From Miss Zoe. When Andrea points to her lap, you'd best get yourself across it, quick smart!
From Clare Spanks Men. Andrea warms Michael up with her hand.
From Spanking Dollars. Polly starts to wonder how good an idea this was.
From Spanking Dollars. Polly waits in the corner for her hairbrushing.
Andrea Mahony pushed her shopping trolley down the aisles, and browsed the items for sale, before placing them in the trolley. Clarkstown was not a big place, although it did have at least 3 supermarkets. The one Andrea was in, was not the biggest, but it was her preferred place to shop. Working during the week, and wanting her Saturday mornings free for tennis, meant that the tall, willowy woman with the lustrous mane of chestnut hair did her grocery shopping on Friday evening, so she was appreciative for the extended trading hours on that night. Although the supermarket’s owner; Mr Simms, could be a little abrupt, Andrea got on well enough with the man and as he was one of her clients she found shopping at his establishment a rather pleasant experience. Andrea owned and ran the town’s most unique business; The Spank Shop, and Simms regularly sent his children to her for discipline, and some of his junior staff made the occasional journey to have their bottoms reddened over Andrea’s lap for various infringements. This ensured that they were always polite to her and sometimes she was even given discounts on purchases.
Andrea was trying to decide which brand of biscuits to choose when she became uncomfortably aware that someone was watching her. There was a man to her left, staring at her. It was a rather disconcerting feeling and she started to wonder if she had a smudge of dirt on her face or something. Out of the corner of her eye she tried to get a good look at her observer without being obvious about it. He was dressed in a business suit and tie, his hair was short and neat, average height and build, he also had a shopping trolley. Andrea was about to turn and confront him, when he spoke “Andrea? It is Andrea, isn’t it?”
Her emerald eyes flashing Andrea answered coldly “Yes, it is. Who am I speaking to?”
The man looked a little surprised, and now that Andrea could look at him properly there was something familiar about his face.
“It’s Michael,” he said softly, his face colouring in embarrassment, “Michael Wilson.”
Andrea’s eyes went wide and now it was her turn to blush “Mickey Wilson! Oh my goodness, sweetheart, you’re all grown up. You must have been about fourteen the last time I saw you.”
“Fifteen.” The business suited man corrected.
“What are you doing here in Clarkstown?”
“We just moved here.”
“My wife. Polly.”
“Polly Thatcher? You married Polly Thatcher?”
Michael nodded happily.
“I should have known! The two of you were thick as thieves. Michael I would love to stop and chat,” Andrea indicated her partially full trolley, “but I’ve got to get my shopping finished. Would you like to meet in the coffee shop nearby in about half and hour?”
“That would be fantastic Miss Andrea.”
“Oh it’s just Andrea, or Andie, I’m not your babysitter now, Mickey.”
“Polly is with me, too. I know she’ll be delighted to reacquaint herself with you.”
“So am I with her. See you in thirty.”
Michael and his pretty blonde wife, the former Polly Thatcher, were waiting for Andrea in the coffee shop next to the supermarket, by the time the chestnut haired disciplinarian had completed her shopping and stowed the bags in the boot of her car.
The young couple had mugs of cappuccino sitting in front of them, as Andrea seated herself across from them. Andrea caught the eye of the red haired, freckle faced teenage waitress, with the name tag reading Christina on the chest of her uniform and ordered “A latte, please, sweetie.”
“Yes, Miss Andrea.” The girl replied politely, dropping a curtsey before hurrying to fill the order.
“Miss Andrea?” Polly asked, her nose crinkling and her blue eyes sparkling.
“She’s a client,” Andrea responded, “they find it’s best to be on my good side.”
“You haven’t changed a bit.” Michael laughed, sipping his cappuccino.
Andrea shrugged lightly “Maybe not, but the two of you have. Married and living in Clarkstown, now I simply must hear everything.”
Polly picked up the story “We’ve been married for a few years. You know we met in primary school and I don’t think there was ever anyone else for either of us.”
To emphasise the point Michael placed his hand over his wife’s, and they gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes. A smile spread across Andrea’s face. She had babysat a number of youngsters as a teenager, and she had to admit that Michael and Polly had always been two of her favourites.
“But Clarkstown?” Andrea asked. “It’s a nice place, but not exactly a bustling metropolis.”
“To be honest,” Michael started, “we’ve both had enough of that. I got a job with a firm nearby, and we both want to have children.”
Polly said “I’ve had a career and I’d love kids, but where do you raise them? We looked around at a few places and Clarkstown just seemed ideal. The prices are good, the people are nice and there’s a real sense of community here.”
Andrea nodded as the woman spoke, she had pin pointed three things that Andrea had also been impressed with when she first decided to live in the community of Clarkstown.
“Besides, you’re here.” Michael said.
“You couldn’t have known that when you first started looking.” Andrea pointed out, thanking Christina as the girl set the latte down in front of her.
“No, we didn’t,” Polly admitted with a laugh, “but as soon as we heard about the Spank Shop we started to wonder, and then someone said it was run by an Andrea, and we both knew it had to be you.”
“Was I really that much of an ogre as a babysitter?” Andrea asked, blowing on her latte to cool it, and then taking a gentle sip.
“No, you were great!” Michael reassured the woman.
“But boy did you like to spank!” Polly exclaimed.
“And you were good at it!” Michael backed his wife.
“I don’t know about liking it…” Andrea started to protest.
“You did enjoy it.” Polly insisted.
“And that’s totally okay,” Michael confirmed, “because so do we.”
The mouthful of coffee Andrea had just taken immediately went down the wrong way, and she choked briefly, before regaining her composure, swallowing hard and wiping her eyes with a tissue.
“You what?” she asked incredulous.
“We like spanking each other.” The young couple replied with grins.
“That’s not really true, Michael.” Polly told her husband.
“You don’t like it?” Michael asked, his brown eyes growing concerned.
“Of course I do, silly, but what we both really love is when someone else spanks us.”
“Oh yes.” Michael agreed, his expression becoming slightly dreamy at the thought.
“You enjoy spanking?” Andrea probed.
“Don’t you?” Polly asked.
Andrea had to admit there was part of her that definitely did enjoy spanking, both giving and receiving. The level and what she enjoyed about it could vary from spanking to spanking, and it had to do with who and the reason for the chastisement. She nodded silently.
“It’s your fault, really.” Michael told this chestnut haired lady across from him.
“My fault?” Andrea asked, her green eyes wide.
“Oh Michael!” Polly scolded her husband, slapping him on the arm. “Don’t be so rude! Honestly, young man when we get home I may have to put you over my knee.”
“Ahhhh promises, promises.” Michael sang.
Andrea giggled, they were such an adorable couple.
“What my cheeky husband means, Andie,” Polly said as she relaxed around her old babysitter, “is that our interest was awakened over your lap.”
“Well neither of us really liked being spanked. They hurt, yours especially, but you spanked us together that first when we were about 12 and our parents went out together and Michael stayed over at my house. That was when we both realized we had an attraction to each other, because of the shared experience.”
“You were also so nice about the spankings,” Michael continued, “you were pretty too. You spanked hard, but you gave a reason and you were never unfair, you always let us cuddle after, as well.”
“Don’t forget the hot chocolate.” Polly put in. “I always loved the hot chocolate you gave us after a soundly smacked bottom.”
“We’ve always wanted that feeling again, but never been able to find it.” Michael said rather wistfully, before sipping his coffee.
“We even visited a couple of professionals, but they just weren’t able to create that homey sort of feeling.” Polly added.
“Yeah, it was always business with them. We like spanking each other, but it’s just not the same without a Miss Andrea to do it.” Micheal admitted.
“Your shop would be ideal.” Polly said, hope in her tone and her eyes.
Andrea sipped her coffee, and looked at the earnest couple across from her. “Okay, you probably need to know some things about my shop.”
Michael and Polly were obviously eager.
“I spank all kinds,” Andrea explained, “mostly naughty youngsters, but I get my fair share of naughty adults, too. I have spanked and do spank married couples, but,” the faces fell at the word, “I have to have a reason, and because we like it isn’t a good enough one I am afraid. There’s also some other things to consider. The shop is a business, so no matter that you’re old friends, if you come to the shop it’s still a business transaction and you’d pay for the privilege, which from what you said isn’t what you want. There’s also your reputations. I and my staff are discreet, but you will be seen by someone coming in and my clients will talk, especially the adolescents. My adult clients accept a level of embarrassment for the fact that they visit me, but they know that going in. Clarkstown is a wonderful place to live, but tongues do wag and you really don’t want to be spoken about in hushed whispers behind your backs, especially as you have just recently moved here.”
“Well, that sucks.” Polly said vehemently into her coffee mug.
Looking at the two crestfallen faces across from her the couple who were in the early thirties, reminded Andrea of nothing more than the teenagers they had been the last time she’d toasted their adolescent backsides for them, and an idea came to her.
“I may have an alternative,” she said, and Michael and Polly’s ears pricked up, “seeing as you’re old friends I think we can make some special arrangements here.”
Andrea leafed calmly through the magazine in her lap, and looked up occasionally when there was a louder sob from the curly haired girl with the brightly glowing bottom that currently occupied one of the corners in her parlour. The chestnut haired woman smiled gently at the sight, and then her eyes fell on the hairbrush that lay bristle side up on her coffee table. Maybe spanking the recently married young woman with the very brush that had been her wedding gift to the happy couple was a little mean, but Andrea felt it had a nice symmetry to it. She looked down at the neatly written sheets of paper by her with the line ‘I will not enter Aunty Andrea’s office without an appointment’ covering them. Setting Millicent Campbell lines as well as a spanking had been something Andrea felt would reinforce how childish the young woman’s actions just prior to her marriage had been. The phone rang and Andrea picked it up quickly to hear the dulcet tones of her teenage receptionist Kimberley Kennedy “It’s 4:30 ma’am.” Kimberley trilled. “You wanted me to remind you so you could finish up a bit early today.”
“I did indeed sweetheart. I think Millie has cooled down sufficiently, so I’ll just send her out to you to settle up. You can close up the office without me, can’t you, darling?”
“Oh yes ma’am. See you tomorrow.” The girl said cheerfully as she hung up.
Andrea pulled her red convertible into the patterned concrete driveway and gave the neatly manicured garden with the bright flowers in the beds an approving look. The Wilson’s had bought themselves a nice suburban double storied house in one of Clarkstown’s nicer streets. Michael must be doing well at work. Andrea swung her long legs around and alighted elegantly from the car. She looked around a little nervously at the twilit street, hoping that no one she knew would see her, then chastised herself for the thought. As far as anyone knew she was having dinner with two old friends, there was nothing clandestine about this meeting at all, despite what she and they intended to take place later in the evening.
Andrea took the small overnight bag from the back seat and felt the weight of it in her hand. For something that should only hold nightclothes and toiletries it felt heavier, that was because she had packed it with some extras she thought may be needed. In addition to a nightdress and her toothbrush the bag also contained her favourite ebony hairbrush, a lexan ping pong style paddle, her butter pat and an old fashioned two tailed lochgelly tawse. Aside from the hairbrush Andrea doubted she would need any of the others, but she liked to be prepared just in case.
Bag in hand the willowy woman made her way to the front door, and pressed the bell. The door was opened by Michael Wilson. The businessman was dressed in the uniform of most relaxing suburbanites; socks, a pair of comfortable old jeans, and a battered sweater. Andrea could remember seeing a younger version of Michael dressed the same way when she had arrived for babysitting duties nearly 20 years earlier. “Hello Mickey.” She smiled at him.
Michael blushed, he had stopped being called Mickey on a regular basis when he was fifteen, preferring the more formal Michael or the masculine nickname of Mike. Since then only his mother, and Polly when she was in a teasing mood, called him Mickey. He could probably tell Andrea to call him Michael, but it would spoil what they were trying to create tonight.
Andrea’s lips pursed, and her eyes flashed “What did you just call me, young man?”
Michael swallowed hard and amended it to “Miss Andrea, sorry.”
“I should hope so,” Andrea scolded, “the impertinence. I am your elder, young man, and you had best not forget it.”
“May I take your bag upstairs, ma’am?” Michael asked.
“Yes, you may.” Andrea allowed, handing Michael her small case. “Where is Polly?”
“She’s in the kitchen, miss.”
Polly had gone to some effort to make herself look 20 years younger than she really was. She had scrubbed her face free of make up and the light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks was visible, her blonde hair was tied in two short plaits either side of her head and she was wearing the sort of short sundress favoured by pre teens.
“Aren’t you adorable?” Andrea said, as she entered the kitchen.
“Hi Miss Andrea. Thank you. Mummy and Mrs Wilson left a note for you on the kitchen table, ma’am.”
“Thanks, sweetie. Would you mind putting the kettle on sweetheart, I would love a cup of tea.”
Polly was initially taken aback a bit at being so summarily ordered to make tea for Andrea, but then remembered as a child it was something Andrea had regularly done when sitting for her, and she had learned early that to not do what Andrea told you, when she told you was an excellent way of getting oneself a hot red bottom.
As Polly made tea Andrea read the neatly folded letter on the table. It thanked her for looking after the children, asked her if she could prepare some supper for them, ensure that they did their homework and put them to bed on time. If either of them gave her any trouble at all she was encouraged to use Mrs Thatcher’s hairbrush that was upstairs on her dressing table. The note had been signed by both ladies. Andrea recalled reading similar notes when she had sat for either Michael or Polly separately or together as she was doing now. The Thatchers and the Wilsons were not the only families she babysat for, and most mothers tended to leave very similar instructions for her. Andrea wondered if Polly had ever forged her mother’s signature or that of Michael’s mother before, because from memory the signatures were quite accurate.
Polly set a steaming mug in front of Andrea and murmured “Your tea, Miss Andrea.”
“Thank you, sweetness.” Andrea replied, blowing on the tea gently to cool it, and sipping lightly. She was surprised at how good it was and then remembered that even as a young teen Polly had possessed solid tea making skills. “You make a lovely cup of tea, Polly.” She sighed, and the girl blushed and thanked her for the compliment.
“Mum said her hairbrush is upstairs if I need it.” Andrea said, her green eyes sparkling.
“Yes ma’am.” Polly sighed, hands reflexively going to cover the seat of her dress.
It was a reaction that made Andrea grin.
“Is it really your Mum’s brush?” Andrea asked, breaking out of the role play for just a moment.
Polly took a deep breath, and nodded.
Mrs Thatcher must have given the brush to her daughter, she’d always wondered if it was an heirloom brush, it was high quality that was certain. Andrea had not inherited her mother’s hairbrush, that had gone to her sister when their mother passed. She didn’t really mind, her sister had children, she didn’t, and besides she’d grown to love her ebony brush.
Polly’s thoughts went to the innocuous looking hair care implement that lay innocently on her dresser upstairs. Oh how she had hated that brush as a child. The times it smacked her defenceless backside and turned her plump white hemispheres a scorching lobster red had been among the most unpleasant moments of her childhood. On more than one occasion she had considered hiding the brush, but not done so because she was convinced her mother would have found it, and then handed out a truly momentous blistering with it. She’d thought about taking it and destroying it, but her mother would have only replaced it with something even worse, and she would have gotten another roasting for that in any case. She’d been genuinely surprised when her mother had gravely presented her with the brush. She used it sometimes on Michael and he used it on her from time to time. Michael’s brushings hurt, but it was a different kind of hurt, for one a lot of pleasure came afterwards and the other thing was Michael really didn’t use a brush all that well. They tended to be a more feminine implement, the handle was designed to be held and wielded by a lady, and men just didn’t seem to have the touch, at least that was Polly’s experience.
Michael put the bag down on the guest bed ,and wondered at its weight. There was more in there than a set of nightclothes and a toothbrush. For a moment he was tempted to have a quick look at the contents, but then he remembered a teenage spanking he’d received from Andrea for snooping, which had been one of his failures as a child, and how he had been unable to sit for the remainder of the evening before being tucked into bed early by his babysitter, and thought better of the action. The case remained on the bed untouched by Michael’s itchy fingers.
“So what am I going to feed you?” Andrea asked, sipping her tea and looking at Polly.
“Pizza?” Polly said hopefully.
“You have all the ingredients for home made pizza, Polly?” Andrea queried. “I’m good with that, it’s fun to make, not too hard and I’m sure you and Mickey could help.”
“Uhhhh no…” Polly murmured, “I thought you could call the shop and have them deliver it.”
“Your Mum didn’t leave me any money for pizza, Polly. I’m pretty sure that my house is like yours and we only get pizza as a treat. Do you and Mickey deserve a treat?”
“I guess not.” Polly whispered, leaning against the counter and tracing a pattern on the kitchen tiles with the toe of her slipper.
“I’m betting that your Mum didn’t want you having pizza at all tonight. Is there something in the refrigerator we can make for dinner?”
“Yes ma’am,” Polly answered, “Mummy left some lamb chops and vegetables.”
Andrea shook her head sadly, “So you deliberately told me a fib, because you wanted pizza.”
“I didn’t actually fib!” Polly was quick to deny the accusation.
“You as good as did, Polly. That’s strike one, young lady.”
“Oh we’re not playing three strikes are we?” Michael said as he entered the kitchen.
“Yes, Michael the three strike rule is in effect this evening.” Andrea informed her charges.
Both Polly and Michael went silent at the announcement. Andrea had what she called a three strike rule. Three strikes and you were out, only out in Andrea’s case meant over her lap getting a smacked bottom. Polly for her part could remember actually getting a sore backside for an incident very similar to the pizza one which they had just enacted, she had been eleven years old at the time, and the night had ended with her in tears displaying a glowing red rear in the corner.
“I think chops and veggies sounds like an excellent dinner,” Andrea said, opening the refrigerator, and peering inside “if you’re good it looks like Mum has some chocolate mousse for dessert, too. Only if you’re good, mind.” Andrea warned, she had always found holding dessert to ransom tended to create good behaviour during dinner.
“Have you two done your homework?” Andrea asked, taking the food out of the fridge and arranging it on the bench.
“Yes, ma’am.” Polly answered earnestly.
“I don’t have any, Miss.” Michael replied.
Andrea’s lips pursed, but she did not say anything. That had been a common tactic of the young Michael Wilson on the nights when he stayed over at Polly Thatcher’s house. He did have homework, just neglected to bring it with him, so answered truthfully after a fashion when he said that he did not have any. He did not have any there at the time. He had tried the same trick at home once, asking her if she would punish him for something he hadn’t done. Thinking it was a rather philosophical question, Andrea had replied that no, she would not punish him for something he had not done. Michael thinking he was in the clear, had then dropped the bombshell that he had not done his homework. Andrea had stood over him while he completed said work, then administered a thorough spanking with the wooden spoon in the kitchen, before putting the cheeky young man to bed with a scalded rump.
“Well, if that’s out of the way I guess we can make a start on dinner.” Andrea said.
Polly immediately began to put an apron on while Michael relaxed at the table. He tried to settle, but was aware of Andrea’s jade eyes staring at him. “Are you going to help, Michael?” the woman asked.
“Oh no, thanks Miss Andrea. Making dinner is ladies work. I’ll eat what you make, though. I like chops.”
Even Polly gave her husband a hard look at that comment, he was lying through his teeth, too, he regularly assisted her with dinner and the washing up after.
Andrea’s lips drew together in a firm line, she took hold of Michael’s ear between forefinger and thumb and lifted him to his feet. “Now my little chauvinist you’re going to learn a lesson,” the tall lady told him, as Polly watched approvingly, “I’m going to heat the oven, and while Polly and I prepare the meat and other vegetables you are going to peel and the chop the potatoes, and if there are any arguments the oven is not the only thing that will be heating up very soon. That’s your first strike, young man. Now get to those spuds!” Andrea sent the worried Michael over to the sink with a firm smack to the seat of his trousers. Although she already had a strike against her name, Polly couldn’t help but smile at the way Andrea handled her husband. This was just like when they’d been pre teens and teens being looked after by their pretty older neighbour for the evening.
To his credit Michael did not comment further on his duties, and did a good job of peeling and cutting the potatoes while the oven heated and Andrea and Polly prepared the meat, and put the vegetables on to boil. Andrea even jokingly remarked that if Polly were to incur another two strikes before she and her friend Michael were sent to bed then her bottom would be boiling almost as much as the bubbling vegetables in the pot. She emphasized the words with a fond squeeze of Polly’s still pert backside.
The three were soon seated around the kitchen table tucking into a hearty, if old fashioned, meal of baked lamb chops, boiled greens and carrots and mashed potatoes. Andrea allowed her two charges a glass of cola with their meal and she also partook of the cold carbonated beverage. From memory she didn’t think either Michael’s or Polly’s parents allowed it, but she could relax the rules a little in deference to the fact that both the ‘kids’ were actually adults and besides she enjoyed the occasional soft drink herself.
Because both Polly and Michael had behaved before and during supper, Andrea made good on her earlier promise and produced three bowls of chocolate mousse for them all to enjoy as dessert. Unsurprisingly Michael consumed his mousse like a starving man and had finished well before the two ladies. His spoon was still clinking in the glass dish as he drained his glass of cola and then let out a loud and very satisfied burp.
Andrea’s spoon poised on its journey to her mouth, and she said “I beg your pardon!”
Michael grinned at her cheekily, and asked “Why? What did you do?”
Polly giggled, and then quickly turned her attention to her bowl at a sharp green eyed look from Andrea.
“Mickey,” Andrea said in a level voice, “your parents, and I on occasion, have raised you to be many things, but cheeky is not one of them. You will apologize for belching at the table, and that’s your second strike, young man.”
Michael opened his mouth to protest, but was unable to get a word out before Andrea warned “If you’re about to utter anything other than ‘beg my pardon’, then you can take that third strike and you do know what that means, don’t you?”
Michael’s face coloured, it was amazing how even now, nearly twenty years since he had last found himself over Andrea’s bewitching lap, that she could totally command him and turn him into a pre teen child with only a few words “I’m sorry, ma’am. I beg your pardon for burping.”
“Good boy.” Andrea complimented him. “Now, if you’re both finished, you can do the washing up and I’m going to have another cup of tea. Polly, would you mind putting the kettle on, please love?”
While the kettle was boiling Andrea went upstairs to put her toiletries in the bathroom. When she returned the kettle was boiled and Polly had put a steaming cup of tea on the table, Andrea was pleased to see. What else met her eyes did not please her at all. Michael had been drying up and complained that Polly was handing the plates to him too quickly, in retaliation Polly had tossed the wet soapy dishrag at him. Michael let out an enraged shout of “Oy!” and was about to take revenge, winding up the tea towel in order to snap the girl’s tempting bottom with it. Andrea intervened, she put herself between the two, grabbed Polly’s arm, gave her pretty posterior a hard smack and scolded her “That’s strike two, young lady. You are on very thin ice!”
“Owww!” Polly squealed. “It was Mickey’s fault!”
‘It was not!” Andrea argued sternly. “I saw what happened, at the rate you were giving him plates he was going to drop one, he rightly complained that you needed to slow down, and you threw the rag at him. You are going to clean up the mess and finish the washing up on our own. Michael and I are going to watch TV, you can join us when you are done and if I hear one peep from you before that then the next sound from your mouth will be ‘Noooo! Miss Andrea don’t spank me so hard!’ I do hope I have made myself understood.”
Andrea sat and watched a TV show with her two charges, and after she felt there had been sufficient time for supper and dessert to digest, she suggested “Who would like some hot chocolate?”
Two hands immediately shot into the air, and Polly and Michael chorused “Me! Me! I would!”
Andrea chuckled and rose to her feet. “I’ll just make us some nice hot chocolate then.”
“With marshmallows, Miss Andrea?” Michael asked hopefully.
“It’s not hot chocolate without marshmallows, Mickey.” Andrea tossed over her shoulder as she went into the kitchen to prepare the drink.
Andrea came back into the living room, the young couple were curled up on the couch and a nice little fire had been kindled in the grate before she arrived, it made a very cosy domestic scene. Andrea set the three steaming mugs of chocolate down and took her seat in one of the comfortable armchairs near the gently crackling fire. She fed some more twigs to the small, but hungry blaze, and just as she prepared to pick up her mug noticed Michael scowling into his, and asked him what the problem was.
“You said there were going to be marshmallows.” He complained.
“There are.” A surprised Andrea replied.
Polly looked into her own mug, her expression growing concerned. Michael was courting trouble.
“Hardly any!” Michael shot back.
“There are more than enough.” Andrea retorted, growing angry.
“Are not!” Michael flared up.
Spots of colour stood out on Andrea’s cheeks, and her emerald eyes flashed “Michael Anthony Wilson,” she said firmly, using all three of the boy’s names, the precursor to a sore bottom usually, “there ARE marshmallows in your chocolate. Now unless you want me to become cross, and when I become cross, something other than the chocolate will be very soon hot, I would advise you to drink your chocolate and be appreciative of my effort to make it for in the first place.”
Michael muttered and shot Andrea dark looks, but he did not say anything else.
Andrea set her own drink on the coffee table, and announced “I’m going upstairs to change. When you two have finished your chocolate I think it’s bedtime.”
Andrea padded downstairs, enjoying the feel of her long satin nightgown against her smooth skin, she had also donned a pair of soft, warm, fluffy bedroom slippers, it was a cool night and toes did get cold. Neither Polly or Michael were in the living room. Andrea frowned. She had not specifically said that they could leave the room, but she had thought it was understood that they would stay put without having to be told. A commotion came from the kitchen. Polly swore at Michael, and something shattered. Andrea reached the bottom of the stairs, and muttering dire threats, stalked towards the kitchen.
A broken jar of pasta lay on the floor of the pantry, scattered amongst the fusilli were marshmallows. Michael held one half of a broken bag of the soft confectionary and Polly held the other. Andrea took in the scene, let out one long breath, and launched into a scolding that could peel the paint from the walls.
“Michael Anthony Wilson! Polly Constance Thatcher! I put marshmallows in the chocolate! I put more than enough in fact. I had thought you were grown up enough to be left alone for a few moments and enjoy the little treat I provided. Obviously I was wrong. You are not grown up at all, you are both naughty little children, and when I am confronted with willful, disobedient children I smack their misbehaving bottoms! I warned you both when I arrived that you had three strikes before I spanked. Your mothers left me a note exhorting me to spank you if you misbehaved. You have now done so. Both of you have three strikes against your names, so I am going to set your bottoms on fire before putting you to bed. I want the two of you to get into your pajamas, while I clean this mess up, and meet me in the living room where something else other than the fire is going to burn!”
Polly opened her mouth to try and explain, but was stopped by a furious Andrea “Polly unless you’d like me to add a taste of the tawse to the dose of your mother’s hairbrush that you are already going to get, I wouldn’t argue or try to explain when the evidence is right in front of me.”
Michael was already on his way upstairs, knowing that Andrea would not hesitate to add to what was looming as an impressive butt scorching. Polly dropped her head, and murmured “Yes, ma’am.”
In their room Polly and Michael quickly undressed, and began to put on their long flannel pajamas. Michael’s were blue with pictures of the Phantom all over them and Polly’s were a soft pink with small Tinkerbells flying around them. “Wow! She’s mad.” Michael said as he buttoned up his pajama top.
“Is she ever!” Polly agreed, slipping her pajama pants on.
“This was as steamed as she ever got when we were kids.”
“I think we were never this deliberately bratty back then.”
“True.” Michael mused, looking at his attractive, but understandably nervous wife. “That’s because we knew what she’d do.”
“And yet this time as adults we’ve engineered it. The burp was a stroke of genius by the way.”
Michael grinned “I saved that one up. Do you remember the first time she did us both together?”
“Oh yes,” Polly reminisced, taking Michael’s hand, “that was when I first fell in love with you. Sharing the experience with me, I think you even took one of my strikes for me.”
“Yeah, I did, but you got another one anyway before I could stop it.”
“That was deliberate, sweetheart.” Polly told him, kissing him on the cheek. “Ooppss!” she said, seeing the mahogany hairbrush sitting on the dresser, “nearly forgot this,” she grabbed it, “I bet we’d get extra if I didn’t bring it down.”
Andrea tossed the now dirty tea towel into the washing machine, put her hair back in place and took a few deep breaths to calm herself down. Had they ever been this bad when they were kids? Seeing the mess in the kitchen had taken her right back to when she had been in her late teens and sat for the ‘terrible two’ as they were known in the neighbourhood. A lot of tonight she had been acting, calling on the ‘Aunty Andrea’ persona that she often projected at the shop. It wasn’t all an act, part of her was very much in line with the views and behaviour she espoused at her business, but it was only a part of her and Michael and Polly were adults, who had a house of their own and were planning a family, but just before they had become naughty pre teens and she was the angry teenager who had to keep them under control and would be expected to punish their posteriors unless she wanted a hot bottom herself for failing to carry out her babysitting duties responsibly and thoroughly.
As ordered Michael and Polly were standing in the living room, wearing their pajamas, when Andrea came back into the room. Andrea ran her eyes up and down their night attire and was pleased with what she saw. Both designs were for younger people, although they were wearing adult sized pajamas, and would have been ideal for one of her aprons. In fact she thought she had the Phantim one hanging up in her apron closet at present, maybe it was Superman, she tended to get her superheroes confused. As she was looking at Polly she suddenly remembered Mrs Thatcher’s old hairbrush and how it had been upstairs on Polly’s dressing table, and swore at herself internally for forgetting it. These two not only expected, they deserved a good old fashioned bare bottom scalding with the back of that solid, boar bristled piece of well polished mahogany. It was then that Andrea saw that Polly, darling girl that she was, held the brush in her hand.
“Well, I have to give you points, Polly darling , for bringing the hairbrush down unbidden. You do know that I intend to light fires every bit as hot as the one warming up the room on your bottoms with that brush, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Michael and Polly both said, looking at the floor.
“Well, I am pleased that’s understood. Put the brush on the table, please dear. I’ll ask for it when I want it. Now do I have a volunteer for the first ride of the evening on the red bottom express, or do I have to choose?”
Both girl and boy swallowed hard, and trembled at the euphemism, but neither said anything.
“Oh dear,” Andrea sighed, “it looks like you’ve both lost your earlier bravery and Miss Andrea has to choose.”
No words were forthcoming from the pair lined up in front of Andrea.
“It is common courtesy to allow ladies before gentlemen, but I think in this case we’ll turn that maxim around and Mickey can take the first journey over my lap.”
Michael winced, and felt his bottom start to tingle. This happened whenever he was about to be spanked, even when Polly was being playful. Andrea took a seat in the middle of the couch, arranged her nightdress and even pulled it up so that her legs were bare to the thighs. “Polly, can you please go to the corner and face the wall, sweetheart. It’ll be your turn soon enough.”
Polly, her golden plaits swinging, did as she was told, and heard the command “Press in, good and tight, Poll’.”
Polly winced as she felt her nose touch the wall, this had always been Andrea’s routine when they were kids, one faced the wall and had to listen to the other being spanked, it was not a ritual Polly liked, it was bad enough seeing your partner in crime wriggling over a firm set of thighs and their pumping rear end flare crimson under a flashing palm or back of a sturdy wooden hairbrush, but to only hear their cries of distress and not actually see the effects somehow magnified the anticipation and was worse.
“Stand by my knee, please Michael.” Andrea ordered.
Eyes fixed on his slippered feet, Michael Wilson shuffled forward obediently and came to a stop next to Andrea’s long toned legs. Andrea had always been attractive and Michael had to admit that he had harboured a crush on his teenage babysitter. Age had somehow served to make the woman even more beautiful, and the thought of being draped over those firm muscular thighs sent his pulse racing, and his member began to stiffen unconsciously. Andrea saw the tenting of the boy’s pajama pants and wondered exactly what to do about it. She knew that Michael was not doing it on purpose, and she didn’t want to draw his attention to it. Once boys knew it was there they seemed to find it very difficult to make it go away again, and she also knew Polly could hear everything that was being said and she would be less than happy that her husband was becoming visibly aroused by another woman. In the shop she dealt with it herself ,or on occasion had the young man relieve himself before spanking him. It was not the first time she had seen it happen with Michael and from memory once the sting and burn of the spanking settled in his upturned buttocks it generally shriveled of it’s own accord. Andrea decided to see if it would hold true, she’d be able to feel if it wasn’t working, and decide them what course of alternative action to take. Possibly she could get Polly to help out, she seemed to be the dominant one in the relationship at home, she was not unlike another client of Andrea’s: Ashleigh Summerton, in that respect.
Andrea looked at her bunched up nightdress, and said to her victim “Over Aunty’s knee, Mickey.”
Michael looked at her in shock when she said the word ‘Aunty’.
Inwardly Andrea cursed at herself, she was so used to being referred to as Aunty Andrea at the shop that she had unconsciously used it here.
“Aunty?” he said queryingly.
‘Are you back chatting me, young man?” she asked, raising one sculpted eyebrow.
“No, Aunty Andrea.” She corrected, and waited for him to meekly reply with the same words.
“Good, now I believe I asked you to lay across my lap. I would like that request complied with sometime this evening, Mickey, while we are all still young.”
Feeling slightly numb Michael draped himself over Andrea’s lap, as he was moved into position, he marveled at how right and proper it felt. He liked Polly’s lap, too, but it had never felt quite right when he had been spanked by professionals, but it was as if Andrea’s lap was just made for him. He felt her hand pat the seat of his pajamas gently, and then her fingers hooked into the elastic waistband and they were tugged down so his bottom was bare.
“Lift up, sweetie.” Andrea said brightly, and Michael lifted himself up slightly and his pajama bottoms were whipped down to his knee hollows. “That’s better,” Andrea cooed, “you can lower again now, dear.”
With a sigh Michael settled back into Andrea’s lap.
Andrea examined the bottom nestled in her lap, ignoring the insistent pressure of his warm throbbing member pushing against her thigh. Michael was a slim man, and he had been a relatively slight boy. Despite this he had always had a round, delightfully spankable rear end. Nothing had changed, if anything his globes cried out for a spanking even more than they had when he was still a growing boy.
Andrea admired Michael’s firm round buttocks, and could not resist giving them a gentle squeeze and fondling them a little. Michael tensed at Andrea’s touch and his erect member grew and pressed painfully into Andrea’s silken thigh. Andrea paused. She had to do something about this and do it quickly. She’d been ejaculated on before, she didn’t like it and it was a dreadfully hard stain to remove from clothes. An idea came to her, Michael was ticklish, well he had been as a child anyway. Tickling always reduced him to helpless laughter, sometimes Andrea wondered if it was a worse punishment for him than spanking. She rested her long, red lacquered nails on his twitching globes and began to drag then slowly across the surface. Michael gasped and began to wriggle “Oh God, Aunty Andrea!” he murmured.
“Yes?” Andrea drawled.
“I don’t like that, ma’am.”
“What don’t you like sweetheart?” Andrea asked, continuing to gently tickle the wriggling buttocks with her nails. Michael’s erection had disappeared as all his attention was directed to trying to prevent the sensation Andrea was imparting to his gyrating rear end.
Polly, in her corner, couldn’t help herself, and let out a laugh. Tickling was, and always had been, one of Michael’s greatest weaknesses. She was impressed that Andrea had remembered it.
“Would you like to take Michael’s place, young lady?” Andrea asked sharply. “I’m sure he’d prefer to see you get extra spanking.”
“No, ma’am.” Polly answered immediately.
“Then just keep your opinions to yourself, miss. You won’t be laughing soon, I can promise you that.”
Polly gulped and kept her eyes on the featureless wall, Andrea’s words had set up an almost unbearable tingle in her bottom.
“You don’t like Aunty’s tickling, darling?” Andrea asked, the two of them seemed to have accepted the Aunty appellation, and she was comfortable with it, so continued to use it in this situation.
“No, Miss Andrea.”
“What would you prefer I do, dear?”
Michael closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, he had always hated this part…asking for the spanking. Andrea often made you confess and request the spanking. She was doing it a bit earlier than usual, but this was it nonetheless. “Spank me, Miss Andrea.”
“What was that, Mickey? I didn’t quite hear it. Speak up, sweetheart.”
“Spank me.” Michael said louder.
“You want me to spank you?”
“Very well then, Mickey. Since you have been a naughty boy, disobeying me on 3 occasions. Once giving cheek when preparing dinner, not apologizing for belching at the table and then getting more marshmallows when you had specifically been forbidden from doing so, then I will be delighted to spank your naughty bare bottom very hard indeed.”
Andrea tightened her grip around Michael’s slender waist, and pulled him in against her. She raised her hand ready slap his bottom and waited for him to relax his cheeks. She preferred to begin her chastisements on a relaxed backside. She knew that Michael would probably tense up again after the first smack, most did, but spanking on an untensed rear was better for both her and the spankee. Tightened buttocks tended to bruise and they also hurt her hand more. There was really no way around it, it was a standard reaction, making the spankee move their legs apart made it harder for them, but Andrea preferred to do that later in the spanking, and often when she was using an implement.
For his part Michael just wished she would start. The muscles in his thighs and glutes were starting to tremble from keeping them tight and waiting for that punitive palm to land. Andrea saw the release of the muscles and brought her hand sweeping down. Michael felt the blow and then the accompanying sting, it had just registered when it was joined by a second pain in his other cheek. Andrea generally began her spankings slowly, she liked to build a fire. She smacked in the middle of each offered up ham, then low, followed by high and then a couple on the thighs, which generally got a nice loud “OW!” from the recipient and made Andrea smile broadly, thighs were so tender, and many people ignored them. Why Andrea would never know, a spanking simply wasn’t a proper spanking unless the thighs got a good roasting along with the glowing glutes. Michael’s lily white backside turned pink and he was unconsciously rolling it to avoid the stinging barrage from Andrea’s experienced palm. Andrea settled into a steady rhythm and Michael’s struggles intensified. He had forgotten in the intervening years just how competently and soundly Andrea spanked. He wouldn’t have been willing to gamble on it, but to his way of thinking she had improved over the years, and that was even on his tougher more mature rump.
Michael started to grunt and gasp, his legs waved lazily around, and Andrea knew by that and the lovely roseate glow that her hand had brought to his bottom that his hand spanking was nearing its end. Andrea liked to produce a few tears with her hand, but she also liked to leave plenty in reserve for the implement, in this case, the hairbrush, which was of all the weapons she used her absolute favourite. There was something so right about spanking a deserving bottom with a good old fashioned wooden backed hairbrush. She knew that some people preferred one of the rectangular ones referred to as paddle brushes, but Andrea was an old fashioned lady and she didn’t think you could go past an oval brush for heating up a naughty posterior. Mrs Thatcher’s old brush was the sort Andrea liked the best and she knew from experience on both ends of it that it could deliver an impressive spanking.
In her corner Polly shivered and trembled. She hated this part of a spanking, she always had, the wait when someone else was being spanked. Not being able to see it, just hear the slaps and the yelps and squeals of the recipient, and imagine what it looked like, and know that you were soon going to be putting on a concert of your own made it worse that being able to actually see what was happening and observe the struggles and observe the bottom changing colour under that flashing palm.
Andrea was sweeping her hand across the blushing bottom over her lap, each swing of her arm cracked smartly across both buttocks and sizzled over the surface. Michael squirmed and gasped, hardly believing he had actually wanted this to happen and in fact had engineered it. Despite the pain and his state of mind there was still a part of him that was enjoying the spanking on some level, maybe it was the maternal way Andrea had treated he and Polly, taking them back to a simpler time when a spanking was the most they had to fear from the world, and even that was over quickly and you got a hug and a kiss afterwards to let you know all was forgiven, your crimes had been paid for and the slate was clean once again. Andrea heard a sob escape Michael and sighed with satisfaction. That was what she had wanted, his bottom was simmering nicely, and should hold him while he stood in the corner and she warmed up pretty Polly. “I’d advise you to hold onto those tears, Mickey, dear. You’re going to need them, darling.” Andrea warned ominously, as she rested the back of her hand on his delightfully warm buttocks. She helped him to his feet, and ordered “Now you stand there, hands on head whilst Polly pays for her sins over Aunty’s lap. Come to me Polly.”
The husband and wife exchanged a look as they passed each other. Michael gave her a grin through his tears and she rewarded him with a wan smile as she tried to calm the butterflies rampant in her tummy. Andrea looked up at the young woman with her fair hair in short plaits on either side of her head. Despite Polly being in her early thirties the hairstyle, her clear make up free complexion and the childish flannel pajamas combined to give her the aspect of a girl much younger. She stood obediently by Andrea’s knee, her hands behind her, clasped together to prevent her from putting them protectively over her tingling backside. “The pj pants have to come down sweetie.” Andrea told Polly.
“Yes ma’am.” Polly murmured, and offered no resistance as Andrea pulled her a little closer, she slipped her fingers under the waistband of the soft warm nightwear and slid them down Polly’s slender legs, letting them form a puddle of brightly coloured fabric around her ankles. Andrea looked Polly up and down, trying to recall the last time she had seen her like this. The girl couldn’t have been any older than fifteen, her breasts although they were hidden by her pajama top had been barely budding then, now they were completely developed, they weren’t large, but they were full and a little perky. Andrea couldn’t see them, but she could tell by Polly’s behaviour that the nipples were hard and erect. “Do you need to go potty?” Andrea asked Polly, using the childish euphemism for it.
“Then why are you jiggling about?”
“Nervous.” Polly answered, pink tongue flicking out to moisten her lips.
“Now what do you have to be nervous about?” Andrea asked rhetorically as she calmly and competently turned Polly’s petite body over her lap. “I do hope you went potty, sweetheart, because Aunty is going to be very cross if you have an accident in her lap.”
As Andrea lifted Polly’s legs up onto the couch, so that she’d be supported during her spanking she recalled the recent view she’d had between the woman’s legs. The last time she’d spanked Polly she had just a sparse covering of fluff down there, which was in stark contrast to the full tawny bush she now sported. Polly hadn’t been as aroused as Michael had, but she was definitely excited. There was some moisture noticeable in her growth, just a few pearlescent beads amongst the curly thatch.
Polly squirmed herself into Andrea’s lap and was amazed at how relaxed she now felt. The woman’s lap felt like it was somewhere she belonged. She hadn’t been nestled into the lap of a loving female spanker for many years, not since the last time her mother had turned her over the maternal knee for a smacking not long after her seventeenth birthday. Although Andrea wasn’t a relative, Polly had always regarded her as a kind of big sister or youngish aunt, and for that reason being settled into her lap for a good spanking seemed very natural. The professional dominatrix that the couple had employed for discipline a few times had done her best, but neither Michael or Polly had ever been able to shake the feeling that it was just a job for her, and it was only happening because money had changed hands, she didn’t get that with Andrea, she wasn’t being paid for this for a start, and even if she had been there was still that childhood connection, and the memories that she and her husband shared of being spanked together by Andrea and how that shared experience had kindled the love that they now had for each other.
Polly’s musings were interrupted by the loud rubbery crack of a palm impacting on a tender bare buttock and she let out a shocked squeal as the sting registered. “You were miles away, weren’t you, sweetheart?” Andrea asked, as she planted another smack on the opposite cheek.
“Yeoowwcchhh! Yes ma’am!” Polly yelped, she had forgotten just how soundly Andrea could spank, even as a teenage babysitter her spankings had rivaled anything she received from her mother and aunts.
“Let’s see if Aunty can’t focus that mind of yours on the here and now.” Andrea drawled, and unleashed a blistering volley on Polly’s rapidly reddening rear end. As the fires started to build slowly, but steadily in Polly’s derriere, she rolled her buttocks and did what she could to avoid Andrea’s laser accurate palm. She had been a talented spanker when a teenager, but had improved noticeably in the intervening years. Polly regarded herself as a spanker of no mean ability, and it was something Michael could testify to, but she was a rank amateur next to the chestnut haired beauty over whose lap she was currently writhing. Her legs started to wave as the hot little blaze in her behind was expertly stoked. It had been a while since she’d been the recipient of a really good spanking, and her bottom had tenderized a bit in the meantime, the memories were all flooding back and she was fighting a losing battle with her tear ducts. Unbidden the tears started to flow, and she heard the encouragement from Andrea ‘That’s my girl! Give Aunty some tears to let her know she’s teaching you a lesson. Just a little more and you’ll be done for the moment, darling. We need to keep the real waterworks in reserve for Mrs Hairbrush, who is just waiting on the table there for her chance to scorch your naughty little situpon.”
Polly let out a yell as Andrea delivered two hearty smacks, one to each cheek and then set her on her feet, looking lovingly into the blonde’s tear filled blue eyes.
Michael looked at the hairbrush sitting innocuously on Andrea’s lap and tried not to wince. He knew that brush well. His mother had never used the hairbrush on her son until Mrs Thatcher told her how well it made Polly behave. She had even offered to let her friend use that brush on Michael next time his bottom needed spanking, as Mrs Wilson didn’t have a suitable hair care product at the time. After one session over his mother’s lap with the hairbrush, Mrs Wilson had gone out and purchased one as close to Mrs Thatcher’s as she could find. He’d also been spanked by his girlfriend’s mother as all the neighbourhood ladies who spanked as punishment granted automatic spanking rights to each other. If Michael was naughty at Polly’s house and Mrs Thatcher found it necessary to punish him, then he could be sure of another one waiting for him when he got home. When Andrea sat the two of them at Polly’s house she used Mrs Thatcher’s brush if they earned themselves a trip over her lap. Michael’s mother-in-law had given Polly the brush when they got married for when they had children, but it had seen plenty of bare bottom action as Polly used it on her husband during their ‘games’. Michael occasionally hairbrushed Polly as well, but the brush had never felt right in his hand, he preferred a short strap or leather paddle, and he suspected so did his wife.
Andrea smiled up at Michael, and patted her lap “I can see by your expression that you remember Mrs Hairbrush, Mickey.”
Michael nodded weakly.
“I’m sure she remembers you too, and will be only too pleased to renew acquaintances with you. Over you get, sweetheart.”
Michael settled himself over Andrea’s lap, and squirmed a little as Andrea glided the brushes smooth, flat back across his still simmering posterior. She patted them playfully, grinning as he flinched reflexively “That’s my boy.” She purred, and then lifted the brush.
Michael howled as the brush came down and smacked hard and accurately, twice, once on each stinging cheek. “Legs apart, please Michael.” Andrea ordered crisply.
“Please ma’am,” Michael whimpered, “can’t I keep them together? It hurts so much when I can’t cross my legs.”
“I know it hurts, dear. You were a very naughty boy, and the best way to teach a naughty boy to be a good boy is to spank his disobedient little bottom good and hard, and the more it hurts the better. Surely you can see the sense in that, young man.” Andrea had continued to spank whilst delivering this lecture, punctuating her points with stinging splats of the brushes solid, unyielding back. “Legs apart!”
With a pitiful groan Michael spread his legs.
“That’s better!” Andrea said, and Michael really started to sing as the brush attacked his inside thighs. When Andrea had given the inside and backs of the boy’s legs a good workout and he was bawling like a six year old, she informed him gently that if he wished he could put his legs together again. The next few minutes the only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire, the cracking of the brush as it lit an equally hot fire on Michael’s buttocks, and Michael’s blubbering as he kicked, squirmed wriggled and frantically crossed and uncrossed his legs, anything to relieve the burning sting that the brush in Andrea’s hand imparted to his tender, cherry red bottom.
Michael leapt off Andrea’s lap the moment she told him that he was allowed to do so. Andrea sat back and watched the boy’s antics with a smile playing across her full red lips. Freshly spanked boys never failed to entertain her. Michael clutched both hands to his sizzling rear end and hopped around the room, tears rolling down his face, little member bobbing up and down, all thoughts of modesty put aside in a desperate effort to quench the fires that Andrea’s hand and his wife’s hairbrush had instilled in his backside. Andrea’s voice cut over Michael’s sobs “Alright young man, that’s enough of that silly carry on. You can replace Polly in the corner, while I deal with her.”
Polly swallowed hard as she saw the state of Michael’s bottom and knew that hers would soon resemble it. She crossed quickly to Andrea, knowing that delaying in any way, shape or form would only annoy the older lady and that annoyance would be reflected in how hard she spanked the bottom over her lap. Andrea didn’t have to say or do anything, and Polly lay over her lap obediently. “I do like a young lady who knows that she has been naughty and accepts her punishment gracefully.” Andrea said approvingly, as she shifted Polly into position, and stroked and fondled her still simmering rosy red cheeks. With a broad grin Andrea spun the brush and gently scratched Polly’s upturned rump with the bristles. Polly wriggled and squirmed. “Something wrong?” Andrea asked, calmly.
“It tickles, Aunty.” Polly gasped.
“Oh does it?” Andrea said innocently. “I can soon change that, Miss.”
That was all the warning Polly had before the brush visited fire into her hindquarters with a blistering volley.
Andrea settled into a steady rhythm, smacking the back of the brush all over Polly’s roasting buttocks, and the girl howled and frantically pumped her bottom up and down in an effort to relieve the unrelenting waves of heat Andrea was applying to her rear end. Andrea watched Polly’s histrionics, firmed her grip and continued to methodically grill every inch of the girl’s tender, crimson buttocks. Polly threw her head from side to side and her legs crossed and uncrossed madly as the temperature steadily rose in her bottom. Tears coursed down her cheeks to mix with her snot and saliva and she was glad that she had done her hair in the young style with the short plaits, it would at least ensure that it didn’t end up really nasty.
Polly threw her head back and screamed when Andrea put the brush to her upper thighs and set them alight with the rest of her nether region. Andrea gave her a concentrated set there, let her cry and blubber for a moment or two and asked “Were you a naughty little girl, Polly?”
“Yes ma’am.” Polly sobbed.
“Are you to do as Miss Andrea tells you from now on?”
“Yuhyesss Miss Andrea.” Polly cried contritely.
“Very well,” Andrea replied, “we’ll just finish you off and get you into a corner.”
True to her word Andrea administered another brisk set of spanks with the brush to her entire bottom, making sure that every inch got another tender kiss of that hairbrushes oval wooden back. Polly lay over Andrea’s lap and cried hard, after giving her some time to compose herself a little Andrea helped the blonde girl to her feet and then watched indulgently as she went into her war dance, her ‘big girl bush’ prominently on display, before letting her know firmly, but politely that ‘dancing time’ was over and she wanted her on display in the opposite corner to Michael.
Andrea sat back and admired her handiwork on Michael and Polly’s bottoms, highlighted by the dancing flames in the fireplace. She let them stand there and cry for a few minutes and waited for them to settle down a little before softly calling them to her. She opened her arms and they immediately snuggled into her, one on each side, her arms around their shaking shoulders as they cried into her breasts and promised to behave in future. Andrea accepted their pleas and gave them forgiveness, she also gave each well scalded set of cheeks a thorough rub, enjoying the feel of the tender hot flesh under her palm.
Once they’d both calmed down a little and their tears had dried Andrea rose from between the couple and went to kitchen. She returned with two big mugs, full to the brim with steaming hot cocoa, no marshmallows this time. She handed a mug to each of them, and smiled. Over the rims of their mugs she received a grateful smile in reply “Now, you two drink that all up, be careful it’s very hot and then I’ll get you tucked into bed.”
Andrea watched as Polly and Michael moved next to each other on the couch and slowly drank their cocoa silently. When they indicated that they were finished, she took each of them by the hand, and led them up the stairs. She tucked them into bed and kissed each of the foreheads. They sleepily thanked her and wished her good night. Andrea told them to sleep tight, turned off the light and closed the door behind her.
In the lounge room she switched on the TV, kept the volume low, fed the fire and took the empty cocoa mugs to the kitchen to wash them out, she made herself a pot of tea and took it into the living room to have while she watched TV. She curled up in a comfortable chair and sipped her tea. Upstairs she could hear murmuring and a couple of giggles, which was replaced by the sounds of lovemaking. Andrea smiled to herself and thought of how much she loved where she lived and how she was glad to have been of service to her friends.