Cream of the Crop Page 4

  I undress slowly, carefully, down to my all-white almost coy undies.

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Come on, Jan.’

  ‘Aren’t you impatient when you have a new implement to spank me with!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Just like a kid with a new toy!’

  ‘And you’re willing to go along with it and if I get any more insolence from you, my girl, I’ll really spank you with this!’

  ‘All right, all right!’

  Undies are tossed to the floor and I stand before him, naked, waiting. ‘How do you want me?’

  ‘Let’s have a change, you lie over the ottoman, all right?’

  In some ways it’s more comfortable than being over Bob’s lap, the padded top of the ottoman is soft to my nude body. Bob’s caresses are exciting, as always. He traces the line of my spine, ending up between my cheeks, then moves down to the moistness which is waiting for his cock - later.

  ‘You’re so nice and soft.’

  ‘Aren’t I just?’

  ‘Conceited, too, we’ll knock some of that out of you!’

  ‘Ouch! That hurt!’

  ‘Made a beautiful red mark, Jan.’

  ‘Oh that hurts!’

  I can’t describe it, the solid impact of wood on my soft bottom is - nasty!

  ‘I won t give you many of these.’

  ‘Thank you for that - Ow!’ That landed on the other cheek. It’s the unyielding solidness of it, I think, it really is awful. But the excitement is there, I feel the thrill as I wait, fearfully, for the next slap - which hurts even more - as it comes on top of the other ones I’ve had. The fourth slap brings tears, I can’t help it, it really does hurt. Immediately Bob drops the brush and holds me close.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jan, we won’t try that again.’ He quickly wipes away my tears, and I smile.

  ‘It hurt. Bob, but oh I’m ready for you!’

  And the lovemaking is as passionate as always.

  There is a large brown envelope in the hall, addressed to Bob. It’s padded. I’ve pushed and poked and I don’t know what it is! There is some other boring mail, circulars and so on, but this packet is intriguing me. I just called my friend Sonia and she’s out. Madge next door is at her mother’s and I’m bored. I wish I knew what was in this envelope. Isn’t it silly when something can obsess you so much? If only I had something else to think about, wouldn’t bother me so much, I’m sure.

  The day has been endless, but Bob is home at last, eyeing me carefully as he looks through the bills and stuff I left for him. What an infuriating person he is! At last he is slowly opening the packet. He has pulled out and is straightening out - a cane!

  ‘You didn’t say you were getting that!’

  ‘You would have said no.’

  ‘Yes, I would.’

  ‘So I ordered it anyway. As I told you, no spanking games are complete without the cane.’

  I confess to being secretly thrilled but I’m not letting Bob know that!

  ‘We’ll try it tonight.’

  ‘Must we?’

  ‘Do you realise how many times you say that?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Bob’s hardly looked at the television screen tonight, he has his mind on other things. When we go up, I see he has laid the cane on the ottoman ready and I feel my stomach leap.

  ‘Any fancy dress tonight?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Shame.’

  ‘I don’t think it really matters tonight.’

  ‘You’re right, not tonight - what did you say a while back? That I was like a kid with a new toy when I had a new spanking implement?’

  ‘And you are too, look at you!’

  All his clothes are piled in an untidy heap on the floor and he is waiting for me to undress.

  ‘Wait!’ I can sense his impatience.

  Finally I am undressed and my hair is brushed out.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Do you want to lie on the bed?’

  ‘Not a bad idea.’

  I lie flat on the bed, watching Bob out of the corner of my eye. This will be yet another new experience. I hope it doesn’t hurt as much as I think it will.

  ‘All right? Are you ready for this?’

  ‘Oooowwwww!’

  No, I wasn’t ready but it makes no difference. A searing line has burned its way across my bottom.

  ‘Oh, look at that.’ Bob’s voice is full of admiration for his own handiwork.

  ‘Bob, that hurts!’

  ‘Canes are supposed to, my dear, it would be useless if they didn’t.’

  ‘OUCH!’ He’s laid that one just below the other line, which had just settled down to hurting and not burning.

  Now it’s started up again in sympathy with the new line, or it feels that way anyway!

  ‘It’s part of the fun seeing if I can keep them in a straight line. We don’t want them overlapping, do we?’

  ‘No, we don’t - Ooww!’ There are now three burning lines.

  ‘Can you hear the noise as it comes through the air? Can you hear that swish? Listen!’

  ‘OOOOOOWWWW!’

  ‘Only two more and I’ll stop for the night. One. Two.’

  I scramble off the bed to look; six neat lines etched in red on my bottom and boy do they sting! A horrid smarting feeling, a burning sort of sensation and rubbing doesn’t help.

  ‘No? Yes?’

  ‘No yes what?’

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘No I don’t!’

  ‘Hasn’t it done anything for you?’

  ‘No.’ But I’m lying, and I think he knows it too! It’s a different sensation, quite different from all the other spankings I’ve had over the last few weeks and will take a bit of getting used to. But, now the smarting sensation has settled down to a glow, yes, I’m about ready for bed.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts?’

  ‘I was thinking about the caning I’ve just had and how not that long ago I would never have dreamed of letting you do such a thing to me!’

  ‘I certainly think the warm,-up spanking and then a caning is very effective.’

  ‘It’s very painful. I’m not sure I’d want to do that every time.’

  ‘I didn’t say we’d do it every time, just every now and then, because I’m not giving up the pure pleasure of putting you across my knee and spanking your bare bottom bright red!’

  ‘Thank you, it’s nice to know you still appreciate the simpler things of life!’

  ‘Oh yes, my love, I think your initiation into the joys of spanking is just about complete.’

  And I think it is.

  Being Prepared

  A small sideline of fantasy for you.

  Imagine the following situation: You are out for an evening with the lady of your dreams, or if need be, your wife or girlfriend - and you, during the course of that evening, have managed to injure the hand you use to do that which ladies’ behinds are made for.

  Right? With me so far? There you are, out for the evening and you’ve slammed the car or restaurant door on your spanking hand. It is cool driving along, the stars are twinkling m the deep velvet blue sky, it is too nice to go home so you pull over somewhere and take a slow walk.

  And she starts playing you up.

  Now remember you have an injured hand, and it could happen to any of us, could it not? So what do you do about it?

  Your first reaction might be that you could cut a hazel switch and bend the lady over a convenient log or park bench to administer something closely resembling six of the best across her waiting, quivering, cheeks un
til you can get home and produce the rattan cane - which as we all know is the only true implement with which to administer six of the Very Best. But hazel switches sometimes need knives to cut them with.

  So here’s my first item of emergency spanking kit, a knife.

  Another good idea, and an essential part of the kit too could be a nice wide leather belt holding up the trousers. That would make a very deep impression on the bottom of e young lady who has been cheeking you most of the evening, thinking, no doubt, that with an injured hand she would get away with it!

  I’m full of ideas today. How about taking to wearing moccasins as part of your wardrobe? Soft leather flexible, whacky moccasins - hold on, they might be dirty from walking - well, bottoms can be washed, can’t they? So down with the knickers and give her a dozen or so good sound whacks with your moccasin.

  Holidays now. Don’t forget an essential part of packing your suitcase must be the curling round inside the case your specially oiled tawse. It will take up very little room, will fit into a rounded comer, and be available for the unwilling rear end presented to you over the end of the hotel bed. I know hotel walls are notoriously thin but, unless you have fine upstanding English guests rooming next door, who understand that these things are a part of the English way of life (by George!), a foreigner will dismiss the sound as that of you banging the creases out of your clothes, unless of course the lady makes too much noise - in which case the cravat you remembered to pack will make a good gag!

  Whatever happens, be prepared. Never leave home without something on or around you that will prove more useful in your good right or left hand. It wouldn’t do to let an opportunity go by, would it?

  Party Games

  This was written after we attempted to spice up our own love-making. There have been other articles on the same subject, with variations, but they all come down to the same thing in the end, two people making it fun to be together.

  Here comes a very personal question. It’s up to you whether you answer it or not. Did you get a spanking last night? If you did, was it the same boring old routine? You know how it goes, don’t you, come on then: you’re over the knees, your skirt’s being turned back, your tights and knickers are pulled down, you’re lying there, staring at the carpet and wondering how hard it’ll be, or maybe you don’t even need to wonder that! You’re feeling cold and very, very vulnerable and then the first hard slap makes you squeal, was it a bit like that?

  Not a spanking, I hear you say, a caning. Oh well, that too can be rather boring, bent over the bed, the chair, the table, the desk or whatever, cold, bare, trembling a little. All jelly and butterflies inside, feeling the cold touch of the cane as he measures his distance, the sudden swish as the cane flies through the air to land with a thwack on your bottom, making you jump. Was it a bit like that?

  From beyond the border I heard someone cry ‘I got the tawse!’ Did you? Substitute the smack of solid leather for the swish of the cane and the sensation is about the same. Likewise the belt. Or a birch. The only difference with the birch is the sensation, like being stung by a hundred nettles at the same time all over! You know only too well whether you bend over the chair, the settee, the table, the bed or bend and touch your toes for whatever it is decreed you’re going to get this time - wouldn’t you like a bit of variation?

  I’ve got a new game for you to play. It involves a little thought and a little preparation. I think you’ll enjoy the anticipation and excitement of planning almost as much as the game - almost...

  Are you interested? If you’re sitting comfortably, I’ll begin and you can be sure you won’t be sitting quite so comfortably if you play the game properly!

  You will need two dice (we made one of our dice red - you’ll discover the reason why shortly), a piece of paper and a pen. Now, in your place of residence, if you are an avid and loyal reader and supporter of CP magazines, you will have around you certain implements for inflicting pain and soreness on someone’s rear end. I’d like you to pick six of these implements and write them down across the sheet of paper, then underneath you write the numbers 1-6. For example:

  slipper hairbrush tawse paddle birch cane

  123456

  Are you getting the idea yet? (If not, why not?)

  You throw the dice together. The first dice will decree which implement is to be used, the second decrees how many you get. NOW do you see why we have a red dice – all clever stuff, this!

  I can hear the dominants protesting right now that you might throw a 6 and a 1. One stroke of the cane? Is that all? Disappointment reigns, that’ll never do for an evening’s entertainment! I agree, which is why we play the game like this.

  Half naked, I roll the dice onto the hearthrug. It shows me 1 and 4. I go over his knees protesting (!) for four smacks with my slipper, which stings. I get up and roll the dice again. 3 and 5. Must I? I must. I bend over the arm of the settee for five stinging whacks with the tawse. I get up, roll the dice and decree myself three with the cane.

  And so it goes and you decide when your rear end cries enough! Then it’s time for bed!

  We decided, after some discussion that our punishment routine also needed sparking up a bit, so one evening he carefully cut out squares of white cardboard, about one inch square. He decreed the lowest figure I’d get, five in our case (you pick your own), and he numbered the squares in bold numbers 5 to 18. Then they were all turned over, mixed around thoroughly and on the back of each card he wrote things like brush, slipper, cane L, cane M, birch, tawse and so on until the squares were complete.

  Then we turned the cards over and I began to get shocks and nasty feelings in the pit of my stomach. Fate decreed by the mixing of the cards and random selection that I could, if I were unlucky, get eighteen with our large cane, seventeen with the tawse, twelve with the birch and so on. I only breathed easier when I got nearer the lower numbers!

  These squares are kept in an envelope marked Lucky Dip and it’s all down to me now. If I’m insolent, sarcastic, difficult or contrary, or if I behave in the way any normal person would during the course of a day, I am told I have to take one card. If I persist in my bad behaviour then of course I would have to take more cards out. It is now a common saying in our house ‘three lucky dips tonight,’ and if I am foolish enough to trespass on goodwill and go past three lucky dips, then he takes the fourth square out! I can assure you it is with considerable apprehension that I select those squares and, as I am naturally short sighted without my glasses and don’t wear glasses in the bedroom at bedtime, when I take out the card and give it to him to pass sentence, I wait fearfully for the sigh of satisfaction which means that I’ve picked out a high number.

  It has improved the ‘punishment’ sessions no end, I can assure you!

  Crazy? Perhaps. Unfair? Of course not, it all depends on the fickle finger of Fate. Fun? Definitely.

  Enjoy yourselves…

  A Note for Benny

  Quite a few years ago I read an advertisement in a contact magazine just like the one featured in this story. I’ll never know if the advertiser had any takers for his service - what I do know, and can assure him should he chance to read this book, is that I have had many a happy hour and orgasm fantasising over being sent to him! And I got a story out of it as well. It would be nice to think he had some response too. On re-reading this story, I’ve realised it is virtually every man’s dream - compliant women who will go along with the instruction to visit someone for punishment! Or, being the person who puts out the advertisement. Dream on, guys!

  ‘Anne!’

  ‘Oh!’ I’ve just realised what I’ve said, and it’s too late to do anything about it. I can’t snatch words back out of the air.

  ‘Right, that really is it, I’ve had enough - I’ll write a note for Benny, and put a stop to your games!’

  ‘Tom, no!’

  ‘And you can walk th
ere and walk back too!’

  ‘TOM!’

  He’s walking off, he means it, I’ve done it this time.

  Oh no, not a note for Benny! Last time was bad enough!

  Tom’s coming back, has he relented?

  ‘What did Benny give you last time?’

  ‘Twelve with the hairbrush.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Oh Tom it’s -’

  ‘I wasn’t there, remember? I want to know, how do I know what to tell him to give you this time?’

  ‘I leaned over the arm of his big armchair and I got twelve with a wooden hairbrush over my knickers.’

  ‘Obviously didn’t do you any good, or you’d not be insulting me now. So we’ll make it on the bare bottom this time.’

  ‘Make what?’

  ‘You’ll find out when you get there.’

  I’ve gone all cold and my insides have turned to jelly. Benny hurts!

  ‘Tom, won’t you do it, just this time? I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to call you that, please, I’m sorry!’

  ‘Despite what you just called me, and the fact you’ve been looking for an argument for three days now, I love you very much. If you started crying I’d have to stop, you wouldn’t get punished then, would you? Why do you think we send our wives to Benny?’

  ‘I know, I was just hoping -’

  ‘That this time I’d give in. You’re lucky, you’ve only been once to Benny, I know Jack has sent Susie four times now!’

  ‘Four times? Wow!’

  ‘I’ve put up with a lot from you, it’s time you had your knickers taken down and were given a hiding you won’t forget in a hurry.’

  There’s nothing to say, is there? What do you say to a husband who looks as angry as Tom does, and who is writing busily, explaining my ‘crime’ to Benny and working out a punishment? How I wish Benny had never come along. We used to be happy around here!

  I remember when the advertisement came through the door, on a sheet of yellow paper. It simply said: