Blushing at Both Ends

by Philip Kemp

  Julie had always taken pride in her handsome young husband’s sinewy good looks, his broad chest and muscular arms. Now, to her dismay, she realised his strength could have its drawbacks – especially where a naughty teenager’s sensitive bottom was concerned. Dan was showing her no mercy, putting the full strength of his anger behind every stroke, and his hard hand was hurting her rear end even worse than her mother’s hairbrush used to do. Already her bottom was ablaze, and Dan had settled to a steady relentless rhythm that seemed set to go on for quite some time.

  ‘Owww! Oh, Dan, that’s enough! No more, please!’ she begged. ‘I’m sorry – I’ll never do it again, I promise! Help! Oh stop, darling, please! You’re hurting me!’

  But, plead and protest as she might, poor Julie had no choice but to submit until Dan decided she’d had the spanking she deserved. Desperately she squirmed on his lap, trying to evade the steady fusillade of swats assaulting her rearward curves. No such luck; Dan, warming to his task, landed each smack with a sure aim. If, as it seemed, this was the only way to make his wilful young bride behave, then he intended to make a good job of it. This first spanking of Julie’s married life would be a memorable experience – for both of them.

  Again and again his punishing palm smacked down on Julie’s soft pouting bottom, distributing the spanks all across the luscious globes, leaving no part of the target area neglected. Dan put all his anger and exasperation into his vigorous swats, gratified to know from Julie’s anguished yelps and wails, and from the radiant blush that mantled her wriggling cheeks, that they were having a suitably chastening effect. Her fair skin marked readily and soon her peachy curves were suffused with a roseate glow that would have piqued the envy of a sunset.

  Poor Julie’s fears were justified. Dan was a sturdy and robust young man, well fitted to make her punishment long, hard and thorough. Tearfully, she begged for mercy, promising every kind of good behaviour if only he would stop smacking her tormented rear end. But not until every inch of the ripe mounds was bright red and sizzling hot, and her pleas had turned to inarticulate sobs, did he finally let her up and take the whimpering girl in his arms. ‘OK, honey,’ he murmured, gently stroking the glowing curves of her soundly smacked rear, ‘you’ve had your punishment. I’m sorry I had to do that,’ he added, not altogether truthfully, ‘but you’ll be a good girl from now on, won’t you?’

  ‘You’re horrid! I hate you!’ Julie insisted, pouting at him reproachfully. But she put up no resistance when he bent to kiss her trembling lips and slipped his hand down over her belly, his fingers dabbling in the telltale wetness between her legs. The heat of her spanked bottom was transmitting itself to adjacent parts, swelling her clitoris and filling her cleft with desire. Already the pain was easing, leaving an all-consuming ardent glow that demanded satisfaction. And, for all her complaints, the way her handsome young husband had treated her with such stern loving mastery rendered him irresistible to her.

  Dan was feeling equally aroused. His anger had been genuine and his motives – at least to begin with – strictly punitive. But, even while venting his fury, he found that turning his pretty young wife over his lap and spanking her soft bare bottom was one of the most richly erotic pleasures he’d ever known. And now as he held her, murmuring soothing endearments, he relished the thought that this deliciously sexy marital chastisement would surely not be the last.

  The prospect of spanking his naughty girl again, soon and often, swelled Dan’s erection near to bursting point. Julie responded to his ardour, reaching down to liberate his eager penis and guiding him into her with gasps of passion. So aroused were they both that after only a few deep thrusts they exploded into a simultaneous climax that lifted and took them both to the furthest bounds of ecstasy.

  But it took more than a single spanking, however soundly applied, to quell Julie’s mutinous spirit. Waking early the next morning while Dan still slumbered beside her, she found herself torn by conflicting emotions. That spanking really hurt, she thought indignantly, sensing a lingering warmth in her rear end. How dare he? She, a grown-up married woman, to be spanked on her bare bottom like a naughty child! True, there had been something exciting about being punished across Dan’s knee that way: for all the pain, it had felt strangely reassuring. And the sex afterwards had been fantastic, the best ever!

  But, then again, just who the hell was he to tell her she couldn’t wear her bikini, and to spank her when she chose to ignore his orders? She’d wear what she damn well pleased, when she pleased – so put that in your pipe, Dan McIntyre!

  Quietly Julie slipped out of bed . . .

  Half an hour later she reclined happily, in all her scantily clad glory, on a remote beach at the far end of town. It was Sunday, so there were even fewer people about; no rowdy yobs this time, she was relieved to note. The sun felt delightfully warm on her skin. She closed her eyes and dozed.

  Suddenly she felt a chill. Had the sun gone in? Blearily Julie peered up. A figure was blocking the sun. ‘Hey,’ she protested, ‘could you move, please? I’m cold.’

  ‘Oh, are you?’ responded a familiar voice. ‘Well, young lady, let’s see if we can’t warm you up a little.’

  Julie gasped. ‘Dan! How did you find me?’

  ‘Not difficult,’ replied her husband, kneeling down and fixing her with a look that boded no good. ‘Beautiful young blondes tend to get noticed. A more interesting question, my sweet, is what are we going to do about you? You see, you just don’t learn, do you? I really thought I’d spanked some sense into you last night, but I guess I just didn’t spank you hard enough. Well, maybe this’ll help you remember.’

  ‘Oh no!’ yelped Julie as she realised what was coming. But before she could flee Dan had grabbed her, and to her horror she found herself sprawled over his knee, her bikini-clad bottom poised invitingly uppermost.

  ‘Dan, no!’ she wailed. ‘Not here! People can see! Oh please, Dan, don’t!’

  ‘You bet they can,’ retorted her husband. ‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it – lots of people to see you in your skimpy little bikini? To get a good look at this sexy young bottom of yours? Well, now they’re going to get a ringside view.’

  Julie squirmed frantically. Bad enough that she was going to be spanked again, and on a bottom still tender from last night’s session. But to be spanked in public was too humiliating! ‘Dan, please!’ she begged desperately. ‘Take me back to the hotel – you can spank me all you want there! I know I deserve it. But not like this – with people watching! I’ll just die!’

  But this time Dan was determined to get through to his wilful young wife, and if a public spanking was what it took then so be it. ‘You should have thought of that sooner, young lady,’ he told her, brushing the sand off his hands, ‘before you broke the promise you gave me last night. Think yourself lucky I don’t take your bikini down. But, since it leaves so much of your bottom bare, I think I can do a pretty good job just the same.’

  Peering apprehensively over her shoulder, Julie gulped in alarm as Dan raised his hand high in the air. The next moment she yelped as it cracked down across her temptingly exposed mounds with a vivid report that rang out across the quiet beach.

  ‘Owww!’ Julie wailed. On her still-tender bottom Dan’s hard hand stung like fury. ‘Oh no, Dan, please!’

  She might have saved her breath. Remorselessly her husband’s hand rose and fell while Julie yipped and wriggled, uttering heartfelt pleas for forgiveness as the heat built up in her gyrating bottom-cheeks. Dan was in no mood to be forgiving. His errant bride would be spanked just as thoroughly this morning in public, he resolved, as in private the night before. So, for what seemed to poor Julie an eternity, swat after stinging swat fanned the flames on her defenceless rear, each one hurting worse than the last. Her only consolation, as spanks rained down hard and steadily on her tormented hindquarters, was that yesterday’s news photographer hadn’t shown up. That would have been the ultimate humiliation.

  Not that her chastisement lacked
for an audience. The spectacle of a pretty girl being spanked on her all-but-bare bottom wasn’t so common in 1960s Bournemouth as to pass unnoticed. The beach had seemed almost deserted when Julie’s punishment started, but as if from nowhere a small crowd soon gathered to watch the show. It was well worth watching, too. The slim, shapely blonde, her bare legs kicking in the sand and her blonde mane tossing wildly, a deepening blush enhancing the beauty of her lush rearward curves, made a glorious sight in the clear morning sunlight.

  One or two of the spectators murmured uneasily, but most of them were clearly enjoying the show. ‘That’s the little minx who was in the paper yesterday,’ remarked one man to his companion, a pretty brunette not much older than Julie. ‘Didn’t I say she needed a damn good spanking? Glad to see she’s getting it, too, flaunting herself like that!’ He fixed the brunette with a baleful eye. ‘And if I catch you wearing anything like that, young lady . . .!’ The girl giggled nervously and chewed her lip, her fascinated gaze fixed on Julie’s bouncing reddening rump.

  Unfazed by his audience, Dan continued to spank Julie soundly, concentrating his fire on the exposed half-moons of her lower cheeks and especially on the soft sensitive undercurve where bottom meets thigh. If she had ever wondered just how much of her pert globes the ill-fated bikini left uncovered, she was now getting very tangible evidence.

  ‘Oh stop, please, Dan,’ she wailed, writhing wildly as the merciless spanks rained down. ‘No more, please! I’m sorry! I’ll never wear it again, I promise! Oh please, please stop!’

  ‘Too right you won’t, honey,’ retorted her husband, smacking away with unabated gusto, ‘because after we’re through here I’m going to take it away and burn it. But, before I do, I’m going to make sure something else is burning!’

  So saying, he unleashed a salvo of hard fast smacks that made Julie squeal and kick up her heels. One of her flailing feet kicked over her beach-bag, and – alas, poor Julie! – out fell sun-oil, a paperback novel – and a hairbrush. A black wooden hairbrush with a handle and a flat oval back, just perfect for applying to a naughty girl’s already well-warmed bottom.

  With a dangerous grin, Dan reached down and picked up the wicked-looking implement. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘just what I need. How thoughtful of you to bring it, my love.’

  Julie gasped in dismay. ‘Oh, Dan, no!’ she begged plaintively. ‘Not the hairbrush, please! It’ll really hurt!’

  ‘Oh, will it now?’ asked Dan, patting her roseate rump with the back of the brush. ‘So my hand-spanking doesn’t really hurt, then? Seems I haven’t been spanking you hard enough, young lady. Well, this should do the trick.’

  He raised the brush high in the air, prompting sharp intakes of breath from the rapt spectators. Then down it swept, contacting the tender target area with a sharp crack that elicited a shrill squeal from Julie. And again and again, now right, now left, turning her bouncing behind from bright scarlet to a rich deep crimson.

  Frenziedly, Julie squirmed and wriggled, trying to evade the brush’s cruel kiss. But Dan had her firmly pinioned and there was no escape. Spankings from her mother, she now realised, were nothing compared to the impact on her vulnerable rear end of a hairbrush wielded by determined male muscles. Each stroke seared her flesh, igniting fresh fires on her sizzling-hot mounds. To poor Julie, it felt as if she’d never sit down in comfort again.

  Ceasing to struggle, she lay limply over her husband’s lap, her frantic pleas reduced to inarticulate sobs of ‘Sorry – sorry – sorry . . .’

  But Dan was not to be diverted from his purpose. He felt a fierce protective joy in holding his headstrong young wife over his knee and giving her the spanking she deserved; and to do so in front of others only strengthened his resolve. So for several minutes the crisp sound of hard wooden brush on soft female bottom-flesh, accompanied by remorseful wails, rang out across the sunlit beach. Only when Julie’s twin globes were blushing like ripe tomatoes did he at last relent.

  ‘OK, my sweet,’ he told her, stroking her soundly spanked curves, ‘I think you’ve learnt your lesson. Up you get.’

  With murmurs of amusement and appreciation, the crowd started to disperse as Julie rose painfully and hid her tearstained face in her husband’s shoulder, gingerly rubbing her flaming derrière.

  Dan stroked her hair, murmuring soothing words and feeling a surge of tenderness and desire for his wayward love. ‘Come on, bad girl,’ he whispered, ‘back to the hotel. I’ve got something here that’ll make you feel much better.’

  * * *

  The scandalous bikini, as Dan had promised, met a premature end in the hotel fireplace. And for the rest of their holiday Julie’s behaviour showed a marked improvement. No longer did she throw tantrums, stamp or sulk; no longer did she demand her own way. Mentally Dan raised a glass to his mother-in-law, marvelling what magic could be worked on a stubborn young woman by such a simple – and simply delicious – expedient as toasting her bottom.

  Yet, oddly enough, Julie must somehow have contrived to misbehave. How else to explain the fact that, at least half a dozen times before their return home, the pretty little blonde found herself turned over her husband’s sturdy knee, her sweetly rounded bare bottom bouncing and reddening beneath his punitive palm? Surely she must have been naughty – what other explanation could there possibly be?

  On one of these occasions of marital discipline, it happened that a passing chambermaid, hearing the sound of yelps, gasps and vigorous smacks, couldn’t resist putting her eye to the keyhole. And, even in prestigious establishments like the Grand Hotel, Bournemouth, gossip has a way of spreading.

  When, on the last day of their holiday, Dan and Julie entered the dining room for dinner, Dan was puzzled to see the orchestra’s leader wink at him as they launched into a new tune. Julie, luckily for her potential embarrassment, wasn’t familiar with it. But Dan, who knew his Gershwin, permitted himself a quiet grin as he recognised the big chorus number from the second act of Porgy and Bess:

  ‘Oh, I can’t sit down . . .’

  12

  Tutoring Miss Lillian – An

  Edwardian Romance

  ON A CRISP clear morning in the spring of 1903, a pony-chaise might have been seen approaching the gates of Cartwright Hall in Lincolnshire. It carried a sole passenger, a young man named Walter Jessop. A few weeks earlier, he had been one of the most promising scholars of Pembroke College in Oxford. But the sudden death of his father, his financial affairs in sad disarray, had obliged Walter to break off his studies. Now the sole support of his widowed mother and young sister, he had bowed to necessity and taken a post as private tutor to the heiress of the Cartwright estate.

  As the chaise swung round a bend in the road, the driver pointed with his whip. ‘There be the Hall, young sir.’

  In the distance Walter saw a handsome Jacobean pile, venerable but still robustly well preserved. The same, he soon found, could not be said of its owner. Mr Merton Cartwright, Walter’s employer, proved to be an elderly gentleman who spoke in a whisper so faint the young man had to bend to catch his words. Sunk deep in a huge studded leather armchair in the dusty air of his library, an ancient tome open on his lap, Mr Cartwright seemed so fragile that any sound louder than the turning of a page might loosen his scant hold on life. Only his eyes were fully alive. Startlingly blue, they blazed with an ironic intelligence in the dry parchment-like old face.

  ‘So you have come to tutor my niece, Mr Jessop?’ he enquired in his papery whisper. ‘D’you think you can?’

  ‘I don’t see why not, sir,’ responded Walter staunchly. ‘At Oxford I was accounted a good scholar.’

  The old man gave a thin smile. ‘No doubt, else I should not have engaged you. But scholarship may not be enough, young man. My niece is a headstrong creature – what is known, I believe, as a New Woman. She has an excellent mind, as you will discover, but applies it just when and as she feels inclined. Any notion of discipline is wholly foreign to her. Her father died when she was an infant and her mother �
� my poor dear sister – did not long survive him. I, as you see, am a poor sickly specimen, in no state to impose conduct upon a wilful girl. That, Mr Jessop, will be your task.’

  ‘I shall do my best to prove equal to it, sir.’

  Mr Cartwright regarded him quizzically. ‘I’m sure you will – do your best, that is. But I should warn you that Lilly has already seen off a whole procession of tutors and governesses, all of whom doubtless strove to do their best.’

  Half an hour later, Walter was shown into the room set aside as a schoolroom. Spring sunshine flooded through the high mullioned casements, so that at first he did not see the girl who stood watching him by the window. Her voice, clear and musical, made him start. ‘Well, at least you’re not positively repellent!’

  Peering into the dazzling light, Walter perceived approaching him a strikingly attractive young woman. Lillian Trent, eighteen-year-old heiress to the Cartwright fortune, seemed to blaze with vitality: a mass of red-gold curls framed a lovely face whose fresh beauty was, if anything, enhanced by a hint of stubbornness about the mouth. Her dress, elegantly simple, betrayed a slim and fetchingly nubile figure.

  ‘I’m gratified that I don’t repel you at first sight, Miss Trent,’ said Walter, bowing slightly. ‘I hope you’ll think as highly of my teaching methods.’

  ‘Oh, as to that,’ she flung back carelessly, ‘I’m sure you’ll prove an intolerable bore like all the others!’

  Boredom, Walter soon found, came readily to Lillian Trent. She had a lively intelligence and rapidly grasped the essential principles of all subjects. But once she reached that point where brilliant intuition no longer sufficed, and a little patient persistence was required, she lost interest. ‘Oh! What a bore!’ she would exclaim, and refuse to study further, demanding a change of subject or tripping scornfully away with a toss of her pretty head.

  This could not go on, Walter mused to himself. As long as she was given her head, his pupil was frankly unteachable. He could resign, but what then would become of his mother and sister? Besides, his surroundings were agreeable, his salary not ungenerous – and Lillian, when not in a petulant mood, had a bewitching smile. No, Walter resolved, he would not give up so easily. Something must be done about this sweet seductive and utterly spoilt girl.