Spanking Tales of the Unexpected Read online

  Spanking Tales of the Unexpected

  by

  Susan Thomas

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © March 2015 by Susan Thomas

  Published by LSF Publications

  http://www.lsfpublications.com/

  Cover design by Nathaniel Scott.

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. It includes adult spanking and some sexual scenes. Any resemblance to actual persons, places or events are purely coincidental.

  This collection of spanking tales, which feature elements of the unexpected in either plot or setting, contains the following stories:

  Grandmother's Bed: Sally inherits a house from her Grandmother, but it comes with a strict warning to never sleep in the bed in one of the rooms. Sally ignores the warning and is shocked at events that occur during the night! She sleeps there twice more before realising that she may have discovered a potentially lucrative business opportunity.

  School Daze: A group of five pupils try hard to get through a whole day at a strict girls' school without being punished ... but is all as it appears?

  Resisting the Temptations of the Flesh: Determined that her children will not go without, a woman boosts her income by sleeping with men for money. One client, though, is somewhat different to the others. He wants the sex, but first he needs to punish her for her sins.

  The Full Experience: Three women huddle close together in anticipation of their impending punishment by the Principal. As the last to be called, Mary has to listen to her predecessors' paddlings, which adds to her trepidation. The inquisitive schoolgirl who escorts her back to the car park is intrigued to discover what is meant by 'The Full experience'...

  Civilised: She has apparently been found guilty and prosecuted for contravening the Space and Time Continuum Act. Although sentenced to a severe caning, she is informed that no actual physical contact with the cane will take place... just what will the 'civilised' alternative consist of?

  The Study: The Woman walks down the corridor... unaware of where she is or how she got here, but she knows she is here to be punished. The Gentleman who will punish her summons many women using the power of their guilt, but is this woman different? Will she be the one who will share his work - and his bed? Before those questions can be answered she must first take the severe punishment that is due to her.

  All Hallows Evening: A young schoolteacher spends Halloween with Sir John, the chairman of the school board, but inexplicable forces are at work, and she experiences a strange vision. Did Sir John share the vision? And could it become reality?

  Strange: A young probationary teacher in an exclusive school is shocked that the Headmaster canes the girls. She knows he is strict, but when she is late for assembly she doesn't expect to be caned. Nor does she expect it to hurt as much as it does, nor the feelings she is left with.

  Contents

  Grandmother's Bed

  School Daze

  Resisting the Temptations of the Flesh

  The Full Experience

  Civilised

  The Study

  All Hallows Evening

  Strange

  Also by Susan Thomas...

  Grandmother's Bed

  What a house it was! Nooks and chimneys, brick, wood and tile, rambling up and along, part Stuart, bits of the eighteenth century, bits of the nineteenth century, a house to love and cherish, and it was all hers. Yes it was all her house. Only twenty three years old and the proud owner of a house to die for. No money mind, no dosh, no spondulas, no ackers, shekels, shillings, groats and a credit limit of just a couple of grand. But who cares when they own a house like that.

  Grandmother had left the house to her only grandchild. Her children didn't need the money, they were all smug, self-satisfied and successful, pompous, opinionated and overbearing. She certainly wasn't going to leave her house to that lot, but Sally was a lovely girl, head screwed firmly on and very loving. She had known that Sally had no money, but she trusted the girl would find a way to keep the house going for Sally loved the house as well as her grandmother.

  One caveat though, one warning was carefully written down in her neat, beautifully precise script, written in violet ink with the fountain pen her father had given her so many years ago. It read, "Sally, I really cannot explain my reasons, but I place a stricture on your ownership of the house. Under no circumstances must you sleep on the bed in the Blue Room."

  The Blue Room was in the oldest part of the house; it was large with a subtly sloping floor and polished oak floorboards far wider than anything modern would possess. The walls were the original and painted in the most gentle of egg-blue. The small latticed window was only a short distance above the ground because the room below was partly set into the rising ground. It was a beautiful room, a room that took the breath away, a room to linger in, inviting vases of flowers, open windows and the buzzing of bees on a summer day.

  Against one wall and facing the window was a huge bed. It was an oak four-poster with an enclosed roof to it with blue grey curtains and a pelmet for the three sides. The backboard went right up to the roof of the bed, and was richly carved as were the front posts. The whole thing spoke of history: of deflowering and affairs; of deaths and births; whispered secrets and servants eavesdropping; conspiracies and kings. In short, it was a bed inextricably linked to the house for there was no way it could ever leave through the small window or even the door. It must have been made for, and in, this very room, or at least its final assembly stages.

  Sally was utterly bewildered by this stricture, and at a loss as to why there should be a ban on sleeping in such a wonderful bed. Perhaps it was due to her arthritis, maybe her grandmother associated the bed with her painful back and hips, but Sally was young, arthritis free, and she decided with all the impetuousness of youth to sleep in that very bed on her very first night in the house. No, never mind her lack of finances, not to worry about how she would maintain a listed building, put out of mind the utility bills and all such mundane cares, she would enjoy the sheer indulgence of sleeping in an antique four-poster in her own house.

  Her grandmother had many clothes of course. Some were beyond anything other than the recycle bin; some were quaint and of such vintage, and destined for eBay; some, especially the children's wear, were family heirlooms and these were in a cedar wood chest layered between tissue paper. In amongst the children's wear were some Victorian nightdresses. As a child she had handled them, and marvelled that ladies wore such long and beautiful gowns just to go to bed.

  On impulse, Sally opened the chest and swiftly found one such nightdress. It was white and so long it would reach to within an inch or two of her ankles. It had a turned down, round, frilly collar and a frilly buttoned front that reached right down to the navel with long sleeves, each with a frilly cuff. Sally could imagine a Victorian husband slowly unbuttoning his wife's nightdress to expose her breasts before enjoying his conjugal rights; it set her imagination on fire.

  Bedtime: no lights but a candle; no shower but a bath. The night was February cold so she had lit a fire in the bedroom - bed with a candle and a fire in a Victorian nightdress. Such romance, Sally was thrilled, and surprisingly fell asleep quickly.

  When she awoke, the fire had reduced to glowing ashes which cast a warm glow around the room, making all seem cosy. The candle had gone out, but with a moon gleaming through gaps in the thick brocaded curtains and the fire's glow, there was quite sufficient light to see the man.

  She felt no alarm, the house was locked up and the downs
tairs alarm on. He was dressed in no modern garb, it was clearly a dream, and she relaxed and went with this strangeness. He was tall and middle-aged with a stern but not frightening face. His hair was swept back from his forehead and was clearly greased with something; there was a rich full moustache. It was his dress that told her it was a dream - he was wearing a long black coat that went down past his ankles, small buttons ran from his neck right down to his midriff, and something resembling a white clerical collar was around his neck, but it had extra wings that stretched down for an extra two or three inches. His hands were behind his back and Sally dreamily thought he must be carrying something.

  "Child, you have sinned, the truth now girl, no holding back."

  She knew this was a dream, and dreams don't count, do they? No harm done to be truthful. Whatever her grandmother thought, she had been a bit wild at times, especially at university. She'd managed to keep it from her family, yes indeed! Very good she had been at keeping her pure image but the reality was very different: naughty; wild; accepted no boundaries; drugs; drink; sex of all types, some nights she would rather not remember now, no not now, but all that was behind her, in the past, but still there. A dream though is different, perhaps she needed to let it all out, cleanse her soul. She had already changed her life, and now with the house she was respectable again so what harm in saying in her dream that she had been bad, let it all out.

  "Yes," she whispered, "I have."

  "Kneel, sinful girl, kneel here and confess."

  Sally got out of bed with sheer relief at the possibility of unburdening herself of the many things she had felt deeply uncomfortable about, deeds she hadn't wanted her grandmother to know. She knelt at the end of the bed as instructed, her long nightgown making her feel comfortable with its modesty. Childhood memories of being instructed to put her hands together and point her fingers to heaven came back until she looked like a Victorian woman at prayer at the foot of the magnificent bed.

  She knelt and even closed her eyes before stammering out her various sins: there was drunkenness, fornication, drug taking, lying, cheating at exams, and even, if only briefly, an affair with a married man.

  "Child, you will need punishment before forgiveness can take effect."

  She felt calm, this man was clearly some sort of Victorian clergyman created in her mind by the setting and mixed up with her guilt. No dream punishment can really be a problem so she simply agreed.

  Sally stood when he told her, and was now facing the foot of the bed, staring along its length to the magnificent backboard behind her pillows. She stood as he imagined a Victorian woman would stand, with her back straight and her arms by her sides. He came and stood near to her so that by turning her head a little she could see him.

  "You must be whipped child, and when I have whipped you thoroughly, you will be free from the burden of your sins."

  He produced from behind his back a birch rod, perhaps three feet long but maybe a little less, a good dozen or so birch switches bound together. Sally was puzzled, why should she dream about birches? She knew what a birch was from her A Level History class, where the students had sneered at the barbarism of the past, now though, in her dream, it seemed natural.

  "Child, you must raise your nightdress, and hold it around your body. Do not fear for your modesty, I am a clergyman, and in this holy position am your spiritual adviser."

  Sally was not overly modest, and it was after all a dream if one of the oddest she could ever recall. Clearly, she had major guilt issues, so she gathered the long nightdress in her hands, pulling it up around her until it was bunched around her tummy, leaving her naked below the waist.

  "You are a good obedient girl. The whipping I shall give you may make you scream, but delight in the chastising power of the rod for it is by these means your faults may be cured."

  He ordered her to stretch herself over the bed, and keeping her feet on the floor she lay down on the bed with her nightdress bunched around her middle, and stretched out her arms on either side forming a cross. She could not have told you why she did this, it seemed to be all part of her dream.

  She lay there dreamily with no fear and no anxiety; it was after all a dream which showed simply how guilty she felt at all she had done, and the deceptions she had foisted on her grandmother. All that changed in a flash as there was a blow across her bottom which ignited a fire. It stung, it burnt, and she screamed out with the fiery shock of it.

  "Stay in place child." It was the stern, deep voice of the clergyman. "I shall only give you twelve. but if you are not brave then it may have to be more."

  She had never had a dream where she felt pain before, but she stayed in place, her arms outstretched, her hands digging into the bed clothes. The birch rod once again exploded on her behind, and she screamed again.

  "Child, it is only by strict discipline and the rod that you will be free of your bad habits."

  Another biting stroke broke against her bottom. Sally's feet began to drum against the floor as stroke after stroke exponentially increased her pain. She wondered about her mind that such a vivid dream was possible. When the last of the twelve strokes had been given, she had large handfuls of bedding in each tight hand, and tears wet the bed cover, her bottom on fire from her whipping.

  "Child, had you been a boy I should have given more, but you are of the weaker sex and twelve is adequate. You may arise now."

  Sally stood shakily, and as her nightdress dropped back into place it brushed against her chastised skin, and caused her to gasp.

  "You may go back to bed now."

  Sally climbed slowly and painfully back into bed, and curled up on her side pulling the covers only over her shoulder. She wasn't sure whether it was sleep or the end of her dream but it came rapidly.

  Sunlight shining through the gaps in the curtains and the singing of the birds woke her. For a moment or two all she felt was relief that her strange dream was over and she was awake, then she moved. Her bottom resented the movement, and it began to burn, to sting, to throb. She clasped herself through her nightdress, and as fast as the pain would allow, hurried to the long mirror. A timid lift of her nightdress, a presentation of her bottom to the mirror, and a gasp of horror - her bottom, that smooth pert object of her pride, was covered with small welts leaving a corrugated mass of throbbing burning pain.

  The day passed in bewilderment. How can a dream result in such marks? She had to deal with it practically, and her grandmother's teaching prompted her to have a salt bath followed by plastering her bottom with a nappy rash cream bought at the chemist. In the Blue Room she found tiny pieces of the birch rod so it had been no dream, but how had he got in? She had checked the security; there was no sign of any disturbance. It was all rather mysterious and creepy.

  As the days went by the marks of the birch began to heal slowly, and she began to feel calm about what had happened. Clearly her grandmother's stricture had not been arthritis inspired, she had known, had possibly experienced something similar. There was something supernatural about that bed. Sally locked the door to the room, and vowed never to go in it again.

  As the marks began to disappear, Sally began to feel happy. She had done wrong in the past she knew, especially at university, but now she was cleansed, having never understood before that aspect of punishment, the relief from guilt. In school detentions she had merely become irritated by the sheer foolish waste of time. Perhaps, she began to reflect, corporal punishment wasn't so daft after all. She also began to wonder whether it was the setting that had caused the experience. Perhaps, she reasoned, wearing the Victorian nightdress with the real fire and the candle had somehow opened a window to another world. Suppose she had simply worn modern pyjamas and gone to bed with the usual electric lights and central heating, would that strange man have come then? But dare she try again?

  It took two weeks of dithering before she tried to sleep in the Blue Room again. Safely dressed in modern pyjamas with the central heating on to protect from the mad March winds and the
electric bedside lamp switched off, she settled for sleep. It took her a long time to doze off as she kept waiting for something to happen, and something did. Around one in the morning she awoke to light in the room although no electric light was on. Her form tutor from school stood at the foot of her bed, a cane in his hands which was doubly odd.

  "Sir," she cried out, "what are you doing here?"

  "Sally, I am here to punish you"

  "But why, Sir?"

  "Sally, perhaps you remember when you were in Year 11 you were supposedly ill for four days."

  Sally remembered alright, she had lied to just about everyone. Her parents and grandmother thought she was staying at a girlfriend's house to work on some course work, and the school had been given a forged note to say she was ill. She had laid it on with a trowel about how ill she had been, and earned much sympathy from the teachers. In those four days she had lost her virginity, smoked her first joint, and been frequently drunk. But how did he know anything other than she was ill?

  "You were at that pop concert with a boy, Sally. I saw you on TV. If I had told the head you would have been permanently excluded from school. I didn't do that, but now is the time of reckoning, Sally."

  Sally knew this time that the punishment would be real. She didn't know how to get out of it, wasn't sure she should get out of it, and wasn't sure she wanted to. There was much about that wild pop concert that she now regretted.

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Get out of bed to begin with."

  Once again she was ordered to face the end of the bed, and then to lower her pyjama bottoms. This time she knew it was no dream but some sort of strange experience, and this time it was her teacher (or had been as she now recalled his death when she was at university). She was embarrassed, there had been no corporal punishment in British schools during her time, so she had never bent over to be whacked, never dropped her knickers for the slipper, never bared herself in front of a teacher, especially not a man - it was hard to do. Slowly, the bottoms slid down and she obeyed his command to lie over the bed. She did exactly as before, and spread her arms out on either side, taking a tight hold of the bedding.