by Philip Kemp
So saying, he proceeded to unleash upon Emma’s quivering flesh such a fusillade of stinging strokes that she squealed in dismay, kicking up her legs and imploring him to spare her further punishment. Yet he showed no inclination to desist, but continued to spank her unmercifully, deepening with each smack the carmine blush that now adorned the full expanse of her lovely naked posteriors; a blush that presented an exquisite contrast with the whiteness of her waist and thighs.
Yet, for all her pleas, deep within her Emma felt delight in submitting thus to her husband’s ardent mastery. For to lie across the thighs of a man in whose excellence and judgement she had perfect confidence; to feel her soft bare hinder parts tingled and enflamed by the loving punishment of a man of Mr Knightley’s proven sensibility; this to her was true joy, and furthermore a source of deep and secret pleasure.
So, when at last, having administered to her a spanking even more thoroughgoing than the first, Mr Knightley ceased chastising his beloved Emma and raised her up into his arms, she embraced him in no sprit of resentment. True, she pouted at him reproachfully, with tears in her eyes, and murmured ‘Cruel!’ and ‘Heartless monster!’ in his ear; true, she rubbed ruefully at the becrimsoned mounds of her suffering backside. But she knew that what seemed cruelty on his part was in truth love and cherishing, a tribute to her intimate charms; and the warmth engendered by the correction she had undergone readily transmitted itself into the ardour of her embrace.
Of the exchanges that followed hard upon this first chastisement of Emma’s married life, we need say little. But it may perhaps be pertinent to add that, in this matter as in all, Mr Knightley was as good as his word, and Emma’s wedding-night spanking was far from the last she would receive at her husband’s loving hands. Quite the contrary; in the years to come Mr Knightley would find frequent occasion to place his sweet Emma across his knee, bare her bottom and induce a roseate hue into her lovely cheeks; and when no occasion offered, it was not unknown for him to devise one. Such disciplines did nothing to weaken the affectionate bond between them. Rather they strengthened it, and enhanced the lively regard each felt for the other, so that the wishes and hopes of their friends were fully answered in the perfect happiness of their union.
11
Bikini Line
‘BUT I WANT to!’
Julie glared indignantly at Daniel. Her full lower lip stuck out petulantly, and a hint of angry tears moistened her blue eyes. She even stamped her foot, though the thick pile of the hotel carpet rather ruined the effect. You couldn’t have called it a first-class stamp.
Dan suppressed an impulse to grin. Instead, he sighed quietly. Julie was nineteen, nearly twenty, a grown woman. But right now, he had to admit, the petite blonde looked like nothing so much as a spoilt little girl throwing a temper tantrum.
Dan and Julie had been married only a few months, and he adored his pretty young wife. And he had definite views on marriage. A husband and wife, he believed, should be partners, setting forth as loving equals into the great adventure of married life. True, Julie was younger than him by a year or two, but what of that?
These days, of course, such ideas are nothing new. But this was England in 1960, when husbands were meant to ‘wear the trousers’, women were expected to ‘know their place’, and brides at the altar promised to love, honour – and obey. Dan McIntyre, though, prided himself on having modern ideas. There was a young queen on the throne, and in this New Elizabethan Age a lot of things were changing, in his view mostly for the better. Especially in relations between men and women.
Still, he had to admit there were times when he found it hard to treat Julie as a rational adult. And this was one of them. Besides, she did look extremely sexy, posing there in the ultra-brief sky-blue bikini that showed off all the delectable curves of her nubile young figure. Dan was sorely tempted to grab her there and then and make passionate love to her. But then it would be impossible to refuse her anything. No, he had to be firm – and not in the way a certain part of him was getting firm, either.
So he set his jaw and repeated quietly, ‘Sorry, darling, but no. You can’t wear that costume here.’
‘Why not?’ wailed Julie. ‘It’s the latest fashion!’
‘I’m sure it is, sweetheart. But this isn’t the south of France, nor even Brighton. It’s Bournemouth – and you know how prim and proper they are here. You wear that bikini on the beach, you’ll cause a riot. Respectable old ladies will have heart attacks.’
‘Don’t care!’ sulked Julie mutinously.
‘Well, I do. This is our first real holiday together, darling, and I don’t want it spoilt by people pointing and sniggering. It’s a lovely bikini, my sweet, and you look terrific in it. But you’ve got to admit it is scandalously brief. Look, it leaves nearly all your bottom bare!’
‘You said I had a delicious bottom,’ pouted his young wife.
‘You do, my angel. But I’d rather you didn’t display it to half the South Coast. No, sorry, darling, but my mind’s made up. You can’t wear that bikini on the beach here, and that’s final.’
‘It’s not fair!’ wailed Julie. ‘I hate you!’ Bursting into tears, she stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Dan sighed again. When Julie was in a good mood, she was the sweetest, most enchanting companion – and bedfellow – that a man could desire. But when things didn’t go just the way she wanted she threw tantrums, and sulked, and generally made his life a misery. It hadn’t often happened before they married. But just recently the tantrums had been getting ever more frequent.
Not for the first time he recalled what Valerie, his mother-in-law, had told him just before the wedding. Valerie was a warm outgoing woman whose affable nature concealed a core of steel. Widowed by the war, she had run her own business and single-handedly raised three spirited daughters, of whom Julie was the youngest. ‘She’s a sweet girl, Dan,’ she said, ‘and I know she’ll make you a good wife. But I’ll tell you one thing for free, if you’ve not discovered it already. She’s a headstrong little thing when she wants to be. Likes her own way, does our Julie, and can be as stubborn as a mule about getting it.
‘Now what you do about it, Dan, is up to you. Maybe you’ll just give in, for the sake of a quiet life. But if you don’t mind a word of advice from the mum-in-law – well, I’ve always found a firm hand works wonders. Surprises you, does it? Oh yes, many’s the time I’ve had to put that young madam over my knee and take a hairbrush to her saucy little backside. Her sisters too, come to that. But it’s always Julie who’s needed it most. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe you could do worse than likewise. I think you’d be the happier for it, my dear – and so would she, though I bet she wouldn’t admit it.’
Dan smiled and nodded politely. Inwardly, he resolved that such primitive methods would have no part in his marriage. But now he found himself wondering if Valerie might not have a point . . .
In the bathroom, Julie moodily admired herself in the full-length mirror, peering over her shoulder to inspect the rear view. She did have a sexy bottom, no question of it – she didn’t need Dan to tell her that. Pert and lusciously rounded, her ripe young cheeks peeked provocatively out from under the scanty blue triangle, inviting attention. She’d been counting on getting a near-all-over tan she could show off to her girlfriends back home – not to mention the glances, envious or lecherous, she’d attract on the beach. And now Dan thought he could spoil her fun, did he, the rotten old stick-in-the-mud? Well, he couldn’t, so there!
Julie gave her reflection a secret grin. Then she took off the bikini, put on something more modest and went out to act the dutiful young wife.
The hotel was the smartest in town. At the time they married, Dan’s new business had been at a critical stage, and he’d only been able to spare a long weekend for the honeymoon. But things were running smoothly now, he’d landed some lucrative contracts, and to celebrate and make it up to Julie he’d booked them two weeks at the Grand. ‘No expense spared, my darling,�
�� he’d told her. ‘Terrific food and drink, sun and sand – and a lovely big soft double bed where we can do all the naughty things we like, day and night.’
Julie had giggled delightedly.
As it was their first evening, they went to town on the dinner. The Grand boasted a French chef and a lengthy wine list, and the young couple did full justice to both. They got to bed very drunk and very amorous, and fell asleep fully entwined.
The next morning, despite the drink, Julie woke early. While Dan lay snoring she eased herself out of his arms and crept into the bathroom. There she quickly pulled on some clothes, grabbed the minimal bikini, a towel and a bag and headed for the beach.
It was a beautiful morning, clear and windless and already warm. Julie had hoped the beach would be empty, but though it was early there were quite a few people about. She was starting to have misgivings, but her pride wouldn’t let her turn back. Finding herself a secluded spot beyond a breakwater, she changed under her towel. Then, standing up and gazing defiantly out to sea, she revealed her bikini-clad form in all its glory.
A piercing wolf-whistle split the morning air. ‘Oi! Cheeky!’
Julie swung round in alarm.
Above her on the promenade, three young men were leaning over the railing, grinning lasciviously. ‘Careful you don’t catch cold, darlin’,’ shouted one of them.
‘Nice dumplings, love!’ bawled another.
Julie’s first impulse was to make a dash for the sea. But as luck would have it the tide was out, and she quailed at the thought of running fifty yards under the barrage of the yobs’ raucous comments. Instead, she lay face-down on her towel, took out a book and affected to ignore them. Surely they’d soon tire of their moronic game and move away?
But her feigned disregard only spurred them on. Their shouts grew more boisterous. ‘Nice bit o’ rump steak there!’ yelled one.
‘Two nice bits!’ his friend chortled. Julie gazed fixedly at her book, feeling her face turning red. Other beach-users stared, or came to see what it was all about. Soon a small crowd had gathered. Some angrily told the lads to move off (which only encouraged them to further subtle witticisms) but others added their own comments on Julie’s costume, couched in more genteel terms.
‘Disgusting!’
‘Might as well be wearing nothing at all!’
‘Soon will be, at this rate.’
‘Young women these days! No shame!’
‘Put her across my knee if she were mine.’
‘Not as if this was Brighton, after all.’
At last Julie could bear it no longer. She stood up, avoiding anybody’s eye, and reached for her things.
Just then a voice called politely, ‘Over here please, miss!’ Still bent over, she glanced round and saw, to her dismay, a young man taking her picture.
He lowered his camera and smiled amiably. ‘Thanks, miss. With luck you’ll make today’s edition.’
Flustered and dishevelled, Julie regained the shelter of the hotel and stealthily re-entered her room. She breathed a sigh of relief: Dan was still sleeping soundly. Quietly she undressed, hid the bikini in a drawer and slipped in beside him. He half-woke and kissed her sleepily, caressing her breasts. ‘Hi, darling,’ he murmured and fell back to sleep.
The day passed uneventfully. They took a train to Weymouth for lunch, strolled on the beach, had a swim (Julie in a modest one-piece costume) and returned, tired but happy, in time for dinner. Occasionally the memory of the reporter troubled Julie’s mind, but she dismissed it. Even if the picture was published, Dan would never see it. The Bournemouth Echo or whatever wasn’t his kind of reading matter.
On Saturday nights at the Grand, a small orchestra in the dining room played popular hits of the day. As Julie entered with Dan she glanced over at them, and was taken aback when a trumpeter grinned at her and raised his instrument in ironic salute. It was one of the rowdy lads from the promenade. Still grinning, he got up and whispered to the bandleader who nodded, smiling. Bringing the song they were playing to a swift conclusion, the band segued smartly into a new number – a tune then riding high in the hit parade.
It – was – an
Itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny
Yellow polka-dot bikini
That she wore for the first time that day . . .
Alerted by the change of tune, guests looked up. Several of them noticed Julie and whispered to each other. One or two even tittered and pointed. Julie felt a hot blush of embarrassment flooding her cheeks.
Dan looked round, puzzled and faintly irritated. ‘What are they snickering at?’ he asked.
‘Dunno,’ Julie muttered. ‘Let’s sit down.’
As they sat down the tittering subsided, and Julie thankfully buried her flushed face in the menu. But worse was to come. Conscious of someone standing beside her, she looked up to see a young woman smiling uncertainly and holding out a newspaper.
‘Excuse me,’ said the stranger, giggling nervously, ‘but would you sign it for me?’
THE NEAR-BARE LOOK COMES TO BOURNEMOUTH, read the headline. And there beneath it, right on the front page, was Julie, bending down and peering coquettishly, as it seemed, over her shoulder. Even in black and white the picture had come out well – especially the exposed and temptingly proffered half-moons of Julie’s curvy bottom, white beneath the darker fabric in the monochrome picture.
‘May I?’ said Dan, snatching the paper without ceremony. He studied it briefly, then looked up at Julie. His eyes were expressionless. He glanced from her to the smirking musicians to the grins of their fellow guests, then abruptly stood up, thrusting the paper back at its startled owner. ‘I think we’ll skip dinner, Julie,’ he said quietly. ‘Let’s go.’
On the way up to their room, Dan maintained a grim silence. Upstairs he locked the door, then swung round on his wife. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘And just when was that taken?’
‘This morning,’ Julie admitted miserably. ‘I went out early, while you were still asleep. I thought there’d be nobody about.’
‘Your mistake,’ Dan retorted. ‘But an even bigger mistake, my girl, was wearing that bikini when I told you not to. I told you what would happen, didn’t I? But did you listen? Did you hell!’
‘But I only wanted to get a proper tan,’ Julie protested. ‘What’s so terrible about that?’
‘What’s so terrible? Oh, nothing at all. Only that you’ve ruined our holiday. Only that for the rest of this fortnight, wherever we go, not just in the hotel but all over the town, we’re going to have people pointing and sniggering and making snide remarks. All because you, young lady, were so set on having your own way that nothing else mattered!’
Julie had never seen Dan angry before – not really angry, not like this. It gave her a strange fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Fear, yes, but something else too – something oddly like excitement. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she said in a small, penitent voice. ‘I won’t do it again, I promise.’
He glared at her furiously. ‘Bit late now, isn’t it? You know, I thought it was a bit strange what your mum was telling me just before the wedding. But now I’m beginning to realise she knew what she was talking about.’
A spasm of alarm contracted Julie’s bottom-cheeks. Oh no, she thought, he couldn’t mean – could he? ‘What – what did she say?’
‘That you were a sight too fond of getting your own way, young lady. And that the best treatment for you was a damn good smacked bottom! Well, I think that’s just what you’re asking for, my girl.’
‘No! Dan – don’t you dare!’ Julie backed away as her irate young husband advanced on her. She’d intended it to sound defiant, but it came out more like a plaintive yelp. ‘You can’t! I won’t let you!’
But Dan was in no mood to heed her protests. Seizing her by the wrist, he drew her over to the bed, sat down on it and pulled her down across his knee.
‘No, Dan! Please! Don’t!’ Julie cried, putting a protective hand over her bottom, but he secured her slim wrist in h
is left hand and held it well out of the way while he rucked up the long velvet evening dress.
White nylon knickers, adorned with tiny blue flowers, fitted snugly over Julie’s appealingly curved rear end. Held face-down in classic spanking posture, perfectly positioned for stern marital retribution, the petite blonde looked for all the world like a naughty little girl about to receive her just deserts. It was a delicious sight, but right now Dan was too angry to pause and admire it. Gripping the knickers by the waistband, he yanked them down well clear of the target area.
‘Ooooh!’ wailed Julie, as she felt the last protection stripped from her vulnerable rear. To the apprehension of her forthcoming punishment was added the humiliation of having her bottom bared. Though her mother had spanked her soundly and often, she had usually been allowed to keep her knickers on. This would be her first bare-bottom spanking in years – and, from the determined look on her young husband’s face, she suspected he would show scant mercy to her sensitive flesh. ‘Oh no, Dan, don’t, please!’ she begged.
But Dan was adamant. ‘So you wanted to get a proper tan, did you?’ he demanded grimly. ‘Well, my sweet, you’re about to get tanned better than you’ve ever been in your young life!’
His hand descended hard and fast, making contact with her rounded left cheek with a crisp clean smack that echoed round the room. Julie gasped and squirmed wildly, then yelped in dismay as his hand came down again, on her right cheek this time. The spanks stung like fury on her defenceless flesh-cushions. ‘Owww! No! Dan, that really hurts!’ she wailed.
‘Good,’ muttered her husband callously. ‘It’s meant to.’ Rhythmically his vengeful palm rose and fell, now left, now right – each swat stinging vividly, igniting fires on her soft quivering globes. Julie yelped and squealed, kicking her legs and wriggling beneath the remorseless onslaught. But Dan had her pinioned in a firm grip, and there was no escape for the disobedient girl.
