From Spanked Call Girls. Wendy's panties are heated up.
Spanked Sweeties. Wendy bends over for some more punishment.
From Spanking Dollars. That strap laying there can't possibly be good news for our heroine.
I looked at the sheet Mrs Mendes had slid across the desk to me, and then up at her grinning frog like face. “You understand what that means Miss Haverforth?”
“Yes, Mrs Mendes,” I sighed.
“Then you know what option I have to give you.”
“What is it to be, Wendy? Dismissal or the punishment option?”
I swear the bitch was enjoying this. I like working at the Clarkstown bank. I enjoy the work and I’m friendly with a lot of my coworkers, most of whom are close to my age. The fly in the ointment is Glenys Mendes. She’s the manager. She’s originally from Argentina and she has to be the offspring of one of the former SS officers who were rumoured to have fled to the South American country when it all went tits up for them at the end of World War Two. She lords it over her junior employees like some medieval aristocrat. The name Elizabeth Bathory springs immediately to mind.
I’m not a native of Clarkstown. I moved here because the bank had a vacancy I could fill and the more relaxed, cheaper lifestyle of somewhere outside of a big city appealed to me. I didn’t know at the time that the entire place had fallen into some sort of time warp that meant most of their values remained rooted firmly in the 1950’s.
When I looked at my initial contract of employment and signed it I thought the clause that Glenys Mendes was now applying to me was some sort of elaborate practical joke. I only signed it after checking that it was not April the first, because I was convinced that the kindly looking plump middle-aged woman across the desk from me then would laugh, and say. “Only kidding, dear. Here’s the real contract.” However she filed the blasted thing and took me out to meet the rest of the staff.
“Do you need some time to think about it, Wendy?” Glenys asked me, and she almost sounded like a human being.
“Uhhh…yeah,” I said numbly.
“Okay then,” the manager nodded. “I don’t see why it’s a hard choice, but we’ll meet here again tomorrow and you can tell me your decision.”
You don’t see why it’s a hard choice! I wanted to shout at her. It’s not your bloody bottom that’s going to be smacked, is it? Horrible, horrible woman! I willed myself not to cry and walked stiff backed from her office.
The first person to approach me was Rachel. Rachel McMillan. Rachel is a good friend, probably my best friend in Clarkstown, and also the bank’s most junior employee. Even though she’s three years younger than me I still get along with her better than anyone else. We’ve talked about taking a flat or a house together more than once, but she needs more money before doing that, and this latest development could put the entire dream to bed forever.
I did notice that even Rachel waited until our lunch break to talk to me. Mrs Mendes spent the rest of the morning after our meeting on the floor of the bank, almost daring someone to discuss something that wasn’t work related. She must have had a monthly quota to fill.
I was opening up my packet of home made sandwiches in the lunchroom when Rachel came in and poured herself a cup of coffee, she sat down next to me and opened up her own lunchbox. “So what happened?” she asked eagerly.
I sipped from my cup of tea and answered. “She read me the riot act first…”
“Been there, done that, got the t-shirt,” Rachel sighed resignedly. “She gave you the option, right?”
“You took the shop?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” I told my friend.
“Oh Wendy!” she exclaimed. “You have to take the shop, they’ll fire you otherwise.”
“But I’m going to get my bum smacked!” I protested.
Rachel is probably the best person at the bank to discuss what faced me if I elected to take the punishment option. Clarkstown with its strange old- fashioned morality is home to the world’s one and only Spank Shop. I know it sounds like a BDSM establishment where leather clad, whip wielding dominatrixes give overgrown naughty little boys six of the best just like at school, but it’s not. Rachel was born and raised in Clarkstown, she’s also the banks most frequent visitor to the shop. There have been jokes that she’s racking up frequent flier miles over the laps of the ladies that staff the place.
I walk past the Spank Shop regularly on my way to and from work. From the outside, the odd name aside, it just looks like a normal shop front. There’s a hairdresser and beauty salon next door and they’re really good. I even get my hair done there. Apparently they get a lot of business from the Spank Shop. Clarkstown matrons drop their little darlings next door and then get their hair done while their misbehaving offspring are punished. The lady who runs the salon even keeps her employees in line by threatening to send them next door for an attitude adjustment if they don’t smarten up. Seriously weird.
“It’s not that bad,” Rachel said mildly, biting into a salad sandwich.
“Not that bad!” I echoed, my voice rising hysterically. “You said you couldn’t sit comfortably for three days last time you went there.”
Rachel made a face “That was Aunty Gabrielle. She’s a bit different. You’re a ‘virgin’, you won’t get her.”
I felt my cheeks heat up as she said I was a virgin and asserted angrily “I am not!”
To my surprise Rachel burst out laughing. “I mean a Spank Shop virgin. You’ve never been there and you weren’t spanked growing up, were you?”
I shook my head “I got the occasional smack, but nothing like what you talk about after a visit there. Rachel what is it really like? Be honest.”
Rachel put her sandwich down and sipped her coffee “It kind of depends on who you get. Aunty Gab…Mrs Kennedy is really strict and she hits super hard, but I doubt they’d give you to her unless Aunty Andrea is busy.”
“Then why did you get her last time?”
Rachel shrugged “She knows me. Mrs Kennedy has been smacking my bottom since I was a little girl. She’d never admit this, but I think she gets off on it.”
“Some people do, Wendy.”
“Okay so I can get why you call Mrs Kennedy Aunty, but why Andrea?”
“Oh for God’s sake don’t call her Andrea, Wendy,” Rachel cautioned me, “You’ll never sit down again if you do that. She just has this Aunty feeling about her. It’s also a respect thing.”
“So what do I call her?”
“Ma’am, Miss Andrea, Aunty, you might get away with Ms Mahoney, but I wouldn’t try it.”
“So say I get ‘Aunty Andrea’?” I put to my friend.
“You’ll probably get her. There are three people there who spank.”
“Three? I thought there was only Aunty Andrea and Mrs Kennedy.”
Rachel frowned “There’s also Kimberley…”
“She’s the receptionist, and isn’t she like eighteen years old?”
“She mostly deals with the younger clients, but she did Misty Kendall not all that long ago and she’s your age. As for being eighteen, she’s spanked more bottoms that most twenty-eight year olds. She started when she was sixteen.”
I shook my head “Honestly Rachel, you live in the most screwed up town ever.”
“You live here too,” Rachel shot back and opened up a box of sultanas.
“True,” I acknowledged finishing my sandwiches. “Despite the general weirdness it is a nice place.”
“And if you get sacked then you’ll have to leave,” she said sadly.
“So let’s say I get Andrea, what then?” I pressed.
“You’re like a dog with a bone,” Rachel said, but she was grinning. “I am warning you again Wendy, do not call her Andrea. She’ll spank you, you get a sore bottom and that’s the end of it, unless you do something else to get sent there again.”
“I knew that before talking to you,” I said exasperated. “What is it really like? What’s she going to do?”
“It’s hard to say really. Everyone reacts differently and I know from talking to others that she tailors the sessions depending on how she reads you at first and what you’ve done. The only constants are the spanking and the sore bottom. You are gonna do it, aren’t you?” she pressed me eagerly.
“Yeah,” I admitted, tossing my sandwich wrappers in the bin and rinsing out my teacup.
“So glad you’re staying, honey!” Rachel hugged me, and then said. “Your backside doesn’t hurt forever, either.”
I fronted Mrs Mendes the next morning and gave her my decision. I actually got a smile and a compliment, that I’d made the right choice. I nearly passed out with shock, I think that’s about the first time the cow has ever praised me for my decision making. She had all the paperwork ready for me.
The shop has release forms. If you’re over eighteen you have to sign one before they’ll accept you as a client. It’s almost like signing your own death warrant. Any client under the age of eighteen has a parent or guardian sign for them. It was rather surreal reading that form and then signing it knowing that I was authorizing someone I knew only by sight to spank me like a child for infractions at work.
That’s what found me here. Standing outside the shop, looking up at its shingle. The sign is really rather plain. It just has the name Spank Shop written on it. The script is kind of classical. I peered through the window. You can see reception from the street, it was empty thank goodness, and I could see a fire burning, which was welcome because it was a chilly afternoon. I hugged my parka around me, took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
They have one of those old-fashioned shop bells. It tingled cheerily as I opened the door. I gave it a dirty look. The blonde girl at the desk stopped fussing with her hair and smiled at me. “Hi Wendy!” she beamed. “You’re on time. That’s good.” She held out a clipboard with a form and a pen attached to it. “If you’d like to fill this out once Miss Andrea is finished with her current client we can get your session underway. You can hang your coat up on the rack out here.”
I frowned at the clipboard “I already filled out the release,” I told Kimberley.
The eyebrows rose and her blue eyes became icy “It is NOT the release form,” she informed me curtly. “Please do as you are told, young lady, and I will remind you that I am to be addressed as Miss Kimberley until Aunty Andrea says otherwise.”
Rachel had told me that Kimberley took her job ultra seriously and that she was wound a little tight, but Miss Kimberley, she had to be kidding. She’s four years younger than me, and a pipsqueak as well. I started to reply, spots of colour standing out on my cheeks and then heard a loud crack and an anguished howl that sounded like a grown woman coming from one of the closed doors off reception. I felt the colour drain from my face, murmured something that sounded enough like ‘Thank you Miss Kimberley,” to please the little blonde, then took the clipboard to a chair near the fire.
The receptionist had been telling the truth. The form I was looking at was nothing like the release I’d signed at the office under the watchful eye of Glenys Mendes. This one was like a new client sheet. They wanted all the pertinent information, and some more personal stuff, which I couldn’t see why they needed to know, but asking questions meant dealing with the petite blonde on the desk and she scared me.
I was about halfway through the questionnaire when one of the doors opened and a lady with straight, shoulder length blonde hair, wearing a business suit appeared at it. Her face was free of make up, and I could see that she’d been crying. Her eyes were still a little red and you could just discern the tear tracks on her cheeks. A soft, cultured voice followed her “Think on what we discussed please, Grace. I’d like a progress report next week.”
“If you’d like to take a seat on the couch, Ms Nielsen I’ve put a nice soft pillow there for you,” the receptionist invited the woman.
I wondered why I wasn’t getting Miss Haverforth if the blonde lady got Ms Nielsen. I was younger than her for sure, but I was still Kimberley Kennedy’s elder.
“I’ll just get you a cup of tea,” Kimberley offered. “Mum should be finished up with Trent soon.”
To underline the point the sound of something hitting bare flesh came from the other closed door, and I heard a male voice cry out in pain. I jumped and as Kimberley passed me on her way to the kitchen for Ms Nielsen’s tea she asked. “You’ve finished the form?”
I looked up in surprise, “Ummm…no Miss, I…haven’t…”
“We’re really not off to a good start, are we Wendy? Stop gawking and do it. You don’t want me to report this behaviour to Miss Andrea, my girl.”
Ms Nielsen gave me a sympathetic smile as she eased herself delicately and carefully onto the pillow that Kimberley had placed on the couch for her, and with my cheeks burning I turned my attention back to the new client questionnaire.
Grace Nielsen was sipping her tea and we could still hear the occasional howl from the unfortunate Trent in the other room as Gabrielle Kennedy taught him the error of his ways, when I did complete the form and handed it to Kimberley. She took it from me, scanned it and then ordered me to sit down again. She disappeared into the room that Grace had exited.
Grace looked at me “First time?” she asked.
“Andrea has a fearsome reputation and will really light a fire under that skirt of yours, but you will feel better after, strange as that may sound,” she tried to reassure me.
I gave her a wan smile.
“You’ll survive, sweetie,” she said kindly.
Kimberley reappeared and spoke to me. “Miss Andrea will see you now, Wendy.”
I was a little slow to get up, my legs were weak and that got a cross “Quick sticks! No dawdling! Miss Andrea is a busy woman,” from the girl, and she chivvied me into the parlour.
I looked around as Kimberley shut the door firmly behind me. It was a nice room and quite spacious. It was much larger than the kitchen and living room combined in the small cottage I rented. A crackling fire burned in the grate and the flames leapt around the room. An elegant light fixture on the ceiling kept the room well lit. There was a coffee table in the centre of the room and comfortable looking couches on ether side of it. The famed Aunty Andrea was seated in an armchair by the fire, reading the contents of an open folder in her lap by the light of an absolutely gorgeous Tiffany lamp on the table next to her chair.
I had seen Andrea Mahoney before. She came into the bank sometimes. I’d never spoken to her, though. We didn’t move in the same social circles and I wasn’t on teller duty when she came to the bank. She generally seemed to want to deal with former clients in any case.
The elegant chestnut haired woman turned to me and her generous mouth favoured me with a smile and her emerald eyes sparkled with warmth. “Welcome Wendy, please come in dear and take a seat,” she motioned at the couch.
I sat down and perched on the edge of the couch. Andrea rose gracefully from her chair and seated herself across from me. “Your questionnaire all seems to be in order, dear. Would you like some tea before we get started?”
I felt my mouth water at the mention of tea. I’d been too nervous at work to eat or drink much of anything, and I really did need something to settle my nerves. “Tea would be appreciated, ma’am,” I accepted the offer.
Andrea’s lips twitched up in a smile at my formal form of address and she said. “I can see Rachel has worded you up about how I prefer to be addressed. If you can keep that up, my sweet, we’re going to get along very well,” she picked up the phone and requested. “Kimmy can you make a pot of tea please?”
Andrea continued to peruse my file while we waited for the tea. I looked around the room, my nerves getting worse and worse as various implements that could only be used for the purpose of corporal punishment seemed to be scattered about the place. There was an old-fashioned crook handled school cane on Andrea’s desk and I could see a large piece of furniture lurking in the shadows.
“Does my caning horse intrigue you, Wendy?” Andrea asked. Her tone clearly amused.
“What, Miss?” I asked flustered. “No, I just…”
“I’m teasing, sweetheart. We won’t be needing that for you today. Ahhhh here’s Kimberley with the tea.”
The blonde receptionist set the pot down on the coffee table and poured a steaming cup of tea, which she added milk and sugar to, then handed to Andrea. “How do you take your tea, Wendy?” Andrea asked me, and Kimberley scowled.
Normally I took milk, but today I really felt the need to calm myself, and hot sweet tea did that usually. “No milk, three sugars, please,” I said.
Kimberley did not say anything as she grumpily poured and prepared the tea, but her eyebrows rose at the request of the sugars. She handed it to me wordlessly and after putting the tray under her arm flounced out of the room. I stared after her.
Andrea sipped her tea and explained. “You’ll have to forgive young Kimberley. We have a difference of opinion on how adult clients should be treated. She thinks that if you’ve done something to get you sent here then you should be treated like a child, and that means you don’t get given tea or coffee until after your smacking, even then she’s more likely to give you hot cocoa or milk. I’m a little different. It’s quite a nerve-wracking experience for a young lady such as yourself to come here to have your botty smacked. I can see the need for something to settle the nerves and hot sweet tea is very good for that.”
I sipped my tea and almost burned my tongue. It was very hot. I couldn’t believe how accurately this woman had nailed my situation and feelings.
She laughed at my obvious discombobulation “Wendy, dear, you are far from unique. It’s a rare week that I don’t receive at least one client not all that dissimilar from you, sweetness. Now tell Aunty a little about yourself.”
What Rachel had said was right, she had that air about her that just made you want to call her Aunty. She was also very attractive. I’m straight, but I couldn’t deny an attraction to her on some level.
“What do you want to know, Aunty?” I asked her, blushing as I said it and feeling a little self conscious about calling her Aunty.
“Where you’re from, what your upbringing was like, how you feel about being here, that sort of thing.”
I put my tea down and smoothed my skirt before speaking “I came here because I wanted to live somewhere slower paced and a little easier than the city to deal with.”
“Oh Clarkstown certainly fits that description, Wendy. My reasons for settling here were very much the same.”
“Ummmm….this is my first spanking…”
“Oh goodness! A virgin! Kimberley adores having virgins here. I must see if we can get you a souvenir cushion.”
“A souvenir cushion?” I asked weakly.
Andrea rummaged around under some of the cushions on the couch she occupied and came up with a small satin one. It was pink and had the message embroidered on it “I got spanked by Aunty Andrea at the Spank Shop.” There was a picture of a glowing red bottom and a space for the name of the cushion’s owner.
I went about as red as the bottom on the cushion and quickly sipped tea to try and hide my embarrassment.
“I’ll add it to the bill,” Andrea smiled. “So Mum and Dad never spanked?”
I frowned “I thought they were spankings at the time, but Rachel kind of explained that it’s more than a smack and it has to be on the bare bottom.”
“Oh she is a Clarkstown girl!” Andrea said with approval clear in her voice. “How do you feel about being sent here today?”
“Annoyed,” I said bitterly. “Stupid, scared.”
Andrea nodded her head “All understandable feelings. Now let’s examine what got you here and see what we can do about it.”
She opened the folder in her lap and began to look at it. I sat by nervously.
“It says here you were late for work three times,” Andrea started. “What happened there?”
I sighed. I hadn’t wanted the third degree, but it looked like I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Andrea had a manner about her that just made you answer her, whether you wanted to or not.
“Once my alarm went off, but I was tired and didn’t hear it. Another time I forgot to set it before I went to bed and the last time we had a power black out and it didn’t go off at the right time because of that.”
Andrea’s green eyes looked at me intently through the haze of steam rising from her cup. “Do you have a mobile phone, Wendy?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered, wondering where she was going with this.
“Does it have an alarm function on it? Most of them do these days.”
“Ummm…I guess so Miss. I haven’t checked it.”
“I suggest you do so, young lady. All of these late starts could have been avoided by you utilizing that function,” she advised. “Some of the ring tones are quite loud and harsh and cannot possibly be slept through. You can set it to ring automatically at the same time every work day and therefore don’t have to remember to set it the night before and if there’s a power problem it won’t lose time. I rather suspect you knew that, though.” Andrea assumed, making me feel about six years old and continuing through my file to the second transgression.
“You returned to work inebriated?”
Oh dear God! She brought that one up!
“Any reason why?” she asked me.
“One of the girls had a birthday and we went to lunch to celebrate,” I tried to explain.
“So you all over indulged and were tipsy at work?”
“Jjust me, Aunty,” I stammered uncertainly.
She frowned and the jade eyes grew hard, I tried to burrow into the couch and wished I had a convenient hole to hide in. My bottom was tingling just looking at her.
“So you all went to a hotel to celebrate another girl’s birthday and you were the only one who drank?”
“No, ma’am. The other girls did drink, but I was the only one who had too much, I suppose.”
I shut my eyes and winced, how was I going to get out of this without making myself sound like an idiot who couldn’t handle a few drinks at lunchtime? The worst thing of it was I knew that I couldn’t because that is exactly what did happen.
“I wasn’t thinking, Aunty.”
“It certainly sounds that way,” Andrea said firmly. “Did you not go out after work to help the girl celebrate?”
“Oh yes, we did that, ma’am.” I was happier answering that question. It was a good night.
“You couldn’t attend?”
“No, Miss. I went.”
“You make some mystifying choices, young lady,” Andrea told me. “You’re of legal drinking age, but neither I nor your employer approve of your work suffering because you over indulged at lunch. What do you think would happen to young Kimberley Susan if she returned from a lunch date all giggly and silly from having drunk too much at lunch?”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” I confessed.
“She’d be spanked good and hard on her bare bottom at my earliest convenience,” Andrea vowed.
I couldn’t help it. My first meeting with the high and mighty Miss Kennedy hadn’t gone well, and the thought of her draped bare bottom over Andrea’s skirted lap howling while this very competent and stern lady spanked fire into her pert posterior was actually rather appealing and I smiled.
“Is there something amusing about this situation, Wendy?” Andrea asked me sharply.
“No, ma’am,” I answered quickly.
“Then wipe that silly smirk off your face immediately or we can take a trip to the bathroom for you to have your mouth thoroughly washed out.”
The scolding almost made me wet myself, and I very quickly sat up straight and tried to school my expression into one of neutrality.
“Now transgression number three. You made a mistake of quite some significance on a report.”
“Why was that, Wendy? Everything else I have heard about you seems to indicate that you are an intelligent girl who is good at her job and prides herself on a job well done.”
I preened under the praise and said “Thank you, Aunty,” then asked “Mrs Mendes said that? About me?”
Andrea smiled “Glenys Mendes is a hard working woman in a male dominated industry, Wendy. You still haven’t told me what happened this time, my girl.”
I looked miserable again “I had a late night, and someone was talking to me and I got a text that had to be answered.”
“They’re all excuses, Wendy, and not very good ones at that. It is your responsibility as an adult and an employee to ensure that you are at your best each day for work, that means organizing your social life around that. It also means that if someone is trying to talk to you about a non-work related incident or topic you firmly, but politely ask them to let it wait until a break time. I know the bank gives you ample time for breaks. The same applies to the text message. If they are a real friend they will understand, unless of course it was an emergency. Was it an emergency?”
It had actually been a joke, so I hung my head and murmured “No, ma’am.”
“So we have three incidents, which have forced the bank to take action,” Andrea concluded. “You were given the opportunity to accept dismissal or make a visit here, weren’t you Wendy?”
“Yes, Miss Andrea.”
“You chose to see me to make good on your mistakes.”
“Have you finished your tea, sweetheart?”
“How much has Rachel told you about what happens here and how I do things?” she asked me.
“Not a lot, Aunty,” I admitted.
“She does at least seem to have advised you that I command a certain level of respect from my clients, whether they’re eight years old or forty eight.”
I really wanted to ask who she’d spanked that was forty eight. There were rumours about one of the other bank executives, but we’d never been able to find out if it was true. He was in his forties. However I didn’t say anything, because I think it was a number she plucked out of the air and I was already in enough trouble.
“She did say something about an apron,” I said shyly.
To my surprise Andrea laughed “What did she tell you about them?”
“Just that you make people wear them, ma’am. It sounds kind of odd to be honest.” My heart pounded madly, had I just insulted this formidable lady?
The chestnut haired woman smiled at me “In your case, sweetheart I don’t think we need an apron. Why don’t you go to the change room,” she indicated a closed door. “Remove your clothes until you’re in your bra and knickers and then come back out here.”
I swallowed hard and stood to do as I had been told.
Andrea spoke again “There’s a bathroom in there Wendy. If you feel the need please use it. Accidents during spankings are both humiliating and unpleasant.”
My cheeks burning, I entered the change room. Wetting myself over her lap would be humiliating and unpleasant she had said, as if being spanked at the age of twenty two like a pre teen wasn’t both of those.
The change room as Andrea had referred to it was actually a bedroom. I saw an open closet and it had the aprons Rachel had told me about hanging up in it. Curious, I began to look through them. Rachel had been right about one thing. They were extremely embarrassing. The designs looked to be very childish and they were designed to shame the wearer.
I was examining a Hello Kitty one when Kimberley entered the room. “What are you doing?” she barked.
I turned with a guilty expression on my face “I was just…” I started.
“Did Aunty Andrea tell you to put an apron on?” she demanded.
“Well no, but I…”
Red spots of colour stood on out on her cheeks “Then why are you wasting time looking at things that don’t concern you? Aunty Andrea is a busy lady. Get those clothes off now! Apparently you need supervision to carry out things, young lady.”
I stared at her wide-eyed and resisted the impulse to slap her face. She stood in front of me, arms crossed and foot tapping. It was obvious that she wasn’t going anywhere and the longer this took the more likely it was that Andrea would investigate and that would probably add to my punishment.
I held my tongue and started to remove my clothes, keeping an eye on the little blonde harridan as I did so. I folded what I removed and I got down to my panties and bra.
“Well?” Kimberley said, her voice still annoyed.
“Well what…Miss Kimberley,” I remembered to add the title just as she prepared to smack me.
“You’re still wearing underwear,” she informed me.
“Aunty Andrea told me to leave it on, ma’am.”
She didn’t seem to believe me, but muttered. “On your own head be it,” then asked “Have you tinkled?”
“Tinkled?” I repeated, not familiar with the word.
Kimberley sighed and clarified “Gone potty? Made water?”
“Oh ummm…no Miss,” I confessed.
“Off you go then!” she commanded and when I didn’t move, smacked the seat of my pants to send me in the direction of the connected bathroom.
I hadn’t really thought I needed to wee, but once I dropped my knickers and seated myself it came almost immediately. My nerves must have still been working overtime.
Kimberley was putting my clothes away when I’d washed my hands and returned to the bedroom “I bet that’s a relief,” she said. I nodded. “Ask Aunty Andrea to have me get your clothes after she’s spanked you, okay.” I didn’t trust myself to speak to her, she had completely and totally embarrassed me, so I just nodded again and she sent me out to the parlour, or ‘spanking room’ as Rachel had referred to it, with another stinging swat on my knickers.
I was still rubbing the affected area when I entered Andrea’s cozy sitting room. “Had a little encounter with Miss Kennedy, did we?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied politely.
She nodded her beautiful brown head and said “Well, let’s have a look at you, darling. Stand up straight!”
I stood up in front of Andrea and she looked me over. “You’re quite a pretty child, Wendy,” she played with my brown curls. “Such lovely soft curly hair. Nice full breasts and such a pert bottom. You’re going to be an absolute joy to spank, sweetheart.”
I blushed furiously throughout this examination.
Andrea sat up straight on the couch and said. “Over my lap you get!”
I looked down at her pleated skirt and wondered what was the best way to tackle that maneuver.
“Oh dear, you are a virgin aren’t you?” Andrea said kindly. “Let me help you sweetness.” She held her arms out to me.
With an ease born of long practice I was soon face down over Andrea’s lap. My bottom centred and pointing at the ceiling. My legs were supported by the couch as was my torso and my head was able to rest on the sofa’s padded arm.
I tried to still the butterflies in my stomach and stop the tingling in my bottom. I was also trying not to clench my buttocks. That was another tip from Rachel: ‘Don’t clench! They hate that.’
Andrea’s hand slid lightly across my panties. “You’ve worn nice underwear, dear,” she said. “Practical, but clean and still pretty. Too many girls your age see a need to wear lacy lingerie and don’t even get me started on those horrid thong things!”
I was ever so glad I’d thought to wear my most practical bra and panty set. I did think that she’d see my underwear, even though Rachel said she always spanked bare bottom. I was actually kind of enjoying the attention as Andrea fondled and stroked my upturned rear. It had the added advantage of totally relaxing the muscles of my bum, which was useful given Rachel’s helpful advice before my visit today.
Andrea’s gentle ministrations had me absolutely purring and I was even starting to wonder why people hated coming here so much. Okay, Kimberley was a pain and even Aunty Andrea seemed a bit strict, but I got tea, getting undressed was embarrassing, and now I was getting a butt massage.
All the pleasant thoughts were driven from my mind as Andrea’s hand impacted on my rear end…hard. My panties weren’t that thick and they did not mute the sensation at all. Before I could even voice a yell or an opposition to that first smack I got another one on the other cheek. Then I got two hard quick ones low and another pair high before she attacked the middle. Rachel and Andrea had been right. I had no idea what a real spanking was.
I was owwing and ouching and wriggling my backside, trying to escape the stinging swats from that iron hard palm. “My goodness, you’re a wriggler!” Andrea exclaimed. ‘It’s like trying to spank a worm.”
I guess I was trying to avoid this pretty vigorously, although she had me so tightly that I didn’t think my struggles were doing much good, and I couldn’t help it. I’d never felt anything like this…it hurt and I wanted it to stop. At least it wasn’t on my bare bottom, which Rachel had said it would be. Without even thinking about it, even though I had been warned not to by Rachel and Belinda, another girl at work who had visited Aunty Andrea on more than one occasion, I put my hands back.
Andrea smacked them once and then stopped. “Move your hands please, Wendy,” she said firmly, using her normal speaking voice.
“I…I can’t ma’am,” I said, starting to cry.
“Can’t is not a word we use here in my parlour, young lady. You CAN and you WILL.”
I kept my hands resolutely over my bottom to try and protect it from further assault.
“Wendy, if you do not move your hands away from your bottom immediately and keep them away I will call Miss Kimberley in here with a cord to tie your hands in place.”
She wouldn’t! Would she? I looked around and saw Andrea reaching for the phone. Oh my God, she would! I moved my hands and grabbed onto the arm of the couch. It was bad enough Kimberley knew this was happening, but to have her see me and actually restrain my hands that would be unbearable.
That done Andrea continued blithely slapping my upturned bottom. I started to cry and could even taste that my nose was running. Gross! Despite that after a while it wasn’t quite so bad. The heat was actually rather nice. Andrea stopped and examined my bottom. “Oh that’s getting nicely pink,” she said with satisfaction. “You’re good and warm now, so we can dispense with these. Lift up.”
I didn’t know what she was talking about so I tried to get off her lap. “Oh no, my darling girl,” she chuckled richly. “We’re not done. Just lift your hips, sweetness, so I can get these panties out of the way.”
My eyes went wide. What! She wanted my knickers down! There wasn’t a lot I could really do about it, so I lifted my hips and held my breath while she skinned my pants over my simmering hindquarters and them slipped them down my legs and right off. “Lovely,” she pronounced cheerfully as she set them aside.
The spanking recommenced on my now bare backside. When Andrea concentrated on my pre-warmed buttocks I didn’t feel it so much. I could feel the slaps, but because of the heat there they didn’t hurt as much as they had when she first started spanking me over my panties. This was until she went at the crease where my thighs and posterior met. Apparently it’s called the ‘sit spot’, because it’s where you rest your weight when you sit down. The ‘good’ people at the Spank Shop want you to feel your punishment for some time afterwards and scorching the area where you rest your weight when you sit down is apparently a very good way of reminding you of your visit to their ‘fine’ establishment for some time to come.
I roared and yelled when she set my ‘sit spot’ on fire, but that was nothing to when she decided to roast my upper thighs. I was sunburned there once, this felt like that, only worse, because I found feel her hand burning the backs of my legs, not like the sun, which did it gradually and I only knew about it later when I left the beach.
“Please stop, Aunty Andrea! Please stop!” I wailed. “I’ll be good. I promise.”
“Oh, I know you will, sweetheart,” she told me, raising her voice a little to be heard over my histrionics. “This will just ensure that for us all.” And she unleashed another blistering volley that covered my thighs and desperately rolling buttocks.
I felt the back of her hand rest lightly on my burning nates and heard her say softly to herself “Oh they’re very nicely scalded. I’ll just bring them to the boil.”
I bawled and screeched as she planting sizzling hot smacks all over again. “Yes, my little girl is finding out all about spanking this afternoon, isn’t she?” Andrea cooed in my ear.
“Yes, ma’am,” I blubbered.
“You do redden up beautifully, Wendy,” she told me. “That pretty little caboose of yours is just like a fire engine at the moment. Okay, you’re nicely primed, so lets get you up and into a corner for a little cool down time.”
Oh thank God! I sighed inwardly. It was over. I’d never be late again, drink during work hours or let anyone or anything distract me from my work. I got rather awkwardly to my feet and my hands flew to my backside to rub very vigorously. I knew I was dancing and making a spectacle of myself, but I honestly didn’t care, it felt so damn good. Andrea sat on the couch, one long, toned, nylon-sheathed leg crossed over the other, an indulgent smile playing across her full lips. After what didn’t seem like anywhere near enough time she said “Okay, Wendy, that’s enough of that silly dancing. Corner, young lady.”
My hands remained clamped over my bottom and I looked fearfully at the corner she was pointing to. “Do I have to, Aunty?” I whined.
To my surprise she said “No, sweetheart, you don’t HAVE to do anything, but you can either march your pretty little patoot into the corner or I can turn you back over my knee for another chat. What would you rather do?”
“Corner, ma’am,” I mumbled.
“Good girl. Hands on head and off you go.”
I laced my hands over my hair and went slowly to the corner where I stood. Andrea came up behind me and put her hands on my bottom “Ooohhh,” she purred. “Lovely and steaming. They’ll stay nice and hot for a good long while.” I felt her drawing my hair back and tying it into a ponytail with a ribbon. “Aunty?” I said.
“You’ve got such beautiful hair, Wendy. You cried and your nose ran and you even drooled a little. We don’t want that hair getting all messy, do we?”
I shook my head gently.
“No of course not,” Andrea said softly, then used her thumb to press a ribbon that had a bell attached to it to the wall.
“What is that, Aunty?” I asked.
“That’s my corner bell, Wendy.”
“What’s it for, Miss?”
“It’s for you darling,” she told me with a smile in her voice. “You put your nose on the ribbon and if you move it will fall off the wall and the bell will ring and Aunty will have to spank you some more for moving during corner time.”
I felt fresh tears slide down my face, but pressed my nose against the ribbon and stand there like the good little girl Aunty Andrea said I was. Oh, a small amendment to that, the exact wording was: good little hot bottomed girl.
I couldn’t see Aunty Andrea, but I could hear her. She was seated back in her chair by the fire. I heard her pour herself another cup of tea and the rustling of pages, whether it was a book or a magazine I couldn’t say. So there I was, freshly spanked, standing in a corner, holding a bell on a ribbon to the wall with my nose so I wouldn’t get spanked more, displaying my stinging, aching, throbbing, roasting bottom to the room, while my elegant spanker sipped tea and read a magazine. I can’t recall a more embarrassing time in my life…then it became worse.
The door opened and I heard Kimberley’s voice say “Your final appointment had to cancel ma’am. I’ve rebooked them first thing tomorrow.”
I went stiff, that horrid girl could see me bare bottomed and crying!
“Oh that’s a shame, Kimmy. Who was it?”
“Jonathan Taylor, Miss. I think he had an emergency at work.”
“Well, he rebooked so no harm done.”
“You’ve done a really good job on Wendy, ma’am,” the receptionist said, approval in her voice.
“She’s come up very well, actually,” Andrea agreed.
“That was just your hand?” Kimberley asked.
“Yes,” Andrea agreed. “She is a virgin after all. Kim don’t you have work to do in reception?” she prompted her employee.
“Oh yes!” the girl said. “Sorry. I’ll be just outside if you need me.”
“Yes dear, I do know that. Thank you for the word about Jonathan.”
I relaxed as I heard the door click shut softly.
“I do apologize, Wendy,” Andrea said as she rose from the chair with a rustling of her skirt. “Kimberley is a curious little thing at times. I hope she didn’t disturb you too much.” She had crossed to something in the room and was looking for an item. I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was on the move.
“It’s quite all right, ma’am,” I managed, even though it was nothing of the sort, but that is part of the point of the place. A visit there is not only meant to be painful, it’s meant to be intensely humiliating. I suppose this discourages repeat offenders, although it’s never seemed to work with Rachel.
Andrea sat down again, but she it wasn’t the chair. I had this sort of sixth sense about where she was.
“You may turn around Wendy,” she granted permission. “Take your hands from your head and bring me the bell.”
I took a deep breath, tried to calm my breathing. It was over. It had been really awful and I was never going to get sent here again, but at least it was done. Andrea was seated on the couch again and she had something in her lap. I handed her the bell, which she dropped on a side table next to the sofa.
I looked curiously at what was in her lap. It was a hairbrush. An old-fashioned wooden oval hairbrush. Why did she have a hairbrush? An icy chill went through me as I recalled a story I’d read as a child where some naughty child was spanked with a hairbrush. No! She couldn’t! She’d already spanked me! Her hand hurt enough, what would a brush do? I started to cry.
Andrea cocked her head and asked. “Are you all right, Wendy?”
“No ma’am,” I blubbered. “You’re going to spank me with that hairbrush and you’ve already spanked me and it hurt and I won’t ever break the banks rules again. Please don’t spank me anymore!”
“Come sit by me, child,” Andrea said gently.
Still bawling, I sat next to her, shivering. She put an arm around my shaking shoulders and spoke to me softly. “Wendy, sweetheart. You may think the spanking I gave you was the worst thing ever,” I nodded and sniffled, and she continued. “It was a sound spanking and I know it would have hurt…”
I wiped my nose on my forearm and said “How could you, ma’am? You spanked me, not the other way around.”
Andrea seemed genuinely amused “Do you think I’ve never been spanked, Wendy? I was spanked quite often growing up by both parents. I was spanked by aunts and uncles, cousins, teachers, neighbours, friends of the family, babysitters. I was one of the most well spanked young women you could ever imagine. Kimberley’s upbringing has been much the same and I imagine so was Gabrielle’s. Wendy, darling, what we give you and other clients is nothing we do not have personal experience of. I won’t give someone something I haven’t personally experienced. So, I do KNOW exactly how much your bottom hurts. I also know that a hand spanking is in no way sufficient for you to atone for your misdeeds, or what is expected from the bank. Mrs Mendes gets a report of this afternoon,” Oh God that was more embarrassing than Kimberley’s viewing earlier. “She will not be at all impressed if she thinks I let you off with a simple hand spanking because you turned on the waterworks. You can and will take more than that, young lady,” her voice had taken on that stern scolding tone, but then it softened again. “Now let’s dry these tears,” she wiped and dabbed at my face with a tissue. “And get you back over Aunty’s lap for a good brushing. You may want to keep a few tears in reserve, sweetie. You’ll need them presently.”
I was turned back over the lap and settled back into the couch. I lay my head on the cushion, tried to focus on the books in a small bookcase against the other wall and prepare for the brush.
I’d barely registered the first smack of that brushes broad, hard back against my throbbing cheek before it landed on the opposite one. I stiffened over the lap and howled. Andrea settled into a steady rhythm, bouncing it off one cheek and then the other, scorching every inch of my flaming hillocks methodically, professionally. All the fires that had dampened down while I stood crying in the corner reignited and I wailed, cried and kicked uncontrollably.
My ‘sit spot’ and upper thighs got a good going over and I must have scared the people in reception witless with my carrying on. I think Andrea wanted to say something, but didn’t bother because she wouldn’t have been heard over me anyway, so she just settled for really laying it on hard and heavy.
I was in a strange headspace. My world had narrowed to the blazing ball of pain that this stern, undeniably attractive woman had turned my buttocks into, and as if she were on a bad telephone line I heard Aunty’s voice command “Move your legs apart, please Wendy.”
I took a moment or two to get myself under control to register the order and to make my legs obey it. I hiccupped and blew some saliva bubbles and my nose streamed ceaselessly, I could also taste the salt of my tears, which had made a small damp patch on the arm of the couch.
Never having been spanked before I didn’t know about the spot in between the cheeks and the tender inner thighs that are generally protected, but get opened up if you move your legs apart.
“That’s it,” Andrea encouraged me. “Nice and wide. Lovely.”
I thought I’d been loud before, but when I experienced the brushes burning kiss on my inside thighs I raised the roof. How could anything hurt so much? I tried to levitate off the lap and I beat the couch with my fists. Oh God that hurt! I was just feeling the sting ease a little in one leg when the other got the same treatment. After my legs she did inside my cheeks. I was going to feel this whenever I walked because the two irritated areas would rub together.
Andrea set the brush down, she actually rested it on my knee hollows and let me cry and shudder. “You may put your legs together, darling,” she said. I did so and heard the brush clatter to the floor. I wondered if I was going to get extra for that, but she only laughed and said. “I should have expected that, it’s my fault. Can you get up, sweetness?”
I mumbled that I could and I felt her strong arms around my waist helping me to my feet and then she held my hands at my sides so I wouldn’t be tempted to rub. She let me get myself under some sort of control and told me I could rub my bottom, but I wasn’t to dance. I nodded and rubbed my burning buttocks, I didn’t care that my front with it’s neatly trimmed brown thatch was right in her face, I just wanted to try and put those fires out. I’m sure my rear end rivaled the crackling fire in the grate for heat at that moment. Andrea clucked over the state of my face and used a tissue to dry my eyes and clean up the mess of saliva, tears, sweat and snot that covered my chin and cheeks. Now I knew why she’d tied my hair back.
“We’re nearly done,” she told me.
“Nearly, Aunty!” I gasped. What on earth else could she do to me?
She reached out and picked up an item that I hadn’t seen before. It was a thick, black leather strap, about two feet long and it seemed to have a handle of sorts. She held it up and I felt a shudder go through my entire body, even as I clutched my still steaming orbs.
“I call this little toy The Igniter,” Andrea said calmly as my eyes travelled up and down its frightening looking length. “Some of its victims christened it that because of what it did to their upturned rumps.”
She pointed to the desk in one corner of the room. “You see the tapes on the floor in front of my desk, Wendy?”
“Yes ma’am,” I stammered.
“Place your feet in front of them and bend over so that your can put your hands on the edge of the desk.”
Taking deep breaths and swallowing reflexively I did as I was told. I tried to concentrate on how the desk felt under my hands and I felt the tears squeeze out as I closed my eyes. I’d never felt a strap before, but I just knew this was going to really, really hurt.
“Wendy,” Andrea said as she took up position behind me.” Neither Mrs Mendes or I want to see you here again. We think you are a mature and sensible girl who sometimes does silly things. We’re both hoping that a taste of The Igniter will help to firm your resolve to not be in this same position again any time soon, if ever.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak and I was desperately hoping I wouldn’t wet myself. I nodded slowly.
“Good girl, now legs out straight, bottom up nice and high for Aunty.”
I heard the length of leather sing through the air and then it exploded across the centre of my bottom with a loud meaty CRACK. I roared and Aunty Andrea said. “That’s for being late!”
I was still thinking about what that first stroke had done when the second hit me low on the bottom and lifted me up onto my toes. I threw my head back and screamed, my fingers whitened as they clenched the edge of the desk tightly. “That is for returning to work inebriated!”
I wailed as a third stroke swathed heat over the top of my bottom and the entire area burst into fresh flames. “That’s for being distracted and turning in sub standard work!”
I was about to sag with relief into the desk, because that was my final transgression when one more stroke blasted across my crowns and Andrea said in an almost joyful voice “That is to even you up.”
I collapsed across the desk and cried pitifully. Andrea came up behind me, cupped my steaming cheeks gently and gave me a brief massage while murmuring softly into my ear that it was all over, I was a good girl and I could get dressed again.
I lay over the desk for some time and was sure that I would be giving my punisher quite an eyeful. She didn’t say anything or reprimand me for it, just let me take my time recovering.
I looked at my face in the bathroom mirror. Oh God I looked a fright. I hadn’t been wearing much make up when I arrived at the shop, another tip from Rachel, but what I had was smeared and streaked and my eyes were all puffy and red from the crying. I scrubbed the makeup off and splashed water on my face and tried to do something with my eyes so that it wouldn’t be so obvious.
Putting panties on over my sore and swollen bottom was agony. I thought about not wearing them, but what if Aunty did a panty inspection? I’d be sunk then. I wanted to let the heat out, and all wearing panties and my work skirt did was keep it in. I’d be on the low heat all the way home.
I handed the hair ribbon back to Aunty Andrea and she said “No, keep that as a memento, dear. The colour suits you.” The ribbon was of course red. Then she handed me one of those horrible little cushions, saying. “Don’t forget this. Kim will have added it onto your bill.”
Oh yes, I forgot to mention that. I have to pay for what happened. It’s entirely out of my pocket. Mrs Mendes feels that you should pay for your mistakes.
I shook Andrea’s hand and thanked her for spanking me, and she enfolded me into a warm embrace and kissed my cheek telling me that it was her pleasure. Before I left she gave me some homework. I had to write up an account of this afternoon and hand it into the shop. That’s what this is.
As I was leaving, just after I had paid Kimberley, Aunty Andrea put her head out of her office, and said “Kim, may I see you in my parlour please? Grace Nielsen showed me something very interesting.”
Oh God, I hope she was in trouble.