by Steve Rayer
"Erica, are you alone in the house? Is it true your friends have gone out for the evening and won't be coming back till late?"
"Yes Miss Judith."
"Very well then. You say one of your friends plays a lot of table tennis. Can you get hold of one of her bats?"
"Please, Miss Judith, is this necessary?"
"Indeed it is. Now go and do as I tell you. Got it? Good. You say you are in the kitchen? So, down with your jeans. Go on, do as I tell you, and now your knickers, and bend over the table."
"Have you told Mr. Alex about this?"
"No."
"Will you be telling him?"
"I shall if you don't stop whining and bend over the table. Erica, for heaven's sake, let's get this thing over and done with. He will be home soon and you surely don't want him to hear me giving commands like this over the phone, now do you?"
"But I'm nearly twenty one."
"So you are - but that is no excuse, on your own admission, for slacking off. We have an agreement remember, you and I between us. We always have had. You are very welcome to stay at our house, we love having you to stay but Alexander has always insisted it's a condition that you work hard and show results to match. Erica, are you still there? Erica, I don't hear you."
"Ok, I'm over the table but promise you won't tell a soul."
"I promise. Ready? Is your bottom quite bare? Good. Now give yourself one hard smack on each side. No, that doesn't sound like a hard smack to me. Try again, both sides. I know only too well what a proper smack should sound like."
"Ow!"
"Better. Now give yourself another four. Slowly. I will count them for you. I want to hear each one a real sound. One... two... three... four... Yes, well done, I can hear you gasp."
"But Miss Judith, this thing really stings."
"Is that so? Then it is doing you good. We must persevere."
"It's the right side of my bum. It's really sore."
"You mean to say you gave each of those four smacks on the same side of your bottom? Silly girl! Well then, there is some catching up to be done. Four on the left side, go on now, slowly, I'm listening. That's only two and nowhere hard enough. Start again, good, two more to go. Yes, that's better, much better. Are you still across the table? So tell me, what is this punishment for?"
"Going out too often and letting my marks slip. I'm sorry."
"I know you are sorry. Neither of us, Alex or myself, are wanting to stop you enjoying yourself but you have to remember why you are at university. Do you want to spend all your vacations with your father in that little place in France, however nice it may be in summer? You know how distracted he can be."
"No! Please Miss Judith, let me go on staying with you. I promise there'll be no more problems, honestly."
"Very well, I believe you. Now, give yourself six more, three on each side."
"Six?!"
"We have to make sure. Only think how much harder it would be if I were there to punish you. Go on, properly now - the first two. Good girl, you're getting better at it. Now, another two. - slowly. Don't snivel at me. You told me a moment ago you were nearly twenty one. Right, and now the final two: I want to hear these being the best of the lot. That's one, and now the other, go on, make it as hard as you can. Good girl; I think that will do, you deserve more but you've tried hard enough. You can get dressed now."
"I'm just looking at myself in the kitchen mirror. Gosh I've made my bum quite red."
"Not as red as it ought to be. However, let that be a warning to you. No more slacking off. Is it three more weeks before you come home?"
"Three weeks on Tuesday."
"Fine, we look forward to seeing you."
"Looking forward to seeing you too."
"You'd better let us know which train you will be on. One of us will be there to meet you. Goodbye for now then, Erica."
"Goodbye, Miss Judith, and... well you know... like... thank you... whatever."
You don't believe me? Of course you don't! A load of rubbish isn't it? You think it's just silly me lying awake at four o'clock in the morning listening to the gentle snores of the lump beside me, the man I am pleased to call my husband, and dreaming ...dreaming ... dreaming of a delightful little bottom that not so long ago I had the exquisite pleasure of spanking: a pretty girl squirming across my knees, her lovely buttocks turning redder and redder...? Alright then, don't believe me, why should I care? But I do happen to love that girl and I'm only trying to do what's best for her.
Hello again. Yes it's me, Judith, and time has moved on since I last reported to you. Remember how I left you, me squirming in my seat on the aeroplane, trying hard to sit still after that fantastic caning of the day before? Well, on the CP front for yours truly nothing moves any more, everything quite, quite dead, not even one little pat on the bum, and it's still a nice attractive bum, honestly it is. I've taken great care of it, regular trips to the gym, watching the calories, strict attention to alcohol intake, in fact just like your average French lady, for let's not forget that's where my outlook on life was forged. In fact, I swear that my weight hasn't increased by one ounce since I last recorded those goings-on in Sitges, and my figure just the same as ever. Yep, I'm mighty proud of it. And speaking of French ladies I have to tell you that after all these years the strap that Madame used on me still hangs where it has always been, hidden at the back of my wardrobe but in pristine condition, cherished, well looked after. Goodness, how shall I ever forget that scene in the corner of a field, me stretched double over a smooth log taking the most excellent of thrashings, my bottom bared to the sky? It was impossible to sit comfortably for days afterwards. It was impossible to forget. No regrets, no resentment. Dearest Madame, how I loved and respected her!
Strange you may think; respect, naturally, but love? Dear reader, she was the only person who ever really understood me, who knew just what had to be done when my mind was at one of its low points. But you are married, have been for years, you will say. Doesn't your husband understand you after all this time? Up to a point, I reply. Let me talk about Alexander my husband, a successful solicitor. Fairly tall, reasonably built, reasonably good looking, reasonably just about everything else, compassionate, considerate and oh so very reasonable. Yes, I'm bored, a boredom which took off ever since I arrived home from Sitges, my bottom striped and wonderfully sore from Gerald's beating, my hormones aflutter from that wild night of phenomenal sex which followed. And whatever happened to Gerald you may ask - the man who proved himself so proficient in the application of the cane to Judith's poor bottom? Gone, gone to live in a tiny village in the south of France, foothills of the Pyrenees near the Mediterranean coast where the light is good for his work. Ice cold in winter and blinding hot in summer. I tried to keep up some form of relationship, but he soon lost interest in it and I can't say I blame him. I served my purpose at the time and he honoured his obligations in the few weeks that we knew each other by making me feel on top of the world, alive on cloud nine. It would never have lasted of course, better that it should have been broken off at the peak and leave me with memories of sheer ecstasy.
So here I am, comfortable home, two loving children about to be packed off to university, a member of all the committees a respectable solicitor's wife is encouraged to be part of, a familiar figure in the community and I'm wanting nothing but a good sound spanking to blow away all the cobwebs in my soul, followed by fulfilment in bed. Fulfilment did I say? My last one, if you could call it that, was at least two months ago and neither of us bothered to take off our pyjama tops. (Yes, I even wear pyjamas to bed now. Long gone are the shorty nighties, or less, that once formed my bedtime wear). I ask you, sex in pyjama tops! What really galls me is that during my twice yearly visits to Paris for a short stay with Sandrine (remember her, the dear friend who was so grateful to me for spanking her sweet little bottom which put her on the right road to marrying Xavier, my ex boyfriend?) we often end up chatting together in her bedroom and there on the dressing table is the customary stout wooden hairbrush. She always catches me looking at it and cannot help breaking into giggles. Yes dear Sandrine, I know very well the hairbrush is all too often a part of your bedtime routine and I'm so jealous of you.
I am reminded that on my last visit to Paris something happened to cause a temporary blip in my bored existence. One of the highlights is always the Friday night roller-blade tour of the streets by hundreds of participants, usually starting about 9.30pm and going on for two to three hours. The three of us, Xavier, Sandrine and me always have a whale of a time and besides, it gives me the chance to show off my figure in the skin tight Capri pants bought in Barcelona, remember? (Alex would be shocked if I wore them at home. Not respectable you see). Xavier never misses an opportunity to remind me of that first lesson he gave me on the skating rink years ago incorporating in full public view a firm hand-spanking. This causes Sandrine another of her giggling fits. Well, we were whizzing along and Sandrine suddenly starts talking about an art exhibition in a salon on the Left Bank which I ought to see apparently and Xavier backs her up. Odd that they have never pressed such a visit on me before but I agree to go with Sandrine the following morning.
The salon turns out to be the sort of establishment catering for well-heeled clients and displays a collection of the latest works by an important artist and guess who it is; yes that's right, Gerald (not his real name) the gentleman who gave me such a thrill in Sitges.
"Ooh" I blurted out, "I know him."
"Really" said Sandrine in her sweetest voice, "my dear Judith, you amaze me. There is something you should see."
We saunter past several pictures, all of them worth a second look, and onward into the next room whereupon I freeze to the floor. I'm staring at the picture of me on the balcony of Gerald's flat, leaning over the parapet, my back turned to the viewer, hair all straggly, naked apart from a tiny triangle of pale blue peeping out from between the top of my buttocks, towel thrown carelessly to one side, looking for all the world as though I were drying off after a shower and letting the warm sun do the work instead. Impossible to doubt the subject is anyone but me, my face turned to glance over my shoulder wearing an expression of quiet reproach seemingly as at the interruption of a moment of private contemplation. Not true of course, I was feeling all hurt and resentful at the time from a smarting backside as you may recall but who else was there to know. It was some small relief to note he had given my bottom a natural hue instead of the genuine bright red tone which prevailed after his recent 'treatment' of me face down across the bed.
I felt Sandrine at my side starting to vibrate.
"So that's what you got up to in Sitges. Pencil, pen and watercolour the catalogue says. Xavier thinks the shape of your bottom has improved with age."
"Very kind of him I'm sure."
"Well if he doesn't know then who does?"
No answer to that. She took me by the arm and guided me across the room to another set of pictures. Oh no! no, no and no! A thousand times no! I was gaping at the second one he drew of me, standing against a plain background, fiddling with an earring, half back to the viewer but twisting round as though to take note of something being said. Naked from the waist down but wearing a skimpy sleeveless blouse from which one breast revealed itself: not even a tiny pale blue triangle between my buttocks any more as a sop to my modesty. Gerald, how could you have taken that out? I still had it on when I posed for the second portrait; I know I had.
"You look as though you were ready for sex," murmured Sandrine. "What is happening, your lover calling from the bed to get a move on?"
I looked round cautiously. Was there anyone to recognise me? Must get out of here!
"This one hasn't been sold yet," said Sandrine. "Perhaps a man's wife would think it too tarty to have in the house. Gorgeous figure I'll say that much. No doubt some rich pervert will be prepared to fork out the dosh for it. Did you notice the first one has been sold already?"
Sold, the one of me on the balcony? I went back for another look and blow me if there wasn't one of those little red stickers showing it had indeed been sold.
"To whom?"
"How do you expect me to know?"
For weeks after I was worried who the mystery buyer could be: even more worried as to where the 'tarty' one would turn up next. I could hardly bear to walk past newspaper stands in case a reproduction of one of Gerald's portraits appeared. I half expected Alex to come home one day in a rage, brandishing a paper showing Judith with her tit and bum on display. Well that was how it felt to me. Then as the weeks became months my anxiety naturally subsided. Whoever had bought either picture was clearly loath to put it on public view. Perhaps Sandrine was right and I was hung on the wall of some pervert's private study for his sole delectation. In time I managed, almost, to banish the episode from my mind, even to keep my anxieties under wraps during a trip back to Sitges for a short stay with Petra. No Gerald or Erica to awaken old memories as I skated my way, alone, round the bay. No Karin either to keep me company which made me sad.
Dear Miss Judith,
I thought it was time I wrote to you and said what I was doing with myself.
I bet the address at the top of this letter is a place you've never heard of before. Neither had I but it's where Dad has holed up the better for his work and for the summer at least it's absolutely enchanting. I'm spending the summer vac with him. I have a little job down at the art gallery, not bad at all and then I usually manage to ride out on a neighbouring farmer's pony which I adore. I've been once or twice down to the beach at Collioure on the coast but honestly it's so hot and crowded at this time of the year and single girl in bikini surrounded by Frenchmen? No way!
One piece of good news is that I did really well in my exams! I won't say they were a walkover but thanks to you I was able to walk out of each exam feeling jolly pleased with myself. Thanks to you and your cane across my tender bum, that is. You certainly knew how it should be laid on but no hard feelings on my part. You only did what was necessary and if I had to live those three weeks all over again but knowing what to expect this time, I would still turn up. Honestly. And I haven't taken any more 'sweets' either!
As I say it's a great place to be, lonely but I'm used to that and the views from Dad's villa up in the hills are magnificent, for now at least. What happens in winter I don't dare to think, only that everyone says it gets very cold. Dad won't mind of course, he raves about the 'pure' light for his work.
Do you still manage to skate? We had a great time in Sitges didn't we? Any news of Karin?
I liked her a lot.
Love,
Erica.
Lovely girl, nice kid, glad there were no hard feelings. I had enjoyed beating her neat bottom. Did I detect a note of increasing maturity in her letter? Better not leave it lying around for Alex to read and discover what his wife got up to in Sitges.
Late that night, just before going to bed, I was delving into the back of my wardrobe when my hand brushed against Madame's strap as so often happened and immediately all my nerve ends went aquiver. Always the same reaction and I knew sleep would not be coming easily until I had managed to calm myself. Alex, of course, performed his usual hibernation act so I lay chastely in bed, my thoughts on Madame and the security she had offered me and then on to Erica and her loneliness, (no doubt about it, the girl was lonely; look how she had clung to me in Sitges,) and quite suddenly I had the idea of having her to stay with us for the next vacation, and the one after that if things worked out. The girl needed security, of that I was sure, so who but me to play the part of Madame? You will be thinking, and who can blame you that I was hoping for some vague chance of further chastisement on her pert little bum; well there was that of course but during the few weeks we spent together, I had grown genuinely fond of her and despite the gap in our ages there existed a real bond of friendship between us.
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