by Philip Kemp
You know the sort of girl I mean - young, very pretty and conceited enough to believe she can twist every man to her will, and not least of her charms, she's endowed by Nature with one of those full, soft, ripely-curved bottoms that make your palm itch just to look at them. On both counts, in fact, a prime candidate, if ever there was one, for a good sound spanking. And one of the most memorable and enjoyable spankings I've ever administered was to just such a young lady. Her name was Samantha.
It was the early 60s. I was 20, and a student. During summer vacations I liked to work for about a month, then with the money earned take off and ramble round Europe. This year I'd landed a better-paid job than usual: Temporary Assistant Supervisor in the rather old-fashioned local department store… a more responsible job than students generally get, but the Senior Supervisor was a friend of the family. Though I was glad of the pay, I wasn't much looking forward to it: all sounded a bit dull, I thought. Little did I know...
The regular Assistant Supervisor, Dan Taylor, was off on a month's training course. Before leaving he invited me in to tell me about my duties. Mainly, I was to help the customers, make sure the shelves were kept stocked, collect takings at the end of the day - and keep an eye on the salesgirls. This, I gathered, was likely to be the most demanding part of my job.
"They're not a bad lot of girls," explained Dan, a cheerful young man in his late 20s, "but you've got to watch 'em, 'cause they can be a bit naughty now and then. Turning up late, knocking off early, sneaking half an hour extra at lunch, that sort of stuff. Not to mention nicking the odd thing off the counter when they think you're not looking. Strictly speaking, you should report them to the Manager, but…" He paused, and grinned at me conspiratorially. "… personally I find it more satisfactory to deal with little things like that myself."
Picking up a long wooden rule from his desk, he swished it vigorously through the air. "The girls seem to prefer it, too. A good quick solution - and gets right to the bottom of the trouble, eh? Of course, they can see the Manager if they insist. But mostly, I'm glad to say, they don't!"
All that weekend I wondered about what Dan Taylor had said. Could he really have meant...? No, surely not... I soon found out.
The salesgirls were a saucy, high-spirited lot, mostly around my own age, and delighted to have a shy young student trying to keep them in order. Some of them, I could tell, were trying it on, to see how far they could push their luck.
One of the sauciest was called Jenny - a tall, red-haired girl with a shapely figure, a cheeky grin and the habit of arriving steadily later each day. Towards the end of the week I called her into my office - a dark little cubby hole tucked away behind the stockroom.
"Thirty minutes late this morning," I said. "You're a naughty girl, Jenny, aren't you?"
She grinned, quite unabashed. "Aren't I just? And what are you going to do about it?"
"Well," I said, "I'm supposed to report you to the Manager..."
"Oh," said Jenny, "Mr Taylor usually deals with us himself."
"And what does Mr Taylor do?" I asked, all innocence.
Jenny giggled and blushed. "Bends us over the desk - and smacks our bottoms with the ruler!" She tossed me a challenging glance. "But you wouldn't dare do that, would you?"
"Lock the door," I said slightly breathlessly, "then come over here."
A few moments later, I found myself contemplating a delicious spectacle: Jenny bending obediently over the desk, her skirt turned up and her ripe young bottom, clad only in tight-stretched white nylon knickers, jutting invitingly towards me. I was tempted to take them down, but decided that might be inviting more trouble than I could handle. In any case, they covered scarcely half of Jenny's peachy curves, and could provide scant protection to those areas they did conceal.
Raising the broad wooden rule, I brought it down smartly across the plumpest part of the target area. Smack!!
"Yeeoww!" Jenny squealed, and jumped, but she made no attempt to escape, and I went on to cover the whole expanse of her squirming rump with resounding spanks. By the time I'd finished, some twenty strokes later, the exposed areas of her soft bottom-cheeks were blushing gloriously, and the rosy glow was visible even through her white knickers. "Oooh, oww, wow!" she exclaimed, standing up and rubbing the afflicted parts gingerly, "that was even harder than old Taylor, you rotten sod!"
"Well, that'll teach you to tell me I don't dare," I responded smugly.
"Ow, Christ, yes it will, won't it?" said Jenny ruefully. "Owww, my poor bottom! I'll have to eat lunch standing up!" She departed still rubbing her smarting rear, leaving me with a sizeable bulge in my trousers and the realisation that this job might turn out to be much more fun that I'd expected.
Jenny grinned at me the next time I saw her, and didn't seem to bear me any grudge. In fact I know she didn't, because she readily agreed to come to the movies that Saturday. And afterwards I did get to take down her knickers - not just for spanking purposes, either. Though I couldn't resist starting the proceedings by putting her across my knee and reviving that beautiful blush on her nether cheeks, and Jenny certainly didn't seem inclined to discourage me. But this time the spanking was administered by hand on her lovely bare bottom - a rather more enjoyable method, and an ideal prelude to other delightful activities.
Jenny was by no means the only girl whose bottom I had the pleasure of reddening over the next few weeks. She'd passed the word around that I was upholding Mr Taylor's proud traditions, and several of her colleagues quite deliberately provoked me into warming their pert young behinds for them, just out of curiosity. No doubt their boyfriends later reaped the benefit.
But there was one girl I never managed to catch out in serious misbehaviour, much though I longed to. And that (as you'll have guessed) was Samantha.
Samantha worked on the perfume counter. She was 18, and very attractive in a sulky, Bardot-ish way. Medium height, with long blonde hair and a pretty, spoilt face - big brown eyes, a pert nose and full, pouting lips. Her figure was superb - small, firm breasts that had no need of a bra, a slim waist, and long shapely legs which she often displayed to their full advantage, this being the era of the miniskirt.
But if ever a girl was shaped by Providence to be spanked - frequently, thoroughly and resoundingly - it was Samantha. That conceited young lady had one of the most smackable bottoms I've ever seen - high and full and beautifully curved, contouring out from her waist and in again to her thighs in a near perfect semi-circle. Two soft, plump hemispheres of sweet young flesh, each one ripe and rounded as a peach. Even had Samantha had the most angelic disposition in the world, had her behaviour been utterly irreproachable - she would still have richly deserved spanking just for having such a bottom.
It was bad enough when she wore a miniskirt - much in vogue at that time. Every time she bent over - which she did rather more often than was strictly necessary - the resultant glimpses of brief frilly knickers clinging closely around those luscious globes did dangerous things to my blood pressure.
But the days when she turned up in tight trousers were even worse for my self-control. She knew just how to move her hips, and her bottom danced as she walked, bouncing up and down and side to side in an enticing rhythm. Through the tautly-stretched fabric I could see her soft mounds quivering with every step - a spectacle that made my hand itch unbearably.
She knew it, too. Young Samantha was well aware of her own attractions, especially from the rear. She'd heard about the spankings I'd given the other girls; she'd seen the way I looked at her and she knew damn well what treatment I longed to apply to those curvy, jiggling cheeks. So she played it very skilfully, taking every chance to act cheeky and provocative - but cunningly stopping short of anything that might justify a spanking.
It was my last week; soon Dan Taylor would be back from his training course. (Had he ever spanked Samantha, I wondered enviously?) My loins ached, every time I looked at her, to turn that pouting little blonde minx across my lap, bare her upturned bottom and spank her till she squealed for mercy. (And then, in my overheated fantasy, to repeat the treatment at least twice a day for several weeks.) But it didn't look as if I'd ever get the chance.
And then... one quiet morning I was standing at the drug counter chatting to Jenny, when I happened to glance in a nearby shaving mirror. Reflected in it was Samantha. And as I watched she glanced quickly at my seemingly oblivious back, then slipped a small glittering object in her handbag.
"Jenny," I said quietly, "come with me a moment."
"Samantha," I said, "in front of Jenny, I want you to open your handbag..."
"Sit down, Samantha," I said in my office, about five minutes later. While you still can, young lady, I added mentally.
My heart was thumping painfully and my throat was dry with anticipation. But at last this was the chance I'd been longing for, and I wasn't about to spoil it by rushing things.
"I've got to congratulate you on your taste, Samantha. The most expensive perfume in the store, and two silver compacts. Well over a hundred quid's worth of loot. Not bad. Of course, we'll have to see the Manager about this."
Samantha's eyes widened in horror. "Oh no, please don't! He'd call the police, I know he would! Please!"
"Well, what do you suggest?"
"Couldn't you just…" She hesitated, gazing at me beseechingly. "… just punish me yourself, and not tell anyone else?"
I pretended to think deeply. "Well - this isn't like being a few minutes late, you know. If I do punish you myself, I'll have to make a very thorough job of it. Agreed?" She gulped, and nodded. Here goes, I thought exultantly. "Samantha - have you ever been given a spanking?" She blushed, and wriggled on her chair. That's nothing to the blushing and wriggling you'll be doing soon, my girl, gloated my inner voice.
"No - well, not since I was a little kid."
What a waste, I thought - what a criminal waste that a bottom like hers should have remained unspanked all those years. Never mind, I was about to start making up for the sad omission. "Hasn't your boyfriend ever spanked you? Or Mr Taylor?"
"I'd like to see them try!" retorted Samantha, with a flash of her usual petulance.
"Oh, would you? Well, you're going to see me try," I said quietly. "Or rather, feel me try. Because what I'm planning to do, Samantha, is to put you across my knee, take down your knickers, and then spank you on that pretty bare bottom of yours so hard and so thoroughly that you won't be sitting comfortably for a week." I paused and grinned at her. "Unless you'd rather we saw the Manager?"
Samantha gulped again. "N-no," she stammered.
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