Over His Knee - Book One: M/F spanking stories

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She took hold of my chin and looked me in the eye. “You’ve got the face of an angel and hands that are a gift from God. Now let’s see if you’ve got a nice little bottom that the Lord made for spanking, shall we? Take your trousers down!” Val finished doing things in the kitchen and came through to where I was sitting. She asked me all about my trip to the meeting and what I thought of the Mustang. I liked Val a lot – she was very homely and friendly towards me. “You’re not much into hoops huh?” She said looking at my magazine. I explained that I liked football – but English, not American! A gentle tap, then what! Bloody hell, the hardest so far! “Four ma’am.” My fingers were starting to go numb from gripping the table so hard, and my bum was just plain on fire.

Now, I want you to copy this document in your own handwriting. And your work had better be neat and legible if you do not want me to motivate you further.” With those words, she shoved a second copy of the statement and confession I wrote for Lucille those eight years before, but where the words “Lucille” and “wife” appeared, Vera had amended the wording to read “Vera” and “sister-in-law.”

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They had managed to persuade Val to line them all up in the basement and give them a few swats. By all accounts, it had been a real laugh. Of course it was all for fun, but apparently some of the swats Val had given had one or two of the boys hopping about holding their paddled bums.

She turned on the TV and sat down, looking for all the world like a regular mum. Only she and I knew that five minutes earlier she had paddled my bottom good and sore. All the way down to the basement, my excitement grew. In my fantasy I had only ever wanted a spanking, but a paddling would be just as exciting. In my head, I kept thinking: “I’m being taken to the basement for a paddling!” This thought still plays a part in my fantasies to this day. There is always a rather rowdy, ribald crowd, with plump bare bottomed lasses on their knees giggling. The majority are plump older women, with ‘their girl’. We go and sit, she is about to start a tale….not verse, not poetry, but something akin to Chaucer, and his Canterbury tales. There was not a doubt in my mind she meant what she said, and I scurried off to Lucille’s study, where her wooden paddle hung behind the closet door. I had no problem finding it; I’d been sent to fetch it often enough by my late wife. And I realized I was shaking with dread and the slightest dawning of sexual arousal that often accompanied these situations, at least in the beginning moments before the reality of a spanking took over. No, it was not Michelle. Then she got it. The bottom bare its owner fair was Mrs F – she lived next door. Well, well, well. Matriarch of six herself, of Family Frobisher: a husband, two daughters, two sons, a nephew and a niece. She was no stranger to give and receive, that time honoured fashion of women and men.

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I’m going to give you a taster of each of my little helpers – three with the cane, three with the slipper and three with the board.”“You can’t make me!” I protested, but with that she called Doreen into the room. Two more to go. I’ll lay these on a bit, honey, OK?” What? Lay them on! What the hell were the other six? Fun pats? It was over, but for a few moments I stayed bent over that table. It never occured to me to ask Val to stop and the truth is that although she swung a mean paddle (I suspect she’d had some practice over the years as a mom), I had also found the spanking exciting and perversely enjoyable. Val managed to hit just the right note – hard enough to really sting without being enough to have me bawling my eyes out. Finally, she turned to me, all smiles and said: “Well, Asher, I think we have an understanding now, don’t you? And now you’ve met my little helpers!” The next thing I knew, Aunt Pam was holding my arms firmly so I couldn’t move, and Doreen was unzipping my jeans. Then I was pulled across Pam’s knee in a daze.