An American Artist in Derbyshire

I came across a work of art. It’s subtle understated beauty and simplicity beguiled me. Here it is. I suspect it is the artist herself…..

Well, okay, the beautifully crafted glimpse of a female bottom attracted my attention too.

As you now, I like to paint as well, but I could not achieve this. And if I could, I don’t have the time.

I have a long corridor at my studio, the walls are bare, and my mind wandered…”wouldn’t paintings of all my girls look fabulous on these walls.”

A month later and I have commissioned my first three! The artist is Susan Maxwell Scmidt, you can see her work here…

http://Susanmaxwellscmidt.pixels.com/

…if it does not go straight to her page, it doesn’t always, then type her name in the search box and you will be there in seconds, I recommend it highly.

She seems a lovely young lady. Of course I have had to tell her about my work and what I do. Me being me, I went a little too far one day when I said…”do you mind calling me Mr.Jones like my girls do.

Her reply was short, and a little sharp…

“I am not one of your girls!”

In the blink of an eye, in my minds eye, I was back in a 1930’s black and white movie, something like a Daphne du Mauriert film.

In my mind Lauren Bacall, or some similar beautiful vintage actress looked at me…inside a beautiful English mansion and said those words…

Inspiration had struck again…a story was born…

She forgave me, in real life of course, and carries on calling me Asa. Sometimes I have to remind myself…::sigh:: not all women like spanking.

But it is her art I like, I do not know her in life, she is here to serve a purpose, to do work for me.

Georgia is a model I know with a taste for a spanking and a beautiful face. Yes and a beautiful bottom too. She shot straight into my mind for this story. Because of her expressive face.

“Well, that may well be what you like, but I am NOT one of your girls?”

A conversation later and she eagerly agreed…

And thus, I began writing a story. The beauty of story writing is that anything can happen. The artist can like the idea of spanking, or being spanked…::smile::

The Story…

Photos of Georgia’s lovely expressions will crop up at opportune moments in black and white…

I have told you of where I live, in Derbyshire, England. A beautiful place to spend your life. To the north of the county is where I live, quite near what some people would call the desolate windswept moors. But not me, I think they are a beautiful atmospheric place of stunning beauty, somehow, you seem very close to the sky.

There, near a town called Hathersage is a winding lane, leading up from a fine old public house. It leads to Stanage Edge, which was used in the film Pride and Prejudice, where you saw Keira Knightly stood welcoming a sunrise there. In fact, the local radio produced a list of the top ten things to do in Derbyshire before you die. One was, watch a sunrise on Stanage Edge. It is wonderful, I have seen it myself.

If ever you go, try to stand near the cave known as Robin Hood’s Cave, it’s amazing. A secret little passage leads you to a little opening on the cliff face. You can stand on a ledge, with a small stone wall for protection, and peer out. Can you see it below Keira?

Here is the inside, looking out. If you do, look down into the valley, on the right you will see a group of hamlets, (I have spoken of them before, in other stories). In a clump of trees you will see a very old house. ‘Inveigle House’.

Having found the painting mentioned above I wrote to the artist. Telling her exactly what I do, and asking if she would come to paint my girls. She was a little reluctant, but after offering a good salary, free board and lodgings, and paying for her return flight. She agreed.

I asked her to paint twenty, and we agreed to two months work, after which I agreed to paying for a hire car, and some stops in some lovely country hotels, in the ‘touristy’ parts of the U.K. so she could see the sights.

She had never been to England, and a morning arrival in Machester saw her walk into our lovely land. I met her at arrivals and after a brief introduction, I escorted her to my car. She seemed pretty much as I imagined, polite, cheerful, grateful for the work, and excited. But the travel from Washington overnight had taken it’s toll. She was tired.

‘…she was tired’

There was a chill in the morning air, and I put the heater in the car quite high. I am not a fast driver, I am a smooth driver, I think I would make rather a good chauffeur. Once initial introductions were done, I could see she was ready for sleep, I invited her to recline and rest. The drive from Manchester to where I live, is easy, most of it on the M62 Motorway. I cruised along, with her sleeping soundly.

Two and a quarter hours later, I pulled into the courtyard of my house. I quietly, and gently tapped her shoulder. “We are here Georgia.”

In a state of shock, she awoke, wondering where in the world she was. I smiled at her confusion, and smiling my warmest smile, I reminded her. “I am Asa, you have come to paint bottoms for me.”

Her eyes focussed, she stifled a yawn. Then with a lovely radiant smile she looked at me warmly. “Of course!”

I told her to get out when ready, I nodded to the door at the back of the house, “We’ll go in this way. I’ll Just get your luggage out of the boot”

She hastily helped by getting her personal bags out of the boot, “Boot?” She asked.

“It’s what we call the trunk!” I grinned. “After you.”

She stopped at the sight of Henry, my pet goose. He can be intimidating when he hisses.

‘…she stopped at the sight of Henry’

“Come this other way, he is trained you see.”

“Trained?”

I smiled to myself as I heard her trudge behind to the next door, in the old part of my house, as we walked through my rather random garden.

“To peck bottoms! Especially pert ones, so be careful.”

“Has he just told me I have a pert bottom?” She queried herself.

‘….has he just told me I have a pert bottom?’

We reached the favourite door of my house, it leads into what I call the bakery, there is a kitchen attached, but I like to keep this oven for baking only.

“Oh wow…this door is amazing!how old is it?”

“Around three hundred years. It has a lovely voice.”

She looked puzzled.

With a long groaning creak, I let the door swing slowly on its hinges. “There!”

“Oh I see!” She giggled.

“Perhaps you had better hurry on in, Henry will come soon, he always does, he likes to guard our doors.”

And soon enough, waddling Henry came running. Without thinking she put her bags down, guarded her bottom and ran in. To find Samantha baking, in her little black apron.

“Oh, are you the American? I’m Samantha, pleased to meet you. I would shake hands but I am in a little bit of a pickle just now.” Said Samantha with her heart warming smile.

“Hi.” Georgia replied softly, trying not to stare at Samantha’s bottom.

Here will be a photo of Georgia’s face.

Another of Georgia’s face…

I shooed Henry away and put the bags in the entry porch. Then followed to find Georgia stood speechless.

“The sight of bare bottoms is something you are going to have to get used to I’m afraid! Go into the kitchen, through the red door, you can have a cup of tea whilst I carry your bags up, Charnie is in there, she’ll see to you, go and introduce yourself.”

Georgia went in, and like a lot of people seeing my kitchen for the first time, stood in amazement at its quirkiness. Charnie was busy at the cooker.

Georgia coughed politely and said “Hi, I’m Georgia.”

“Hello, I’m just making a drink, would you like a cup of tea after your journey?”

“Oh, sorry, coffee please, I drink Coffee.”

“No problem, milky or black with cream or something? A biscuit? Or if you are starving I’ll cook you something.”

“A coffee and a biscuit for me, would be lovely, I need to close my eyes for an hour or so, Asa is just taking my luggage up.”

“Wow! You call Mr.Jones Asa?”

Georgia sat down, and was soon served coffee and chocolate cookies.

I soon came to collect her, and a sleepy Georgia smiled bravely.

“Oh bless you, you look worn out, let’s get you up to your room, you must need forty winks after your ravelling.

Within quarter of an hour, she was fast asleep. Until morning!