Sunday, 22 November 2015

A brand new story - The Reunion

Well, it's a lovely cold morning here in the UK, but don't worry - I have a sizzling hot new spanking story to warm the cockles of your heart, and perhaps one or two other places as well.

This story is, well, let's say semi-autobiographical. Some bits of it happened, with only the names being changed to protect the....well, innocent might be pushing it a bit.

Of course, much of it is pure fantasy from the fetid pits of my kinky mind; oh, but it's a wonderful place to be when the creative juices get to bubbling away.

Next week's story if about half written; it's set in the 1960's, and I'm having lots of fun with it. So hurry back again next time around. For now though, please enjoy this story.

All the best


A Reunion

Hera, my mother-in-law's beautiful Belgian Shepard, pulled at her leash, and set off at another tangent across the wide grass verge.

She was a powerfully built dog, a bit smaller than an alsatian, with similar looks but shaggier fur, and following the path of least resistance seemed the best option. She darted around, nose pushed deep into the overlong fronds, her tail wagging furiously, as I let her lead me.

She snorted her way past one spot, and then suddenly zigzagged back to it. After one final sniff it apparently met with her approval, as she turned, and squatted. Finding the correct spot to use as her toilet was important to Hera.

She did her business in an unhurried manner, then rose and walked a couple of paces away, before sitting down, front legs straight and her back making a perfect diagonal. Hera was experienced, and knew what came next.

I took a small clear plastic bag from my jacket pocket, and carefully surrounded the steaming smelly pile; lifting the bag to allow it's contents to slide down I quickly fastened off it's top. Attached to a nearby lamppost was a designated “doggie bin”, and into it went the finished masterpiece.

Civic duty completed, I gently encouraged Hera to explore more of the grass, in the general direction of home.

Traffic whizzed by on the busy main road, the occasional motorcycle arousing Hera's wrath, in a sudden tirade of gutteral cries. It paid to be aware of what traffic was coming, as each explosion of barks was accompanied by a dart towards the offender; a firm hand and a shortened leash was needed, and it was helpful to set your feet firmly too.

In this manner we wandered back along the verge, sidestepping the occasional reminders that not all dog owners were as conscientious in their observances.

We had been strolling back for around 10 minutes when I saw a pair of figures in the distance; one tall and slim, wearing a longish brown coat over brown jeans and boots, and the other old and stiff, trudging along dutifully, and, now and then, stopping to sniff the odd area that bore investigation.

As they got nearer the human member of the duo proved to be a fairly attractive woman of around my age, with long straight blond hair, and slightly sharp aquiline features. The shorter member was an old terrier of some sort, round and rolling as he walked.

I shortened Hera's leash; she didn't often play well with other dogs, and she was easily twice the size of the newcomer. Pulling her over to my side and telling her to heel, I prepared to pass these interlopers.

“Excuse me, but is that Hera?” Her voice had a local tone, and was clear as a bell.

“Yes, it is”

“Sheila's Hera? I heard she was ill. How is she?”

“She's not to bad, thanks. Waiting to go into hospital for an operation on her bowel; there's some sort of blockage.”

“That sounds horrid! Please, you will give her my best wishes, won't you?”

I nodded that I would, and prepared to continue our mission; names weren't necessary, a description of the dog would tell Sheila who her well wisher was.

“Erm, are you Tim Waugh?”

Startled, I turned to face her once more; I was not usually notorious enough to be recognised in the street.

“Well, yes, I am.”

“Ah, I heard that you'd married Sheila's daughter. I didn't know if you were still together.”

“Oh yes, 15 years now.”

“Don't you remember me?”

I peered at her; I've always been lousy at faces, but the hair looked somehow familiar, as did her build. It was no good; I shook my head. I couldn't dredge up a name at all.

“I'm Janelle Monty, from The Manor.”

Bloody Hell! Now I remembered her, from my senior school, and, in particular, from the Sixth Form. I'd always liked Jan, although I found her religious beliefs to be a bit intense. As I recalled, she had worshipped three things; the Lord, Cliff Richard and the Albion, at whose matches I would sometimes see her.

“Well, hello Jan! Wow, you've changed. You've filled out a bit; it really suits you.”

When we were 17 or so Janelle had been painfully thin; I remembered her at a Sixth Form party, in a very short pink dress, rubbing her bottom against me, and thinking it was the only bit of her with any flesh on it.

Now that we were reacquainted it seemed reasonable to look her up and down; I hadn't been wrong, she really did look much better now. Idly I wondered what her bottom might look like in her jeans; at close quarters I could see that they were quite snug.

“I was just about to head home; I live over in Acacia Avenue. The old boy can't take a long walk any more. Do you wanna walk with me?”

“Yes, of course. I'm glad of the company; Hera's a lovely dog but I do find that I talk to her as we walk, and she rarely keeps up her end of the conversation. How old is he?”

“Fourteen. He's a real old timer; I got him when I split up from my husband, and I'll be devastated to lose him. Mind you, he's costing me a fortune; he keeps eating stuff he shouldn't, and he's had to have three operations to get things out.”

As we walked we exchanged information; I was a self employed web designer, and she was a specialist baker. She had gotten married just out of school, and it had lasted barely five years, before he left her.

She lived alone in a small house that was entirely her own, bought with some money left to her by her mother when she passed away, soon after Jan's marriage had formally ended.

Her business was successful, and she still attended football matches at The Hawthorns, although musically she had (thankfully) moved on from Cliff. I chose not to ask about her relationship with the Lord.

“Do you still see any of them from the Sixth Form?” Whilst I had been at school with Jan for seven years in total, it was only really in the Sixth that we hit it off. It was only then that I actually started to enjoy school.

“Well, I see the two Julies sometimes.” These were two girls, both six feet tall, but totally different in every other way. One was spectacularly sporty, in particularly being a demon with a hockey stick, whilst the other was quiet and studious, and having no apparent interest in boys at all. “And Phil, 'cos he married Julie T, of course.”

“Yeah, I knew that. I still see Neil; he married a cousin of mine. And Paul Corbin, of course. Although he's gone odd.”

“He was always pretty odd. You were close with JC; what happened to him?”

“Dunno. We drifted apart. He came to my wedding, with Sonia. And I saw him occasionally on a Saturday, 'cos he kept working at Wednesbury Library, and I'd pop in to chat. But I haven't seen him for years.”

“Yeah. Sad. I miss the Sixth Form.”

“Me too. Best two years of my life, in some ways.”

“Hah! I remember that you enjoyed it. All that spanking!”

I blushed, and looked at the ground; it was whilst in the Sixth Form that my previously dormant interest in spanking had blossomed; so many girls, all willing to pop over my knee for a couple of dozen smacks.

Come to think of it, I wasn't the only one doing that. We had a very spanky Sixth Form.

I muttered my agreement, and changed the subject to our Head of Sixth Form, who had suddenly left teaching a couple of years after we finished at school, and taken over as club secretary at a local football team.

Time passed quickly as we chatted pleasantly, and soon we were approaching my mother-in-law's house.

“Are you living over here now?”

“For the time being. Until Sheila has had her op, and is well enough to look after herself.”

“Erm, well, would you like to pop in for coffee one morning? I only live five minutes from here. We could reminisce about the Sixth Form some more.”

This seemed harmless; I had enjoyed most of our chat, and Jan had always been good company.

“Yeah, I'd like that. How about tomorrow? Say, 11.00? I'll have walked Hera by then.”

“Fine. 11.00. I live at number 8; you know where the road is?”

“Just off the back of the shops? Yes, I do. I'll see you then.”

Jan continued on her way, and I walked up the drive to Sheila's back gate; she never used the front door. It creaked open as I pushed it, and Hera galloped off to check that all was well with her mistress.


Lying in bed that night, I found it hard to settle. Somehow I just couldn't get comfortable, and my rolling around kept pulling the bedclothes off of my wife, who was getting increasingly annoyed.

Finally I decided that I wasn't quite tired enough to sleep, so it would be sensible to give it up as a bad job, for now. I always found sleep easier to come by after an hour of reading, or watching a DVD.

The house was quiet; Sheila was a deep sleeper, and, weakened by her illness, she tended to take herself off to bed quite early.

I sat on the comfortable leather settee in the living room, and opened my Kindle. Flicking it into life the Travis McGee novel that I had just started to reread snatched at my imagination.

I read for about 30 minutes, before encroaching tiredness made concentration difficult. As my head nodded, my mind took a jog down memory lane, and followed the signposts leading to my Sixth Form years.

I was in the Library, early one afternoon, with Jan and Julie T. I was trying to write an essay on Angel Clare's hypocrisy (we were studying Tess of the D'Urberville's), whilst the girls were just chatting, and occasionally trying to distract me.

Jan had on a powder blue blouse, and a loose blue checked skirt that hung to mid shin. In her hands she had a bottle of Typex correction fluid, and she kept tightening and then loosening its lid.

Bits of the conversation floated into my consciousness, but I was concentrating on finding a way to call Angel a wanker, without actually saying that he was a wanker. I vaguely heard Julie T daring Jan to do something, but I wasn't aware of what.

Inspiration struck me, and I started to write, the words flowing as though I was plucking them from the air. My right hand moved across the paper, as my left held the exercise book steady.

I was suddenly aware of a slight wet feeling on the back of my left hand; as I focussed on it I saw a white cross, in typex, had miraculously appeared. Looking around I saw the rather mundane source of the stigmata; Jan, laughing at her cleverness, was pushing the small brush back into the Typex bottle.

Seeing the unimpressed look on my face, Jan stood, and turning, started to run deeper into the library. I leapt to my feet, grabbing a twelve inch plastic ruler as I did so, and took off after her.

It wasn't much of a chase; I caught up with her at the end of a row of book shelves, within seconds. At the far end of the isle was a low window ledge, and I pushed Jan towards it.

“Right, young lady, you've been asking for this.” I sat sidewards, and pulled her over my lap. Lifting the ruler I gave her six whacks across her skirt, which had been pulled tight as she fell across me.

I let her up, and was a bit surprised that the look on her face seemed to say “Well, is that all I get?”

Jerking awake in the cold of the early morning hours, I found that the memory had aroused me. I also felt some gentle disappointment; that was the only time I ever spanked Jan, beyond the occasional playful swat. It seemed a shame somehow.


The next morning was another cold but clear one, and I spent a bit longer walking Hera than I had intended.

Having returned her to Sheila, I set out for Janelle's. My breath painted a fog against the clear blue canvas of the chilly sky, and I felt that all was right with the world.

Just inside Acacia Avenue I found number eight. It had a neat, well cared for front garden, with a square lawn surrounded by flower beds filled with late autumn roses. The front of the house was well maintained too, with clean unmarked paintwork and freshly washed windows.

Jan clearly took a great deal of pride in her home.

I strode up the short path to the front door, and pressed the button for the bell. Inside the house it pinged it's thrice repeated note, and from behind the door came a suppressed giggle.

I took a step back, and the door swung open. Startled, I dived deep back into my dream of the previous night. Jan stood there in the same blue blouse and skirt I had remembered.

Seeing my reaction she laughed out loud, a deep chortle that shook her whole body and sent the twin streams of her hair dancing across her shoulders and chest. Unable to speak she beckoned me in, and backed away into the hall.

My head still swimming with surprise I followed her, pulling the door firmly shut behind me.

The hall was well decorated, and, at it's far end, opened into a very comfortable living room. Jan had collapsed into one large arm chair, and, legs drawn up before her, she rocked back and forth, huge giggling chuckles exploding from her.

I found a seat on the sofa across from her, and glared, in what I fondly imagined was a rather stern manner.

“Bloody Hell, Jan, you could have killed me!”

This prompted a further explosion of amusement.

“I wish I could still fit into my school clothes. They'd burst if I tried.”

This didn't help either, as clearly Jan retained a vivid imagination, and the mental picture set her off again.

Gradually she calmed down, and the ability to speak returned to her.

“Oh, Tim, your face was a picture. I've never actually seen someone's mouth fall open before. This skirt was a bit of a tight squeeze, but it was worth it. You were brilliant!”

“Honestly, you're still really slim, but you have filled out a bit. It does look good on you. The skirt too, if I'm honest.”

“Hey, you're a married man. Are you supposed to notice stuff like that?”

“I'm married, not a eunuch. You like really nice in those old clothes.”

“Ta. That makes it worth while too.”

Jan fetched coffee for us both, and settled back into her seat. I sampled the strong fresh brew with a satisfied sigh, and relaxed onto the comfortable cushions.

“So, why exactly did you decide to dress like that? Just to see my shocked expression, was it?”

“Umm, well, no, not exactly. Although I certainly enjoyed that.”

“Yeah, the laughter kind of gave that away!”

Jan chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it did a bit. But no, I said we'd reminisce, and, the clothes just seemed right. I got quite a thrill from putting them on; a bit like a naughty child, I suppose.”

“Oh, and you could be a naughty child, couldn't you?”

“Well, sometimes. I didn't get smacked all that often though. Hey! Do you remember when you spanked me with a ruler in the library?”

Wow. I was quite taken aback by that.

“Yeah, actually. Er, this sounds a bit creepy to say, but, well, I dreamed about it last night.”

“Did you really? I'm glad it made an impression.”

“Oh, Jan, you always made an impression on me.”

“You never asked me out though. I quite fancied you, most of the time.”

“Well, I might have, but I don't think we were ever single at the same time. Not for more than a day or two, anyway.”

“Nah, suppose not. It's a shame though.”

I nodded my agreement; what had passed was in the past, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

Jan bit her lip, and looked slightly embarrassed. She shook her head, and then straightened, as though a decision had been made.

“Tim, can I ask you something? It's a bit, well, awkward.”

I admit to being slightly concerned. Was I about to be propositioned? That would be beyond awkward.

“Er, you can ask. What is it?”

“Well, in the Sixth Form you were very keen on spanking. Are you still into that?”

It was my turn to look embarrassed.

“Oh, well, er, yes, I suppose so.”

“You suppose so? You're not very keen then, now?”

“Oh, yes, I am actually. But it's a bit hard to talk about. With someone I don't know that well.”

“But I'm an old friend! I knew you when, and all that. You can talk to me.”

“Yessss.” I drew the word out. “But I haven't seen you for years. The only people I normally talk to about spanking are, well, in the scene.”

“Oh, there's a scene?” Jan sounded delighted. “I wish I'd known that!”

“Well, why exactly?”

“My turn to be embarrassed. Again. The thing is, I've always been curious about being spanked.”

“But you got smacked as a child. You mentioned it.”

“Yeah, as a little child. I got a few whacks here and there. But not as a grown women. I mean, you spanked nearly all the girls in the Sixth, but I never ended up over your knee. I thought you didn't fancy me.”

“A lot of that came out of the Parties. I spanked lots of girls at them, and it sort of carried over into school sometimes. You never came to most of them.”

“No, I was in a different crowd.”

“Oh, the house parties were general invite; everyone welcome. You just turned up with some beer, or a bottle of wine.”

“Yes, I know that. But I had the Church, and, well, most of the parties seemed a bit too....oh shit, wanton or something. There were a few of us who never really went. Or only once or twice.”

I felt that we had lost the thread a little. Old times were all very well, but Jan was talking about spanking in the here and now. Or, at least, I thought that she was.

“Okay. Fair enough. Can we get back to the spanking thing?” Well, obviously I wanted to. It was my passion.

“Ah yes. Er, so I always wandered what a spanking would be like. And you never offered to give me one.”

“Well, even playing around they were sort of intended as punishment. So you didn't just offer to spank someone.”

“You even spanked Julie T! Why didn't you spank me?”

“How did you know about Jules? I never told anyone about that. I was afraid she'd hurt me if I did.”

“Julie told me, one drunken night after Brandon left. Er, my ex-husband, that is. She loved it; wanted you to do it again. She really fancied you, and just afterwards you started going out with Karen, and that was it for the rest of the Upper Sixth.”

“Huh. Wish I'd known she was into it. That was the longest spanking I ever gave anyone. Well, you know, until I met, erm, like minded adults.”

“No one else ever dared to try it on with her. They were terrified she'd ram a hockey stick up their arse. She loved that you dared to.”

“Um, right. Honestly, it still amazes me that I did. And I can't for the life of me remember how it happened. I mean, how I realised I could do it.”

“But you never spanked me! Honestly Tim, you're going to have to do something about that now.” I'd never heard Jan sound this assertive. This whole morning had taken a very curious turn.

“So, let me get this straight. You want me to spank you?”

“God, are you dense? Why on Earth do you think I dressed up like I was at school? Give me a proper spanking!”

I rubbed my hand across my forehead. The room was quite warm, especially after the brisk air outside, but it certainly wasn't warm enough to explain the amount of sweat that I wiped away.

“Look, Jan, are you sure about this? Do you know what you're asking?”

“Well, I don't think I'm asking too much! It's just a bloody spanking! You did it all the time. For all I know, you still do.”

“Yeah, I did do it all the time. But that was playing around. A couple of dozen smacks over a girl's skirt. I'll happily do that, but it's not a proper spanking.”

This made Jan pause for a moment. She pursed her lips, and thoughtfully rubbed at the end of her nose, chasing an itch that wasn't really there.

“So, okay then, what would a proper spanking be?”

“Are you sure you really want to know? If you wanted what all those Sixth Form girls got, I'll happily do that for you.”

“I asked, didn't I? What do you mean by a proper spanking?”

Clearly Jan wouldn't be deterred. I stroked my chin, and gently tugged at a few of my short, neat beard hairs.

“Well, if you insist. A proper spanking would start over your skirt, for a couple of minutes maybe. Then I'd raise your skirt, and spank you over your pants. For about as long again.

“Then I'd pull your pants down, and spank you on your bare bottom until it was red and hot and stinging.

“Is that really what you want?”

Jan's soft brown eyes held my own. I was pleased to see that she wasn't leaping blindly into something, but I was also rather surprised that she hadn't rejected the idea out of hand.

“So, it would hurt?” The question came, quiet and serious. There was no trace of the laughing Jan from earlier.

“Spankings have to hurt. That's the point. And I like to spank properly.”

“It's be like I'd been a bad girl then.”

“If you like. I know ladies who like to be spanked just for the sensation. I also know some who come along with a list of sins that they want to be punished for. Everyone gets something different from it. Like everything else, I suppose.”

“Well, what do you get out of it?”

I laughed. “I wish I could tell you. I've always been into spanking, and I've never really known why.”

“Is it the pain? Are you a sadist?”

“Not really. Pain is a bit of it; like I said, punishments. It's certainly not the whole thing though. And, well, apart from where bottoms are concerned, I hate pain. Giving or receiving.”

“Oh, right. Would it hurt much?”

“I can't really tell you. Every one has different limits. My wife walked a mile on a broken ankle without complaining, but two dozens smacks on her bare bum and she's had enough. You'll never know unless you try.”

“So you think I ought to? Try?”

“No, no. I don't. It's not for me to say. What do you want to do?”

“I think I want to get spanked. Actually. Right here and now. I'm a big girl – I can take it. Please.”

I love to spank. Jan was clearly a willing sacrifice. It would have been churlish to refuse, in light of all that she had said.

“Okay then. You asked for it, and now you're going to get it.” I don't believe I've ever said that, and meant it.

Jan stood up, and shuffled towards me, as I positioned myself on the centre cushion of the sofa. Reaching up and taking her arm, I guided her to my right hand side, and then gently tugged her towards me, so that she gracefully subsided across my lap.

I love the sight of a girl across my knee, and the slightly too tight skirt really emphasised Jan's rather lovely bottom. Smiling secretly at my joy, I placed my left hand against the small of Jan's back, and rested my right hand lightly on her bottom.

She lay still; I couldn't escape the image of a petrified rabbit trapped in the twin beams of a car's headlights.

“Right Jan. Look, you can back out at any point. Now, even. Just let me know; if you say stop I'll assume that you mean it, that you're not just playing a role. Okay?”

She nodded, and, twisting, looked back over her left shoulder.

“Will it hurt a lot, Tim?”

“Oh, let's just say it'll hurt enough, shall we? Anyway, I'm going to begin now.”

I lifted my right hand, only a few inches, and watched as her buttocks tightened in anticipation. I waited, drawing out the moment a little, until that first knot of tension began to unravel. Then, with the force mainly driven by my wrist, I spanked my palm across the centre of her bottom.

Jan sucked in a long breath, but otherwise remained still and silent.

I whacked my hand back down five more times into the same area, not with any great force, but enough that I knew Jan would feel it.
Shifting my focus to the right side of her bottom, I spanked that buttock half a dozen times as well.

There's nothing wrong with patterns when you spank, so I painted the left buttock a similar number of times. Then I stopped, my hand resting where the last smack had fallen.

Jan looked back again. There was a strange look on her face; it was almost like triumph. Her eyes fixed on mine, and a smile split her face. She let out a long satisfied sigh, and then lay flat once more.

In all truth I had expected her to be happy with the spanking that she had received. Her acquiescence to a real spanking surprised me. It did not, however, prevent me from continuing.

The established pattern seemed to fit the bill, so I did it again, and again, and maybe 3 or 4 times after that. It seemed to provide as decent a spanking as I could give over Jan's skirt.

“So. Could you raise your hips a bit please? I need to pull your skirt up. Or have you had enough?”

“More please.” The words were certain, and confident, and she arched her back as she spoke, enabling me to wriggle her skirt up to her waist.

She wore cream coloured silk panties, that clung affectionately to her rear. They were most appealing, and the crimson glow from her cheeks stood out in stark contrast.

I placed my hand onto the exposed flesh of her right buttock, and savoured the warmth that rose to meet it. I gently rubbed my palm in a small circle, and I felt Jan stiffen, and then wriggle with delight.

Well, blow me down. It seemed that Jan was a spanko at heart.

Happier now that I was sure my blows were being received joyfully, I tattooed the surface of Jan's behind with a series of increasingly stern slaps. They brought the occasional gasp, or groan, or sigh from Jan, but when I slowed for a moment her back arched again, as her bottom seemed to seek out my hand,

Her panties were brief, and did little to protect her scarlet, steaming bottom, but the proprieties had to be observed, so, with a whisper of “Oh, you naughty girl” I hooked my thumbs in their sides, and slide them into her thighs.

Her scarlet cheeks were round and firm, and seemed to suck my hand into them, as I resumed my task, each eager spank resounding against naked flesh. My focus honed in on the rhythmic sounds of splat and smack, like the bass line of a good rocker.

I could feel the heat growing in my hand, and, as it was far more used to spanking than was it's target, a little concern for Jan crept into my mind. I had spanked her far more soundly than I meant to, and certainly she had endured a much longer punishment than it was reasonable to expect a novice to take.

I stopped spanking, and began to rub her bottom, with smooth gentle caresses. Jan's shoulders were loose, and relaxed, and her head lay on the sofa where it fell.

“Right, young lady, that'll be enough.”

For a moment Jan didn't react, but then her head lifted, and she shook the elegant blonde hair that fell across her shoulders.

“Oh. Really? Okay. Oh, that was lovely.”

I cocked my head to one side, and whistled.

“Um. I'm...glad you enjoyed it. Are you okay?”

“Oh yes, I'm wonderful. My bum tingles, and burns, and throbs. I've never felt so, oh....alive. Why doesn't every one want to do this? Idiots.”

Clearly I managed to unleash Jan's inner spanko. I'd never been so entertained by a chance meeting.

I helped Jan to find her feet; for a moment she was a little unsteady, as though she was experiencing a head rush. She swayed slightly, and placed a hand on my shoulder for balance.

Her expression was serene. I wasn't sure where she stood with the Lord now, but she was certainly a worshipper at the Church of Spanking.

“Can we do that again some time? Soon?” She almost crooned the words, a melody that I found to be most pleasant.

“Jan, anything for you.”


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