Uncle Redmoon ~ Part Two

This is another story written between myself and my dear friend ‘B,’ to read the rest and find out more of our adventures, click here…



Uncle Redmoon part 2

“Hello, you sound nervous. That is natural. Right now you are in the same situation as a girl who has just knocked on the door of the Headmaster’s study. You are right to be nervous, you are a naughty young lady, in need of a good spanking on her bare bottom. I am your personal trainer of sorts. I am your personal disciplinarian. I am here to correct you. I am Mr. Redmoon.”

I gulped before muttering a pitiful. “Yes Sir.”

He then gave me an appointment, and it was only three miles away. “And you will write a paragraph, to read out to me, explaining why you need me.”

I pathetically repeated. “Yes Sir.”

Next day at the bank, Anna was no longer wearing her shortish schoolgirl like skirt, and she grilled me. “Yesterday you were called by the Super, was it because of the F you got for the accounting test? What did she tell you? Did she give you the card for Uncle Redmoon? Have you made an appointment?”

Repeating yes three times didn’t satisfy Anna’s curiosity, and adding that I made an appointment sparked another question. “Where? The Old Silk Mill?”


“Ah! Same Uncle Redmoon as me. He is a retired teach, prof or headmaster, and a photographer.”

I nodded and frowned, I don’t want to be photographed.

“Did she give you a Christmas shift? What did she say?”

“No Chrimbo shift, because it’s my first. She said that if I were her daughter, she would apply a hairbrush to my bum till it glows, and dared me to call Uncle Redmoon.”

I added with a wink. “She also mentioned that you did, and that your grades have improved!”

It was fun to see her blushing. I asked how to dress for my appointment, and she warned. “Best to wear a skirt, I did and he complimented me for it.”
Anna helped me write my little speech. “I have been lazy, hadn’t prepared enough for my test, and flunked it. I guess that I deserve to be punished. It will, hopefully, teach me to better apply myself. The grades of my friend Anna have improved after each of her visits. I really want that certificate, I don’t want to be a teller forever…”

The dreaded day of my appointment came sooner than later. I decided to wear an A line skirt that wouldn’t fly with the first gust of wind, and expose my crimson bottom when riding back home. I had no doubt that I would get a fiery bum.

I parked my bike next to a classic automobile under a tiled shed jousting an old, but well maintained cottage with a lovely garden. I tugged my skirt, took a deep breath and gently knocked…

On the other side of the door…

I was editing some photographs in my personal study when I heard the knock. Or was it a butterfly landing on the knocker?

I opened the door, and there before me was a delightful young lady in a pretty ‘A Line’ skirt, and I noticed over her shoulder that her bike next to my Wolsey 16/60. If she had marked my car she would be bent over the boot of it and spanked…after driving her somewhere with people around, first.

I ushered her in gently, and showed her to the ante room of my main study.

It has a fireplace, two chairs, and a few photographs, and a writing desk. Behind those is a mock up classroom. Opposite the door we entered is another door marked ‘Study’. The air is scented with the smell of beeswax and age, because all the items are old and cared for. It felt like she was walking into another time, another age, like walking from a colour photograph into sepia, or black and white.

There is also a rattan screen, hanging over it is a school uniform. On the desk are two parcels and a book, her name is written on the book.

“Sit down Amelia”. I invited.

She sat, nervously.

“These two parcels contain two short kilts. A blue tartan for when you come here, a red tartan for when you leave, and to wear the next day. This way, everyone will know you are coming for punishment, and also, know that you have been punished. Whilst here for punishment, you will wear a punishment uniform. Whatever days of the week they are, and whatever you do, and wherever you go, you will follow the ‘tartan rules’, sign here.”   I felt a glow and signed.   I opened the book, I had hand written in copper plate writing, with my fountain pen, in indigo Quink ink, the aforementioned rules, plus a few others. “This is your punishment book. Sign here.” I pointed. “To show that you understand and accept the rules.”

She opened the book, she read through it, and duly signed it.

Underneath it was… ‘First Punishment – Bare bottom spanking over Uncle’s lap’.

“Now go behind the screen, and change into the uniform. Including school knickers and vest. In other words, strip completely naked, and just put on the clothes provided. Then come back and stand on the small stool, to read your words. Then we will decide how many smacks, 20, 30, 40 etc I always do multiples of ten, even with implements.”

She stood, and walked daintily, and nervously, to the folded, eight section, dark brown screen. I could see her ankles. Her knickers fell over her feet, and she stepped out of them. I saw the clothes pulled off the screen one piece at a time.


B and Asa

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