The Fathers' Club: ... and other spanking tales Page 6

  "Now, please, my dear," he says, a warning note in his voice. "I wouldn't advise delay, if you know what's good for you."

  Reluctantly she hands him the brush. He takes it and rubs the smooth back gently across her bottom. It feels cool against her blazing rear.

  "A fine classic hairbrush," comes his voice. "Just the thing for using on a naughty girl's plump, blushing and well hand-spanked bottom. You see, Kirsty, I hate to cause bruises. I find them aesthetically displeasing. So I would never use a brush like this on an unspanked bottom. But once a girl's bottom has been well warmed up by hand, until it's all hot and red and deliciously tender, just like yours is now, my dear - why then, you see, it can be spanked very hard with a hairbrush without bruising. These rosy cheeks will just blush even more brightly, and on such tender flesh it'll sting like the very devil - as I'm sure you'll soon notice. But in a few hours time the blush will have faded, leaving your bottom once more pale and unblemished - and all ready for further chastisement."

  "Oh please, sir, no more!" she begs. "I promise I'll be good! My poor bottom's so terribly sore already!"

  "Is that so, my dear?" he asks ironically. "Well, I'm delighted to hear it. You see, that's precisely what a spanking is supposed to do. But I think such a nice round, well-upholstered bottom can take a little more spanking just yet. Here goes!"

  CRACCCKK!!

  "Yeee-OWWWWW!!" she squeals, squirming wildly as the hairbrush imprints its fiery kiss on her already burning mounds. He wasn't joking. It does indeed sting like the devil - and then some.

  CRACCCKK!!

  "Yaaa-HAAAAH!! Ow-ow-ow-OW! Oh no more, sir, please! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Honestly I am!"

  But her pleas are in vain. Remorselessly the cruel wood continues to smack down on her blazing bottom cheeks - again and again and again, igniting further fires on her tender mounds until she feels her bottom must surely be about to catch alight. Briefly, Mr Karl pauses to press a button in a recess on the car door. With a quiet swish, panels slide open across the back of the front seats, revealing a concealed six-foot horizontal mirror. How come she never knew it was there? As he resumes his spanking, she realises with a thrill of shame and excitement that she can see herself clearly reflected - a 19-year-old woman being ignominiously chastised like a naughty little girl. Yes, there she is, face-down across a man's lap, her skirt up around her waist, her legs kicking and, neatly framed by the straps of the garter belt, her plump bare bottom - ripe twin mounds of quivering, scarlet flesh, squirming and bouncing beneath the crisp strokes of the hairbrush.

  "A lovely sight, isn't it, my dear?" murmurs Mr Karl appreciatively, continuing to paddle her radiant curves with undiminished vigour. "In fact, one of the loveliest sights I know. A woman is never more adorable or more feminine, I believe, than when she's across a man's knee having her sweet bare bottom spanked exquisitely red."

  To her dismay, she finds that being able to watch her own spanking enhances not only her shame and embarrassment, but also her state of arousal. The hairbrush, smacking down ruthlessly on her pulsatingly tender rear end, is stinging unbearably; but the heat of her bottom is transmitting itself ever more insistently to adjacent areas and she's humiliatingly aware that -- even while she continues to plead tearfully for him to stop - part of her just wants this spanking to go on for ever. An impulse quite beyond her control is making her grind shamelessly against her tormentor's knee, and her gasps and moans tell him unmistakably that her climax is approaching. With a grin, he starts to spank her even harder, concentrating particularly on the 'sweet spot' - the inner lower quadrant of each cheek.

  "Oh god! Yes! Yes! Harder! Ohhhh YESSSS!!" gasps a voice that she hardly recognises as her own, and she finds herself arching her bottom upwards to meet his strokes as he spanks her right through her writhing, shuddering orgasm. And afterwards, as she lies across his lap completely spent and he strokes the soundly-spanked curves, she dimly registers that the pain of the spanking is transmuting itself into a deep, all-pervading and utterly delicious glow.

  She's roused from this ecstatic state by a sharp slap on her rump that makes her yip. "Up you get, young lady," says Mr Karl, "unless you want some more of the hairbrush. We still have quite some way to go yet." He helps her up and hugs her. "You took that very well, my dear. Now back to the driver's seat with you."

  She does as he says, feeling grateful that the limo's seats are so plushly upholstered. Her bottom is spectacularly sore, yet its glow seems to be pervading every inch of her being, and the confusion of her emotions is overwhelming: amazement, embarrassment, shock, delight, sexual satisfaction, resentment, happiness - and, strangest of all, a sense of having been appreciated, cherished, cared for and, yes, protected. So dazed is she that she has to ask Mr Karl to repeat the directions he's giving her. "Sorry, sir," she says.

  "You will be, young lady," he responds equably.

  The route winds through country quite unknown to her - hilly, wooded, secret. It's as if she's been transported into some other state entirely. "Toto," she murmurs ironically to herself, "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

  Finally, at a bend in the road, she glimpses in the far distance a palatial mansion - virtually a castle. "That's our destination, my dear," remarks Mr Karl. "Your home for the next few days."

  "But -" she starts to say.

  "Oh don't worry, Kirsty," he responds calmly, "everything's been arranged. Your friends and colleagues know you'll be away for a few days. And when we get there you'll find you have everything you need. Including, of course, what you need most, my dear - discipline. Regular, thorough and frequent disciplinary sessions. Of which this afternoon's little episode was just a sample-a very small sample."

  She drives on, her mind churning. The castle looms up, ever closer and more mysterious as dusk starts to settle. If Mr Karl means what he says - and she has no doubt at all that he does - a sustained and painful assault on her bare, sensitive, and very spankable rear end is in prospect, and sitting down in comfort is something she won't be doing for quite some time. Part of her mind - the modern, rational part - is protesting indignantly. By what right...? But a deeper, more instinctive side is telling her - yes, this is absolutely right. This is what you want, what you need, what you deserve and most deeply desire. This is your destined place.

  Birthday Girl

  Her real name was Genevieve - one of those grand, special-occasion names. But everyone called her Ginny, me included. At school, she told me, she was known as Skinny Ginny. But that must have been well before I met her, because by then she had filled out very pleasingly in all the right places - and none of the wrong ones.

  Do you believe in love at first sight? No, I never used to, either. But the first time I saw Ginny I was instantly captivated - or, to be exact, almost instantly. She came walking towards me along Oxford Street, and her front view was quite something. Long auburn hair, shy soft brown eyes, a full sensual mouth with a hint of a smile at the corners, pert little breasts unconfined by a bra, slim waist and long graceful legs. An exceptionally lovely girl by anyone's standards.

  But the swell of her hips below that slim waist suggested that the rear view might be even more special. Up ahead of me I noticed more than one man's head swivelling as she passed, and their expressions spoke volumes. I followed suit - and that's when I fell in love.

  Quite a few girls have bottoms that look good in jeans. Not so many can achieve the same effect in a skirt. But this girl could. Oh, could she ever! It was a skirt of coffee-coloured linen, not cut especially tight, but it moulded itself to those twin undulating mounds and faithfully transmitted their least movement. She was wearing heels, and with every step she took the sweet soft roundnesses slid past each other, quivering and jiggling like - to use the vulgar but eloquent old phrase - a jelly on springs. No question of it, this girl was a spanker's dream.

  One look, and I was in love - with Ginny's bottom.

  My errand forgotten, I turned and followed her, drinking in the poetry of that alluring bipartite motion. I had nothing so definite as a plan in my mind: all I knew was that I couldn't bear to let this glorious vision out of my sight. But to try a pick-up on the street would be hopelessly cheesy. I trusted to fortune that some better opportunity would present itself, breathing a silent prayer to my personal deity, Aphrodite Kallipygos - Aphrodite of the Beautiful Bottom. (The Greeks, as always, had a word for it.)

  The goddess came to my aid. The lovely stranger paused, hesitated, and entered the branch of Pret a Manger on the corner of Rathbone Place. Suddenly nothing seemed more appropriate to my mood than a quick brownie and a decaf Americano. I followed her in, hoping she'd feel like eating on the premises. My luck held, she did - and furthermore headed for the only empty table, giving me the perfect excuse to join her.

  I hovered until she'd lowered that luscious rear on to a high stool - lucky stool! - and ambled over, gazing round vaguely as if searching for a seat. "OK if I sit here?" I asked.

  She nodded with a sweet shyness, briefly lighting up the world with her smile. I settled in, casting about for some conversational opening that wouldn't sound too crassly banal. But that day the goddess was working overtime on my behalf. I noticed with joy that not only was this girl reading a movie magazine - it was one that I wrote for.

  From then on everything went like a dream. By the time we'd finished our lunch we'd compared tastes in movies - a gratifying number in common - swapped basic personal info and, best of all, made a date for dinner the next week. It would have been sooner but, as Ginny explained, she was heading up to Lincolnshire for the weekend to celebrate her twentieth birthday at home with her family.

  So it was a few days later that she and I once again found ourselves sitting opposite each other, this time at my favourite little Italian restaurant in Covent Garden. Giuseppe, as always, greeted me like an old friend, tactfully breathed not a word about the various other young ladies I'd brought there over the years, and flirted discreetly but flatteringly with Ginny. It wasn't only professional courtesy, either; I could tell that even Giuseppe, who had seen no lack of lovely girls cross his threshold, was impressed.

  On this warm June evening Ginny was wearing a light dress of cream-coloured silk that hugged her lovely contours with quite understandable devotion. In this garment - as I'd already registered on our way to the restaurant - her rear aspect was a vision to die for. After we'd ordered, Ginny got up with a murmured excuse to visit the loo. Giuseppe, I noticed, had deftly placed himself in prime viewing position and, once the divine curves had vanished through the door marked 'Signore', came over with the excuse of adjusting cutlery.

  "Ah, signor Paulo," he sighed, entranced, "bella bellissima!" His hands briefly sketched that infinitely expressive Italian gesture like a pair of parentheses. "Ah, Dio mio - che culo! Tonight for you, my friend - only the best!"

  He meant it, too. The carciofi affumicati al pesto rosso shamelessly seduced the palate, the risotto ai porcini melted on the tongue, and the Barolo '94 had all the depth and resonance of a great cloister bell. But - forgive me, Giuseppe - I scarcely registered these culinary joys, so entranced I was with my companion. Our conversation flowed sweetly and easily, with no awkwardness between us, yet still with the erotic charge that goes with mutual exploration of minds when (one hopes) similar exploration of bodies will soon follow. Ginny's intelligence, fresh, quick and curious, was a pleasure to engage with, and she seemed blessedly free of the preening self-regard that so often goes with exceptional good looks. In fact, as I was to find out, one of her most charming traits was her lack of vanity; she had never quite registered her own beauty, and received tributes with a touching mixture of wonder and disbelief.

  The meal was drawing to a close. Giuseppe, hovering over us like a benediction, served coffee and amaretti. A crucial question, as all spanking devotees know, is how and when to raise the subject of our favourite activity. The wrong timing, the wrong words can so easily ruin everything. While I was still mulling over the matter, Ginny gave me the opening I needed by talking about her recent birthday celebrations.

  When she paused, I interjected as casually as I could manage, "Sounds fun. I hope someone gave you your birthday spanking?"

  Ginny's eyes widened in surprise, then she dropped her gaze with a faint blush. "No," she murmured. "Why - do you think they should have?"

  "Oh, certainly. A pretty girl should always be spanked on her birthday," I hesitated - did I dare? - then added, "Especially if she's got an exceptionally beautiful bottom."

  Ginny's blush deepened. Her eyes flickered up to meet mine, then down again. "Oh - but I haven't, have I?" she asked shyly. "I thought it was too big."

  "Who on earth told you that?" I exclaimed, amazed. "Ginny, believe me, you've got one of the most gorgeous bottoms I've ever seen. It's just perfect. You'd be a sheer delight to spank."

  "Oh," said Ginny. "Oh. Does that mean you'd..."

  Her voice trailed off. After a moment she once more raised her eyes to mine. In their soft dark gaze I read an intriguing mixture of desire and fear. "Paul," she asked hesitantly, "does it - would it matter if a birthday spanking was a few days late?"

  ---oOo---

  My apartment was on the first floor. I guided Ginny to the stairs, ushering her ahead of me. I wanted to savour the pleasure of seeing her ascend the stairs before me, feasting my eyes on the rounded globes of her silk-sheathed buttocks and watching them jounce and quiver with each step she took. My throat felt dry at the thought that soon, very soon, this lovely young girl would be across my knee, her beautiful bottom upturned, soft and vulnerable, for me to squeeze and caress - and to spank until it glowed.

  Inside the flat I kissed her gently, then led her over to the couch. "High time for those birthday spanks, young lady," I told her with a smile, keeping up a light, joking tone, "they're almost a week overdue already." I patted the curve of her sweet rump, then sat down, drawing her down towards me. "Ok now, naughty girl - across my knee with you."

  I was taking a risk, I knew. Though Ginny seemed happy to let me smack her bottom, this early in our relationship she might not be ready for the physical intimacy of the across-the-knee position. But I needn't have worried. She'd clearly taken it for granted that her chastisement would be administered in the classic 'punishment spanking' posture, and with not the least resistance draped herself obediently over my thighs, the upper part of her body resting on the couch to my left and her legs straight out behind her.

  To have this auburn-haired young beauty place herself so submissively over my lap, unprotestingly offering up her lush bottom to be smacked - for no other reason than that I'd said I'd like to do it - was breathtakingly delicious. The silken material of the dress clung close around her shapely rear contours, hugging every curve and dimple and revealing that under it she wore only the briefest of knickers. Neither garment would provide much protection for her tender young flesh, but I passionately desired to see her lovely bottom bare and blushing beneath my hand. It was another risk: would she be ready to submit to having her bottom bared? But I was resolved to try it.

  "You know," I suggested, leaving her room to refuse, "I think a spanking like this should be given on the bare, don't you?" My heart gave a leap at her soft-breathed response.

  "Oh yes - yes!"

  Reaching down I lifted the hem of her dress, rucking the smooth silken fabric up over the swell of her buttocks, up above her waist. Beneath it she wore white silk panties trimmed with lace, whose brief cut left nearly all the ripe roundness of her cheeks already bare and defenceless, and would have given scant protection to those areas they did cover. But I wanted nothing in the way of this first, loving punishment; the sweet girl's bottom should be utterly, defencelessly bare as I spanked it. So, hooking both forefingers in the waistband, I peeled the panties slowly down over her peachy young curves. As she felt them descend Ginny uttered a little mew, but made no other protest, and I drew them down into a frothy tangle about her thighs, well clear of the target area.

  The whole expanse of Ginny's beautiful bottom, pale, rounded and flawless, now lay exposed to my enchanted view. It was even lovelier than I'd imagined. I stroked the twin globes, squeezing and paddling them gently; they felt delectably soft and cool. "You have a really gorgeous bottom, Ginny," I told her. "It just begs to be spanked."

  Ginny wriggled nervously on my lap. "Will it hurt?" she asked.

  "Well - that depends how hard I smack you. A birthday spanking's usually a pretty playful affair. But I could smack you harder if you like. Would you like me to?"

  "I - I'm not sure. Would you - that is, could I just try a couple of hard ones, just to see what they're like? They needn't count towards my birthday twenty," she added charmingly.

  "Fine by me," I said. I raised my hand and brought it down with a little more than medium force on the sweet curve of her left cheek.

  "Oooh!" said Ginny, and "Oww!" as a matching spank stung her right cheek. "Was that hard?"

  "Hardish," I admitted, worried that I might have put her off. The feel of her soft bottom as I smacked it had been heavenly, and I ached to spank her some more. Her fair, sensitive skin would colour readily, I could tell; already the faintest, most delicate pink tinged the lovely cheeks.

  "Well then, you know," murmured the darling girl, "I think it'd be sort of ok if - if you spanked me a bit harder than that. If you don't mind?"

  My heart soared. "Mind?" I said. "Sweetheart, it'll be a pleasure."

  So I did. With fierce joy I brought my hand down in a swift vigorous arc on the ripe curve of her right bottom-cheek. The smack rang out like a pistol-shot, and Ginny emitted a little gasp, her legs jerking. "One!" I said, and "Two!" as a matching spank connected with her left cheek.

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