by LSF Publications
by Pamela White
When she turned from her stomach onto her back while sunbathing, Miss Robertson would never have seen Jason, his nose pressed against the window in his second-story bedroom, were it not for the late afternoon sun that shone brightly and bathed him in light. That discovery occurred a week ago. Since then not a day passed, with the exception of Monday when a downpour had its own way with her plans, that she didn't, at least momentarily, observe the boy's eyes fixed on her as she sunbathed in the nude. The six-foot solid fence surrounding her backyard protected her only from ground-level prying eyes.
While not an exhibitionist, Miss Robertson had other interests and seldom failed to exploit any opportunities that presented themselves - if prudence allowed - that might further those interests.
It is therefore not fortuitous that just moments after Jason made his way to the curbside letterbox to retrieve the mail on Thursday, Miss Robertson appeared just a driveway and a lawn away. With her own mail in hand, she closed the short distance between the two of them.
"Hello Jason."
"Hello Miss Robertson."
"How was your first year at college?" she asked.
"Pretty good, I guess."
"I'm happy to hear that. How long have you been home?"
"About a week now."
"Are you enjoying your summer so far, Jason?"
"Uh, I guess so."
"Are you doing anything interesting?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'll be starting a part-time job next week."
She suppressed a smile.
Moving a little closer, Miss Robertson whispered, "While I was sunbathing in my back yard, I saw you looking at me."
"Huh?"
She repeated the statement, adding "...from your bedroom window."
He was silent.
"Do you deny you were looking, Jason?"
"Uh..."
"Jason, where is your mother?"
"She's on a business trip."
"And when is she scheduled to return?"
"Uh... tomorrow night."
"What would she say if she knew what you did?"
"Please, Miss Robertson, don't tell her," Jason pleaded.
"So, you admit you were spying on me?"
"I'm really sorry. But please don't tell her. I think I already weirded her out and don't want her to think I'm some kind of creep or something. Please. I would never look in someone's window or anything like that. But I just looked out my window and there you were - well, you know - naked and everything - so how could I not look."
She smiled. Curious, she asked, "Why do you think you weirded your mom out?"
"I'm afraid to tell you, Miss Robertson."
"I would like to know, Jason."
"Well, I've been looking at this website a lot and had to leave my room for a few minutes so I minimized the window. When I returned, my mom was in my room and she had maximized the window and was looking at it."
"What kind of website, Jason?" Miss Robertson inquired.
"Are you sure you want to know?"
"Yes, Jason, please tell me."
"A spanking website. It has tons of stories, like twenty-six thousand or something."
"And who do you identify with in the spanking stories, sweetie? Do you visualize yourself as the person being punished or the person administering the punishment?" she asked gently but with an intent interest in his answer.
The boy was perplexed that she continued the interrogation without a pause, as if she were not at all nonplussed by what he had just revealed to her.
"Jason?"
"I'm sorry. With the person being punished," he replied.
This is going to be even more interesting than I anticipated, Miss Robertson mused.
Before the revelation, Miss Robertson had decided she would administer Jason's spanking in the normal living space of her home and had rejected the idea of escorting a nineteen-year-old boy - one whose inclinations were unclear to her - into the large padlocked room in her basement where she - for fun and not for profit - administered discipline to more experienced men and women. Jason's revelation, that offered a window into his psyche, caused her to revisit her decision but she ultimately concluded that her initial choice was still the correct one for a first timer.
"When did you first become interested in spanking?" Miss Robertson asked.
"I don't remember exactly but it was a long time ago," he responded. "When our second grade teacher showed us how to use a dictionary, the first word some of the other kids looked up was the 's' word and they were so disappointed when they couldn't find it. The first word I looked up was also the 's' word and I had no difficulty finding it. That's because my 's' word was different than theirs. I can't tell you how many times I returned to the dictionary just to savor that word in print, just to re-read the description. I spent so much time on that page when no one was looking that I honestly believed that if someone had dropped the dictionary on its spine on the floor and the pages splayed open, the book would open where the binding was weakest, at the 'spanking page' as I called it."
Miss Robertson looked right and then left and upon seeing the street deserted, turned Jason's shoulders square with hers.
Her demeanor changed - a demeanor Jason had never witnessed in his next door neighbor before.
"Jason, you have been a bad boy."
"I know I have, Miss Robertson. I'm sorry."
"What happens to bad boys, Jason?"
"Bad boys are punished, Miss Robertson."
"Jason, do you have a previous engagement for this evening?"
"No, I don't Miss Robertson."
"Do you have a girlfriend or will you find yourself in a gym locker room or anywhere else during the next few days where someone will be in a position to see your bare bottom?"
"No, Miss Robertson."
"Then I expect you on my doorstep promptly at 7:30 this evening."
"Yes, Miss Robertson."
The fact that she specified the next few days rather than the next hour caused a wave of fear to overcome the boy but also aroused him.
Turning on her heels, she returned to her house and closed the door behind her.
After he made himself dinner, Jason showered, brushed his teeth and donned a clean set of clothing. He was a nervous wreck, anticipating the fate that awaited him.
At 7:30 promptly, he depressed Miss Robertson's doorbell. He heard footfalls and within half a minute the door opened to reveal a woman unlike any he had seen before with the possible exception of those on the pages of the websites he visited and some of those in his dreams.
She wore a short leather skirt and thigh-high leather boots, all black, and a diaphanous white blouse. She stood five-foot eight-inches tall and her black hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face with high cheekbones. Her creamy thighs were magnets to his eyes. The way she stood - indeed her entire demeanor - exuded self-confidence, a quality Jason struggled with. He knew he struggled with it - and had for as long as he could remember. And he knew she knew it. Yet at the same time he wanted so much to be with her.
"You know why you're here, don't you, Jason?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Tell me why, sweetie."
"I've been a bad boy."
"In what way have you been bad, Jason?"
"I spied on you when you were sunbathing... nude."
"You invaded my privacy, didn't you, Jason?"
"Yes, Ma'am, I did. I'm sorry."
"Jason, did you masturbate while you were looking at me?"
"Please Ma'am."
"Jason, please answer me."
"Yes Ma'am, I did."
"You are a very naughty boy, Jason. Not for masturbating, but for masturbating while you were spying on me."
"I know, Miss Robertson."
"I'm going to punish you, Jason and I want you to cooperate with me. Will you do that for me?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Good boy."
She beckoned Jason into a study with walls adorned with paintings of historical figures, none of whom the boy recognized even though one was the late eighteenth, early nineteenth century author variously celebrated or condemned for his libertine sexuality who penned Justine, a novel that Jason in fact had furtively sought out and read in his college library. In the center of the study was a high-back armless chair and to one side a table containing a large rectangular tray covered by a textured cloth.
"Jason, remove your clothes please."
He began to undress. Removing his sandals, he then slipped off his tee shirt, revealing a chest virtually devoid of hair. Struggling with what was next required of him, he lowered his shorts and stepped out of them. He appeared hesitant of what to do next.
"Jason?"
"Yes, Miss Robertson?"
"You're doing fine but you have something else to take off."
Casting his gaze to the floor, Jason placed his fingertips in the waistband of his underpants and slowly peeled them down over his slim hips. Gravity came to his aid, delivering the last of his garments to the floor. Jason stepped out of them. He was embarrassed and tried to cover himself with his hands.
Miss Robertson instructed, in words and in a tone designed to reassure a clearly frightened and embarrassed boy while at the same time insuring he would do as she wished, "Jason, you're doing fine. I'd like you now to place your hands behind your head and bring your elbows to the side."
She watched intently and had to admit to herself that she took great pleasure in seeing the frightened naked boy follow her instructions and assume the required pose.
With the chair facing Jason she sat, her short leather skirt riding further up her thighs. With a hand she beckoned the boy and helped guide him over a bare leg. His frame, which was small for his age, fit comfortably. His body was bent at the waist and his bare bottom was thrust up for her, his cheeks slightly parted. His bottom was smooth and contoured with a deep crevice between his cheeks - and with the exception of narrow hips - was alluring like a girl's Miss Robertson thought to herself.
Placing one hand in the small of his back, she placed the other on his bottom. Spreading her fingers, she allowed their tips to explore the gentle contours of his bottom - from his right hip inward along the swell of his right cheek until they came to rest in the crevice between his cheeks - and then outward along the swell of his left cheek.
She felt Jason's organ, pressed to her flesh, become even more insistent as she touched him.
She now placed her palm on Jason's bottom.
"Jason, it's now time for your spanking. We shall start with a warm-up spanking. I want you to relax for me as best you can and try not to clench your cheeks. Will you do that for me?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
Miss Robertson did not explain and Jason did not have the presence to ask the purpose of a warm-up spanking and what would follow. This placed Miss Robertson in the enviable position of not having to deceive the boy. For while warm-up spankings can be employed to prepare the bottom and make the subsequent punishment spanking feel less intense, they can also be used, by those spankers so inclined, to administer punishment spankings of somewhat greater intensity because the spankees' capacity to endure is enhanced by the warm-up spankings.
The warm-up spanking commenced, with Miss Robertson's hand rising and falling approximately once every two seconds on Jason's proffered bare bottom. For the first minute or two, the boy displayed little outward reaction with the exception of compression and release of his cheeks as Miss Robertson peppered his bottom with strokes of moderate intensity. Distress set in when the accumulated heat generated by the strokes already applied breached a critical threshold and the speed with which the new strokes were applied overwhelmed his body's ability to dissipate the heat.
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