Tuesday, 17 December 2013

'Keeping House'

Seegee has been busy this month and he's graced us with another story. This is one of love and spanking, two things that just fit as far as I am concerned.

How Jemima may have looked to a young Charles Vaughan.

A picture from Spanked Sweeties illustrates how Jemima kept order among the staff.

And the incomparable Sassy Bottoms shows us Charles after a meeting with Jemima.

Charles Vaughn wriggled over the broad lap of Jemima Hawkins and cried out loudly as her hard wide palm slapped down across his defenceless bare buttocks. He knew resistance was futile as the black lady was both taller and stronger than he was and always had been. She could easily hold him where he was for as long as she wanted, besides despite the discomfort this was exactly where he knew he both needed and wanted to be.

Charles often felt he had been born in the wrong era. He was wealthy and came from an old aristocratic Southern family. The Vaughans could lay claim to being one of the First Families of Virginia.

The young heir to the Vaughan family name had always wondered what it would have been like if he’d been born centuries earlier and been an old-fashioned plantation owner, back in the days before the Civil War. He suspected that even then the relationship between he and the statuesque Jemima Hawkins would have been exactly the same.

The Hawkinses and the Vaughans had been connected for as long as anyone could remember. The Vaughans had always owned the plantation and the Hawkinses had always worked on it and around the house. Originally as slaves and then later as paid servants.


Jemima had been born to be a domestic. Her mother had been and so had her grandmother, in fact for almost as long as the Vaughans had owned the plantation there had been a Hawkins woman running the big house.

The tall black lady had been a gangly twenty-year old learning how to keep a large mansion from her mother when Mrs Vaughan had given birth to a baby boy.

The young maid had largely raised Charles Vaughan for the first seven years of his life. He only saw his mother when he had to be fed and then when he was weaned he saw his parents for an hour every evening, not including meal times.

Everything else was done by Jemima. She toilet trained him, she fed him once he was off the breast, she taught him his ABC’s and his numbers, she was there when he took his first uncertain steps. When he fell over and grazed his knees it was Jemima he went to for a kiss, a hug and a band aid over the wounded area. He even called her ‘Mama’ first and she had to reeducate him who his real mother was, the well dressed distant blonde woman who he only saw briefly at the end of each day. Jemima, or Jemama, as Charles came to call her in a private joke between the two, was also responsible for his discipline.


Caring for a boy Charles’ age was quite a responsibility and not one you’d think a twenty-year old domestic would have been suited for. Jemima was however not your usual twenty-year old girl. She had a number of younger siblings and cousins and in her family the oldest girl was expected to pitch in and help with the younger children, or her mother wanted to know why not and if the answer was deemed unacceptable the consequences were not at all pleasant.

It had been decided that the small local elementary school simply wouldn’t be able to provide the sort of education that a young man of quality like Charles Vaughan required, nor would it allow him the opportunity to mix with the offspring of other well heeled and influential old families, so when he was old enough Charles would be sent to school at a high priced boarding school on the east coast.

It was a sad day for Charles and Jemima. The two had rarely been separated for more than a day or two at most since Charles had been born. Jemima was there with the rest of the staff and his mother to see him off on the day his father drove him to the station to take the train to the school. Jemima shed more than a tear or two as the car drove through the front gates. It did not escape her notice that Mrs Vaughan’s face remained completely dry and she turned away and went back to the house to plan her next social engagement long before Jemima herself stopped watching the car disappear into the distance.


Charles returned every holiday and was reunited with his Jemama, and even when he was older he still came back home on the holidays and quite often brought a friend or two to experience some southern hospitality. More than one of those friends remarked how welcoming and maternal they found Jemima.

The young heir to the plantation received his first spanking over Jemima’s lap when he was five years old. The maid, who was well on her way to taking her mother’s position as housekeeper, had dressed him neatly to show him off to his mother’s friends who were coming for an afternoon tea, and bringing their own children. She had warned him repeatedly not to get dirty, but as young boys are wont to do he did not heed her.

Jemima had been dismayed when one of the plantation workers had lead Charles back to the house by the hand covered in dirt.

The girl had thrown up her hands and cried, “Master Charles, what have you been into?”

“Just about everything Jemma,” the hand grinned.

A furious Jemima had taken the boy inside, undressed him, and before she ran a bath, had taken him over her knee and smacked his little bottom until it glowed red and he was bawling and promising to never get dirty again.

Jemima had scolded Charles furiously as she scrubbed him in the hot bath to get him squeaky clean. She had to redress him as well, although it had not been in Sunday best as she had originally planned. She received a telling off from Mrs Vaughan for that, but her own mother when hearing the story had congratulated her heartily for disciplining her charge after he had so flagrantly disobeyed her

That day had set a tone for the relationship between Jemima and Charles. If he misbehaved she punished him, usually with a spanking, it was how things were done in her house, and his parents never heard about the misdeed or the consequences.

Even on the one occasion that Charles had come home from school and brought with him disappointing scholastic results it was Jemima who was charged to getting to the bottom of things and doing something about it.

Jemima had gone right to the heart, or rather the bottom of the matter, by spanking Charles soundly first. By this stage she supplemented her hand with a wide solid rectangular hairbrush known aptly enough as a ‘paddle brush’. After a lengthy dose of ‘palm medicine’ as Jemima’s family referred to a hand spanking and an equally long conversation with Mrs Hairbrush, Charles’ tongue had been loosened enough to confess that a semester of goofing off and playing sports had been the reason for the poor grades.

Although she had only been the recipient of a local school education and had left before senior year to take up work in the Vaughan house Jemima was not at all unintelligent. All that vacation Charles was by her side and learnt how to keep a household from the ground up. When things were not done to the young housekeeper’s satisfaction Charles’ bottom paid the price.

His marks the following semester were stellar and the vacation’s experience prompted him to take an interest in the business side of the plantation and his family’s investments. He graduated college with a Masters degree in business and was well equipped to increase the family fortune when he took over the running of it.


That had been far from the only spanking Jemima had administered to Charles Vaughan’s adolescent backside. It seemed every time he came home he found a reason for the statuesque housekeeper to take him over her knee. She had no problem obliging him. Her philosophy was quite simple, act out and get your tail tanned. His age didn’t bother her either.

Early on Jemima’s mother had let her in on a little secret about how she kept order in the house, especially with the younger staff. They were spanked for poor performance. Generally the girls were over her knee, just like at home, although depending on the offence they could also bend over for a taste of the paddle like at school.

Jemima took over her mother’s disciplinary role with the staff and most agreed that she was the equal, if not in fact her mother’s better, when it came to paddling. One young maid had described her as having a hand about as wide and twice as hard as a bed slat after a tearful session over the stern housekeeper’s lap for repeated infractions of the rules.

Given the frequency of Charles’ chastisements Jemima worried that perhaps he actually liked it. Her mother had let her know that her father had and she obliged him when she could, it had kept their sex life active and contributed to the healthiness of their union.

Jemima’s other thought was that the high priced school he attended didn’t provide the right sort of discipline, so when he came home he was overdue a smarting back end.

A conversation over afternoon tea one day sorted it all out. Charles confessed that they were paddled at school. It was rare, but they weren’t shy about it and most of the boys earned at least one command to ‘assume the position’ from the headmaster in his office a semester. Charles was no exception. To Jemima’s consternation he said that the paddlings were given over trousers and underpants, although they did ensure that wallets and the like were removed before the swats were administered.

A common tactic was to put exercise books or some other form of padding down the trousers and more than one student had worn extra layers to try and cut down on the sting from the old fashioned board of education. They were old tricks and the principal was no fool. Anyone trying one of those was quickly discovered. The secretary was called in to act as a witness and the offender had to strip down to underpants and take double the amount of swats on just their shorts.

That pleased Jemima more, although she was also happy to hear that hadn’t been the case with Charles. Of course, unlike many of his classmates, he was used to taking Jemima’s hard palm or the back of her hairbrush on his bare bottom, so a few swats from a paddle over trousers and underpants wasn’t something he found as daunting a prospect.

Charles told his Jemama that he didn’t like the spankings she gave him, they hurt. He didn’t engineer them either, not really, he just seemed to earn them. This was largely because of the love she gave them with and the feelings of being loved and cared for and disciplined that being spanked by her engendered in him. She had cried and hugged him and told him that if he ever wanted some Jemama loving all he had to do was ask. She was also careful to tell him that just because he asked her to spank him so that he could go somewhere he wanted to be in his head didn’t mean she’d go easy on him. When Jemima spanked she did it for real and it was a tough behind that didn’t find themselves sleeping on their stomachs the night after a blistering over her lap.


The housekeeper remembered one Thanksgiving visit fondly. That would have been when Charles was in his senior year of high school. He’d brought a friend home, because the other boy’s parents couldn’t afford to bring him home and Charles hadn’t liked the thought of him spending Thanksgiving by himself at school with just a few grumpy teachers for company.

When Jemima had heard why Charles brought his friend home her heart swelled with pride for how well she had raised the young man who had been entrusted into her care when he was still only hours old.

Despite the good reasons Charles was like many young boys and felt the need to show off in front of his classmate by lording it over the staff, including her. The housekeeper had thought she’d trained him out of that particular habit and said sternly, “You’re not too old to be put over my knee, young man!”

The friend had been shocked and the boy’s mouth dropped open at the threat.

Not wanting lose face in front of the other young man, Charles cheekily said, “Oh really? Do it now, Jemma!”

Jemima’s lips pursed and while she sent the boys off with instructions to get Charles’ guest settled in his room, she did it with a firm smack to the heir’s rear end and the look in her eyes promised further retribution for the smart alec remark and behaviour.


When everyone else had retired for the night there was a knock on Jemima’s door. She rose and answered it. Charles stood there in his pajamas, a nervous look on his face. The visit did not surprise the housekeeper, she had in fact requested it. As she went past Charles that evening at dinner, at which he was introducing his friend to his parents, she had whispered in his ear that she wanted to see him later to discuss the earlier incident.

As they spoke Jemima realized that Charles had prompted the meeting with the remark because he felt the need for discipline. The reason had come out over dinner. Charles’ grades had been respectable, but his friend’s were outstanding. Part of the reason for that was that the friend attended the school on an academic scholarship, so it wasn’t totally surprising, but Charles knew that he could do better.

Jemima listened to his story, then sat back and picked up an item that sat on the table next to her chair.

Charles’ licked his lips nervously as he recognized the old hairbrush.

“You don’t think you need this, Master Charles?” Jemima asked in her soft voice.

“No, Jemama,” Charles whispered, automatically reverting to the childhood nickname. “I do need it.”

“That’s my baby,” Jemima said and smoothed out her skirts. “Let’s get that bottom bare and see if Jemama can’t teach her little boy a good lesson.”

Without any hint of shame, for after all Jemima had seen Charles in that state many times before, the boy removed his pajama bottoms. He folded them neatly and placed them on an empty chair.

“Good boy,” Jemima said approvingly and patted her lap. “Over you go.”

Charles placed himself obediently over the woman’s broad lap. She ran a brown palm across the twin globes which looked like two scoops of vanilla ice cream nestled in that lap. She smiled as a trail of gooseflesh followed in her palm’s wake.

The boy was maturing. His buttocks were firming up and becoming rounder. The gentle fondling also let Jemima know that another part of Charles had grown. She hid a smile at that. It was not an uncommon reaction. She had experienced it with her brothers and even the occasional young male employee who needed a reminder of how to perform his job to the high standards expected. It soon disappeared when the heat and sting built. If it didn’t she had them hop up for a taste of the belt. She did hope that wouldn’t be necessary with Master Charles. There was something so intimate and fitting about having him over the lap under her palm.

Charles soon started gasping and squirming as Jemima’s hard and experienced hand began to rise and fall with metronomic regularity and smacked his buttocks and upper thighs. Those once white cheeks now resembled strawberry ice cream, rather than vanilla although they were a good deal hotter.

As the first tears started to fall, Jemima’s hand closed around the handle of her trusty old hairbrush and the yells started.

Charles still sobbed and used the back of his hand to wipe away a few tears. Jemima clucked maternally and cleaned his face, drying his tears and wiping his nose with a small pocket handkerchief. She escorted him into the corner and stood him there to let him compose himself and admired her handiwork while her charge’s bottom cooled off.


That was the only spanking Jemima administered to Charles on that particular visit, although his friend did also have a visit over her lap.

The boy got into some mischief by going somewhere he shouldn’t have on the property and during the telling off he received from a rightly furious Jemima, admitted that his own mother probably would have spanked him. Sensing that he missed his home and his parents Jemima suggested that she stand in for his mother on this occasion. He agreed to it and she did wonder if he’d discussed this with Charles at some stage. It was a sound spanking, also using the hairbrush, and he took it well with plenty of tears and an energetic over the lap dance. The housekeeper couldn’t suppress a smirk as she noticed the young man squirming uncomfortably on his seat at dinner, prompting Mrs Vaughan to ask him if he needed to visit the bathroom.

Jemima never spanked him again, and that was the only time he spent the holidays with the Vaughans although he and Charles did remain friends and he was even invited to Charles’ planned wedding with an eligible southern belle.


Things changed in the Vaughan household not long after Charles graduated from college. He had studied hard and received a Masters degree in business. He was more than qualified to run the plantation and expand the family’s financial position and holdings. He didn’t plan on taking over the reins immediately, however. He had wanted to spend sometime in the financial industry on the east coast. He had a number of acquaintances from his boarding school and college, including alumni and former and current members of his fraternity who could and would give him significant advantages in that field.

However while on a helicopter trip from one glittering affair Mr Vaughan and his wife were involved in a fatal accident, which resulted in everyone on board tragically losing their lives.

At the age of twenty-two and only recently graduated from college Charles Vaughan found himself with the responsibility of taking over the management of his family’s business and house. All of this with a wedding to plan to his college girlfriend.


It was of no real surprise to Jemima when the night of the funeral she heard a quite knock on her door.

The housekeeper had been one of the few household staff to attend the service and the gravesite. The laying out before had taken place at the house. Jemima’s mother had been invited, but she was retired by that stage, so not considered part of the house anymore.

Charles had been surrounded by friends and family for most of the day. His girlfriend had stood with him by the graves, clutching his hand tightly. She had cried. Charles had not. Jemima wanted to go to him and put her arms around him, but she had to remain with the family’s employees. She had paid her respects earlier when everyone filed past the bodies. Strangely enough she knew Mr Vaughan better than his wife, despite having worked so closely with the woman for so many years. Mrs Vaughan’s mask never slipped in public, in fact Jemima doubted she took it off in private either. The woman had worn it so long that she probably no longer knew what she was really like beneath it.


“Master Charles,” Jemima said as she opened the door to see her young master standing outside it.

“You knew it was me, didn’t you?” he asked.

Hiding a smile Jemima nodded.


“You have a distinctive knock. I’ve learned it over the years. Would you like to come in?”

With a sigh Charles nodded.

Jemima stepped aside and let Charles enter the room.

Charles stopped and looked around the comfortable room, a fire burned in the small fireplace and a paperback book lay open with its spine splayed on the small round table by Jemima’s familiar and loved armchair. There was another seat across from that armchair that was for visitors.

The young man reflected that in all the times he’d been in this room, he had rarely ever actually seen it, although he had the pattern of the wallpaper in one corner committed to memory.

“Would you like to sit?” Jemima invited, motioning to the chair across from hers.

Charles rarely sat in this room. Sitting was often the last thing he felt like doing in here. He eased himself onto the chair uncomfortably.

“Tea?” Jemima invited, holding up the pot she had collected from the kitchen before preparing to retire for the evening.

“Yes, please,” Charles said, licking his lips nervously.

Jemima fetched a cup from a small cupboard on one wall and filled it with tea for Charles, then handed it to him. He set it down untouched on the table next to his chair.

“I didn’t come here for tea and cookies, Jemama,” Charles said softly.

Every time Charles used the childhood name he had given her Jemima’s heart swelled a little.

“You need to cry, don’t you, darling?” she asked gently.

Charles nodded quickly.

Without saying a word Jemima held her hand out to Charles and he took it. She led him into her small bedroom and sat down on the bed, without letting go of the slightly sweaty palm.

“I haven’t done anything wrong, Jemama,” Charles whispered as he looked in her gentle brown eyes.

“No,” she agreed, “but you need a good cry and there’s nothing better than an old fashioned spanking for that, child.”

Charles stood unresisting as Jemima’s sure fingers unbuckled his belt and then unsnapped the buttons on his waistband before unzipping them. He kicked his shoes off and stepped out of his slacks. Jemima folded them and set them aside. “Do you want the brush?” she asked.

“I think I need it.”

“Good boy,” the housekeeper approved. She stood up, leaving him standing by the bed in his shirt and boxer shorts. She opened the drawer built into her bedside table and took out Mrs Hairbrush. Charles flinched as Jemima smacked the brushes rectangular back into her palm.

She sat down again and put the old hairbrush within easy reach. She lowered Charles’ boxers to his ankles and he also stepped out of them. She took him over her lap and even though he was now fully grown, she was still taller than him and he fitted in her lap like he had been made for it.

“You know I love, Charles,” Jemima said.

“Yes, Jemama,” Charles said softly.

“Even if this is the last time I ever spank you, young man, I don’t want you to ever forget that,” she said affectionately and commenced the spanking.


Although the warm up by the black lady’s hand only lasted minutes it felt like forever to Charles. His bottom was on fire and he was wriggling and squirming vigorously and knowing how desperately he needed this. He had needed it from the moment he picked up the phone and was told by an impersonal voice that his parents had been killed in a helicopter accident.

Jemima spanked away steadily with a good rhythm, ensuring that both Charles’ firm round buttocks and upper thighs got proper coverage and glowed a nice apple red. She could feel the heat rising from them and knew that he was almost where she wanted him to be for this portion of the spanking.

“Tears?” she asked softly.

Charles shook his head.

“Mrs Hairbrush usually gets you wailing, sweetheart,” Jemima said as she picked the brush up and smacked it crisply over the crowns of those throbbing globes.

The housekeeper’s words were prophetic because a few spanks after that the tears were streaming down Charles’ face.

Jemima did not stop spanking. She simply worked the brush up and down the bottom, lingering at the sit spot and tender upper thighs, which wrung some loud yells from the desperately wriggling young man over her sturdy lap.

“I’m sorreee, Jemama!” Charles yelled.

“What for, darling?’ jemima asked, not missing a beat with the brush, paying close attention to the cheeks as they flared extra hot red.

“I didn’t cry when I heard about Mama and Papa!” Charles sobbed.

“You’re crying now,” Jemima told him, landing a sizzling volley on his sit spots, which elicited some animated scissor kicking.

“Because you’re spanking meeee!” Charles wailed.

“I’m spanking you, my darling child,” Jemima reasoned, “because you asked for it. You knew what you needed.”

“And you love me enough to provide it,” Charles sniffled.

“That I do,” Jemima agreed, punctuating it with a loud full armed slap from the brush.


Charles sat back in the bed and looked at his blushing bride, who was dressed in her veil and nothing else. “Don’t be beastly, Charlie,” she pleaded. “Just let me open one before the official opening in the morning.”

“One,” Charles allowed with a chuckle.

The eager blonde girl scanned the mound of presents and pounced on one that was wrapped in red paper and tied with a white bow.

“Oh this is from your housekeeper,” she said as she put it down on the bed. “What’s her name again?”

“Jemima,” Charles supplied.

“Yes, Jemima. We’re keeping her aren’t we? I like her.”

“Oh yes, we’re keeping Jemima,” Charles grinned. He was very pleased that Delta liked Jemima, they were the two most important women in his life.

“So what has she given us?’ Charles asked with interest as Delta ripped the paper away and tore the box open.

“It’s a hairbrush?” the girl said in puzzlement.


“Yes. How did you know?”

“I’ve got a feeling you and Jemima will have a talk about it when we return from our honeymoon.”

“There’s a card with it,” Delta said and read it: “Use it judiciously when needed.”

Charles chuckled and rubbed his backside surreptitiously.

“Oh she misspelled her name,” Delta said. “She signed it, love Jemama.”

1 comment:

  1. Breathless.......so well done and the last drawing, wow, brings me back to growing up.

    Sorry have been off line, some issues here but all good.