Nancy Comes Out

(Continued from The Whipping Girl-Meeting Nancy)

The rough texture of the couch cushion where she lay her head didn’t register with Liz as her mind washed slowly out to the edge of consciousness. The spanking was far enough along that she was largely numbed to the smacks as long as they covered old ground. Once every few swats Nancy would hit higher or lower and she’d maybe jump a tad, or suck in some air or give a little “ouch” but by and large she was relaxed lying there.

Since her first spanking as a wee tot she swears she was conscious of-that she felt-the little fire smoldering between her legs ignited by the slaps to her bottom. Especially those spanks that fell at the bottom of her bottom, where the slaps echoed though the voids and crevasses where everything came together and sent tiny shocks buzzing through her down under.

She couldn’t believe that anyone else could feel this way and was convinced that she was the most vile little girl. No matter who had smacked her bottom back then-her mother (reluctantly), her father (vigorously, when he was still around), her older brother (twice as horse play and one time not, which was very confusing), elementary school teachers or boyfriends (not often enough) she came away less chastened and more energized and excited than anyone could know.

How depraved she thought she was when, after being spanked, all she wanted to do was go to her room or any private spot where she could reach down her front to find that secret spot that was already buzzing and rub it till it screamed.

These were not conscious thoughts that Liz was having now-nor clear memories bubbling to the surface-just woven strands of the fabric that made her who she was. Nothing that needed to be considered. Right now she was content to lay half naked across Nancy Shawn’s legs and have her friend take her to a different place.

But the ride was slowing. The time between spanks grew longer and the swats were not delivered with the same vigor. Between blows Nancy would gently rub one cheek then the other. This was different. Not unpleasant, but different. Nancy wasn’t the rubbing kind.

The whole visit today was a little “off”. It began with an unexpected “can I come over?” text from Nancy. Ever since her daughter had come home from college and they had reached their…accommodation, the primary reason for Nancy’s visits was gone. There was no more anger to be worked through-no direct line between Bethany pissing her off and Liz gritting her teeth through an enthusiastic butt-jarring spanking that rivaled any she had ever gotten from a man. Lately some spankings had felt perfunctory or ritualistic, without the fuel that had powered them before.

Liz came up onto her elbows and shook her hair out. The spanking felt finished but there was something else in the air. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Do you like this?” Nancy asked as she rubbed.

“Yes, very much…”

“Me too”, said Nancy as her hand moved from the thigh up over the curve of her bottom and back again. Liz dropped her head back down onto her crossed arms. Yes, this was nice-she would relax and enjoy the massage. At least she would relax. The silence that fell wasn’t uncomfortable-Liz had grown fond of Nancy over the last couple of months and could be at ease even in circumstances or postures that seemed less than comfortable. But Nancy wasn’t relaxed. As with the spanking, her rubbing seemed distracted or fidgety. Anxious.

“Everything alright?” Liz muffled into her forearm.

The hand stopped moving at the top of Liz’ thigh. Nancy’s voice was high and tentative as if she was trying to suck the words back in as she said them.

“I was just wondering….maybe I want to be on the receiving end.”

“You want me to spank you?”

“No! No-that’s not….but if you wanted to-I’d let you…”

“What were you thinking of then?”

Nancy let her hand slip slowly from the back of Liz’s thigh down between her legs. The younger woman opened a little and thrust gently backward opening the most intimate parts of herself. Nancy had seen everything before in the course of a dozen wriggling bare-bottomed spankings but nothing had been offered like this. She slid her hand up and down the inside of the thigh.

“Touch me…” Liz said softly. “It’s ok.”

Nancy moved her hand up the leg and touched gently and softly. Slowly, tentatively she slipped a finger slightly inside. “My God, you are so wet…”

“That’s your doing…”

“You know,” Nancy said, withdrawing her finger but keeping it down there, “I haven’t had an orgasm in years.”


“At least a year before he left, then the three years he’s been gone…”

“They don’t have vibrators in your part of town?”

Nancy barked a small laugh playfully slapped Liz’s rump.

“You are a naughty little one. No, the thought of that only seemed to draw attention to the fact that I was alone…Then, the last time I had you across my lap I felt something…I let it go…but today, I was at the club and there was a woman in the locker room, she was in a towel-God, listen to me-I couldn’t see anything….but the towel was short. She reminded me of you…and I got this feeling….”

“…That you wanted to come over and beat my ass…” Liz said laughing.

“That I wanted to feel your skin against mine….” Nancy said without laughing.

The words froze the conversation and silence hung in the air like a heavy fog. Nancy had gone all in on this one and she sat almost not breathing with her hand resting on Liz’s bottom.

“Can I get up?” Liz asked.

“Of course”, Nancy said leaning back, her voice husky.

Liz came to her knees and watched her friend look away, thinking no doubt that her getting up was a rejection of an ill-timed, muddled advance. Liz pulled her T-shirt off over her head and gently pulled Nancy’s chin toward her. The woman’s eyes glistened as her face betrayed regret, fear, shame…but overriding everything, desire. Liz leaned into her and kissed her gently on the lips while allowing her right hand to slide between, then up Nancy’s thighs to rest on the silken panties at her crotch. The woman gasped as if her hand were an ice-cube tray.

“We can struggle on the couch like teenagers or you can let me take you into my bed.”

Nancy’s face split into a relieved, but wicked, smile. “Please do…”

The naked woman stood and took the older woman by the hand. They walked together into the darkened bedroom.

Arianna’s Afterglow

(Continued from Arianna’s Woodshed)

She tore at his clothes as if they were aflame, finishing pulling his pants off after they had fallen onto their sides on the soft pile of blankets and bedding. The sky finally opened and a soft rain fell pattering onto the sod not six feet from where they lay. Arianna pushed him roughly onto his back and sat astride his solid shaft.

She moaned quietly as she slid up and down and John lifted his head to put his mouth to one of her ample swinging breasts. He licked and kissed, finally taking the nipple of one, then the other, into his mouth to suckle and nibble as he gently worked his fingers along the welts on her backside and thighs.

John collapsed back onto his pillow and let Arianna pin his shoulders with her hands. Her breath came quicker as her sliding moved more toward bucking. She stretched her neck toward the roof and arched her back to receive all of him, working her thighs to pump away. As the rain fell harder she fell forward onto him and her luxuriant luscious breasts collapsed into his chest.

Her moans came louder and quicker as she stretched her legs backward-flattening onto him and wrapping her arms around his neck. They were thigh on thigh as she seemed to be trying to rub his throbbing self entirely off. He worked his hands up and down her tightening body until all at once she stiffened and dug into his thighs once more. Finally, with a whimpering cry, she came-quivering and twitching-until she collapsed entirely onto him.

They lay like that, listening to the rain, as Arianna’s breath returned to normal. “So”, asked John, sliding his hands up and down her sides and gently cupping her bum, “Did you come?”

She laughed lightly and lifted her head. The desperate animal fire that had shined from her eyes as they wrestled toward the floor was gone-replaced by a lighter glow-something satisfied and playful.  She kissed him on the mouth. “I think so-yes. Hard to tell. But it seems I’m the only one who did.” Even though John had slipped out of her she could still feel him-stiffly at attention-down between her legs.

“No”, he said. “That was all for you.”

“You’re sweet”, she purred, then kissed him lightly again. “But what kind of hostess would I be….”

If was John’s turn to moan lightly as she slid her body down his-paying careful attention to never lose contact with his stiffness. He parted his legs so that she could kneel between them and listened to a faraway thunder roll as she rubbed her breasts along his erection before taking it finally into her hand.

She stroked slowly and talked softly-mischievously-“He worked hard, this one…”

He felt her lips drape down over him and he let his head fall back. This wouldn’t take long.

Afterward they lay side by side listening to the rain-which was coming harder now-ding against the shed’s metal roof. What wind there was blew toward the house so they stayed dry. Up on one elbow John massaged Arianna’s breast with the other hand.

“You and these titties, boyo”, she teased. “You must only date flat-chested girls.”

“Not flat, exactly”, he smiled. “But not like this…” He pulled his head toward the bottom of her rib cage where the gravity was pulling them. “They wander and move around…”

“Yes,” she said. “They do have minds of their own”.

She pulled back to reach behind herself, under a blanket. She produced a small bottle of what looked to be oil or salve. She pointed with it, vaguely toward her bottom. “Do you mind?” she asked.

“Absolutely not. I’d love to.”

She handed him the bottle flopped onto her belly. He knelt beside her and flipped the cap and put a little salve on the fingers of his right hand which he patted gently onto the worst of the welts. In repose her bottom spread out and relaxed in a soft magnificence that he wasn’t used to. He slid his fingers under her cheeks where they met her legs and tended to a spot where the skin had slightly broken. She responded to his touch and opened her legs when he patted that way. The rain kept up a soft patter and the sweet, wet fragrance of the flowers and trees mixed pleasantly with their own pungent aromas.

“I’m afraid you are going to have some bruises.”

“I was counting on it,” she said, muffled by her arms where she lay her head.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.

“If not now, when?”

“How long has that carpet beater hung in here?”


He stoked her hair with his free hand spreading it out across her back.

“Not something you picked up at an estate sale last year?”

“Actually found it in the original barn when we bought the place. It was my husband’s favorite toy for a while.”

“Not recently?”

“No, sadly. He got out of the game…” He sat quietly, gently stroking her oil-slick bottom. “It’s not easy to do without something that is a part of you, you know. That’s why when you threw out the woodshed line yesterday I had to string it out-see where it went.”

“Did you like where it went?”

In answer, she lifted her butt back toward his hand. “Oh yesss.”

“I’ve never used a carpet beater.”

“No? Ever felt one?”


“A classic. Very effective.”

Arianna rose onto her elbows then slowly, stretching onto all fours. She knelt up and shook out her hair. Looking back at John, “We really should fill this gap in your education.” Her eyes were alight with desire again and John strangely felt a need to not disappoint this woman. But he hesitated.

She moved closer to him and pushed her breasts into his face. Her movements and voice were light-leaning toward fun. In his turn, John sucked deeply at a nipple. With his head in her hands she asked, “You’re not going to deny me this, are you?”

“I guess not” be mumbled, his mouth full.

She pulled back from him and got to her feet. Stiffening again, he watched her pad over to the carpet beater and take it off the wall. “Lay down”, she said coming back holding the wicked-looking instrument like a tennis racquet.

John lay on his stomach and pulled a couple of pillows under his hips to raise the target. He felt Arianna’s hand as she patted the cheek of his bottom. “Sweet,” she said. Then he felt the rattan against his skin as she held it there-patting. Then it was gone as she drew back.

“Fair warning-this will sting.”

He gripped a handful of blanket as he heard the rattan whistle through the air.

Arianna’s Woodshed

The place he was headed was a little further out-a Mrs. Arianna Amaranth interested in selling or at least getting best value on a smallish place referred to as a “farmette” in the paperwork. She and her husband had been on the property for over 20 years. Following GPS he pulled off of the state road and onto a similar, but windier, two lane. Some places slipping onto a local road out in the boonies could be dicey but not here-where the local area, though bucolic, was some of the most expensive real estate in the area.

He slowed as his GPS counted down the feet to his next left turn. When he saw a break in the tree line he pulled off onto a tightly packed gravel drive. “You have arrived”. But John wasn’t sure where. He could see nothing through the trees and followed the gravel slowly until he rounded a bend and there it was. Small converted barn-two story living area-he would bet on reclaimed wood throughout. Very nice. Flowers and gardens abounding filling in around meandering stone walls.

He pulled off the drive onto a small gravel parking area in front of a three car garage. Like the house the garage had been built of rough-hewn lumber and though it looked like it could have been there for decades, John figured it for a recent addition to the place. As he got out of the car, a woman appeared from behind the garage and followed the trail along a wall toward him. “Mrs. Amaranth?” he asked.

“Arianna, please”, she said approaching.

She was in her 40’s at least but her light olive skin was smooth, revealing nothing. Her black hair, pulled back in a loose pony tail was shot through with silvery streaks that could have been from the Salon but were not. She was of average height but a bit stocky and bottom heavy which made her appear shorter. She carried her weight lightly, telling him that it wasn’t a new addition. She had a strong grip when they shook hands and a bright smile. This was an attractive woman-all the more because she had an air of confidence about her.

Dressed for work in jeans, canvas shirt and rubber boots she certainly looked the part of a gentle-woman farmer. The jeans were not the jeans that he saw on woman and girls at the clubs at night-sprayed on to adhere to every bodily contour. These were work clothes giving her room to move around inside of them. Her scent was something earthy and fresh-maybe sage or clover-subtly mixed with a light whiff of hard won sweat.

There were apple trees out back in a small orchard as well as pears and too many to count variations of flowers placed deliberately about to look scattered. Her husband had headed to Phoenix on business last fall and had stayed. She traveled to and from a couple of times but life in the desert didn’t appeal to her after putting the last two decades into this wooded glen. While a long-distance marriage was never in their plans-here they were.

“I just thought it made sense to have this place correctly valued in case it becomes necessary to sell quickly. He’s not as young as he once was…”

“Who is?” said John pecking notes into his tablet as they walked along.

“You probably are….” She said. She was in front of him so he couldn’t gauge if there was anything in her eyes with that comment. Coming around the other side of the house he saw what looked to be an open shed against the apple trees.

“What do you have there? Old corn crib?”

“That’s the woodshed”, she said.

“That’s a place you try to avoid, I bet.” It was the kind of innocuous line he threw out a lot. Most times they weren’t heard or ignored or were so far off the rails that they floated off into space like the odd non sequiturs they were. Every once in a while though, the trout rises to the fly.

“You can try, but….” She shrugged “…sometimes…”

“Indeed-can we have a look?”

“Of course”, she said, leading the way easily. The shed was two walled-front and back-open at the ends to let air move through to keep the wood dry. Being summer, it was nearly empty. She opened the rough latch on the door and let it swing inward standing aside. The inside was dim, relying on the sunlight at the ends and from the large open window front and back.There was a rough wooden bench, a heavy stump that looked to be a platform for splitting kindling and a chest high rail partition that would separate wood piles when this place was full.

Turning away and moving back toward the door his eye caught something that he wouldn’t have seen coming right in from the light outside. But there, hanging from a nail beside the door was an old rattan carpet beater. At least he assumed it was old-it certainly appeared to be in good shape.

“Keep a lot of carpets in here?” he asked Arianna who had followed him inside.

“Not many”, she smiled. “I’m sorry, I forgot that was in here.”

“No need to apologize-it’s a nice piece.”

“I bought it at an estate sale a couple of years ago…thought it fit the building. Come on-it’s a woodshed. Even you alluded to its other….legendary use.” There was a sparkle to her tone.

“Sure, yes. It complements the place for sure.”

“I thought so”, she said settling it as they squinted back into the sunshine.

The walk back to his car felt more like a stroll than the business-like appraisal march when he had first arrived. Arianna would pick this flower or that-tell John what it was-have him smell it, or with the nasturtiums that climbed a trellis, invite him to pop one into his mouth to savor the peppery flower.

John was half listening but half thinking about the woodshed. Had she forgotten the carpet beater was in there? Did she remember and mean for him to see it? Was she watching him in there to see if he spotted it? Was he the trout rising to the fly? There was no doubt she was stalling…trying to decide how best to turn this meeting into a visit. But she hadn’t figured it out by the time they reached his car.

He was reaching for the door handle when she asked him, “Could you come back tomorrow?”

“I don’t think I’ll have the figures ready by then.”

“Mmmm-that’s OK. Can you come anyway?”

“I can be here at one”. Actually he could have been there anytime, but he wanted her to have most of the day to know he was coming.

“Not till one? OK, I’ll just have to find something to occupy my morning.”

“You could cut some switches. And trim the bark from them….”

She stepped closer to him, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as her green eyes danced. She placed the index finger of her right hand into John’s chest and pressed lightly.

“Until tomorrow, then,” she said as she turned and walked back toward the house.

She turned and walked back toward the house.

The joke was on him, he thought as he drove the winding tree lined roads back to Arianna’s house the next day. His aim in making their appointment in the afternoon instead of morning was to give her time to anticipate-to let her imagination paint a picture of what his visit might bring. Instead it was he who had whiled the morning away unable to concentrate on anything in front of him-his mind pulled back to the dim woodshed surrounded by an apple orchard.

The day was warmer than the day before but cloudy. As he drove slowly up the gravel drive he saw that the shadows back in the trees were deeper. Darker. He parked in the same place and stepped out of the car as a warm breeze full of the scents of the flowers surrounding him mussed his hair. The rain that was not supposed to come until evening would surely be here sooner than that.

He stood beside his car expecting Arianna to come striding down one of the trails to meet him. As he scanned the property he noticed what looked to be a paper tacked to an ornamental fencepost at the end of the drive. It was a note. A single folded sheet of expensive, handmade paper with his name on the outside in beautiful flowing script that approached calligraphy. He opened the fold and read the message inside:

“I will meet you at the woodshed” signed “AA” in a beautiful flourish. The note carried a whiff of what he thought of as her scent-sage and flowers.

He trod the path beside the wall looking for signs of life and seeing none. He had opted for a more formal look today-black slacks and dark shirt instead of the business casual khakis and polo shirt of the day before. His anticipation grew knowing that she was here-waiting for him, maybe watching him.

The shadows lengthened behind the house in the trees that surrounded the woodshed. The door was open and the space beyond glowed with a flickering yellow light. He stepped inside and his eyes were drawn to a half dozen lanterns of differing sizes hanging from hooks or arranged on small tables that had not been there the day before. The light glowed yellow and the scented oil was intoxicating.

The dirt floor had been covered with a thick layer of carpets and to the left-beside the stack of wood was a pile of what appeared to be tick mattresses, comforters and pillows. Beside them was a tray which held an ice bucket and what looked to be a bottle of wine and two stemless glasses.

In front of him, just to the left of the chest-high wooden divider was the bare wooden bench piled with at least two dozen switches of varying lengths and thicknesses-all smoothly stripped of their bark. The lady had been busy.

“Is everything to your liking?” He hadn’t heard her come in.

She was barefoot wearing a simple black calf-length shift cut low enough in the front to reveal deep cleavage that wasn’t obvious through yesterday’s work shirt. Her hair glistened in waves that hung loosely around her face and onto her shoulders. There was a flush on her cheeks that deepened the olive glow of her skin and her smile was small, shy-a little timid perhaps.

“Everything is perfect.”

“Good.” She passed close to him and he caught the scent of her hair. “So rotten of you to make me wait all morning…”

“It looks like you put the time to good use.”

She was sorting through the switches on the bench. “Judicious pruning is the secret to any orchard.” She picked one from near the bottom. “Peach”, she announced, whipping it lightly through the air. She brought it over to John and pressed it into his hand. “I think you’ll find the assortment satisfactory.”

He reached out and placed his left hand on her hip-feeling the firm heaviness of the hidden body. She closed her eyes at his touch and let her head lounge backwards. She stepped away and reached up behind her hair to loosen the tie that held the shift in place. A slight role of her shoulders sent the light cotton material cascading to the floor.

His eyes were pulled to her full breasts which hung naturally but still pointed at him. He focused on the large brown nipples and bent slowly toward her, wanting to take one into his mouth. She pulled subtly away and covered his switch hand with hers.


“I’ve waited long enough wouldn’t you say?”

She turned away and slid the three steps to the wooden room divider that was about even with her breasts. Her bottom was a beautiful pear shape-wide and deep. He watched her grasp the rough wooden rail and step back-one step then two. She kept her legs together and stretched luxuriously, like a large jungle cat arching her back and pushing her bottom backward.

John moved beside her and ran his hand under her hair and across her shoulders.  Then down her back then up again-teasing lower and lower to the small of her back then finally across the expanse of her bottom. He rubbed slowly and smoothly with his palm then crooked his fingers to give her the fingernails gently and completely across each cheek, from the top of her thighs up, then back down. He tried to slip his hand between her thighs but she resisted. She was breathing quicker now as he stepped back and whipped the peach switch through the air, testing it.

Her hands gripped the wooden rail. She allowed the anticipation that she had felt since yesterday flower into a sweet dread of what she was about to feel. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to feel this way. A long time since what was about to happen, had.

She heard the switch whistle through the air and tensed. Nothing. He was testing. She waited again feeling the heat between her legs building. It had been such a long time. The switch touched her. He was measuring-she froze focusing her eyes on a spot on the rail. This time the whistling of the switch ended with a little sting on the right cheek. Then another quickly below it. Just a little sting.

She turned to look back over her shoulder at him; her hair obscuring her face. “You won’t break anything, you know…” she said huskily.

He stepped closely taking her face in his hand moving her hair to one side. He kissed her gently on the mouth. “Don’t worry beautiful lady. I know what you want.”

The next stroke dug into the right globe, immediately raising a welt that showed pink in the lantern light. It was followed by another lower and a third higher. With each impact Arianna grunted and on particularly strong strokes would rise on her toes. John paused and ran his hand over the rippling welts. She rose to his touch and this time when he tried to slip the flat of his hand between her legs she opened. Just a little. He patted the sweet spot at the top of her right thigh where the bottom begins then measured it with the wicked peach branch.

“You better hold on tight”- He saw her knuckles whiten as he let fly a hard stroke that buried itself in the soft flesh. She cried out loudly snapping her head back. The impact site sprouted a thick blueberry where he hadn’t quite broken the skin but had broken the peach. He took another off the pile.

As the searing cuts lashed across her heaving buttocks, Arianna squeezed her eyes shut to try to staunch the tears that fell from her lashes and down the bridge of her nose to darken the floor. The thought “be careful what you wish for” flashed through her mind only be drowned out by the crying need for this-the burning desire for the next stroke. It had been so long she had almost forgotten what the ordeal did for her. The heat between her legs-deep inside of her-glowed hotter than anything crossing her backside.

He broke a few more switches over the next twenty minutes as he crisscrossed Arianna’s flesh and thighs with stripes and welts. Her back glistened with sweat. As the switching went on her legs widened and her bottom bloomed open toward him. He took particular care that the switch did not cut anywhere between her cheeks.

When another switch split he paused and stepped close. Her body was radiating heat and leaned toward him. He placed his hand low along the inside of her damp thigh which was open to him.

“You have been punished, beautiful lady.”

She was breathless. “I have.”

“Now you should be rewarded.”

“Yes”, she gasped as his fingers slid up her thigh and slipped easily inside of her. The coughing yelp that she produced as he massaged her below was of an entirely different timbre than the sounds she had been making.

“Come”, he said, pulling on her shoulder and helping her to stand. Her face was deeply flushed and wet with tears and sweat. He moved to kiss her but too slowly as her lips leapt to his and locked tightly onto his mouth. Thus entwined they moved to the pile of bedding in the corner.


The Whipping Girl-Meeting Nancy

Liz tried not to stare at the woman on the other side of the produce aisle but it wasn’t easy. She was striking-late 40’s or early 50’s. Well dressed and well kept. Liz was in shape, but her body was borne of the gym; hours on the elliptical, the treadmill, the Stairmaster. This woman was blessed with a lithe frame that moved gracefully-like an athlete. Golfer probably. Strong looking hands and wrists with tight ropey muscles showing on her forearms where her sweater was pushed up. Her hair was a beautiful multi-colored mane of gold and honey, kept fashionably short around her face.

The woman seemed to be shopping but that might have been a secondary goal. There was a flush to her cheeks and she was…. manhandling was the only word for it, a variety of melons, mangoes and cucumbers.

Liz was standing close to the woman when she picked up a cantaloupe, hardly looked at it, and slammed it back down into the pile she took it from. Liz put on a half-smile and glanced at the woman to her right, “I’m glad you’re not pissed at me”, she said. The woman looked at her quickly as if awakening, then looked at the melon she had just crushed. “Asshole…” she mumbled.

“Sorry”, Liz turned on her heel, “Only kidding…”

“Oh no, no…not you. I’m sorry,” the woman sputtered quickly reaching out touching Liz on the arm. “Not you…I’m referring to myself…I’m the asshole here.”

Liz stopped, smiling. “That’s good-like I said, I wouldn’t want you as pissed at me as you are at those melons.”

The woman reached out her hand. “Nancy”, she said. “Nancy Shawn.”

“Hi Nancy-I’m Liz. You about done making fruit salad over here? Want to grab a coffee?”

“Maybe we should”, looking around. “Before I get banned from produce.”

They settled into the coffee shop at the front of the store. Liz with her French Roast, sugar-no cream and Nancy Shawn with green tea. Liz was a great listener in that any conversation she was a part of became entirely about the other party. Part of it was because she was interested in other’s stories and could move them along with thoughtful questions, wry observations and knowing asides. People would talk for Liz for an hour and realize later that they knew little about her but that they had told her everything about themselves. But another part of it was that Liz was always on sly alert-looking for an itch she could scratch or a hole she could fill.

With Nancy Shawn, that itch was her daughter. Nancy and her then-husband had raised her well, denied her nothing, had sent her to a private school in the suburbs that Liz had heard of and knew was elite and expensive, and generally, in Nancy’s mind, had doted on her. When the divorce happened-as they did more than half time time-Nancy not only got rich, but got Bethany. It had worked wonderfully through the final couple of years of high school but now, as college in Boston wore on, it wasn’t great.

Through a second cup Liz let Nancy unburden the typical tale of woe: Bethany sided with her father on everything, had no respect for her mother since she had left her career behind-which she had done to devote time to Bethany for Christ’s sake!-now the “little bitch” begrudged her the money she had “won” from her father but didn’t hesitate to feel entitled to it…on and on.

“Little bitch-that’s strong”. Liz was glad Nancy wasn’t drinking espresso the way this was all coming out on green tea.

“Yes, maybe so. I retract. I wouldn’t call her that if she was still a child….But it’s so frustrating…”

“It’s adult children not wanting to be adults. They want to act like children…get all the childhood rewards and protections with none of the childhood risks or rules. Regardless of how she acts now you’re not going to ground her or spank her.”

“No”, said Nancy into her cup. “Never did-never touched her.”

“Never spanked her once?”

“Nope. “

“Wish you were my Mom”, Liz smiled.

Nancy smiled ruefully. “Maybe, maybe not. Look at you-you turned out OK. We’re having a good, normal conversation. I can’t have that with her. And it pisses me off.”

“And the produce suffers…”

“And the produce suffers. And the golf balls. And the tennis balls. And the Vodka bottles…” she smiled. “It goes on and on”.

This is where the conversation stopped being the “normal” give and take conversation that Nancy thought she was having and picked up more of a direction as Liz herded it her way.

“All misdirected aggression. You should think about making up for lost time-or revisiting lost opportunities.”

“How do you mean?”

“Bethany shows up at the door after semester, meet her at the door with a paddle and set new ground rules.”

“Hah!” Nancy barked. “Too late for that-she’s a fully mal-formed and malfunctioning creation.”

“Never too late to mold a person. The clay might be drying but it’s still malleable”.

Nancy’s smile faded as she shook her head. “I don’t see that working-not right now. We’re not talking. And when we are, it’s yelling. Just too late.”

“Too bad. But you know, she’s not the only one involved here. You have a life to live too. Even if it’s too late for her, it’s not for you.”

“How so?”

“You’re telling me that spanking her butt wouldn’t be a stress reliever for you? Keep you from destroying the produce. Or your liver?”

Smiling again, “So those times I want to reach through the phone and choke her-I should aim lower.”

With a smile-“That’s one way to think about it.”

“Funny….” Then, after a pause that seemed longer than it should have been, “Wouldn’t even know how to begin….”

“Did you ever hear the story of the whipping boy?”

“Sure”, said Nancy. “The boy assigned to the young prince to take his whippings for him.”

“Right-you could start there. Find a substitute. A surrogate for Bethany. Someone to take the spanking you can’t or won’t give her.”

“I should put an ad in Craig’s list?”

“Maybe look a little bit closer.”

Nancy looked up from her cup then and into Liz’s eyes. Liz returned the look-exposed out there with the reality of the proposal. Nancy broke away first, leaning back in her seat. Her gaze shifted slightly from open to guarded, maybe a little suspicious. She squinted slightly with one eye as if from cigarette smoke.

“Who put you up to this?”


“Someone from the Club?”

“No, I’m not pranking you. This is just us talking. I thought I saw a way to help you. Look-if I went too far, I’m sorry. Let’s get a refill and forget it.”

“So you’re saying I should spank you.”

“I’m saying you could. If you wanted to. If it would help you…”

“…Deal with the stress of fighting with my daughter….”


Nancy regarded her closely. “She’s about your age I guess…” That’s the second time she said it and Liz beamed inwardly. Nothing like being mistaken for a 22 year old. “I have to warn you though-there is a woman in town who still won’t speak to me because of my work as pledge master over twenty years ago.”

“You look like you could have a mean swing.”

“Do you golf?” Nancy asked.


“Come on. Let’s go out to the range and hit some. I’ve got a driver that will fit you.”

“Sure, I’m game.” As with many deals, this one would close around golf.

(Continued in Nancy Comes Out)

A Young Man’s First-kinda (Part 2)

“Let’s go then”, said Liz, “let’s move this table.” With Liz directing they moved the coffee table, happy to be moving with a purpose. They set it out of the way and she picked up the paddle and sat in the middle of what was conveniently a pretty long couch.

“Alright. Let’s get over here”, she reached out and grabbed him by the wrists again and pulled him over to where she was sitting. Releasing his wrists she grabbed his belt. “You know these are coming down, right?”

“I guess so.” He watched her shaking hands fumble with his belt before finally getting it loosened. He wasn’t the only one who was nervous but there was calm in knowing he didn’t have to do anything except as directed. She unsnapped his pants and unzipped the fly. “I’ll leave them up until you’re in position. Come on now”-she pulled him to her right side.

She hiked up her skirt exposing more of her long bare thighs than he had ever seen. He focused on them as he laid himself over her lap. The couch was long enough that he was able to bring his feet up and lay end to end.

Liz pulled at his belt-“lift up” she said. When he did she pulled his pants down. He was settling back onto her lap when she stopped him-“Wait a minute there, Buster”, she said in a falsely stern tone pulling on the back of his briefs. “These are coming down too.” He faked a sigh of resignation and waited as she slowly-so slowly- rolled his underwear down.

Liz couldn’t take her eyes off of his bottom. It was nothing really special-she had seen them before, though not in this context. She placed a hand on it and pushed him down onto her lap. “Here”, she said and reached under him to lay his erection between his stomach and her legs. It seemed to like it there. She stroked his bottom, one cheek then the next. It looked soft, and….vulnerable, was the word that came to her mind. Clear and white and waiting. Waiting as she petted. Truth be known, she was kind of stuck here-she had never been in this position before. Spanked yes, paddled, yes-thank you Carol. But she had never spanked anyone before-man, woman or boy-and she was hesitant about getting started. John, for his part felt a burning against her thighs-he was pulsing without even moving.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yes Mam”, he said, not knowing why he said it.

With her left arm across his back she reached up with her right and slapped his ass hard. He jumped a little so she did it again. Again, a slight jump-again a slap. Smack after smack she watched his bottom turn pink and felt him rubbing against her legs. It wasn’t until fifteen or sixteen smacks in that he uttered a small “Ouch”.

She stopped spanking and rubbed his butt. “That’s it? One “Ouch” after my hand is almost numb?”

“I’m sorry, but…”

“I should have started with the paddle”, she said patting it on his bottom.

“Maybe so”, he answered, tensing his butt a little.

She brought the first swat down from as high as she could bring it.

“OWWW-Jesus!” His right cheek was immediately mottled with red splotches.

“Oh, sorry, sorry”, nervous, she rubbed the spot hard and, on an impulse, bent over and kissed the affected area. His hardness on her legs never wavered.

“Are you OK?” she asked, still rubbing.

“Do it”, he whispered, pushing his butt upwards. “Do it.”

So she paddled him-not as hard as she could have-but hard enough. One swat after another-alternating cheeks then not-watching the milky white skin turn pink. As she paddled she was aware of his movement against her lap-the rhythmic push and back push and back…She paused for a moment and pulled a handful of tissue out of the box and put them under him. Then she began more rhythmic spanking, this time with her hand-one cheek, then the other, one thigh then the center. His undulations became bucking as she spanked on. He wasn’t really responding to the spanking any more as he was to the rubbing of himself against her legs. She felt it coming.

“Come on Johnny-let it go”, she said.

She stopped spanking and kneaded his cheeks as he thrust against her legs. “Do it Johnny-do it or I’ll spank you more”. She rubbed is bottom and slapped it lightly as he started to moan-quietly at first-then louder and quicker.

“Slap it!” he gasped as he bucked forward and back-“Spank me!”

Liz got one or two more swats it before he whimpered and shuddered stiffly. She watched his bottom clench into two pink fists as she felt the heat of his ejaculation spread across her lap. What the tissue didn’t hold would clean up easily. He went limp from head to toe and she rested her hand on his warm bottom.

After a moment, “You OK?” she asked?

“Yeah”, he mumbled into the couch cushion, too spent to lift his head. They sat like that for a few minutes until Johnny finally lifted his head and pushed up onto his elbows. “I think I made a mess.”

She reached down and pushed his pants off of his legs so he could get up more easily.

“Come on”, with a light slap. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He stood in front of her as she dabbed with a tissue. “Go jump in the shower”, she told him.

“In the shower?”

Again, with that faux-stern voice “Do you really want to argue with me right now?”

He turned with an almost wicked smile and headed for the steps. Liz froze watching his pink bum cross the room and go upstairs. What was it about this kid?

She cleaned up her lap and followed.

Ready to cut

Ready to cut

There’s a saying that the things we hate when we’re young, like spanking and naps, become rewards as we get older. I’m adding the first lawn cutting of the season to the list. After the winter we’ve had, I’m looking forward to walking behind the mower instead of the blower.