From CF Shots. Rachel winces as Aunty Gabrielle gets to work.
I hadn’t long left reception, when the phone in my parlour rang. I picked it up after the second ring, and heard the dulcet tones of my darling daughter “Yes Kimberley?”
“Your appointment is here, Mum,” Kimberley informed me in the rather businesslike tone she often adopts with me at the shop.
“That would be Rachel?”
“Oh gorgeous. Send her right in, sweetheart,” I ordered Kimberley, hoping I had kept the delight out of my voice.
As soon as I saw the name Rachel McMillan in Kimberley’s appointment book I had determined that if Andrea wasn’t busy I was going to ask to have the girl sent to me. Happily Andrea was already booked, so Rachel had an appointment with me.
Rachel’s a couple of years older than my Kim, but considerably less mature. She works as a teller at a local bank, and has been attending The Spank Shop on a fairly regular basis since Andrea opened. She’s not the only young adult who is sent to us by their employer, but I think she’s the most regular visitor. She’s got a bit of a temper and a mouth, and that’s usually why she finds herself over Andrea’s or my knee. I know her parents, they know that I spank her sometimes when she’s sent here, and they’re content for that to remain between Rachel, her employer and the shop. In some ways it is their fault, though. They did ground her and the like, but they stopped spanking her when she turned 13. I doubt she’d be sent here, or maybe not as often, if they had spanked her through her teens. However they didn’t, and whenever her mouth ran away with her involving a client, and in some cases superiors, here she came. The reason they had her spanked rather than dismissing her is because in many other ways she was a good employee, competent, punctual, and she wasn’t afraid to pitch in and stay back if it was needed. Shame that she had such an attitude on her.
I was seated on a couch by the fire when Rachel made her entrance. Her face was glum, it usually was when she was sent here. She knew what was coming, and if I were a betting lady, I would have put money on her bottom tingling right at this moment. She was dressed for work. Long comfortable striped and pleated skirt, stockings, flat sensible shoes, a blouse and a neat, pastel cardigan.
“Good afternoon, Rachel,” I greeted her warmly.
“It won’t be good for long, ma’am,” she said politely.
I was impressed that she still had a sense of humour about this. She’d been here often enough that she knew by the time she walked out her bottom would be smouldering under that skirt.
“What is it this time, Rachel?” I asked her.
Rachel sighed, but didn’t roll her eyes. She’d given me the eye roll once. I spanked her immediately, and it didn’t count as the punishment she had been sent here to receive. I cannot abide the eye roll or the ubiquitous ‘whatever’. I’d spanked my middle daughter Chelsea for that very offence only two days earlier, and I’d washed her mouth out with soap as well.
“I gave Mrs Grimes a piece of my mind, ma’am,” Rachel replied.
“Is that what you call it?” I asked her rhetorically. “I’ve got a report here from your manager that states the language used by you was a lot more colourful than just giving her a ‘piece of your mind’.”
Rachel blushed, but gave a spirited defence of her behaviour “She’s an old biddy, ma’am. She treats us like second-class citizens just because we’re young and in junior positions. She called me lazy and a perfect example of my generation just because she had to wait in line for a few minutes. There were only two of us working as tellers, and it was during a rush period.”
I nodded, but didn’t immediately speak. Her claim about Cecelia Grimes had merit. She did put on airs and graces, and felt herself above anyone younger than her. I’d had words with her myself on more than one occasion, but Rachel simply had to learn how to deal with people like Cecelia without resorting to foul language, or losing her temper. She had also told her manager in less than ladylike language exactly how he could have avoided the situation by scheduling the staff better.
“Be that as it may, Rachel, you simply can’t behave like that and expect no consequences. You let your tongue run away with you last time, didn’t you?”
Rachel sighed “Yes, ma’am.”
“What did I promise you if it happened again?”
The girl’s green eyes widened, and she blurted “No! Please Aunty Gabrielle! Not that!”
I had to suppress a smile when she called me Aunty Gabrielle. I was definitely getting through to her if she was calling me that. I’ve known Rachel most of her life, and the first time I had her as a client at the shop was not the first time I spanked her. That was when she was 7 years old, and a guest at Kimberley’s 6th birthday party. The parents of the guests knew how I kept unruly children in line, and I had carte blanche from them to deal with misbehavior how I saw fit. Even as a child Rachel had never been backward in coming forward, and when she told me in no uncertain terms how to better organize one of the party games she found herself over my knee, her party dress up and her panties down, having her plump little bottom scorched by my palm.
“Rachel,” I said sternly. “I made you a promise young lady, and as I think you know I always keep my promises. What did I tell you I would do if you were sent her again for swearing?”
Rachel winced, and replied quietly, her eyes on her shoes “Wash my mouth out with soap.”
“Yes, I did,” I confirmed, nodding my head. “Would you like it now or after your spanking?”
That was the devil’s choice, and I could see Rachel thinking about after I put the question to her. There were advantages and disadvantages no matter what she decided. Getting your mouth soaped out is a highly unpleasant and humiliating business, regardless of age.
If she selected the before option she would go through her spanking with both the taste of the soap, it takes a long time to get that taste out of your mouth, even if you rinse thoroughly after, and the memories of having it done to her. If she decided to accept it after her spanking, then she’d be thinking about the extra pain and humiliation all the way through having her backside warmed.
Rachel took a deep breath, ran one hand through her short dark hair, and said slowly “Before please, ma’am.”
“Good girl,” I complimented her, for what it was worth I thought she had made the smart choice. “If you’d like to go through to the bathroom, you’ll find a fresh bar of soap there just for you. Take off your cardigan and put a towel over your blouse, we don’t want to get it all soapy. I’ll be in directly.”
A miserable Rachel made her way slowly to the bathroom, and I got things ready for her spanking. I’d dealt with Rachel last time, and felt I had to up the ante a little today, because I clearly was not getting through to her. Rachel had spent her previous visit over my lap and experienced my hand and hairbrush. I had my own little arsenal in this parlour, but it in no way compared to Andrea’s ‘chamber of horrors’ as I had christened the cupboard in which she stored her array of punishment tools. Naturally I had my mother’s mahogany hairbrush, that one has been handed down from mother to daughter for a couple of generations now. My mother used to warm my bottom with it, and it’s heated up the behinds of my four, I’ll probably give it to Kimberley, or maybe Chelsea, if Kim decides to keep her cherry wood one. The long, broad, thick strap that Andrea calls The Igniter is actually hers, and generally resides in the cupboard in her parlour. I’d appropriated it for use on Rachel’s pert rear end this afternoon. She needed a little something special, and I felt that The Igniter might just get the job done. I placed it with the brush on a table where I knew the girl could not miss it.
Rachel was standing in front of the mirror when I entered the bathroom. A towel covered her shoulders, and she’d arranged it so that it also protected the front of her blouse. I knew from experience that soaping out someone’s mouth could be quite a messy episode. Saliva and soap got everywhere. The girl was looking at the untouched bar of soap on the side of the washbasin like it was a dead rat. I’d only unwrapped it before going to relieve Kimmy in reception while she heated up the Kendall girl.
I put on a pair of rubber gloves, and turned on the faucet. I took a washcloth out of the cupboard and held it under the running water. Rachel watched my every movement, her deep green eyes frightened. Once the washcloth was good and wet I held the soap under the water and began to lather the cloth up. I was amazed we had never washed Rachel’s mouth out before, but she was no stranger to the punishment, both her mother and grandmother had done it to her, but that was years ago. “Do we have to, Aunty Gabrielle?” she asked me plaintively as I furiously lathered the cloth up, in a last ditch attempt to get out of it.
“Well, we don’t HAVE to, Rachel,” I answered, emphasizing the word. “I think we NEED to. I’ve had enough of that little potty mouth of yours, and I find the memory of a soapy mouth helps with that.”
Rachel did not respond, merely sighed in resignation, and looked sad.
I brought her close to the washbasin, held the back of her neck firmly and began to wash out her mouth thoroughly. I made sure I rubbed that soapy washcloth right over her tongue, teeth and gums. I kept doing it until Rachel started gagging. When they did that, they had had enough. Tears were streaming down her face and I knew that she was having difficulty not swallowing. I placed the soap down on its holder and released Rachel, saying “Rinse.”
The girl gratefully put her mouth under the tap, filling her mouth again and again and spitting the water out, trying to rid her mouth of the taste of the soap sandwich I had just given her. I stood back and shook my head, and said softly “I had meant for you to use the glass, Rachel.”
Rachel squirted water out her mouth one last time and turned the tap off, she went bright red, and said “Sorry Aunty, I was just desperate to get that soap out of my mouth.”
I laughed, she wasn’t that bad a girl really, but she did need regular guidance, and right now she was going to be guided over her Aunty Gabrielle’s lap.
“Did you get rid of it all?” I asked.
Rachel shook her head and made a face, before she answered “Not all, Aunty Gabrielle, but most of it.”
I nodded and gave her an order “Before you come out to the parlour for your spanking make sure you visit the toilet, sweetheart. I’d rather you not have an accident over my lap.”
By the time Rachel reappeared in the parlour I was seated in the middle of the couch, in perfect spanking position. Rachel had removed the towel, and washed her face, her cardigan was folded over her arm. She gave the table a glance, and her face paled under its tan when she saw the hairbrush, with the strap lying next to it. Rachel had never encountered The Igniter before, but somehow our clients get word of all of Andrea’s little refinements ahead of time, and it generally scares them sufficiently when they realize that they’re going to be subjected to one. Andrea had said the first person to be put over her caning horse, that she’d received as a birthday present from a former client, had nearly had a fit when it appeared, no doubt word of that had filtered out.
“Come to me,” I said to Rachel, she shuffled over obediently.
I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her skirt and was about to take it off, when Rachel wailed “Aunty!”
I looked up in surprise, and asked “What?”
“Can’t I take them off myself, please?” she begged.
“Rachel,” I told her, using my reasonable tone, something that Kim and Chelsea refer to as my ‘schoolteacher voice’. “You behaved like a child, you will be treated like one, unless you’d rather wear an apron.”
Rachel made a face, and meekly submitted to me taking off her skirt and panties. I had thought mention of the apron would do the trick. The aprons are one of Andrea’s innovations. They go from neck to knees, but leave the back completely bare for display and easy access. Andrea initially decided to use them in an attempt to preserve modesty for when she was required to punish opposite genders together, they were also ideal for when the freshly spanked client was required to serve public corner time in reception. The aprons were generally highly embarrassing. Firstly there was having to wear one in the first place, then there was the designs on many of them. That was my Kimmy’s doing. I don’t know where she got this from, but she has an unerring knack for finding the most juvenile designs possible in adult sizes. Rachel had worn them before, and like many others she hated them with a passion.
I eyed off Rachel’s lovely dark little muff, before putting her over my lap, and settling her into position. The girl had a very pretty, firm round backside. It was small and lily white, I looked forward to changing that colour to a deep rich glowing cherry red. I stroked and fondled her derriere, watching her shiver and squirm.
“Legs apart,” I commanded.
Rachel tensed, but did as she was told. I’d ordered her to spread her legs for two reasons. One it would give me access to her entire bottom, including the protected area between her cotton ball white cheeks. Secondly having the legs spread makes it harder to relieve any of the pain of the spanking. I’d let her bring them together for the hairbrushing, but having them parted for her hand spanking would be beneficial and really allow the sting to settle in early.
I lined up her buttocks and let the right cheek have it. There was a loud crack followed by an “Owwww! Aunty!” from Rachel. I nearly switched sides, but then decided to keep spanking that right hemisphere. Continually slapping one side can be excruciating, and I wanted Rachel to feel this afternoon’s chastisement every time she sat down for the next few days.
“Owwww! Owwwww! Ouch! Aunty, please spank the other cheek! That one’s on fire! Eeeeek!”
“What was that Rachel? Did you ask Aunty Gabrielle to spank your left bottom cheek?”
“Yes ma’am!” the girl gasped. “Yes please!”
“Well since you have asked so politely, young lady, I am glad to oblige you.”
I turned my attention to the left globe, and heated it up under my palm while the other rosy half moon cooled. Rachel wriggled and squirmed and squealed, as the cracks of my hand rang out around the room. She was a fit young girl and put up quite a struggle, but I’m no weakling myself, and was able to hold her in position. When the two buttocks matched I delivered some scorching smacks in between her cheeks, which made her howl and buck wildly.
I could hear that she was grunting and breathing heavily, which was a sure sign that floods of tears weren’t far away, which is what I wanted. Andrea prides herself on being able to induce tears with just her hand. I can do that, too, but Rachel’s quite a tough customer, and I knew she’d soon be crying, but it didn’t bother me if she did it under my hand or my beloved old brush.
“Up you get,” I told the ragged breathing girl over my thighs.
Rachel took a moment to compose herself a little, and get her breath back. “Aunty, that was really hard,” she complained as she got up off my lap.
“It’s a spanking you silly child, it’s not meant to tickle,” I informed her. “Now bring Aunty her brush, please.”
Rachel pouted, saw the resolute look on my face and sighed. She picked up the brush, and held it out to me.
“Thank you dear,” I patted my lap. “Back over.”
Rachel arranged herself in my lap and settled herself in. I shifted her a little so that her bottom was in the centre and pointed directly at the ceiling. Her cheeks were lovely and red and just simmering. She had been warmed up beautifully for the attentions of Mrs Mahogany.
I placed the brushes smooth, polished back on Rachel’s twitching red hams, and let her feel the weight. “It’s going to sting and burn, isn’t it?” I teased.
“Yes, ma’am,” Rachel whimpered, giving a little shudder.
I looked at her gorgeous rear while I waited for her to relax a little. When I saw that happen I closed my hand around the brushes familiar handled, lifted it up and smacked it down smartly. That first stroked cracked down hard on Rachel’s creamy upper thighs. She jerked and kicked, and let out the yell “Ohhhh fffffruitcake!” I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. It would not have been the first time Rachel had said something else, but she knew from painful experience the reaction of Andrea and myself when someone swore while being spanked. I believe Andrea had switched her once for it.
Once I’d delivered a ringing slap to her upper thighs, sit spot and right up her bottom to the base of her spine I settled into a steady rhythm sprinkling good firm spanks of the unyielding back of the hairbrush all over Rachel’s frantically pumping buttocks. She was bawling and wailing, promising me that she wouldn’t be rude to customers ever again. That particular comment earned her a blistering volley and the reprimand not to fib. Her legs waved, and she crossed and uncrossed her ankles desperately, trying anything to relieve the unrelenting sting that she was getting from Mrs Mahogany. Her bottom was glowing like a stop light, it was fire hydrant scarlet, and it felt as hot as a stove. Once she’d crossed over from roaring and writhing, to blubbering and laying limp and unresisting over my lap I knew she’d been cooked to perfection, and set the brush down.
I let Rachel cry and settle for a moment or two, then put my arms around her waist and gently assisted her to her feet. I pressed her arms to her sides so that she wouldn’t rub those hotly stinging hindquarters and looked at her face. Tears were trickling down her cheeks, and I’m sure she was glad she’d washed away her makeup earlier, because she would have made a mess of it if she had not done so. She sniffled, and I smiled at her. I let her hands go, and while she had to fight to control herself she didn’t try to soothe her battered backside. I plucked some tissues from a nearby box, and held them to her nose. Rachel blew into the wadded tissues noisily without having to be told, and let me clean her face, wiping away tears, snot and saliva.
“You saw The Igniter earlier, didn’t you Rachel?” I asked.
Wide-eyed Rachel nodded, and swallowed hard.
“Why don’t you bring that to Aunty?”
That was when the girl broke. Fresh tears spilled from her eyes, and she started to beg “Please Aunty Gabrielle, not that, please. I’ll be good I promise.”
Maybe I’m hard hearted, but pleas like that simply don’t have an effect on me. “Rachel,” I said sternly. “You’ve made that promise before, and yet here you are again, and not more than a month between the two incidents. Obviously Mrs Mahogany isn’t getting through to you, young lady. Maybe a chat with The Igniter will convince you of the wisdom of holding your tongue, or at least arguing your case without resorting to profanity.”
Rachel stood in front of me, and bawled.
“Bend over the back of the couch, please Rachel.” I ordered.
Rachel took her time, but didn’t offer any comment or try to get out of it, and I was pleased about that. I doubted the Rachel that first got sent to the shop would have been so mature about what promised to be a painful ordeal.
I picked up The Igniter and ran it’s smooth, supple length through my hands, shivering a little as I remembered my last encounter with a strap. That had been at the hands of a local police officer; Tania Wheeler, and it had been for persistently speeding. I hadn’t enjoyed it at the time, but as I sat at home the following day nursing a sore bottom, I reflected on my behaviour, and came to the conclusion that I had deserved it. I actually rang Tania and thanked her, also apologizing for making her do it in the first place.
Rachel had bent her tall, slender body over the couch. She’d straightened her long shapely legs, and pushed her glowing scarlet bottom out proudly. “Legs wider apart, Rachel!” I barked.
There was a brief pause, and then the legs widened. I laid the strap’s length across the girl’s buttocks, and drew it slowly across them. Rachel shuddered, and I heard a hissed intake of breath.
“You’ve never been strapped before, have you, Rachel?”
“No, ma’am,” came the muffled and scared response from the couch.
“It’s quite painful, but it hurts less on a pre warmed bottom like yours. I won’t make you count the strokes or ask me for them, but if I see you here again in the near future I will do so and this will seem mild in comparison. I do hope you’re listening to me, young lady.”
“Yes ma’am,” Rachel had time to answer before the strap came flying down, and sizzled across her bottom, making a loud crack and eliciting a scream from her.
I laid them on hard and deliberately. She got twelve bottom roasters, I let the full impact and sting of each stroke settle in before applying the next one. Rachel howled and roared and kicked her legs around after each stroke when I got to six. I let her settle down when she did that, but I was pleased that she didn’t beg off or try to stand up, or put her hands back to protect her bottom. I’d known older girls and boys to do that, and had to have Kimberley come in and hold their hands to prevent it.
“You’re doing well,” I encouraged the brunette with the crimson, swollen bottom. “Not too long to go now, sweetness. Make Aunty proud and be a big brave girl for her.”
Rachel sobbed and then shrieked as I laid one on her sit spot. I backhanded the final stroke, which got another bellow, and as she saw the strap land on the couch through tear filled eyes she collapsed over the back of the couch and blubbered. I let her do that while I opened the door and asked Kimberley for some lotion, water, towels and cotton balls. I don’t always do the post spanking soothing that thoroughly, but I felt Rachel deserved some TLC and I was proud of how well she’d accepted her chastisement.
I helped Rachel up off the couch and gave her a fierce hug telling her that it was all over and that Aunty was proud of her for being a big brave girl and taking her deserved spanking well. I led her to the corner, and installed her there with an admonition to keep her hands on her head and not to move until she was given permission.
I settled into a chair to admire my handiwork, and enjoy Rachel’s glowing red situpon jiggle as she sobbed. I knew Kimberley would still be a minute or two with the things I’d asked for, so picked up a magazine and leafed casually through it, with glances up at the blazing bottom in the corner.
Kimberley arrived bearing a bowl of cool water, a bottle of soothing lotion, a packet of cotton balls and towels draped over her arm. I directed her to put them down on a table near the couch. She did that, and stopped to examine Rachel’s rump. “That must be steaming, you really did her good, Mum!”
“Thank you darling,” I accepted the compliment graciously.
“Are they really hot, Rachel?” Kimberley asked.
I gave the crying brunette permission to answer “Yes, Miss Kimberley,” she sniffed. “It feels like I sat on a hot plate.”
“I bet it does,” Kimberley agreed. “You’ll be sitting on a pillow tonight.”
I let Rachel cool down a few minutes more after Kimberley departed, before telling her that she could leave the corner and come to me. I enfolded her in my arms, and let her cry on my bosom as I whispered sweet endearments into her ear. I stroked her hair, and enjoyed the feel of her hot little hams radiating heat into my lap. After a bit of cuddling, I covered my lap with a towel and turned Rachel back over. Sometimes when you do this they struggle because they think you’re going to spank them more. Rachel’s an experienced customer, she knew what was coming, so didn’t try to avoid it.
She sighed, and wriggled happily into my lap as I sluiced cool water over her scalded rotundities. I gently patted them dry, and then squeezed some lotion onto each cheek, which I rubbed and massaged into her still sizzling hindquarters. I could tell by the small noises of pleasure and her sighs that Rachel was enjoying the after care. I washed the excess lotion and grease away with damp cotton balls, and then dried her bottom again. I let her lay across my lap just enjoying the feel for a minute or two. She got up of her own accord. She thanked me and hugged me, before retreating to the bathroom to put her underpants and skirt back on. I didn’t envy her trying to compact freshly spanked flesh back into that skirt. The young female clients so often sacrifice comfort for style.
I accompanied Rachel to the door of my parlour with hopes that it would be some time before her bottom and my palm renewed acquaintances again. She responded by saying that she would do her best to make sure that was the case.
I tidied up in the room, remembering to collect The Igniter to return it to Andrea. As I exited, the final client of the day was limping out the door, and Kimberley was setting out afternoon tea so that the three of us; Andrea, Kimberley and myself, could have a lovely relaxing time while we discussed the day’s adventures.