Tawses, Straps and Canes.....

The department store was one of the traditional type you don't see many nowadays, old but well kept building, no fluorescent sales posters, no weasel '(up to) 50% OFF' lures, sensible modest window displays, its only apparent self promotion was a framed plaque fixed to the wall by the entrance door boasting Johnson & Johnson had a department for absolutely everything, and they'd proudly provided discerning service and quality since 1810.

''Everything?'' I ask, back home. ''Everything.'' the man on the phone says, so I resolve to put them to the test and turn up first thing next morning asking for the 'discipline dept'..............to my surprise the assistant behind the customer services desk doesn't bat an eyelid and takes me to an elevator where she whispers something to a uniformed attendant, he stands aside courteously to let me in, the elevator stops two levels down and the uniformed man steps out indicating I should follow. ''But this is fabrics and household furniture,'' I politely point out, good stuff too from the look of it, arranged in small sections either side of a corridor walkway, each with matching or complementary displays. The man pauses, smiles politely and extends his hand in the direction of the corridor which seems to end at a tapestried wall. ''Please,'' he says. I follow.

I know quality, my eyes, ears and nose are filled with it. Silent footsteps on lush Wilton, unobtrusive classical music, leather, oak, silk, brass, I like it. Well dressed assistants, I can only see two, no customers so far but then I'm early. We get to the tapestry and the uniformed man stops, to the right appears to be more floor space and more displays, I think I see a couple of customers talking with an assistant along there. To the left is a conventional corridor with doors off each side, the man tells me I need the third door on the right, I should go right in, Mr Bellamy will be with me shortly.

The door leads into a panelled room, more thick carpet, portraits along the facing wall, I recognise some as noteworthiness of old, they all look austere. There's a large dark wood table in the centre, top inlaid with leather, matching chairs, some at the table and some along the wall to the right, it must seat a dozen easily. Several cabinets line the opposite wall, all closed, there's also a door, it's closed too.

No Mr Bellamy, no goods for browsing. I'm about to leave when the door opens, startling me slightly, ''Ah good morning madam, I'm so sorry to have kept you, I'm Mr Bellamy.'' He proffers his hand which I take, it seems right, he's well dressed, distinguished looking, his hand is firm and he's well spoken with a friendly yet professional demeanour. ''We don't have nearly as many clients for this department nowadays,'' he explains, ''not since corporal discipline was banned from the state education system, even the best private schools reluctantly complied eventually, at least ostensibly, and then all the fuss we read in the press about parental smacking and what's right and wrong, what's permissible and not, you know what I mean,'' he said. I detected genuine sadness in his voice, the passing of an era and all that, and I nodded understandingly.

Still, we do have our regular clients, city folk, business types, gentlemen of the land etc who still respect the old values, and of course we welcome new clients like yourself, modern thinking independent women who are interested less in political correctness than personal satisfaction.''

He smiled warmly, I felt flattered.

''So, er, where are the, ahem, sale items. Mr Bellamy?'' I ventured.

''Of course, how remiss of me,'' he said taking a bunch of keys from his pocket and moving towards the cabinets, ''Please.''

He opened them from left to right and I followed him, only as he progressed from one cabinet to the next, I stalled at the first. Transfixed. Eyes wide, heart pounding. The cabinet was lined with canes,

hanging neatly from hooks, each had a small hand written note fastened under its hook detailing it's length, thickness, origin, material, 'used' or 'unused' and so on. There were crooked handles, straight handles, leather bound, cord bound. long, short, extra flexible, junior, senior, I had never realised there were so many options. Mr Bellamy must have noticed me, perhaps he thought I was feeling ill. ''Madam?'' He said, indicating the other cabinets he'd opened for my inspection. ''Can I get you a class of water, or perhaps a coffee?'' I told him a glass of water would be appreciated and he told me he'd be a few minutes, leaving me to peruse his treasures at my leisure.

I browsed from cabinet to cabinet, it was astonishing, there were tawses, straps, paddles, rulers, books to record punishments in,

books about historical punishment, books explaining how to administer punishment, all in the cabinets to the left of the door. The cabinets to the right of the door contained soft suede floggers, riding crops, whips, handcuffs, blindfolds etc, sort of Ann Summers but in quality. It seemed stock to the left was for the traditionalists and stock to the right was for fun couples seeking added excitement. I was drawn to the left, it had the 'properness' of time, it had authority, it was compelling.

Mr Bellamy returned with my water and asked me if I'd seen anything which suited my requirements. I told him I preferred the cabinets to the left of the door and asked him if he had any more displays, perhaps through the as yet unopened door. No displays in that room, he said, it was bare all but its thick carpet, a single large desk and its heavy velvet drapes. I asked him if that was his office then, and he smiled and told me not at all, the room used to get quite frequent use from clients wishing to test items prior to purchasing, hence the heavy fabrics which provide wonderful sound insulation. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. It still got used, he assured me, just not as often.

I returned to the cabinets to break eye contact with Mr Bellamy and hide my excited embarrassment. I asked him where the prices were and if, say, I made a purchase of for instance a couple of long canes, how would I be able to carry them from the store without raising attention. He explained if I lifted the note against each item the price was underneath, and that long implements were packed discreetly in suitable plain boxes or could even be delivered for a small charge.

I took several more minutes and narrowed my initial interest down to five canes, a long double split tawse and four straps but I didn't want to buy all of them, I was dithering and Mr Bellamy sensed my dilemma. ''Perhaps madam would care to test the items to help her decide,'' he said matter-of-factly. ''But I don't have anyone with me, Mr Bellamy,'' I said, my heart thumping so hard I thought it must be audible. ''Madam,'' said Mr Bellamy, ''I believe my experience, after almost twenty-five years having helped many a lady and gentleman make the right choice, is at your service.'' With that his hand reach for his keys and the testing room door was opened.

If I was going to bolt now was the time, but I didn't and five minutes later I was bending over the large desk bawling my eyes out as Mr. Bellamy helped me evaluate my choices.

A sore bottomed but very well satisfied customer left Johnson & Johnson later that morning. I'd chosen to have my choices delivered, Mr Bellamy had said he'd do it personally.

No spankings for me to report this week. P's been busy but also after falling I haven't been too comfortable with my bruises and swollen ankle. Funny, I get a bruise on my bottom from a fall but hardly any from a spanking. Happy to report though the stiffness has all gone and the ankle doesn't feel too bad.

So that was a little fantasy fiction from the past. I've added pictures for the re-post.

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie

xx

Last two pics from British Spanking Mag.

She got what she wanted...

Isobel had been planning it for days.

She'd done plenty of little things to annoy her lover, Charles. None of them big enough to cause a serious rift but now, she was sure, a sound spanking would ensue. And that's exactly what she wanted.

She wanted to look appealing, she wanted him to notice she'd taken the trouble to look good, she wanted to be attractive to him but she didn't want to be so attractive that he might overlook her misdeeds and ravish her instead. She wanted to be spanked.

Before she dressed a final look in the mirror to make sure her stockings were straight and to admire her new panties, she'd bought them especially, they were full fitting and her ample bottom filled them nicely.

She didn't think they'd be staying on very long but first impressions were so important, Isobel thought.

When Charles arrived they had words.

Not heated words because Charles didn't do those. Calm precise words, softly spoken questions from Charles, a little nervously answered by Isobel. It always built up this way and Isobel loved and loathed it, she could feel dampness between her legs as her lover approached the point at which he would announce that what she'd done simply wasn't acceptable and that under the circumstances he was going to spank her. His demeanour would change, hers would too.

Charles was a very good spanker.

Firm, resolute, polite but insistent. And very, very patient. He didn't believe in rushing, he didn't take shortcuts, he allowed time for struggling, pleading, repositioning, scolding, tears, tissues......Charles believed that for a spanking to be truly effective the two most important elements were firstly that it should hurt and secondly that it should always be carried out fully no matter what excuses were dreamed up by the transgressor. There was just no point in a spanking that didn't leave the recipient feeling well and truly 'spanked' and to Charles's mind that included contrite, humbled and with a very sore bottom. Charles gave a very sore bottom indeed to Isobel, he took his time and didn't stop until her cheeks were fiery red and considerably warmed.

Then he gave her some time to adjust her composure and dress and took her to dinner, over which they discussed, amongst other things, the infractions she'd been guilty of and how much better it was to have cleared the air. That was when she dropped the bombshell she'd been holding back....she hadn't told Charles the whole truth about all her little infractions.

In fact some of her infractions, especially those related to her spending account, were considerably worse that she'd had her lover believe. Charles absorbed the details stoically, remaining clam and polite as ever, he even ordered the dessert menu for Isobel and a cognac for himself. Then he announced that in view of what she'd told him, and most particularly in view of the fact that she'd been dishonest in withholding information, he would have to take the cane to her when they returned to her apartment. Isobel's stomach flipped but she felt the wetness between her legs again..

Charles was also a very good caner, he applied the same principles as he did for a hand spanking but, of course, with somewhat more dramatic results both physical and vocal. Isobel was caned very firmly and went to bed that evening, aside her lover with a stripped bottom and tears in her eyes.

She got what she wanted and.....

.....in the morning she'd make it up to Charles.

Just a little fiction fun.

Have a great weekend.

Ronnie

xx

Last picture from Kitty's blog. Please let me know if any of the others are yours so I can credit.

Naughty little fiction

What a lovely weekend, weatherwise and all otherwise really, nothing major to shout about, or scream about, just relaxing and that's okay. I think a holiday got a bit closer but still not definite, we can't fix a date till after next weekend so I'm in suspense, pretty certain we'll organise something though.

I want to thank PK, New Beginnings for publishing a naughty little fiction of mine in her Fantasy Friday feature, I don't do fiction generally the thoughts are often there but they don't flow to the keyboard as easy as real life stuff, anyway I enjoyed writing it and actually the thought - the thought, mind you - of it really happening did appeal to me. Perhaps I'll send it to P and wait and see.

Ronnie

xx   

The men were looking at me

I shaved my pussy which I've only done once before, just as I was told to in the email I got from him last night, then showered.  He told me to be there on time not to dissappoint him, show his business card at the door and they'd let me in. I shuddered deliciously as I pulled the dress he'd bought me over my head, shoulders, bear breasts, nipples alert as the cool cotton teased its way down, hips shuffling just a little, snug fit, resting just above knee. No pants or bra, as instructed. Heels, he told me, he thought my mauve ones might match the dress so mauve it was.

 

I look in the mirror, twist sideways, tummy not as flat as it used to be, turn and look over my shoulder, my bum looks big or maybe its the angle, or maybe its the dress. When I bend forward, even a small bend, I feel the cotton tighten against my buttocks, the hem tickles my thighs as it rises, my tits become pendulous and the nipples harden when I straighten, I smooth the dress down, again the little shuffle of the hips.  

I stood there self conscious, excited and apprehensive, wondering what he'd planned, he told me it was something very new for me, that I'd find it different, that I'd have to trust him, that he could imagine how I'd look in the dress, that he thought other people would like it too.  I jumped as I heard the postman push something through the letter box, I realised I would be late if I didn't go now. I took a light wrap, it wasn't cold but I had a short walk to the station and I wanted to cover the dress a little so close to home.

 

I was to take the train into the next town.  As I waited I was sure people were looking at me, no-one I knew thank goodness, they were obviously aware I wasn't wearing anything underneath my dress, I pulled the wrap closer, they could sense my unease, they liked it. They wanted me to blush, to get flustered and run off the platform dropping my wrap, too embarrassed to stop and retrieve it, boobs bouncing and bum cheeks jostling as I tried to escape. Then the train came, I was rescued, people moved to where they thought the emptiest carriages would come to rest, nobody watching me now. I entered the nearest carriage, there were seats at the far end, I slipped the wrap off and carried it, a couple had got on after me, the woman first, she'd know I had no knickers on, she'd think I was disgusting, she'd tell him when they sat down, he'd pretend not to be interested but then he'd be eyeing me for the rest of the trip. Twenty minutes later I got up, my station, the couple were three seats back, he caught my eye, I blushed and shuffled past, he was still watching me as I walked off the train.

I didn't know the town well but his instructions were precise and I arrived at the club on time, production of his card got me a ticket, which wasn't checked by the usher who waved me in. It was dimly lit or seemed so after the sunshine outside, there should have been cigarette smoke swirling around, perhaps someone should invent non toxic artificial cigarette smoke. The music was loudish but nice, there were girls sitting at a central bar, they weren't customers. On the far side of the bar I could see a girl dancing on a small podium under a spotlight. There were men, mostly in suits, some of them looked at me, I couldn't see any women apart from the dancer and the girls at the bar. My eyes adjusted to the light, I walked towards the bar, looking left and right, where was he, there were men at about half the tables but I couldn't see him. Then I walked to the right, he'd said he'd be to the right of the bar, he was but further than I'd thought, at an alcove table, sipping a coffee. He looked up, smiled and raised his hand, I realised it wasn't to me, he moved along the alcove seat and patted the space he'd left, it was warm and the velour was tickly soft against my thighs.

A girl brought a bottle of champagne to the table, she addressed him as Sir as she presented the label to him, she was attractive, she wore what used to be called hot pants a size too small, she leaned across the table and poured a glass for me but not for him, her eyes all over me, she had intelligent alive eyes, I liked and disliked her at the same time. He stood up to get his wallet from his hip pocket, patted the girl's bottom, gave her two notes, whispers passed between them and she nodded and wiggled away.

When he sat he reached under the table and placed his hand on my knee. I tensed, I hadn't liked him patting her bottom and he knew it. His hand moved further up, it rested with his fingers tracing little patterns on my inner thigh.

''You look lovely in that dress you know,'' he said, ''Julie liked you in it, she was the girl who served us, she said a couple of the men had noticed you when you walked in, they'd said you had a nice bottom, Julie had thought so too.''

''What did you think of Julie, did you like her?'' he asked, ''I hope you did because she's going to entertain us, she's looking forward to it, I told her I'm going to be fingering you while she's entertaining us and that if you come I'm going to spank you. She said I could use one of the changing rooms rather than spank you here in public, that way it won't disturb the other guests if you cry and make a fuss.''  I shuffled uncomfortably on the seat, my heart pounding, flight wasn't an option, he'd said I had to trust him. His fingers moved further up my leg all the time stroking teasing.

''Did you shave, by the way?'' he asked. I gasped. ''Ah, no need to answer that now,'' he said as his fingers stroked the smooth flesh surrounding my pussy 

and I felt myself moisten. ''Good girl,'' he said and I straightened my posture a little and shifted my hips forward. The I saw Julie coming back from the other side of the bar, she still had her hotpants on but her tits were bare now, her body was good, she walked easily like gymnasts do, she was looking at me, it was a friendly look, she held a rod or something in her right hand, my stomach was doing somersaults. I saw some men were turning to watch her. I didn't think there was much danger of getting spanked later, I was more worried about what she intended doing with the rod. When she stopped at our table a spotlight came on in front of us and the music changed, I noticed similar lights at some tables on the far side of the bar. Presumably showtime.

 

Julie's rod was actually a riding crop which she placed on the table, all the time looking at me, she started dancing, 

slowly, and I gulped my champagne. I saw him take the bottle and refill my glass, his left hand was still under my dress, in my crotch, his fingers stroking my labia and the virgin flesh either side, not insistent, patient, waiting for me. I was fixed on Julie, I couldn' help it, she was fluid, perfectly balanced, sinuous, confident, she was doing it for me, I thought the men on other tables must know she was doing it for me, they must be watching me too. I took another gulp of champagne, I pushed my pelvis forward again and my pressed my thigh against his, I wanted the reassurance of physical contact, his hand responded his index finger worked its way between my labia, found the wetness it sought, slid the coated tip up to my clit which hardened and made me wetter. Julie's dancing was getting more suggestive, provocative, she looked down at where my cunt was being groped, covered only by a few inches of dress, she smiled lewdly when she saw my thighs clasp together defensively, squeezing his hand between them. Then she picked up the riding crop from the table, she carried on dancing, held the crop between both hands, rubbed it horizontally over her nipples, held it vertically against her belly thrusting against it, then behind her across her slim  waist as she looked over her shoulder at me, her bottom undulating to the music. She shimmied back and to the side of the table, as close as she could get to me without falling into my lap, she turned to face me all the time dancing, she shook her tits close to my nose, gyrated her hips, I could see droplets of sweat all over her tight belly, smell her scent, feel her warmth not to mention my own. I was getting very wet, his hand and fingers knew it and were working me harder, my thighs were starting to move rhythmically in pace, then Julie turned round again, bent forward and thrust her bulging swaying bottom almost into my face at the same time offering back the riding crop, her invitation obvious. When I didn't take up the offer she pouted, moved forward and started to spank herself with the whip, pushing her bottom out lasciviously after each stroke for more. I couldn't help myself now, his hand and fingers were working my pussy to a frenzy, my hips were pumping urgently, I couldn't suppress the cry which escaped me as I came, wriggling, squirting onto his hand, moaning and slumping forward on the seat gasping as little tremors continued to run through me.

 

A few minutes later, the music back to normal, spotlight out, Julie returned to our table, she had a top on now, she still had that friendly smile as she handed a single key on a keyring to him. She said she'd left the riding crop in the changing room, he could leave the key at the bar when he'd finished. She smiled to me and left us.

Getting spanked after you've had an orgasm really hurts. With a riding crop all the more. I went home on the train with a really sore bottom. I'd wanted to find some nearby store and buy some pants and wear them right away but he'd said I couldn't and that was that. I'm sure everyone on the train knew I'd been spanked, that I had angry welts across my bottom, that I hadn't any bra or knickers on. At least I didn't feel like running away this time, I had my husband sitting next to me and he would never let anything happen to me.