unfortunately I can't give you a warm-up with the hands, you know....too noisy, because of the children sleeping upstairs."


She heard him shaking the cane and felt a tiny little drop on her back. He had been thorough in his preparations and had already watered the cane somehow and somewhere.


"It must be the cane tonight...." and then it started.


With small, swift strokes he covered her bottom first with a slow then more and more increasing burning.


"Say, don't you have to count? At a birthday-spanking you get so many strokes as you have years, don't you?" she dared to interpose, when she already couldn't suppress the moaning any more.


He stopped. "Of course I have to count! I didn't forget it and will start at once. But first I want to give you the present from E., which arrived this morning...." He grinned, opened a drawer and removed a butt-plug. "kneel down, please...."


She felt cool lube between her bottom cheeks. Then..... well, after some soothingly murmured "relax.... be quiet.... relax..." it was done.

He smiled somehow maliciously: "I've heard spanking with a plug inwards can be harder?"


She gasped indignantly: "I can't tell you anything...!"

"Come now, be well-behaved and lay down like a good girl. Now it starts..."


He pressed her down gently and lifted the cane. The first few strokes she endured rather composed.
They weren't really hard.


Then she heard him whisper: "these could have been the strokes from your lady-friend H...”

The next strokes achieved more intensity. "I think like this your dear friend J. might hit you, what do you think....?"


Oh, what an obnoxious game this was. He used all the information that he had gleaned about her cyber friends from ST and worked it out all out.
He varied between soft and fierce strokes, each time whispering into her ear, telling her who had allocated her “punishment”.


In the meantime she screamed into the pillow, trying to be quiet. The last few blows had been rock-hard and she knew who they were meant by. Now there were only a few left, then the number was fulfilled.


"These last strokes are mine", he explained. He caressed her bottom, which she - grateful for the break - protruded towards him.


"I love you, my precious!" Again the cane hit the air (and not only the air...) and she noticed how her back broke into perspiration, a sign the pain took its full effect now.


Exhausted she remained lying on her belly after the last stroke. She never understood why she felt so exhausted after a session. Exhausted but gratefully content.


Her bottom was burning like fire and she appreciated his tenderness putting lotion on it. His fingertips explored her pussy and with a little laugh she heard him say: "I can feel you liked it...."


He turned her round and covered her with kisses. "me too, by the way....."

What followed? Well that is another story....

Monday, 29 June 2015

Happy birthday!

I would like to take this opportunity to wish my erstwhile writing partner, but still very good friend Miss Cane a very happy birthday for tomorrow!

Over the years Miss  Cane has been to me; a muse, a comedienne, a confidant, even an agony aunt.

Most of all though, she has been a loyal and very special friend, so for tomorrow, and forever, I only want for her the best that the world can give her. For I am a much richer man in knowing such a truly unique and special lady!

Tomas.

Saturday, 16 May 2015

The Wicked Witch Of The West

 I love poetry, though I hate writing poems. It is not a genre that I feel really comfortable with. But, I was asked to contribute a little poetry to forum, of the two I did, this is probably the most readable, so I thought I would post it here also.




From Kansas to the land of Oz,
Dorothy's house did descend,
Causing chaos on that land,
As the witches life did end,

Ding-dong went the church bells,
At this evil witches fate,
All laughing now in streets of Oz,
This was a time to celebrate,

But that evil witch had a sister,
A one who lived out west,
And when it came to mercy,
Of this she was not blessed,

And when Dorothy took her slippers,
Revenge on her she did avow,
The journey to the wizard,
She knew she could not allow,

A horde of flying monkeys,
The witch she now did send,
But she did underestimate,
Dorothy and her friends,

So in the Haunted Forest,
The monkeys were repelled,
Our heroes journey continued,
As their ambush it was quelled,

When they reach the castle walls,
The film it goes astray,
For what it shows on celluloid,
Was not what happened that day,

The witch you see she had a broom,
But Dorothy had a brush,
Hard wooden backed and broad.
Would make any bottom blush,

The Scarecrow grabs the witches arm,
Over Dorothy's lap she does end,
Her black dress is lifted,
Her panties now descend,

Dorothy's brush lands very hard,
The witches eyes do blur,
Seeing the witches rosy tail,
Made the Cowardly Lion purr,

As she kicked and cried,
With her skinny legs askew,
Anyone who cared to look,
Would have a mighty view,

Her female charms clearly shown,
As she pleaded out for clemency,
Dorothy though was not perturbed,
As she tanned her splendidly,

When Dorothy finished with the witch,
She left her cowed and glum,
All the pain and shame she felt,
Was mainly in her bum!

Saturday, 4 April 2015

Hot Cross Bunnies!

OK, I'm pretty sure that most people are familiar with L P Hartley's quote; “the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there”.
Well, it is not just a great quote, but, it is also a fact. So, when reading this story don't look upon me as being some stupid girl, remember that the past is indeed a foreign country.
It was 1971, I was eighteen and a half years old, and madly in love with my boyfriend, Joe. Now, when I say madly, it is up to you to decide just how mad I was.

I had left school at the age of fifteen, with no academic qualifications, though that does not mean that I was thick in any way. I was well versed in the three “R's” of; reading, writing, and arithmetic. I would actually suggest that whoever decided to call those subjects the three “R's” were themselves dyslexic. Though, of course, dyslexia was unheard of in those days, as was ADHD, you had thick kids, naughty kids, and problem teens, such was the enlightenment of the day.

Joe and I were planning to get married; he was working as an apprentice welder at a local engineering firm. Apprentices were paid notoriously bad wages till they “came out of their time”, I, on the other hand, was getting quite a good wage as a machine operator in a textiles firm. So, out of the two of us, I was, at least for the time being, the major breadwinner. As such, it was, for the most part, my wages that were squirreled away for savings.
It meant that I could not now buy the records and clothes that I had gotten used to since leaving school. Joe, for his part, cut down on his nights out with his mates. With our now strict saving plans, we tended to spend most nights just playing music in my bedroom.
My parents though kept me to a strict, one foot on the floor rule, so there was no cavorting, or at least very little cavorting on my bed.
As I said earlier, we are looking back to a time when things were done differently. Virgin weddings were still, despite the influence of the Swinging Sixties, more the rule, than the exception.

However, even with managing to save between five to seven pounds a week, our savings were still very meagre. There always seemed to be something cropping up that would eat into “our money”. Whether it was an away football match that Joe had to go to or some tools that he needed to buy for his work. It appeared “our money” just didn't seem able to stay in our joint Post Office savings account.

Then a new night club opened up in the centre of town. Night clubs in the early 1970's were a different kettle of fish as they are today. They tended to be, at least, for the most part, more than just late night drinking dens frequented by late teens and people in their early twenties, as they are now.
Night clubs in those days, featured live entertainment and gambling, not just drinking, dancing and fighting.

When I saw that they were advertising for Bunny Girl hostesses, I though that could be the way to boost our meagre savings. Also, I thought that such an idea would meet certain obstacles, not least from my parents and boyfriend. I decided I would test the waters with the latter first.

“Joe, I've been thinking,” I said one night as we sat together on my bedroom floor, listening to Led Zeppelin's last album.

“Yeah, what about pet?”

“About getting a part time job,” I replied as Robert Plant sang about a land of ice and snow.

“What? On top of your job at the factory?” Joe asked, with a look of curiosity now on his previously blank face.

“Well, that new nightclub is looking for staff.”

“I can't see you working behind a bar Sue, not really your thing is it?”

“No, not working behind the bar,” I said, working up the nerve to explain my plan, “being a Bunny Girl!” I finally managed to get out.

“Really?” He said grinning at me, cleary imagining me in the outfit. He seemed amused by the idea of me wearing the very costume that I had somehow thought he would forbid me to wear.

“Well, it would only be a Friday and Saturday night, and the money would come in handy.”

He sat, deep in thought, I was sure he would not allow me to flaunt myself in such a manner. I could see that he was weighing something up in his mind, and then he finally spoke.

“I suppose it's not a bad idea. I'm always out with the lads on a Friday anyway, and I'm pretty sure I'll be able to find a way to fill in my time on a Saturday. Sounds like a great idea to me, go for it lass!”

It was odd, his acceptance was a double edged sword, I wanted the job, and we really needed the money. But, I also wanted him to show some kind of reluctance to me getting the job. I think I wanted him to show at least a little jealousy of other men leering at me. But, all that he seemed concerned about was how it would impact his social life.

My parents were a different story.

My mother hated the idea; she had some mad notion that I would be lured into the world of “white slavery” that was so often reported on in the Sunday papers. My dad was a little more pragmatic, seeing how the extra money would come in handy for our savings. Moreso, after I had spoken to him about his little stash of Playboy magazines that he kept in his garden shed.

“Dad, I know you are a fan of Bunny Girls, and they are all somebodies daughters,” I whispered to him, when my mam was out of earshot.

Of course, with dad now onside, my mother capitulated. That was just the way of things in those days.

The first couple of months were fantastic, once I got over my initial nerves about being in almost a state of undress all evening. I talked myself into thinking that I would be showing a lot more on a beach, as my uniform, skimpy as it was, still covered way more flesh than by bikini would.
The pay was good, in fact, the pay was very good, once you included the tips. I was earning almost as much, working twelve hours at the weekend, as I did working forty hours in the factory. Just, for being little more than a glorified waitress.
Also, without seeming arrogant, I knew I had the face and the figure to carry off the uniform, and the required smile to garner extra tips.

As it turned out, it was those very tips that almost became my downfall. It was standard practice that we all pooled our tips, and then split them up equally among us. However, one of the other hostesses decided that she would skim her tips and keep them to herself. I watched as she put two pound notes that she had received from a customer into her bra, instead of putting them in the communal jar.
I told Joe about what Cynthia had been doing; he was furious that she was, in his eyes, stealing our money. He was also angry with me for allowing her to walk all over me in such a manner.

“You have to learn how to stand up for yourself, don't let people walk all over you!” He told me.

I did not have to be told twice, as back then I was quite a feisty girl and did not like Joe to think that I was easy to walk over.
I waited, on that fateful Saturday night, till the club had closed, and we were all in the staff changing room, to confront Cynthia.
I was fully dressed, she had her jeans on, but was about to pick up her blouse, when I said.

“Do you not want to check your bra, just in case any money has fallen in there?”

“What?...Are, for fucks sake Sue, give it a rest will you. It's been a long night, and I can't be bothered with any shit from you!” She replied, her blue eyes glaring at me.

“I saw you last night, trying to gyp us all, slipping them notes down your tits, when you thought no one was looking.”

“You don't know what you are talking about, as usual, and I just can't be bothered with explaining myself to some scrawny little bitch!”

That was it. The red mist descended, and I threw myself at her, grabbing a handful of her blond hair as we both fell to the floor.
My left hand gripped her right hand, as I manoeuvred myself over her body pinning her left arm to the floor with my knee. I raised my right hand, which was now formed into a fist, just as I was about to punch her; I felt arms around my torso. The next thing I knew I was in mid-air, my limbs flailing like a badly controlled marionette, then I heard a voice booming in my ears.

“What the hell is going on here?” Asked Mr. Burton, the club owner, and my boss.

“She was stealing tips!” I replied as I was ignominiously dumped onto the floor about five feet away from Cynthia.

“No, I wasn't you idiot!” Shouted, the now bare breasted Cynthia, her bra having come loose in our fracas.

“I haven't got time to sort this out tonight; I want to see you both here tomorrow morning at ten o'clock sharp!” Mr. Burton said, the tone of his voice making it clear that this was not a request, but an order. “Now both of you get dressed, and get home.”


PART 2


I can still recall, how hard sleep was to find that night when I got home. I lay in bed thinking about the next day; it was clear in my mind that Mr. Burton would sack me. I had deep feelings of resentment about the whole affair, after all if Cynthia had not been a thieving cow, the bust up would not have happened in the first place.
The next morning I had to lie to my mother, saying that I had been asked to go into work to help with a stock check. She was not happy about having to make a late Sunday dinner, dad on the other hand was quite happy, as it meant an extra hour in the pub for him.

I made the short walk from home to the club with leaden feet. It even crossed my mind to not go at all, but then I would not get my wages that were due to me. I had to face up to the fact; I could not get out of seeing Mr. Burton, and also the queen bitch Cynthia if I wanted to get the money due to me.

When I got to the club, Cynthia was already in Mr. Burton's office, and to my surprise she was looking very sheepish. In fact, she looked to be virtually on the edge of tears, standing in front of Mr. Burton's Desk. I gathered, wrongly, that she was also to be sacked.

“Good morning Susan,” Mr. Burton cheerfully greeted me. “I have had a little chat with Cynthia about last night's misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding? You mean her being a thieving little magpie, more like!” I said in perhaps a rather too sharp manner.

Mr. Burton sighed deeply, then delivered Cynthia's explanation in a calm, almost fatherly tone. It would seem, that the customer who had given her the two pounds was actually her uncle. He had been asked by Cynthia's father to pop in and see her, and give her some money so she could get a taxi home.
I didn't know it, as myself and Cynthia had talked very little to each other, Cynthia lived out in the countryside, and her father always picked her up after work.
Cynthia's father was an engineer, and he had been called into his workplace because of some machinery malfunction, so could not collect her that Friday evening.
As Mr. Burton's soft even voice continued, I just felt regret at my stupidity.

“So, as you see Susan, it was indeed a misunderstanding wasn't it?”

“Yes sir,” I said, now feeling as sheepish as Cynthia looked, also wondering why I had called him sir, something I had never done before.

“But, ladies you have both put me in a bit of a pickle. I can't allow my staff to brawl or to allow such brawling to go unpunished. After all, my customers don't come here to see two hot cross bunnies fighting, now do they?”

Both Cynthia and I gave Mr. Burton's weak joke an equally weak laugh.

“Having said that,” He continued, “some of them may find it entertaining. That though is of no concern to us. I have already spoken to Cynthia, and she agrees that she was partly to blame for the fight. As she could have just told you about the reason for her receiving the money, and then the fight would never have happened.
She also sees my point of view, that I cannot be seen to condone such behaviour or to let it go unpunished.”

I now realised that was the second time he had said unpunished.

“We had a little discussion before you arrived Susan Cynthia agrees, that rather than being dismissed, she would take a spanking from me this morning, and then the matter would be done with.”

“What?” I said, not believing what I was hearing.

“She has agreed to take chastisement from me, as she understands her part in the whole debacle. So, in fairness, I am going to give you the same option.” Mr. Burton said, a faint smile now forming as he awaited my reply. “Susan, because it was you who initiated the violence after you have both been spanked, you shall also receive a caning!”

Now, despite what you may have read about the nineteen seventies, and the corporal punishment of schoolgirls. It was nowhere near as rife as the spanking stories and films would have you believe. Sure, it happened, but it was rare compared to the corporal punishment of boys. In fact, I went through all of secondary school without being slippered, strapped, or caned. The only thing that happened to me was three whacks on the palm of my left hand with a wooden rule for passing notes class.
The cane was something I had no real comprehension of, nor was it something that I wanted to familiarise myself with.

“How many with the cane?” I asked, the words coming out before I could stop myself.

“Six of the best, I think that would be more than fair, don't you?”

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, my eyes now downcast on to the floor to avoid his gaze.

“Right, let's get this over and done with shall we,” Mr. Burton said, rising from his seat behind the desk, and clapping his palms together by way of punctuating his sentence.

He then explained the running order, as he pulled a chair into the centre of his office. Cynthia would be spanked first; then I would receive my spanking. After my spanking, Cynthia would be allowed to leave before my caning, to save me from the added embarrassment of having a witness.

Mr. Burton then sat on the chair and motioned for Cynthia to stand by his side. Cynthia was dressed in a similar manner to myself; we were both wearing jeans, sweatshirts, and low platform shoes.
I was stunned, when Mr. Burton's hands went to the waistband of Cynthia's jeans, and he started to unbutton them.
However, if I was stunned, Cynthia was mortified as she struggled away from him.

“Mr. Burton, what on earth do you think you are doing?” she said, in a panic filled voice.

“Those brass buttons on your back pockets are going to hurt my hand long before I manage to tan your bum,” Mr. Burton replied emphatically, “your jeans are going to have to come down young lady!”

I could tell by the look in his eyes, that despite the lack of buttons on my Wranglers, my jeans would also be making a downward journey, when it was my turn.

“This isn't right...” Cynthia said sulkily, as Mr. Burton unbuttoned and then unzipped her jeans, pulling them down to her knees.

An odd thought crossed my mind, “will he pull down her knickers as well?”, that thought was both horrific and slightly enticing in almost equal measure.

“Over you go!” He said, waving his hand over his lap, answering my unsaid question.

Cynthia's knickers were staying in place after all. My mind was now all of a jumble; I was almost disappointed that this was not going to be a bare bottom spanking. Of course, if it had been, logically it would have meant mine would have to be also.
The whole proceeding was now bringing thoughts that I had always tried to ignore, tried to force to the back of my mind. Those very hidden thoughts were now at the very front of my mind, fantasies that I would never dare to mention, were about to be acted out in front of me. I held my breath as I waited for Mr. Burton's palm to go into action across Cynthia's pale blue knickers. I did not have to wait long for the noise of the first slap to ring around the office. I watched in morbid fascination as his hand relentlessly came down upon her knickered bottom.
The sound of her pleas seemed to be deaf to his ears, those same sounds though, were music to my ears. I watched on, my mind a tumult of emotions; I wished to see her punished though I also wanted for her punishment to end so that mine could begin!

It was madness; it was a delicious madness. Finally after all of those daydreams, and sneaking little looks at my father's secret magazine stash. I was now going to feel the hand of dominant male across my bottom. I was going to have my deepest, darkest fantasy fulfilled, and I was terrified and intrigued of it becoming a reality.

Cynthia's vigorous spanking finally came to a close. Mr.Burton helped my now tearful nemesis back to her feet. She made an attempt to pull her jeans back up, to cover her evidently reddened bottom and thighs.

“No, leave those where the are...” Mr. Burton said, in his still calm voice, “change places with Susan.”

We both obeyed, as we passed each other; I could see her tears tracing their path down her face. Her mascara had run leaving her with the worst “Panda Eyes” I had ever seen. I knew in a few minutes time that I would be in a similar state.
As I stood next to Mr. Burton's chair, our eyes made contact, his blue eyes sparkled in gleeful expectation. I moved my arms, crossing them behind my back; he gave me a knowing smile, as he reached for the waistband of my denim trousers.

“As with Cynthia, these will need to come down. I don't want to be seen to be favouring either of you, that is only fair isn't it Susan?”

“Yes sir,” I managed to whisper, my mouth now as dry as sandpaper.

“Of course it's fair.” He said lowering my jeans to reveal my white rose patterned knickers.

“A lovely choice of knickers Susan!” He said, evidently triumphal with his discovery.

“Thank you, sir...” I replied, then wished for the floor to swallow me up, such seemed the stupidity of my answer in the circumstances.

As with Cynthia, he waved his hand over his lap by way of invitation for me. As I lowered myself over his thighs, a question crossed my mind, something I should have picked upon earlier.

Why does Mr. Burton own a cane?

Of course the answer came to me straight away, he was not as I had thought earlier, just a middle-aged guy with a thing about knickers. He was into corporal punishment; he was a kindred spirit, a soulmate. He was the sour to my sweet, the fire to my ice!

Then Mr. Burton's hard palm brought me out of my daydreaming. The spanking, he then started to deliver, was indeed like fire upon my bottom. It only took some thirty slaps or so until I felt distinctly uncomfortable. After what was probably only two minutes or so, my bottom and the tops of my thighs, felt as if they were on fire.
As that heat built up, my eyes were starting to fog over, I knew that tears were not far off. I did not call out pleas and protestations as Cynthia had earlier, for I needed and yearned for the release that this castigation would bring me.

I was actually on the verge of orgasm, something that never happened to me other than when I frigged myself off, when he stopped spanking me. His hand rested on my bottom as he spoke.

“You took that very well Susan, I know you will not think it, but I did you a favour by spanking you before the caning you. The cane hurts much more on a cold target, and as I can feel, even through your charming knickers, your bottom is now anything but cold.”

Those sentences revealed to me something I had been pondering over. Would the cane be on my hands, or on my bum? Evidently it would be on my bottom.

As Mr. Burton helped me up, he spoke to the still traumatised Cynthia.

“Cynthia, I believe that you will agree that Susan's spanking was just as severe, or perhaps even a little worse than yours?”

“Yes sir...” she said and nodded, her face that of vacant possession.

“Right, you may go now Cynthia.”

Her rush to re-arrange her clothing and get out of the building was comical. She did not even stop to go to the Ladies and wash her Panda Eyed face.

“So then, Susan,” Mr. Burton said as he unlocked a cupboard behind his desk, retrieving a thin yellow cane, “have you ever been caned before?”

“No sir, never,” I replied, trying and failing to sound calm.

“Well, it is an entirely different sensation to that of a spanking, let me assure you of that.”

I looked Mr. Burton in the eye and nodded. All of a sudden, since going over his lap, I viewed my boss in a different light. Whereas before, he was just some middle-aged bloke. Now, he was the mature dominant gentleman of my fantasies.
And, going by the look in his eye, he seemed to be well aware of my feelings.

“Susan, take off your shoes and jeans, please?”

“What!” I replied, in genuine shock.

“Really there is no need for me to repeat the request, we both know you heard me clear enough!”

Of course, he was correct, and his voice made it clear that it was not a request that was open for negotiation. As I untied my shoelaces, my fingers trembled, not with fear, but with the excitement of what may be to come. I took off my jeans, folded them nicely, and placed them on the floor next to my shoes.

“As pretty as they are, your knickers too will have to come off.”

I did not argue, I did, however, feel a rush of adrenaline trickle down my spine.Fight or flight could not have been further from my mind as I placed my knickers on top of my jeans.

“Let's have a little look at you Susan, hands on top of your head, please.”

Mr. Burton slowly walked around me, as if I were some fascinating statue in a museum.

“You know I have to cane you, don't you Susan?”

“Yes, sir...”

“You also know that it will hurt incredibly?”

“Yes, sir...”

“You actually want to experience that pain, don't you Susan?”

Now, I could hardly get my mouth to form words. Least of all, words that would make me admit to my kink. So, I just nodded.

“Over the desk please, grab the other side of the desk tight and do not rise...”

I obeyed him without question.

“Legs a little further apart, please...”

He instructed, tapping my inner thighs with the cane till my legs were splayed to his liking.

“We shall begin now...” He said tapping my bared bottom three times with the cane.

Then the first stroke struck, searing into my already hot flesh, despite my plans to be silent, I howled out in pain.

“I told you it would hurt...” He said, his hand caressing my burning nates, a caress a longed to feel more of.

The second and third stroke were as bad as the first, in fact, they were worse, as I did not get to feel his hand on between those strokes. By the time he delivered the last three, I was a bubbling wreck, crying like a little girl.
He put the cane down on the desk next to my face, no doubt to so that I could see the instrument of my correction.

His hand returned to my rear, massaging and soothing the area, where only seconds before he had been inflicting pain onto. His fingers drifted lower, teasing at the folds of my virgin quim, gently dipping into the wetness; then he traced up to my little button.
No sooner, had he started to manipulate my clit, than to my shock, I came to a juddering climax!

“It would seem that has been building up inside you for a while Susan?”

“Yes sir...thank you sir!” I replied.

I then felt the head of his cock at the lips of my fanny.

“I'm still a virgin sir...” I said, more to inform him than to stop him.

“I'll be gentle...” He said, as he slowly entered me, taking my maidenhead as he did so.

THE END

Post Script. After this session, myself and Mr. Burton became “a secret thing” for about eighteen months. During those eighteen months; I split up with Joe, left my job in the factory and went to tech college to get some qualifications. They say, never look back. But, sometimes it is nice to re-visit a foreign country where things are done differently.