Category Archives: PHOTO STORIES

Karen’s Spankings – 1

This is a story version of one of the true real life spankings as told to me by a delightful lady who went to a Girls Grammer School and was kept in line at home by a slipper wielding mother, who used it on her daughters bare bottom… Often!

You can read about Karen here…

Click here…https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=14741

Karen remembers the day her adventure at Grammer School began. It was the day she received the letter telling her that she had passed the 11+ exam with flying colours.

Her mummy, was at the very least, delighted! “Ohhh you clever girl Karen, you have made your Mummy so very proud. This Saturday, we are off to town you and I, we will go to Rushet’s Cafe on the High Street, and I’ll take you to your favourite bakers and get you a lovely cream cake to have after Sunday tea! Then my dear, we will go looking at uniforms and satchels. You are going to look lovely, you deserve the best….well done!”

Karen beamed. Cream cakes were a weakness!

For Karen’s Mummy, it was perfect news. She was a staunch, highly respected member of the church and in particular the W.I. That glorious English Institution, ‘The Women’s Institute.’

A W.I. Jam making class in the Village Institute

She had friends there, she had respect, she even had a few who envied her. Also, quite possibly, a few ladies, especially the young mothers, were in awe of her, even, more than a little scared of her.

Mummy was a perfect product of the 1950’s. A dutiful housewife who had kept an excellent house since the day she married. Sadly her husband was no longer around, but stoically, with a stiff upper lip and a gallon of fortitude, she had carried on running the house, her home, with pride.

A formidable no nonsense women. Her standing in the community was the fuel that drove her on. At Christmas she probably had to do without, to provide a lovely Christmas for her daughter. She was the woman you went to to get something done, Tombolas, Raffles, Carol Concerts to name a few. In short, she was a very much loved and respected member of the village community.

The Vicar at Saint Hugh’s Church used her as an example many times. “If you are not sure what to do, go and see her, she’ll have probably done it before, she’s marvellous!”

Now she had a vehicle for her pride. She had always been proud of her daughter, a bright intelligent daughter. Not many from the village had got into Grammer School in recent years. She knew that a lot of her peers in the W.I. Would be saying that very night…”I hear Karen got into Grammer school, she deserves it, her Mummy will be so proud.”

Without doubt there would be a degree of jealousy from some with troublesome daughters too, and even though she would never admit it, that gave her satisfaction too!

The W.I. Shaped the nation in many ways. It was almost a school of motherhood. From jam making, to knitting, cooking, pickling, gardening and…discipline of naughty girls, or…to be more precise, daughters.

Mothers throughout the land, in the main, were in charge of home discipline for girls, and many boys. Although there were no official W.I. classes on the subject, it was there in conversation. A naughty girl bought shame, and to a small degree, ridicule behind their back. A mother who could not control her daughters through discipline were thought to be something of a disgrace to the movement. Whenever a village fete or similar event took place, it was generally agreed that the child reflected the mother. If a girl got an award or praise, their Mummy felt it too. But…if a girl bought disgrace, her Mummy would be a blushing, embarrassed wreck for the day, and the girl in question would know about it on returning home, or in some instances, in the W.I. Tent!

Everyone knew that Karen was a good girl, and other than a raised eyebrow at times, her Mummy needed to do little. That is, until her mid teens, when slowly she became more than a little headstrong. That milky white, plump wiggling bottom of hers was going to learn what it meant to bring disgrace into the house.

From the very first visit to the Girl’s Grammer School, it was made clear that corporal punishment was used. After a tour of the school looking at laboratories, home economic rooms and such like, the new girls were sat, with their Mums. At the end of the ‘Inroductory Speech’ by the Headmistress. It was made perfectly clear that corporal punishment was used to keep any naughty girl in line, and that parents had to sign a consent form to say that they agreed with the school’s Disciplinary Code of Conduct. This caused a mumbling stir in the Assembly Hall and the loins of many girls, as Mummy’s turned to whisper to their child.

In Karen’s case Mummy simply said, “I have signed it, and returned it already. Let me say this just once Karen. If you are ever punished at school, you will be punished again at home, understood?”

“Yes, Mummy, of course Mummy.” Replied a strangely curious Karen.

The years rolled by, having a high IQ Karen sailed through the work, many an accolade, merit, or award came her way. Her bedroom was like a shrine to a good girl. A study area, where homework was always done dutifully was her favourite space. As she went to school, on the local rickety bus service, people would smile, knowingly. Safe in the knowledge that our country was safe in the hands of good schools, good parents, and keen scholars.

However, lurking in the body of Karen was a strange little substance, known to the female world as the female hormone, which stealthily attacked in the guise of puberty.

The bedroom mirror saw curvy hips begin to swell, a ripe rump of perfect proportions filled her school knickers, along with the natural curiosity of a young girl turning into a woman filling her mind.

When she went to catch the bus now, it was wiggle of a young woman. Even the man with the bowler hat who sat in the same seat every day started to smile, and greet her with a tipping of the hat. She had no idea that he began to see her differently, she just assumed it was cordial familiarity with a regular person he saw on the bus.

Mummy noticed, and the other W.I.Women noticed. Not only noticed, but mentioned it, in a subtle way. “Your Karen is making a fine young lady, she’ll certainly turns some heads one day!”

Conversations about discipline began to be entered into by Mummy. She knew that a teenage girl would need firm discipline, to keep her mind away from boys, and keep her mind on her studies. She had always ‘smacked her bottom’ and was proud to admit her firm but fair ways.

A mothers instinct is a wonderful thing.

One Saturday out with Karen, she called into the elegant Marks and Spencer’s shop in town. There she bought what was known as a W.I. Trademark. Whenever a pair of men’s scotch plaid rubber soled size 9 slippers was purchased by a woman, the lady who sold it would hand the box over with a knowing smile and a glance down the nose to the girl.

Just the right shape to get a good grip. A wide men’s slipper, big enough to redden a whole cheek nearly, with a heavy rubber sole, almost like a plimsol. It had the ability to sting like a piece of wood, yet flexible enough to wrap around the curve of a pert young buttock. In the right hands it was a ‘weapon of mass destruction’ to an unsuspecting naughty bare bottom.

The shop assistant was indeed a W.I. member, and knew the women in the village. Mummy knew that it would soon be common knowledge that she was now armed.

Karen’s creamy buttocks, held firmly in her regulation green school knickers, swaying from side to side like firm jelly, had a storm coming, and she found out, when on returning home, she asked her Mummy as she unpacked the slippers, ‘who are they for Mummy?’

“They are for you dear.” Replied Mummy.

Karen looked confused, her screwed up face asking the obvious question.

“You are growing Karen. I know from my friends just what a teenage girl can become. The time for smacking your bottom with my hand if you are naughty, has come to an end. These, are for your bottom. I do not want to use them, but, I will. A daughter in my house will never be to old for a spanking!”

Karen listened, and the message sank in. She knew her Mummy did not do idle talk as regards discipline.

The promised storm arrived on one fateful Spring day. Confidence had grown into over confidence. Self confidence into haughtiness. Pubic hairs had covered her soft pubescent bone, fingers had delved, conversations with friends on the delight of a fingered pussy had taken place. It was one such conversation that made her not even notice her form teacher walk into the classroom. She carried on talking to Barbara, instead of standing up with the rest, to say in a slightly singing way, “Good Morning Miss Weltwell.”

They stood up twenty seconds later than the rest, maybe nobody noticed.

“Good morning girls, sit down…BUT YOU TWO, REMAIN STANDING! WHAT ON EARTH HAS HAPPENED TO YOU OVERNIGHT? HOW DARE YOU NOT SHOW THE CUSTOMARY RESPECT TO YOUR BETTERS?” Her voice softened again, you are both on detention, tomorrow after school. Today you can report to the Secretaries Office at lunch. To pick your detention slips up.. You can bring them back tomorrow, signed by a parent.”

Murmurs and a few stifled giggles ran around the room. Every girl knew what that meant. So too did the teachers.

Miss Weltwell saw them squirm. An image if their reddening bare bottoms settled in her mind. The power of getting a girl a spanking was a wonderful thing. Barbara had had a few visits to both the Headmistresses Office and Detention room. But Karen, sat in shock, with a trembling lip had not, as far as she was aware. She had noticed her fine young body, and delighted in the thought of domestic discipline taking place tonight.

The journey to the end of the day was like some heroic trek in a fantasy novel. Long and arduous. The lunch time collection of the ‘death sentence’ sent a cold shiver to her tummy. The words left the slip and ran amok in her brain. There before her the words threatened her bottom.

DETENTION – SLIP

Unlike the blank example above, it was filled in, the reason for the detention being, ‘Not respecting teaching staff’. Karen knew that those four words would fly like a dagger to the heart of Mummy. Proof, in black and white that she had been naughty. The words on the line below, shoowed exactly how discipline was maintained at the Grammer school. ‘Please bring this form with you at the allotted time, duly signed by a parent or guardian.’

All the words looked so official, having been typed by the school secretary. And signed by her teacher in ‘Quink’ blue, fountain pen ink.

Mrs.Weltwaay put the detention slips into envelopes at the end of the school day. Then with a stern face told them to go home.

The leaving of school behind her and the journey home was sullen. The man in the bowler hat frowned at her as if he knew. The walk from the bus stop to her lovely cottage was heavy and slow. Two of Mummy’s friends saw her and nudged each other. Was that a snigger?

The gate to her cottage opened with a louder squeak than ever before, like a sign of doom.

The door handle slipped in her sweaty palm, the door made a noise far too loud. Mummy sounded so joyous as she shouted, “Hello dear, had a good day? Come and give Mummy a hug, I need one today.”

“Oh shit! Why today, why does she need a hug? Today of all days when I have let her down.” Thought Karen.

There was no specific reason of course. Mummy just wanted a hug.

Karen took out the envelope containing the slip….the slip…the white crispy slip, the DETENTION SLIP, and walked gingerly by the stairs and into the kitchen. “Hello Mum. I got this today.”

The spit in her mouth had gone, her knees went weak as she saw Mummy swell before her taking a deep breath. Her eyebrow lifted and vanished beneath her fringe. She sat down, and opened the envelope.

“Hmmmmm, what’s this? I hope you have not been naughty at school young lady.”

She read the note. Her head slowly lifted. Eyes made contact. Her own were damp.

“So Karen, you have been naughty at school.”

Karen nodded the affirmative, close to tears.

Mummy signed the note and passed it back. “Here, put it in your bag straight away, you do not want to be in trouble again tomorrow! Have you any homework?”


Karen took the note, her hand shaking slightly. She could feel the cheeks on her face flush. “No Mummy I do not have any homework tonight.”

Mummy stood up and told Karen to lay the table for tea. Which she did. As she was doing so, Mummy dished up some lovely stew and Yorkshire Puddings into the deep bowls. “We will eat our tea, we will wash the pots, and dry them. Then young lady, you can go to your room, and get changed into your pyjamas, ready for bed. I will be up shortly afterwards miss… and… as you well know… you will be going across my knee, for a good smacked bottom…Your bare bottom!”

To say the least, the meal was a slow somber affair. Mummy had given her a small portion, knowing that her tummy would be in knots. Soon the table was cleared, and the pots washed. Once they were all put away, Mummy spoke. “Up you go.”Karen climbed the curved oak stair case slowly, her head down. She reached the landing and sulkily walked to her door. In she went and shut the door behind her, resting against it. She cried, she had let her Mummy down, she had been naughty girl. After all her praise, she was now a naughty girl, about to get a bare bottom spanking

With fumbling nervous fingers she undressed, hanging her lovely uniform up. She looked at it; felt unworthy to wear it, and put it in her wardrobe. Naked, she put her dark green knickers in her wash basket, she noticed the crotch and gusset were damp. She walked towards her bed, pausing to look at her naked self, turning her bottom to the mirror, her naughty bottom. How unprotected and vulnerable it seemed.

She put her pyjamas on, and climbed into bed.

Whilst this was happening, Mummy went to the cupboard under the stairs, to take out the right footed, size nine slipper. She patted it on her palm, and went to the kitchen window, looking on to the front garden. Life just passed by as normal, anyone walking by would have no idea. She listened to the creaking floor of Karen’s bedroom floor. Then the creak of the bed. She took a deep breath and climbed the stairs, deliberately firmly, and slowly. the slipper behind her back.

You might wonder why she hid it behind her back. you see, to us spanking enthusiasts things like a swish of the cane, the walking towards a girl brandishing the implement is all part of the thrill. but here we are witnessing a loving mother, doing what in that time of history, what was expected, in the rearing a daughter. She loved her, a short sharp shock now, could bear wonderful fruit in the future. Her daughter had been naughty, she needed a spanking, it was that simple. But there was no need to frighten her unduly.

As she climbed the stairs thoughts of her own upbringing and the spankings she had received raced through her mind, what part of her naughty bottom had taught her the most? What words had her Mummy used to send the message home? What advice from her mentors, the W.I. and the Vicar helped her do what was needed? The memories spoke to her…”Spare the rod, spoil the child.” “It is for her own good.” “She will thank you one day.”

Karen’s eyes were fixed on her brass shiny door knob. The footsteps got louder and closer, her breathing quickened. The knob turned, and in walked Mummy. With a calm but firm voice she spoke…”I told you to get ready for bed, not get in bed! I told you, you are going over my knee first miss, out you get, stand by your bed!”

Karen got out and some involuntary action told her to stand to attention. Anything good right now, might stop the severity of what was to come.

Mummy sat on the bed, and slid the slipper deftly under the pillow. Then turned a nervous, worried Karen to face her. “I told you quite plainly Karen, that if you were naughty at school, you would be punished at home.” As she did this she tugged the pyjama bottoms down, to land in a puddle at her daughters ankles.

Karen felt aroused slightly, which made her feel even more of a naughty girl. But stood before Mummy as she scolded her was such a mixture of feelings. Her pubic hair had grown, it was now a delightful mixture of light fair hair with a hint of ginger, like her hair. The mirror of the dressing table was behind her, so Mummy could see her bottom, a bottom she was so proud of, like her new breasts, pert, and pleasingly plump.

Mummy was still talking, not shouting, and her words drifted back in…”Right then, lets get your smacked bottom started shall we Karen? No need to delay it any longer I think.”

Almost a minute passed, but it felt longer. Karen looked at her beautiful Mummy, the rounded body looked so cosy and even at this moment strangely comforting, her Mummy bear almost. She saw her Mummy looking at her bush, her hips, she could almost read the thoughts in her head…”My my, my little girl is a girl no more.”

Karen liked the strange feeling she felt (in a certain in a certain intimate area) at being exposed.

Karen snapped back into reality, and nodded, almost enthusiastically, and not just to get it over with. “What a strange sensation this discipline is?” She thought.

Over she went, her bare creamy white trembling bottom stuck up high, her finger tips dug into the carpet, her toes pressed firmly the same.

Mummy looked into the mirror, at this distance it was like a well framed photo, her on the bed, her shapely daughter with her upturned rump fine and round, catching the light. She looked at herself, doing what a good loving Mummy should do…her duty.

She looked at the bottom before her, the two round voluminous globes inviting the first smack. The fine hair, the peachy skin….SMACK!

She showed no real mercy, this was supposed to hurt and it did!

“Owwwwwwwwww!”

She saw three little red stripes from the bones of her middle three fingers leave their mark. The the glow of a blushing bottom. She followed them with more, raising her hand high…SMACK, CRACK, WHACK SMACK!!!

Karen howled, she had never smacked her this hard or so quickly!

“Owwwwww, oooooooh, oooooohhhhhhhhhh, OOOOWWWWWWWW!”

Soon her bottom was a lovely red, spreading down to her upper thigh. Mummy remembered the sit spot and how it stung, so delivered ten right across the point where her voluptuous cheeks joined her thighs. How they bounced, sinking in, then springing up instantly, and how she wriggled trying to pull free of the pain. But Mummy held her firmly, a tight grip around her waist holding the hand that tried to protect her. This annoyed Mummy, she was in mid flow!

“Stop that!” WHACK, WHACK, SMACK, SMACK!!!!

How Karen yelled.

It was then that the recent thought of the normality beyond the house returned, and Mummy noticed the bedroom window open. It was a secret no more, the sound of this spanking would travel! In a strange way it encouraged Mummy. Who stopped.

A poor crying Karen thought it was over, but Mummy was reaching for the slipper. Karen looked to the mirror and saw it, she looked over her shoulder, up to meet her Mummy’s eyes.

Mummy raised the slipper and said…”This is the first time for the slipper, now you are older, this will be my implement for spanking your bare bottom with. You are sixteen, so, for this first time you will get sixteen whacks, eight on each cheek. Then in future it will be more, many more”

So she delivered them, hard and firm.

THWACK, the sound of a rubber sole on plump flesh sounds hollow,a WHUP! Mummy noticed straight away that the herring bone pattern on the rubber imprinted itself on those wonderous globes of bright red flesh!

Karen screamed….no! KAREN SQUEALED! Sixteen long howling times as the rubber thwacked her bottom, cheek to cheek, then three on a cheek, then the sit spot.

Mildred was walking by, the strains of the spanking symphony drifted through the window turning into a cocophony of sound, hard whups! and long, long howls of pain! She nodded satisfactorily. “Good old Mummy, keeping up the standards, that’ll teach her!”

Back in the room the final four were landing hard and crisp. A tightly held Karen was out of control, kicking violently against the floor, her hands and fists too, her head and hair flying around.

Mummy too, her hand with the slipper firmly gripped rising and falling like a conductors baton….

THWAAAACK!!!!! “OWWWWWWWWWWWWWW”

THWAAAACK!!!! “OWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!”

THWAAAACK!!!! “YEEEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!”

THWAAAAAACK!!!! ” Stop stop Mummy, I’m sorry I’m sorry, ple……EEEEEEASE! YEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWOOOOOH!”

The bouncing, crimson, herring bone patterned bottom wobbled still.

Mummy, panting, hair tussled, came to rest.

The sobbing didn’t as the heat sank in, and pain exploded, she just wailed and wailed.”Now up you get… and straight to bed young lady, AND stay there… Once you have stopped crying I don’t want to hear another peep out of you…do you hear? Or you will be going over my knee again… Okay it’s done!”

And that was it, with her hands clutching her round glowing red cheeks, she got into bed.

The pain did not leave, it was still growing. Even in the dark of night she could feel the heat on her hand. And lying on her tummy, stroking her poor bottom, she fell asleep.

Mummy listened downstairs to her crying subside.

Mildred went to Ivy’s, where she met Betty and Mary. Like the fire in the plump bottom of our naughty girl, news of the good irls downfall began to spread.

Time to leave them, until the next time…Mummy is downstairs, putting the slipper away, until next time. She knows this will not be the last time it will be used, it will probably have just been the first of many.

Karen was on her tummy. She was sniffing now, not crying, and trying to understand the lovely feeling she has in her most intimate area, as she gently pushes up and down on the bed, her bright red bobbing up and down, which she can see, in the mirror, if she looks over. Which of course she does…

CREDITS…

To view Karen’s own blog, she is on Tumblr as ‘karen-redbush’

Dilan has her own site, with a link to galleries and Twitter etc, this can be found at ohdeardilan.com

You will find Mummy on Twitter as @Mistress_Iceni

Thank you to them all.

More to come…

Be patient!

A New Front Cover for….. The Inveigle

This cover is copyrighted. I don’t mind you posting it, so long as there is no cropping etc

The Inveigle is one of the bigger stories I am working on. It is set in a Victorian Flagellation Brothel, for women needing women, which has a theatre attached for their Saturday night ‘Spanking Shows’.

Click here to read, remember it is under construction…

https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=665

It has been designed by the artist Ian Hamilton, you will find him in here…

https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=2641

A Lucky Chance Upon a Spanking

Ohhhh this was lovely!

I was at my studio, I had just spanked Samantha and taken pihotos of her.

Half an hour before we had finished the shoot, Charlotte and Stephanie had come to do some spanking videos for their own sites. I was in the Headmasters Office and they were down my studio corridor in the classroom. I left Samantha rubbing cream on her sore bottom and getting out of school uniform and back into her day clothes.

As I walked by the school room I could hear Charlotte being a teacher and Stephanie counting out some whacks on her bare bottom! God…it felt so real, like I was in a school listening at the Headmistress’s door! I was tempted to masturbate! But of course I didn’t. I waited until they had done, knocked and went in to put my plimsol back in the shoe rack.

Charlotte asked me to take some photos of them, so now you and me can visualise what had happened five minutes before, behind the door, because they were still dressed in their outfits and in the same setting…

That’s it! See you soon…

The Glory Days of Spanking

NOTE : unusually for me in a story, the photos are not mine (in the first sections anyway, I have copied them from my vintage sections)

IF ANY PHOTOS ARE YOURS, PLEASE LET ME KNOW, I AGREE, YOU SHOULD BE MENTIONED… TRUTH IS, I JUST DON’T KNOW WHO TOOK THEM.

Let’s begin…

For those of you who have followed me a while, you will know that as well as being a spanking addict, I have a great love of walking, spiritual places, art, antiques, and steam trains.

In the steam trains avenue of my mind, they call the early to mid-sixties the ‘Glory Days’, steam was King, and all the little railway lines were still open. England looked well kept and tidy, jobs for all….And best of all, naughty girls got spanked. So, the title to this is as you see, the Glory Days of Spanking.

I have told you already of my informative years growing up in the fifties and early sixties, with families of girls living each side of me, I heard and saw spankings, and about my first proper girlfriend ever, sat in school uniform asking me ‘what would you do if I was naughty?’

My comics were full of naughty girls bottoms being slippered, black and white films on t.v. showed men putting beautiful women over their knee, and Saturday tea time had Billy Bunter being caned at Greyfriars and Jimmy Edwards starring in Whacko!

With a head full of naughty bottoms, I matured into me.

Like the ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ I rode on into valley of spanking! Bottoms to left of me, bottoms to the right of me, onward I strode to the delicate valley of Rowena’s plump little bottom to deliver my first spanking, a bare bottom one, to a real life school girl in her grammar school uniform, complete with straw hat. I never looked back….or did I?

I look back all the time, and often wonder what the girls thought of it all.

… I remember l was in bed one night, probably aged about fourteen, it was summer. My window was open, the house the other side of my wall belonged to a stout lady, her name was very similar to Mrs.Trumble….(just in case her daughter’s read this!) a girl two to three years older than me slept in the bedroom the other side of my wall. Some nights through the open sash windows we would chat. I had a crush on her. She seemed so mature, with real pert breasts, and a pretty smile.

On the night in question there was an almighty bang as her door flew open, very raised voices. I heard a spanking, a full blown hairbrush one, the smacks and screams so loud. I wanked furiously. I remember thinking ‘shall I climb onto the coal house to peek in?’ I was too close to orgasm, mid spanking I shot a glorious load of young sperm all over the bed sheets and my pyjamas!

A couple of days later, my mother took me to one side. She was a staunch member of the Mothers Union and the Womens Institute. Our house was always full of old plump women in their home made frocks and stout shoes baking and chatting. Including Mrs Trumble.

She told me that the girl in the bedroom next to me was a very naughty girl, and that she had problems with her temper and behaviour. She said that although boys were naughty, it was mischief with catapults directed at greenhouse glass and throwing frogs at girls…my crimes! My sore bottom! But girls can be very naughty, peevish and spiteful if not spanked often. They need to be guided into becoming good young women, ready to be a wife, with a firm hand, or slipper, or even a stout, solid wooden hairbrush.

Women like my mum, and all the others were ruled by pride and presenting a good image to the world. The good behaviour of their daughters was like a badge of honour. They talked…no, they gloated at the women who could not keep them in control. It was SHAME in capital letters if the other women laughed or frowned at a daughters behaviour. Us boys? Oh he is such a cheeky rascal that one! We got smacks and clouts round the ear a plenty. Even spankings.

But if a girls mum, was, like most in the W.I. Or Mothers Union, then then they had to behave. Or else!

The W.I. (Womens Institute) was the equivalent of a man going to the pub to see his mates, soon women would join them for dancing, darts, dominoes and a social life, but at this time, before the Swinging Sixties really got under way, the old fashioned ways clung on, both at school and at home. I remember my Dad and his mates mocking the seriousness of the W.I….”bloody hell Roy, if my missus doesn’t win that bloody cake contest this year, my life will be hell for another one!”

It was a wonderful thing, classes on jam making, home skills etc…for those who wanted it. But I imagine some young mums hated it…hence the swinging sixties and freedom!

But we are staying in the ‘Glory Days’, let’s look at some typical W.I.Mothers…

Like the poster says, it gave the women who wanted it a social life, as well as classes they did things like bulb planting to make their area look pretty and cared for.

And, like I said, instruction on how to keep your naughty daughter in line. Let’s get a picture in our minds of the naughty daughters plight…

Some of my early masturbations were imagining I was a girl getting a bare bottom spanking at a church fete, or some similar event.

The reason being that on a day out with my Mum and Dad when I was about 13, I saw a girl pulled out of the W.I. Tent by the ear, and pulled to the exit with shouts of ‘You just wait until I get you home!’ ….I never knew what she had done, but I remember my mum and dad laughing and everyone thinking it was normal.

I still wonder what it was like for them, by them, I mean ‘a naughty girl in the 1960’s. And, the reason I am writing this is because I have been handed a spanking gem. A woman from the south of England, a similar age to me, who reads my blog avidly. She loves spanking, was a grammar school girl with a Mummy who was in the W.I.

She too masturbates to the thoughts of spankings…. her own.

Prepare to meet Karen. I am going to share her memories with you.

THE MEMORIES OF KAREN…

PHOTOS FROM HERE ON WILL BE BACK TO MY OWN, MAYBE TURNED INTO BLACK AND WHITE.

(Not took any for this project yet!….lol)

To begin, up to now Karen is an enigma to you all. I can tell you that she is exactly what I tell you, a woman spanked as a child, and through her teenage years. After that? Who knows, this is not a race, nor an interview. What we are doing is satisfying a need. If I was a vampire, then Karen’s memories of her spankings are her blood. Allow me to sink my teeth into her glorious bottom and drink, then I will share what I find with you.

Before the sound of a stiff palm of her Mummy’s hand smacking the soft, rounded, delicate cheeks of naughty schoolgirl Karen, (what a perfect name from the era) let me tell you what I know.

We will always call Mummy…Mummy. No need for a name.

Mummy very rarely used the word spanking. In a strict voice, either upstairs or pointing upstairs, which was the most common place for discipline, she would use phrases like this…

“You naughty girl Karen, you are going across my knee for that! Get upstairs…NOW!”

Once upstairs it would be, ” Get over my knee.”

“You! Young lady! Are going to get a good hiding!”

“You are going to end up with a sore bottom for this my girl!”

And very good disciplinary language it was. Well done Mummy, you are just what we want.

Up until going to the all girls Grammer School in the area, Mummy smacked Karen’s bare bottom with the flat of her hand. But as Karen moved up to ‘big school’ so did her punishments graduate. To the slipper on the bare!

Ohhh, how lovely! The thought of us talking to a real naughty girl from our favourite years sends a vibration right up our manhoods doesn’t it. I also know that many of my readers (over 1000 a day now) are women. So it is also nice to know that some delicate varnished fingertips have been delving into squishy wet pussies whilst finding out all about you Karen. Actually, on reading the first part of this story, Karen let her knickers slide down and fingered her wet pussy to orgasm. She told me so today.

This gets better by the minute, don’t you agree? I suspect that some hands are wrapped around throbbing cocks right at this point of my writing, and fingers are busily slipping and sliding away in moist damp slippery holes too. How does that make you feel Karen? What? They are sliding down again? Your legs are in the air? And you are rubbing frantically….hmmm, we do have a naughty girl on our hands. Maybe you ought to go over my knee right now young lady!

The slipper.

Karen has been shopping, and purchased the nearest thing to her Mummy’s spanking slipper she could. Here it is…

Imagine the strong right hand, and a big arm of a a typical mummy of the day, gripping the heel firmly and whacking down repeatedly on a wiggling sore, red bottom!

Thwack! Thwack! Thsack!

“Owwww, ooooh oh-ohhhhhowwww!” Would squeal a bare bottomed upturned Karen.

THESE ARE TRUE STORIES, DISCIPLINE REMEMBERED FROM A BYGONE AGE BY THE LADY WHO EXPERIENCED THEM, THESE ARE NOT STORIES…

To continue..

There is an amusing story about the slippers, and one which allows us a glimpse into the psyche of dear Mummy. On a shopping trip with our naughty schoolgirl Karen, she took her into Marks and Spencers, where she bought them. Karen thought nothing of it at the time, thinking they must be a present. But what a wonderful thought….Mummy taking a naughty girl, in school uniform, into town, to buy her spanking slippers. I suspect that the ladies of the W.I. had discussed this, and found the most effective.

Talking of uniforms, the girls Grammer school had a lovely uniform. Karen fell in love with it and was proud to wear it. Mummy was as proud as the cat that got the cream, to see her daughter’s wiggling bottom parade the local streets in it. Red haired Karen must have cut a fine figure in her dark grey blazer, pleated skirt, white blouse with a dark tie with an ivory coloured stripe. The stripe had another beside it, depicting the house she was in, Karen’s was green, to match her naughty eyes. White socks, black shoes and….

Bottle green regulation school knickers!

So imagine our dear wiggling naughty schoolgirl walking through the village she lived in to catch the bus. And of course, picture her on the bus coming home. A striped bottom under her bottle green knickers, a note for Mummy in her bag, and the lovely slipper waiting for her.

Karen was and still is blessed with a high IQ, which allowed her to cope with her Girls Grammer School well, from 11 up to 17, having the same Headmistress all the way through.

As regards to her own psyche, Karen tells me, that Mummy described her as wilful and headstrong.

Karen’s Daddy left their home when Karen was young, so there will be no account of him

More to come, be patient with me. Once I get the stories from Karen, I will arrange photo shoots to suit.

A MESSAGE FROM KAREN

Dear Mr Jones


I’ll send you my account of my memory of the 1st detention slip home & the consequences by email over the weekend 😉

One of the things that has been whirling around in my mind (due to all my thinking about my schoolgirl & teenage times 😉) was how matter-of-fact and nonchalantly my mother & her friends/neighbours and my aunt would openly discuss their naughty offspring’s (ie mine) misdemeanours & consequent punishment.

(I have to say though, as I got a little older into my teens, it was this nonchalance, off-handedness and matter-of-fact manner of not only talking about it, but also dealing with the embarrassment of exposure that had probably the most effect on me & my journey into my obsession with being spanked 🤭)

I can recall being the topic of conversations at the kitchen table (and being present or within earshot) where not only my “crime” was discussed, but also the details of my punishment (or pending punishment) were openly debated between my mother & another mother (WI friend) a Female neighbour or maybe my aunt if she were there.


Every now & then I’d hear the conversation punctuated with words or phrases that I knew were sealing my fate … “naughty girl” …. “across my knee” …. “knickers down” …. etc etc etc …… it’s really strange how your ears used to get tuned to such phrases !

Lol … well I’ll tell you some of those times as we go along.

I am going to enjoy this 😋😋

Karen xx

*****

AGE …. TO BE ON THE SAFE SIDE EVERY SPANKING DESCRIBED BY KAREN WILL HAPPEN WHEN SHE WAS SIXTEEN AND A HALF YEARS OLD, AND REMEMBER, BACK IN THE EARLY SIXTIES, SPANKING A NAUGHTY GIRL WAS THE NORM, BOTH AT HOME AND SCHOOL.

Before we go on, like I said, I hope to make the stories come to life with photographs. You already know Claudia my friend. She is to be Mummy…

*****

‘My first detention slip, and meeting the slipper’

SPANKING NUMBER ONE

Hi Asa,

As promised my memory of my first detention slip home and mum’s first application of “the slipper” 😳

As I mentioned earlier; at the junior school I attended, I/we had no idea of what a “detention” was. Not that I was such an exemplary pupil … far from it! … it was just that detention was not a method of discipline used there – in fact discipline was quite a low key there (even though the headmistress did smack a young bottom or two “in loco parentis” in the time I attended there ….. I know because I was one of them 🤭)

So you can imagine, when I went (all neatly dressed in my new school uniform for the first time “for real”; my mother brimming with pride) to the pre-start open night how like a “rabbit in the headlights” I was when I listened to the headmistress giving her address to the assembly of girls & parents that would form that years new intake.


Especially when she got to the subject of how she & the school viewed & administered discipline and how she expected her “new girls” to have accountability, honesty, integrity & discipline.

(Again all I seemed to hear from her speech – as a timid prospective 1st year girl – was the “D” word …. DISCIPLINE, DISCIPLINE, DISCIPLINE) 😳😳😳😳

She outlined how it was her way that the expected her girls to take responsibility and be answerable for their actions and pointed out that she was; (supported by the school governors) in favour of the detention process, the writing of lines & other punishment tasks; and, when she (as headmistress) deemed necessary ….. corporal punishment, to achieve the best for “her girls”.


She added … “So be warned young ladies – you WILL behave as such in my school” 😵

On a more lighter mood, I loved walking around the school and seeing all the wonderful science labs & gymnasium plus swimming pool … but as we did, all I could seem to think about was the headmistress’s accent on DISCIPLINE 😳😳

My mother was brimming with pride as we made our way home on the bus, however I vividly remember her warning to me (not word for word obviously as it was a loooong time ago – but now in my own words)


“Karen, I expect you to be a good girl at school – you heard what Mrs Charlton (the headmistress) said about responsibility? AND … you heard what she said about discipline? Now remember what I’ve told you before young lady … if you misbehave and get a punishment at school … you WILL be punished at home as well … NO exceptions” …. understood? “Oh and another thing young lady … I’ve already signed & returned the form permitting the use of corporal punishment … so beware young lady” !

So the die was set …. no escape 😳😳

My new school regime took a lot of getting used to but gradually, (with the patience of our new teachers) all we new girls settled into the general flow of the ways of the school, and what at first seemed like an impossible mountain of rules, corridors, names and different classrooms from each lesson, gradually became 2nd nature & smooth running.

Until that fateful day, (which of course was just waiting to happen) when, I was given my 1st detention slip 😳😩


So….stupidly I was still talking with my friend and hadn’t noticed when the English mistress had entered the classroom (because it was protocol for all talking to stop on entry of a teacher) and after a telling off we were both told to collect a detention slip for the following day at the end of the lesson.

I was devastated, and after the lesson felt so ashamed as I collected the slip which had to be taken home & returned signed by a parent acknowledging that you would be late away from school on the day the detention had been set for.


All day long I worried about what my mum would say when I handed her the slip – and of course what was going through my mind was my mother’s warning.


I realised the most likely of outcomes would be that I’d be going across my mum’s knee for a smacked bottom ! – I wasn’t sure if it would be immediately I handed her the slip or (most probably) at bedtime. But what I was almost certain of was, that I would be going over mums knee 🤭

When I got home that afternoon after school mum was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal as she usually was. After her usual greeting and asking “how was school today”? … I remember sheepishly saying “I got this today” handing her the slip of paper.

I recall mums expression changing & her saying something like “oh? … what’s this? … have you been a naughty girl?”
As she read the slip I explained what had happened and remember thinking how calm she seemed to be about it & maybe that she’d just tell me off & not to do it again – however – she just got a pen from the kitchen drawer & signed the slip of paper and handing it back to me saying (something like)…


“It would seem you HAVE been a naughty girl, haven’t you? … put this back in your bag young lady as you’ll need to hand it in tomorrow miss – you don’t want to be in further trouble do you? ……. “

And then came the off hand & matter of fact statement I had been worrying about ….

“Oh .. and you’ll be getting a smacked bottom as well miss, as I’ve already warned you, so I’ll be putting you over my knee at bedtime young lady .. understand ? – now get upstairs & changed out of your uniform”

Eating my evening meal was like “the condemned man” lol 😂


As I finished eating, my mum asked me if I had any homework that evening (which I didn’t) so she told me that as I’d been a naughty girl, after we had washed & dried the dishes, I was going to bed early.


So immediately we had finished the dishes (in an awkward silence !) mum told me I was to go upstairs and get washed & changed into my pyjamas for bed & that she would be up shortly after she put the things away.

I did as told and was sitting up in bed as mum came into my bedroom.
(What I hadn’t realised – because I had no need to – was that she was holding the slipper behind her back out of sight)


I recall her saying (something like) …. “what are you doing in bed miss? … I told you that you’re going over my knee young lady …. out you get!”


I got out of bed as mum sat down on my bed; and, unbeknown to me slid the slipper under my pillow out of sight.


I stood (as was expected on these occasions) in front of her for the inevitable pulling down of my pyjama bottoms & the scolding (fully exposed) that preceded the command “over you go”.


But on this occasion it was slightly different.


Mum undid and pulled down my pyjama bottoms and sat there looking at me (exposed) with my pj’s puddled at my feet and after a while said (something like) …

“You’re a grammar school girl now & I expect you to behave like one, however if I have to smack your bottom like a little girl, then believe me young lady I will continue to do so … don’t think I won’t …… but you KNOW what this smacked bottom is for don’t you? … if you misbehave at school then you KNOW you get a smacked bottom at home … grammar school or not!”

“Right … it’s no good you snivelling now miss … over you go young lady and you can have something to cry for”

Sniffling, I went over her lap as told and, as my mum was a practiced spanker, was soon wriggling and crying (as promised) across her lap as she set my bare bottom on fire with her hand.


When she stopped (at least I thought she had) I lay across her lap bawling she said (again something like)… “Right miss, as you are now a senior school girl, from now on you’ll be getting your bottom smacked like a senior school girl … as this is your first time, all you are getting is one for each year … but in future that will not be the case”

With that mum took the slipper from under the pillow & smacked my already spanked bottom a further 16 times until I was kicking and virtually screaming !


I had never felt anything like it

I don’t remember much of how it ended and me getting up off her lap – but I do recall going to bed crying with my bottom on fire & laying on my tummy as my mother warned me … “and unless you want to go back over my knee again, I don’t want to hear another peep out of you tonight young lady” !

With that she left my bedroom closing the door behind her.

God … I’ve just read this through again and really apologise if it is too long ? 😳
I do hope you liked my memory & that it might be of some use for your blog/story.

Please forgive my interpretation of conversations …. this was so long ago I have had to put words together that I THINK were said (or words I remember my mother using at times) … I hope that’s ok ?

Asa’s note..

That was a wonderfully written account of a young woman going over her Mummy’s kee for the slipper. On account of myself, and I am sure, my readers, thank you. Excellent work!

I received a note from Karen today…

Just something I wanted to highlight is my mum’s nonchalant attitude about the fact I was to get a smacked bottom! Almost as if … it was ME she was doing it for … as if she was doing it as a favour ! 😳😳😳

Almost … “shall we go and smack your bottom?” … LOL 😂

Asa’s note…. A lovely little add on, thank you xxhugxx

*********

I am going to write story versions of each spanking.

Spanking One

Click here…https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=14986


Stephanie Arrives

A friend of Charlotte’s, Stephanie, came to her first shoot.

Another girl from the quaint old market town we live in, here in the U.K.

How fortunate we are, five of us, six counting Charlotte’s mother who spanks her often as you know. All within 15 minutes drive of each other.

Stephanie, like my other girls has a great love of spanking, and everything that goes with it.

She came to join Saint Helena High School for Wayward Girls, but Samantha who usually does the school’s canings was poorly, so I stepped in.

Here she is in her uniform… (With Kate and Charlotte looking eagerly on. They had told her of the canings and she was very eager to take one and show how good she was to the other girls. So they whispered to me, ‘Don’t hold back, give it her really hard from cold, by all accounts, she is amazing!)

I know you will be eager to see her bottom, here it is, quite nervous, showing itself to me for the first time.

We had a good chat, about limits. She replied cheekily, “What limits? Give me what you have got Mr Jones.”

So I did. Six of the finest, from cold in quick succession. I could not photo as I did them, but here she is, over the vaulting horse, being restrained by Charlotte and Kate, soon after the sixth.

She howled the place down. But did very well indeed, a great new asset to my team.

As you can see by the stripes on Charlotte and Kate’s bottoms, I gave all three six each.

I then put them in corner time together.

We spent the day shooting for stories and spanking, the results you will see in due course.

Asa

Inveigle Chapters

This is a story under construction…

Here are the next chapters, (after chapter two where you have probably come from) lots of photos taken, but not many added ….yet!

Look for updates on Twitter.

https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=8446

https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=8543

https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=8636

https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=8756

https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=8939

https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=10839

..https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=14012

The Inveigle ~ Chapter Nine

CHAPTER 9

Hereis a link to the previous chapter…https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=10839

The girls did as she suggested and walked down the stairs to the foyer. Even the stairs were wonderful in their own way, all white, apart from a graceful mahogany handrail sat on black shiny painted wrought iron, and a central plush red carpet, with of course, mahogany stair rods with brass fittings. It was full of curves and enticing corners as it met various floors.


Beautiful works of art were spaced evenly all the way down in mahogany frames, and on the landings too, most of them had an erotic theme of some sort, and were beautifully painted. This really was a very sexual place, the building almost talked naughtily to you as you wandered its corridors.


Oil lamps glowed softly nearly all day and night, because some corridors had little or no windows. They bumped into one of the girls who had made their bath, as she filled one of the lamps. She looked gorgeous in her black and white maid outfit.


‘Hello, how are you today?’ asked the girl.


‘We are fine thank you, and you?’ Answered Samantha.


She smiled and did a little curtsey. ‘Very well thank you, we hope you like it here.’


‘Oh I am sure we will’. Replied Charlotte in a happy voice, then added quickly. ‘We do already! Oh, we never asked your name yesterday, what is it?


She smiled and said her name was Rosie.


They carried on with their exploration.


The purpose of the paintings was to keep the visitors aroused and ‘in the mood’ as they made their way to the room of their choice. But for the people who lived there it was almost like swimming in a sea of sensuality. It seeped in at every opportunity and made all the girls develop a high sexual desire, it was like a drug, almost like having a transfusion drip of sex in your arm all day long. Slowly but surely the girls would drink it in every day, to become high class temptations to the equally high society of the Victorian lady. Deborah was a very clever and astute woman, she knew exactly what she was doing, both for the customers and the girls.


The girls walked down to the foyer, and a sight reminiscent of a school room greeted them. Grouped around two tables full of arts and crafts equipment were the Inveigle Chorus Girls, dressed in their everyday clothes. They were making and decorating masquerade masks, of all colours, including silver and gold. Pots of feathers and shaped cut card rested everywhere, along with ribbons and beads.


Their chattering stopped as the two new arrivals approached. They all seemed friendly enough and soon began answering questions that the new star turns asked. They were given two gifts of masquerade masks, both half masks on sticks, one silver, and the other gold. After spending half an hour getting to know the girls Charlotte and Samantha walked away giggling, as they talked to each other through the masks. One of the chorus girls, named Ida, watched them walk away with malice and resentment in her heart and eyes. She had hoped to be the next chosen star.


This journey encapsulated the hierarchy of The Inveigle. Deborah was obviously the matriarch and decided everything. Below her were her hand-picked stars, a step below them were the Chorus Girls they had just talked to, some with ambitions to become one of Mummy Bear’s shining stars, others content where they were. At the bottom were the young girls who did the minor roles.


Charlotte and Debbie were pleased with themselves, they had gone straight to the upper tier of The Inveigle hierarchy.
The girls retraced their steps up to the first floor, and walked along the corridor looking at the room names. All the doors were mahogany set in matching door frames, each with a small sign screwed to them. The chorus girls had their names in lower case italics, in gold, on a red background. The stars of the Inveigle had signs in upper case, the first one they found was Sapphire’s. Nervous and excited they knocked. Movement was heard and the door opened briskly. ‘Oh, hello you two! Come along in, please take a seat by the window, I have coffee boiling, do you like coffee?’


Neither had ever tried it, but it smelled lovely. They both said yes.


The tea and coffee set in the glass fronted cabinet was beautiful. All were green and cream with red and orange flowers on. Every cup had a round base, and then flared up into a square rim. They were striking. ‘Do you like my tea service? Isn’t it gorgeous, Mummy Bear got it me last Christmas, she always gets her stars a present you know.’
They sat in the window seats which were in the bay window. The curtains were rich red and black, a vase of red roses took centre position on the window ledge. The end of one stem was broken, and it was obvious where it had gone to. Sapphire was dressed as a ‘masher’, and looked shockingly naughty in tight black trousers over spats, white shirt, waistcoat and bow tie. Her black jacket, with tails had the red rose in the lapel. Her well brushed shiny top hat rested on her window seat space, and on top of that was a pair of white waiter gloves, with black studs.


They looked around the room. On the black brushed flecked wallpapered walls were black and white photographs of stage goddesses. Also on the walls were a collection of violins, and fiddles. There was a music stand and a piano. Various tables with tall shiny green leaved plants must keep the maids busy thought the girls. A table and chairs, and a red chaise lounge completed the furnishings. A door led to the bedroom, which they could see was predominantly black and red too, the other was to a modern bathroom all in black and white, except the polished gold taps.


Their eyes were drawn to an unusual apparatus by the fire, it was almost like a rocking horse. It resembled a saddle, mounted on a galloping framework, but stuck up in the middle of the saddle was a leather dildo, at the front were two handles with leather grips. Alongside was a smaller rocking horse, with a saddle, but no dildo.


Sapphire smiled at the girls and introduced ‘Bessie’. ‘This is one of the many reasons they come, I do all sorts, but this seems a favourite.’ She patted it’s fine horse shaped rump and said. ‘Giddy-up Bessie!’


The apparatus rocked back and forth with well oiled ease, and a lovely creak. The straps and stirrups clinked together. The stirrups had fastening straps and what resembled a pair of leather handcuffs were attached to the head.

“And this little chap is Neddy.”


Charlotte and Samantha, looked at Neddy, and then stood up to examine the magnificent rampant beast. ‘What does it do?’ Asked a curious Charlotte.


‘Can’t you guess? They ride the fucking thing in a frenzy , whilst I whip their arse with a riding crop until they reach a climax! It’s not quite as simple as that, we have lots of play on the way, I could explain more fully if you like. Care to try it? Or I could show you how it works, but not on this one, I have my own. My clients ask which of us has worked their pussy up to a lather on here, and I tell them what they want to hear. If they thought their cunt juice was mixing with yours for instance, they would go wild!”


She went to her bedroom and came out with a dapple grey version. This had a lovely horses head similar to a cranky horse on a fairground ride.


The two girls looked at the beautiful beast and back towards Sapphire. Charlotte spoke to her on their behalf. ‘We would love you to show it to us, and maybe, one day we’d like a gallop!’


‘Okay, let me give you a demonstration then.’


The best kept secret in The Inveigle was the secret passages. Only known to Deborah, and Eleanour. She trusted the girls, but these passages between the walls served a double purpose, the first to keep a watchful eye now and then, some customers could get rough, and the other, far more exciting was to watch the girls perform. Deborah was looking through a small undetectable spy hole at the proceedings.


Sapphire slide her trousers down and kept the top half of her attire on. She oiled the upright erection on the horse’s saddle, and put her left foot in the stirrup. She threw two riding crops to the girls. ‘Not too hard, I don’t want marks for the show, stand one each side and make me gallop!’


Deborah was pleased with Sapphire as always, she was a good girl not wanting any stripes for the show.


The beast began to rock, and creak, as she stepped over and put her right foot in the other stirrup. ‘At this point I would fasten the clients feet and hands in, but I can assure you girls, I won’t try to wriggle out.’


The girls picked up the crops and took their place at each side. Both were right handed so Charlotte, being stood to the right would have to make a backwards swing.


Sapphire slid down the full length of the ebony cock with its soft rubber lubricated sheath, and began to ride the stallion hard. Her hair began to move back and forth, she looked wonderful.


Whack, crack, whack, smack!


The girls found it hard not to use too much force and thought how wonderful it would be to thrash a rider.
Sapphire galloped and begged the girls to speed up their whipping.


Smack, crack, whip, smack, spank again! She was not to be let down by the girls who picked up the pace.
She did not gallop for long as she squealed an orgasm.
The girls slowed down and stopped, and Sapphire draped forward over the horses head, gasping.


As she often did, Charlotte asked a question which did not quite fit the occasion. Expecting a question about her orgasm or the spanking, she asked Sapphire ‘What’s your horse called?’


Sapphire laughed quite uncontrollably and said its name was ‘Dotty.’

Charlotte blushed, Samantha laughed, and Deborah watched the scene with fascination through the spy-hole. What a unique wonderful world she had created.


After many hugs and kisses, the two girls left to climb another set of stairs to see what Amber’s room had to offer. Deborah, slid the cover back into place and squeezed down the passage quietly to go and see.


The girls soon found the room and knocked on the door. ‘Come in!’


They opened the door to see a pale lilac wallpapered room, with white curtains and furniture. Amber was completely naked apart from her slippers.


‘Would you like tea? Or would you prefer something stronger maybe?’


‘Tea would be fine, thank you.’ Answered Samantha, politely. Charlotte agreed.


The cover on the spy hole slid open, Deborah peered in.
Ostrich feathers in lilac and white were stood in vases on the floor. Peacock feathers stood in vases each side of a pretty fireplace. Each wall had a huge mirror in a gilt frame. The room looked like something Marie Antoinette might have had.


‘Who have you just been to see? Or am I the first?’ enquired Amber.


‘We have just come from Sapphires room.’ They both said at the same time.


‘Oh right, you’ll have been galloping about the meadows of spanking hollow then!’


They all laughed and left it there for now.
Charlotte was getting bolder by the second with everyone and asked. ‘So what do you specialise in then?’


Amber raised an eyebrow, and turned to pour the tea, with legs straight, bottom up.


The two girls went quiet and admired her lithe young body, it was firm, young and ripe.


Amber passed the tea in two steaming plain lilac cups and saucers, with gold edging.


They all sat down on three comfy arm chairs which were arranged in a little triangle with a small table in the centre. Amber had just set the tray down in a similar manner and sat down herself. ‘I do this.’


The girls looked to each other, had they missed something?


Amber giggled naughtily, she was playing with them. ‘I’m so sorry, I was hoping you’d guess. I do all sorts of things, but like most of us they are spanking orientated. I like to be their naked maid. I serve them tea and do lots of bending over for them, then I usually do something like drop a plate. That’s why I don’t have an expensive set for popular use! Then they punish me, in any way they like, and I enjoy it more than I should do in ‘proper society’ and usually end up satisfying them.’


The two girls rose to the occasion. Charlotte set her cup down on the floor and asked for a lump of sugar.


Amber smiled and stood to take the pair of sugar lumps in her delicate hand, bent right over Samantha’s knees and placed one hand on the chair arm next to her. She reached over, looked up and over her shoulder and smiled. ‘There you are Madam.’


Charlotte let out an audible gasp of admiration at the way it was done, one of the mirrors reached to the floor and she could see the vision of sexual beauty twice. ‘The mirrors are wonderful, but there seems to be a smudge right up in the corner of this one next to me, can you attend to it please?’


Amber stood up straight and walked to Debbie’s side to place one foot onto the chair arm at her left, her thigh was within an inch or two of her face. She then stretched her body to make the remaining leg lift delicately and her right bottom cheek pushed softly towards her face. Not exactly knowing where the idea came from Charlotte licked the crack of Amber’s bottom from bottom to top.


Samantha looked ever so slightly jealous, leaned over and smacked Amber’s bottom. ‘Stop tempting her you naughty maid, she is mine!’


Charlotte beamed with self satisfaction and looked to Samantha. Once again the feeling of love rose to envelop them in a rose pink mist, kiss them on the nose and gently subside. ‘Thank you Samantha, you have no idea what it means when I hear you say something like that to me, yes I am yours, forever, totally.’


Deborah nodded in satisfaction to herself, this is just what The Inveigle needed, a double act, two girls obviously in love.


Amber stood down, the moment was lost. She felt priviledged to have seen such a display of affection, it was something she craved for herself. ‘So what do you think? Do you like my room and what I have to offer?’


They both agreed avidly that they loved the room, her charming ways and her spankable bottom.


‘When you have settled in, I’ll come and serve you tea then, but be warned, I can be very clumsy.’


Samantha raised her eyebrow and looked strictly into Amber’s eyes. ‘Oh I have ways of dealing with clumsy.’
It was Charlotte’s turn to feel a little twinge of jealousy. She pouted her lips and said briskly. ‘Then I am serving you too!’
Samantha and Amber looked at each other and laughed. Charlotte blushed, then joined in the mirth.


Deborah allowed herself a silent chuckle too.


Goodbye was said in an embrace and kisses on the cheeks. The door closed behind them. They looked at each other and were both having similar thoughts. ‘How on earth are we supposed to compete with these?’


Victoria’s room wasn’t ready yet due to her only just returning to The Inveigle, she was busy at the task all day and they didn’t see her, so they walked to the end of a corridor to a bigger room, which had double doors, with big octagonal brass handles. Samantha jumped in to knock on this one, before Charlotte did.


The room opened and the first thing that hit them was a magnificent floor to ceiling set of French Windows which led onto a balcony. Light streamed in, it was glorious. Then as they looked around they were, for one of the few times in their life, shocked. It was a dungeon of sorts. Chains and tethers hung from the ceiling and walls. The array of canes and floggers along with an assortment of whips took them by surprise. Paddles and leather soled slippers were neatly arranged in racks. The decor was sexy, in an opulent way. In these Victorian days animal skins were valued for their beauty and used as decorations. Before the fire place was the skin of a black panther, its head still joined and snarling. On one wall was a leopard, another a cheetah, and a jaguar skin hung behind them. Furs of all kinds, from red squirrel to mink draped chairs, and were used as cushions. Glass eyes stared from them. The walls were black, the curtains were black, the carpet was black. But splashed like blood were exotic dashes of crimson red artificial beautifully made poppies. An odd cushion shaped as lips was also bright red. The edge to a black chez lounge was red, and in vases in strategic places were bright red displays of dyed ostrich feathers.


The first swivel chair any of the two girls had seen spun round before them. The bright happy face of Eleanour greeted them with a happy smile. ‘Don’t look so shocked! I’m quite nice really!’ Then the whip cracked within an inch or so of their toes.


They both jumped.


‘Oh yes I can make the ladies dance in here, they are terrified of my little helper but love to dance before it, even on the balcony under the moon!’


Stocks and frameworks for restraint were stood everywhere, and a similar horse to Sapphires was stood on the balcony, but it was exaggerated in its dimensions. Whoever rode it would have their legs straight and bottom up high.


‘This way girls, follow me’. She guided them to another room which was a simple sitting room, which looked more like a library, so many books. She explained it was a passion and that she had some unusual ones in her collection. Her eyes twinkled and her ruby red lips smiled. They knew straight away what she meant.


Another cup of tea followed, and the need to pee grew accordingly. The spy hole slid open unnoticed. Deborah was almost out of breath.


The two girls told her of the day so far and that this room did not really need a lot of explaining. ‘But do tell, do some women really crave harsh punishment, I mean really harsh, almost like judicial?’


‘Of course they do!.’


The reply given to them was so simple that the truth was irrefutable.


‘I’m never short of paying customers anyway, they come from far and wide for my talents. You see, we are the only female, female bawdy house there is, and we have our theatre. We are like a flame to a moth, where else would they go? Oh I know there are a few individuals here and there, but here, well, you can see for yourselves can’t you, it’s perfect. A beautiful place, with beautiful people like us, and we are growing, as you yourselves can testify. We are attracting the best talent and the best customers, and our ship has a wonderful captain in Deborah.’ She sat down looking proud of her Inveigle appraisal.


Deborah felt smug too, she liked praise.


They sat and drank tea, whilst looking at books. Some were albums of photographs taken in the dungeon room next door, and the two girls scrutinised them. Some were erotic novels. Others had illustrations of how to use slaves, the list was endless and bountiful.


Nature took its course and the two girls relieved their bladders in the toilet room. This was another new experience the girls found fascinating, and Eleanour’s was quite exceptional and a spacious blue and white tiled affair.

They said goodby and that they had a lot more exploring to do, and left to go to the last room which was down two flights of stairs and at the end of a corridor. Fae’s room would be interesting and different, they just new it. Her name had only been mentioned a few times, and each with a roll of the eyes or a giggle.

Deborah’s route was quicker, she already had her spy hole opened before they knocked.

The two girls entered yet another world, well that is not strictly true, they entered two. Fae’s room had a sweet smell, and smoke hung in the air. The first half was a version of an opium den, like what you would find in the Chinese Quarter of the city. It was all red and teak.


The room had small compartments with pipes to smoke and liquids to drink, one green one was labelled absinthe. They were separated by screens which were pierced. The seats inside were Inveigle red and plush.


Each one had a chain hanging down with ahuge pierced brass ornamental, oriental lamp burning scented oil.


It looked mysterious and inviting.


But at the end of the room end was another door, they walked towards it and into a small school room. Perfect in every detail, it had double desks with metal legs and lift up tops, which had slates and chalk resting on them. There were maps on the wall and books. To the left was a blackboard and easel, to the right was a teacher’s desk. Sat at it was Fae.


A collection of canes and other punishment tools were laid around.


A huge wardrobe stood at the back.


‘Hello, I have been waiting for you.’ She smiled at them.
The two girls were almost in a daze, they had seen so much, whatever next? Charlotte did her usual thing and asked the obvious. ‘What happens in here then?’


‘What, just in here or the room you have just walked through?’ Fae didn’t use more words than she had to.
‘Both really.’ Asked Charlotte. There was something about Fae that the two new girls found absolutely wonderful, and alluring. She was direct and in control, yet at the same time exuded shyness. She didn’t make eye contact too often, but when she did it was quite electrifying. Her accent was from the North east of England, she was interesting, and sexy.
‘Ah, well you see next door we smoke and drink stuff. It sends you to cuckoo land, away with the little people. Have you tried it? It’s relaxing, both are made from poppy seeds.’
Opium and laudanum were something the girls had not tried, and both looked quite shocked which amused Fae.
‘In here is where I get my major fix. Pain, I can take pain, and I like to be humiliated. I can take one hundred and twenty strokes of the cane easily, and I like to be flogged on my back and bum with a flogger too, even a whip!”


This was obviously meant to shock as much as the opium and laudanum announcement, and both girls did look a little taken aback.


She walked to the back of the room and opened the wardrobe. A huge array of paddles, floggers, whips and other implements greeted their eyes. ‘This is my personal collection, all presents from my lady friends, look each one has the name of the woman who gave it to me burnt on it somewhere.’


The girls walked forward to take a peek.


‘One thing I don’t do is let them brand me, huh! Not having any of that, thank you very much. Look at this.’ She drew her shoulder clear of her top garment and showed them a name, cut into her flesh. It was now a scar. She looked proudly at her scar.


The name was Annabelle.


The girls didn’t ask, they knew they would find out one day. Silence descended on the room like a fog, and they thought it was time to leave but Fae walked to a booth, picked up a tube from a heated tall glass Turkish pipe and drew a long draw and spoke in a different tone. She put on a pair of round brass goggles, they blocked the light and helped her relax. ‘See ya! Glad you escaped the clutches of Jacqueline, that evil bitch needs a dagger in the heart. She’ll search for us you know. I hate her, so does Victoria. Let me tell you something.’ She beckoned them close with a forefinger.
The two girls hated the reminder of the lady and walked closely together, hand in hand towards their new friend. They found it hard to concentrate on a girl in school uniform wearing brass goggles and a purple bowler hat, with a feather.


‘I saw inside the black cellar. It had the stench of blood and filled me with terror. Believe me, that takes some doing. She had implements and apparatus, which in all honesty I didn’t mind, they were well made and at first I thought oooh nice! But it wasn’t like here, it wasn’t a pleasure thing. Maybe for her the sick bitch, but not for me. She fucked my arse so many times, with all sorts. But she had this thing she strapped to her groin and it was horrible, she made me bleed, she used it hard and fast. I never use that hole other than for shitting out of now! That bitches face was that of a shark, her eyes went balck when she used that on me , they had no feeling, it was lust of blood and pain which satisfied that merciless cow! If ever she gets to me I’ll kill the bitch, I’ll use Bess on her arse and blow a hole right up to her fucking brains and beyond. You mark my words!’


Charlotte had to ask. ‘Who is Bess, we haven’t met a Bess.’
Fae laughed a hearty laugh. ‘You are so naive, it’ll be the making or the breaking of you girl! Meet Bess.’ She put her hand up her skirt and pulled out a small one handed blunderbuss.


Both the girls eyes went wide, and they fell silent.


‘Believe me girls, I’ll use this on her and laugh. I’d shove it right up to the bitches arse hole and pull the trigger after I say something I have wanted to say for years!’


She waited for a response but all she got were two awestruck unblinking stares. They shuffled uneasily from foot to foot, they wanted to know what she would say, but words would not come out.


She looked from one to the other, leaned forward and said in a cold hearted voice. ‘I’d say that she had fucked my arse just one too many times, and it was my turn to fuck hers with this mother fucking bastard, I’d pull the trigger with a grin and KABOOOOM!


Fae’s eyes rolled up into her head as she sank back into her chair, a grin spread across her face. She had slipped into another opium induced trance.


They held hands, looked at each other, and walked away quietly, back to the foyer.


Deborah knew they would be coming to her so she rushed back down the passages and went to the door to look out onto the street. She did this often, sometimes in a creaking old rocking chair. That woman was there again. She had been prowling around all day, she looked vaguely familiar.


The two girls walked up behind her and said hello.


Deborah turned to greet them and gave them both a hug.
The lady dressed in forest green with tan kid leather gloves and boots was watching the reflection in the pawn shop window. She spoke to herself. ‘There you are you little whores. Enjoy your happiness while you can, I’ll get you in my black cellar soon and whip your hide off.’ She thrust her parasol up and strutted away.


Deborah turned to look at her, and thought that it was strange how she almost ran away.


The two girls said how much they had enjoyed their look around, and that they were worn out, so Deborah told them to go to one last place, and relax a while.


‘Where?’ They both asked. Hadn’t they seen it all yet?


‘Let me take you to the spanking booths.’


The two girls could hardly take any more in, but they followed obediently.


They walked down a long corridor which must have run all the way round the theatre, they went up some stairs and to a door. It was a mahogany door, with a brass sign. Which simply stated ‘The Booths’.


‘Come back to my room when you are relaxed, and we’ll have tea.’


The two girls nodded and entered. The huge room was circular, with just what the door had said, booths measuring about ten feet square all the way around underneath mahogany archways. None had doors, this was the place for public spankings. Remarkably all the booths were full. For a few seconds they all stopped, but then the room soon filled with the echo of slaps, spanks, smacks and yelps again. Before them was a myriad of live action spanking scenes taking place. Customers were using Inveigle Girls, and some Inveigle Girls were using customers. Scenes of all descriptions were being acted out to suit the fantasies of the paying women. The public display was to enchant the onlookers and satisfy the exhibitionists, or the desire for public humiliation
In the middle of the room was a magnificent circular seat. It went up to a point in the middle like a bishop’s seat in a cathedral. Around it were four plush soft seats made for couples. They took their places in two, after picking their favourite scene to sit before.
The room was also filled with another noise, the soft moist noise of well rubbed pussies. Soon the room was filled with the noise of two tumultuous orgasms as the girls satisfied themselves.

NOTE….just remember this is a story, a novel being created before you. It is just a draft.

Much more to come, we are off to the circus soon!

What Spanking Means to Me – by Asa Jones

What a subject to tackle, how long would someone read it? I think it best not to ramble in this one, so…

In my early years it was all about watching. I have no idea when I became so endeared to the female bottom, but it must have been very early, and spanking soon followed. The chance to see a bare female bottom. From the films and the number of spankings I saw for real, soon helped it all become a major part of me, and my psyche. By the age of my first masturbations it was my favourite fantasy to close my eyes to.

I have already told you of my young schoolgirl girlfriend and my first experiences. I have told you of my journey through my spanking services to needy naughty young women, to where I am now, with my own studio and various other spanking places, and most of all, my girls. My three beautiful friends who love spanking, each blessed with God’s finest creation…a very spankable bottom. How many spankings have I given?……Hmmm…definitely in the high hundreds, and if someone told me it had passed a thousand, it would not surprise me.

What I do know is, I want to do it more. My love of the female bottom, and smacking it, knows no boundary. It stretches off in every possible direction to infinity. I could wax lyrical about all my plans, which alas will never be completed. What I do want to say is…why?

The bottom, it has to start with the bottom.

Especially a freshly spanked one like Kate’s here. Aren’t they fucking beautiful? Not just to look at, or smack, but to feel.

Expectation…

There is something about meeting a woman fully dressed and looking pretty, and knowing that very soon you are going to spank her. As a gentleman I show her through the door first, politely, holding it open. Which in part is true, but also, it gives a chance to stare, and appraise.

This could be any situation, a head teacher watching a naughty girl walk by him to the centre of the room. A client coming for a spanking. A model coming for a spanking shoot. Wether in a skirt, a suit, a uniform or jeans, that first glance, knowing what is to happen, is fantastic.

Talking about it, and why they need one, comes next.

Over the years I have spent hours and hours talking to a pretty face about spanking. A client telling me how they bullied someone, or just that they have a need to feel pain in their bottom. Or telling my girls and the many other willing girls on the journey, what is going to happen.

The decision.

To see a girl, (wether in school uniform, or like one lady who visits me in a bright red business suit, or anything between), accept what is to happen and agree, is fantastic. The look down maybe. The blush. The biting of the lip. The tremble. The gasp…basically, the reaction.

Like Samantha here, she has just spoken to Charlotte, telling her why and what. And Charlotte has accepted.

The roles are confirmed, one is to punish, the other to be punished.

For me, in the first category, seeing a girl in that situation, is so, sooo, sooooo sexy.

Preparation

To see a girl bare her bottom or bare it for her and put her in position.

Samantha demonstrates again, no matter what the position, no matter where, it is like settling into a plush seat in a theatre, and watching the curtains open.

God yes! The baring of the bottom……mmmmmmm!

The first smack from cold, no matter what with, either hand or implement.

Over my knee, bent over a desk, bent over as they stand… Any position at all, it does not matter.

Those first smacks. Seeing the bottom bounce, listening to the squeals, watching the movements and….and…

The marks!

Claudia here is experiencing it as Charlotte feels the first smacks!

The zone!

Fuck me! When in the zone, with the girl gripped or restrained, or keeping her position. Nothing is finer!

Whack, whack, whack, whack….and on and on!

The wriggling, the begging, the screams and squeals!

The world fades.

You both go on a journey of pleasure and inflicted pain, or pleasure and inflicting pain.

Something tells you, breathless and satisfied. It is time to stop.

You look at your work…

The intensity does not matter, I have caned to blood, and spanked to pale blushing pink, and everything in between.

It is over, the reasons, whys, and wherefore are done.

Satisfaction is reached. Chastisements are over.

Corner time.

Time for the sore bottomed girl like Stephanie here, to reflect, and for me to relax and drink it in.

Then for me, after the girls have gone, I masturbate…re-living every second.

And there you have it…my reasons for loving it!

Asa