by Ross Mariner
It was almost time for Wendy's spanking. A few feet away in the comfortably furnished room, Nora Horton her young friend and hostess for the weekend at the waterside log cabin on glorious Lake Temagami, was just getting up from hers. Her Uncle Timothy, owner of that cabin, and in fact the entire island, had pulled her pretty pink panties back up, given her a reassuring pat on her cute behind, and said, "There you are dear, all over." Nora stood, and Timothy assisted with her jeans before giving her a warm hug and a final pat on her still stinging bottom.
"Thank you, Tim," she said, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Wendy was much older than Nora, a delightfully mature young woman whose delectable curves held the wonderful softness that comes with life as the hard edges of youth are softened through experience. Her breasts were the size and shape that Timothy Horton considered to be 'a perfect handful, soft, yet resilient still having the wondrous shape of youth, yet with that added, 'something' that comes with motherhood and time. Wendy's hips had broadened a bit, but in a very nice way and her curvaceous swell melded into two gorgeous pillows of womanhood, soft, yet firm, and very pattable, if there is such a word. Tim was sure there was.
Timothy was an older man, quite amazed that his niece and her lovely friend were not repelled by him and the changes wrought by time. Back in the 1960's he had been somebody - a star of Canada's national sport, but his short-lived fame had long since died out. He was, however, considering taking his coffee, doughnuts and muffins across the border and into the United States.
Wendy, an American, was awaiting her first adult spanking with an elderly Canadian, on an island, on what might be considered the archetypical Canadian lake, that had suffered at the hands of a Canadian lumber company. She wondered about Timothy Horton invading her territory. No doubt the tingling in her lower cheeks was related to that concern. She had heard shocking rumours of a Canadian invasion of her native land, and as a business woman herself had uncovered the truth of some startling revelations. Horror of horrors! The Freemont Hotel Chain had been unmasked, and it was discovered that its major shareholder was none other than a division of the Canadian Pacific Railway. To make matters worse when considering an investment, she learned that the ubiquitous Laidlaw Transportation company, owner of an incredible fleet of school buses as well as eighteen wheelers with more than eighteen wheels, had its corporate headquarters in a place called Burlington, Ontario. She was yet to discover that the largest pipe organ builder in North America, and probably the world, was none other than Casavant Freres of Ste Hyacinthe, Quebec. She would discover that in due course. Despite her thoughts on a Cannuck assault on her country's economy, the tingles heralded something else. She was about to have a Canadian spanking.
Wendy had felt partly responsible for the hangover Nora had been suffering earlier in the day, and suggested that she should share the same consequences as her young friend. Timothy had agreed with alacrity, and suggested that Wendy watch Nora getting spanked so she would know what to expect. Wendy had often wondered what a spanking would be like, and although not wanting to admit it, had an idea that it might be enjoyable. She felt that Tim would help her decide. As Nora was getting ready, Wendy realised that she was committed, and would be next. It was then that the tingling had begun.
Wendy saw Nora loosen her jeans and stretch out across Tim Horton's lap on the large chesterfield. Timothy had patted her bottom comfortingly, then lowered the jeans. More pats over the dainty pink panties, and then down they came, exposing the cute bum that was about to be spanked. More pats, a little massaging, then Tim cuddled Nora close before smacking her bare bottom. Now it was over. Nora's clothing had been properly sorted out, and after her hug, and thanking her uncle for the spanking, she had left. Wendy was alone with Tim Horton.
"Your turn, dear," Timothy said to Wendy, patting his lap invitingly. "Come here, please."
Wendy felt the tingling accelerate and spread to even to her essential girl parts as she took the necessary steps. "Do I have to have my panties down, Tim?"
"Of course, dear. Getting ready is as much part of a spanking as having your bottom smacked. It also feels better that way, and helps me make sure you are getting properly spanked. We don't want any bruises, you know."
As Tim undid her shorts for her and slipped them down to her ankles, the tingles were augmented by goose bumps and a flock of butterflies took flight in her tummy. Knowing what was expected, she stretched out on the cushions, across Tim's waiting thighs. In a moment, with his help, she was comfortable, and very aware of his maleness beneath her girlness. She began to feel that this was going to be a wonderful experience.
"Now your panties," he said, after gently rubbing her soft lower curves, appreciating her silky, powder blue panties, both to see and to touch. "Nobody should have to be embarrassed by baring their own bottom for a spanking," he said, grasping the waistband of he filmy garment, and her panties came gently down. For a few moments, maybe even minutes, his warm hand rested on her voluptuous mounds, petting her gently from time to time. More caresses helped her relax, and then she had her bare bottom nicely spanked. There were pauses for more rubbing and petting, and sometimes Tim cuddled her close. When it was time to get up, Wendy asked if she could stay there a little longer, and Tim agreed.
While she lay there, Wendy produced a tube of golden gel - Arnica to be precise - and handed it back to Tim who seemed to know what to do with it. The anointing took some time, and they both enjoyed it.
Before replacing her panties and shorts, Tim Horton offered to kiss it better, in case it was sore. That seemed to be a good idea, so Wendy moved and lay on her tummy to make it easier for the faded icon of the sixties who kissed each cheek carefully, then for a moment rested his cheek on hers.
The Canadian invasion no longer seemed threatening, at all, and Wendy was soon ready for more.
Temagami. The very name conjures dreams. Dreams that inspire the soul and bring peace to the troubled mind and heart. Temagami! Blue waters and rocky shores, countless islands, secluded coves with white pine and silver birch reaching for the sky above and reflected in the sparkling lake below. Beautiful Temagami. Wild Temagami, where wolves howl in the night, and the mighty moose wanders at will.
Carson's Island, named for its first owner who purchased it as Crown Land on his return from World War II, lies about four miles west of the village of Temagami, just off the main channel, still marked by the navigation aids once used by the steamers, freight boats and timber rafts of the past. The log cabin now occupied by Timothy Horton was originally built by Hank and his friends, and subsequent owners enlarged it, always retaining the original motif. The rustic charm of pine logs, chinked with plaster, continues to this day. Electricity has been brought to the island, a mixed blessing some say, and Tim still prefers the light from coal oil lanterns as in the past, and often their flickering glow adds a romantic touch as evening falls.
It was evening. The screened windows were open, and the gentle sounds of nature wafted through. The rustle of the birch and poplar leaves seemed to imitate softly falling rain, the light wind whispered through the pines and wavelets lapped upon the rocky shore, just a few steps from the cabin's main door.
In the western sky the sun was setting in a delightful glow of powder blue and soft pinks, harbingers of a beautiful day to come. Tim, avoiding the modern light switches, lit the lanterns in the living room, in preparation for the soft darkness that was soon to come. Aside from the sounds, the windows admitted the perfume of the forest, a mixture of delights combined with fresh, clean air. Dominant was the beautiful scent of pine, a combination of the sap on the outer bark and the needles with their clusters of five, representing the five letters in the name 'white' which designates the most common pine of the Temagami forest.
Alone for the moment, Tim smiled to himself as he thought of Wendy, their conversations since her spanking, and the agreement they had made. Tim and Wendy had discovered certain things about themselves and each other, and they were good. It seemed that their worlds were changing, coming closer, as they explored things together. Tim was content. Wendy had stepped outside.
Timothy Horton turned as he heard the screen door close, and a moment later, Wendy, delightfully mature and attractive was there. They smiled happily at each other, in that special way that some people do. They enjoyed their times together. What Tim noticed, though, was a change in the scent of the air. The forest was still there, and his nose detected the pleasant yet unobtrusive perfume that Wendy chose. But there was something else. It was not nearly so pleasant as the other odours, and it assaulted his nostrils. It had once been a major part of his life, but more than thirty years before he had overcome the need for it. Surrounding Wendy, was an aura that could not be ignored.
Tim looked at her with concern. "Not again, dear?"
Wendy said nothing. Just nodded.
How many is that since lunch time, Wendy?"
She blushed. "Um not that many, Tim."
"How many, I asked?"
"Well, not more than twenty, I know."
"Not more than twenty, in that time?" Timothy was shocked. "What are you telling me, dear?"
"Well, there are six left in the packet, Tim." A large pack of Canadian cigarettes holds twenty-five of those white cylinders, do-it-yourself air pollution kits. "You remember our agreement on smoking when we are together?"
She nodded. "A spanking."
"Do you still agree with that?"
Wendy blushed, and felt an ominous tingling in her bottom, and the butterflies that had been resting in her tummy took wing. "Yes, Tim. I do need help."
Timothy Horton smiled affectionately at her, making her feel less apprehensive, but the tingling remained and the butterflies refused to be still. It was a very warm evening, yet Wendy felt the goose bumps forming on her lower cheeks as the tingling increased, and crept like exploring fingers into secret places.
"Well, I promised to help, Wendy, and we have an agreement." She nodded. There was no need to speak. "You know this will be really symbolic and encouraging?" She nodded again. "Spankings will be a good reminder, but in the end, it is really up to you. Okay?"
"Okay. We made a deal. I know it's not the cure, but I want your help."
"Very well, darling, I think we have put this off long enough then." He pulled a sturdy maple chair out from the table, and sat down. "Come here, please." Wendy stood close, touching him, and he put his arm about her. She liked the feel of that. He gave her a warm squeeze, then a pat on her lovely behind. "Let's get started, then. Drop your shorts, please, and bend over my lap."
Wendy hesitated a moment. Her first spanking, which led to this situation, had been given while she was comfortably stretched out across his lap, while lying on the large chesterfield. This did not look comfortable. "Here?" she asked, glancing across the room at the comfortable couch with its soft cushions and pillows.
"Here," he said, patting his knee. A moment later her pretty light cotton shorts had gathered themselves about her ankles. Again she hesitated.
"Not my..."
"Panties? I won't make you do that, darling, that will be done for you."
"But..."
"It is not a spanking, Wendy, if you are not over a knee with your panties down. We agreed it would be a spanking. Right?"
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