A Brother's Letters from College: III
By Grade School Nurse (M+,F,g+, spank, voy, hum)

letter to Trent Singleton III by Alvin Bledsoe
Friday, October 27, 1961
Morgantown, West Virginia

Dear Trent,

When I saw your ad in Justice Weekly and read the story in Spanker's Digest I realized I just had to write to you.  Our stories have so much in common.  I especially related to your fascination with twin girls like your little sisters when their "lovely bare naked buttocks" are put into "stinging contact" with mother's old fashioned oval faced smooth backed walnut hairbrush regularly and expertly applied in the presence of daddy, granddaddy and brothers both older and younger.  But the clincher for me was your mother's uncalled for generosity in inviting certain other mature males to watch the "dire expositions where the dress tails go north and the panties drop due south preparatory to the fervent firestorm wherein the swishing hairbrush of her artillery never fails to find its destined target and leave its rosy imprint".   When I checked and found out that we were both full moon children and almost precise to the hour a year apart contemporaries the whole soul mate scenario became crystal clear.  Like you my favorite phase of the celestial moon is full just as its terrestrial phase as the double orbs of a howling girl's lush naked hinder cheeks over her mother's lap.
Daddy is a minister as is granddaddy and both have a lifelong passion: to defend the purity of men and young boys against the infernal wiles of lush bottomed sirens of all stripes whether they be seasoned strumpets of fifty or naughty ten year old schoolgirls who lounge about the parlor floor with their saucy rumps sticking up alluringly under father's pretended paper reading or straight in the wide eyed blushing faces of their older brothers desperately trying to concentrate on their homework.  The harlots are at least honest about it.  They constantly relish torturing the men with thoughts of fornication and boys of all ages with hours of sleepless nights devoted to lustful imaginings of their lewdly bared buttocks presented for passionate caresses and kissing.  The girls may not even be aware of their shameless displays.  But no less are they guilty.  Their girlish wasps of ensnarement are in their larval stages but they are dangerous nonetheless.  They must be nipped in the bud and that is the exalted purpose of mothers, step mothers and maiden aunts from time immemorial.  The instrument?  Her good old oval faced flat bottomed scrupulously polished hardwood hairbrush!  And whether it be the expensive ebony kind of the duchess or the homely but equally effective sort of the country matron never a thought would enter their minds to use any other "deliverer of sad tidings" to a large rumped girl's naughty naked ass than that so conveniently laid away in perpetual readiness within the drawer of the table next to the bed.
How many hapless boys have been lured to this drawer by the persistent aura of singed girl arse flesh that endues this instrument with its power of diabolical invasion of their tender nostrils?  How often have they at every opportunity when alone in the house crept guiltily to the girl's room and tremblingly removed the dire missile?  Smelt it?  Kissed it?  Touched it to their own upper cheek?  How many adolescent man organs have hardened to hot granite rigidity when touching with moist fingertips the mirror smoothness of its oval back?  How many sinful steaming gushes in the groin has it caused?  How many psychic replicas has it etched in their brains that tormented their sleepless nights abed?
But how doubly blessed you and I are in so many congruences of accidents and taste.  You have little twin sisters.  So have I.  Your granddaddy has an all consuming delight in watching each and every of the little darlings' "sessions" over mother's knee at their bedside and the comical and lubricious dialogue these occasion between them and their fellow voyeurs.  My own and your mother's zeal and expertise in executing their pleasant penitential duties "ass-ward" in regard to the twins is equally edifying.  So let me describe for a moment my own mother's methods which correspond so closely to hers.
Apart from their regular Friday evening spankings labeled by mother "whether they need it or not" Susan and Sally fret under the cloud of a continual threat of impromptu hidings whenever the spirit moves mother to impose one.  Her allies in this praiseworthy concern for her daughters' impeccable behavior are several.  
Old Sybilla Manning next door on the left is obsessed with the absurd idea that the girls mock her.  She even imagines that it is they who stick their tongues out at her as neighborhood girls often do.  Her eyesight, she claims, is not the best but she "knows a sign of disrespect" when she sees it.  Her greatest pleasure is knocking on our door with a "report" on "those twin girls once again."  She spends the greater part of the day peering from behind the curtains of her parlor window to "catch" them walking across her lawn.  She "catches" girls, but they are not Susan nor are they Sally.  Whether one or more, it's all the same for the twins.  It is mother's inflexible rule that both pay dearly "where the sun does not shine" for one's transgression.  It would be  a pity, she says, to "waste a fanny burn" simply because the fault is one twin's.  Where twins are concerned, says mother, "the guilty one's deserved smart will be a good lesson to the other just what will happen to her own naked hinder when it's her turn in truth."
Old Mr. Reynolds who lives next door on the right is a retired naval officer.  He too is ever at his bedroom window (which faces the girls' room directly) in his wheelchair, ever "at the ready" for a privileged view of the "warm goings-on" at 530.  His running commentary on the proceedings are a source of perpetual amusement to the voyeurs in the room.  They always have a military tone.  When mother's smooth thick right arm is well bared to the shoulder and the dire missile is suspended for some many seconds he's heard mumbling in his hoarse bass voice,
"Oh, fire it, Mrs.!  Pull the pin!  When the pin is pulled the grenade is not her friend!  ...  Oh, give 'er a couple this time, Mrs.!  Cluster bombing is what the situation calls for now!  ...  Whoever said reasoning is mightier than the hairbrush, Mrs., never saw your arm in action!  ...  Oh, that was a good one, Mrs.!  Now let 'er have another on the twin of it!"
Clarence Jenkins, the boarder, has a room down the hall on the other side from the twins'.  He's an accountant.  He was dead tired that day soon after moving in and collapsed on his bed in a deathlike sleep.  An hour or so later he was awakened by sounds of sobbing from across the hall.  He tells in his own words,
"The demon was aroused even before I woke up.  I fairly staggered down the hall, rubbing my eyes.  I furtively peeked round the half open door.  What I saw brought a fever to my brain and a red hot swelling throb to my crotch.  It was what we used to call a "boner" in grade school.  There in one corner with her face to the wall stood Sally with her dress hiked up around her waist.  Her big round rump cheeks filled her pink white lace trimmed panties like a gale-force wind in two enormous sails.  She was sobbing.  Next to her mother who was sitting on the chair beside the bed holding the hairbrush and using it to accent every other syllable stood Susan whose lush bepantied derriere was in more immediate peril than Sally's.  She was howling,
"'N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...   N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  W-W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...  W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...   N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...   N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  W-W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...  W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!'
"Around the room sitting on the edge of straight backed chairs were your younger brothers Waylon and Dexter.  Between them on the edge of their armchairs were your daddy and granddaddy.  Your mother called to Sally, 
"'Turn around now, dear, but make sure you keep that dress hiked up well away from your, er, your 'seat of operations.'  This little lecture is as much for you as it is for poor Susan here.  The only difference in your respective positions right now is one of proximity.  She is a tiny bit closer to a very badly stung bare hinder than you are.  I know it's very hard for you to appreciate this  just now but it is nevertheless true.  Enjoy your comfortable hinder cheeks now.  Go ahead and rub them as much as you like.  You'll very soon have much better reason to do so!'
"Susan's protests and pleas go on unabated as she turns her tear stained face from your mother's scolding half frown, half grin, to the very familiar instrument of arse pain she waves in front of her,
"'N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...   N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  W-W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...  W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...   N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...   N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  W-W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...  W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!'
"Ever adamant, mother taunts,
"'It never ceases me to amaze me, darling, why you bother to plead and beg off.  You know only too well that your blubbering has not the chance of an ice cube in hell not melting than that I would spare you one single swat of Mr Pepper.  You say as usual that you did not.  Well, whether you did or no, we will soon discover.  But first there is another little matter we must discover and I dare say you know what that is.  Assume the position!'
"Susan, though knowing the futility, cannot help but recite her appeal all over again while slowly obeying your mother's command,
 "'N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...   N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  W-W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...  W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...   N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...   N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  W-W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...  W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!'
"Your granddaddy has spotted me in the hallway and giggles gleefully as he graciously invites me in,
"'Oh, Mr. Jenkins!  What a pleasure to see you!  Do forgive us for interrupting your nap, but I assume you were drawn here by the plaintive bawling of scared girls.  Well, they have very good reason to be.  Mother is readying a nice hot dose of Mr. Pepper for their lovely naked asses as we speak.  You arrive in good time, sir.  Dexter boy, bring in a chair for Mr. Jenkins from the hall.'
"The chair was delivered and I sat down in a muddled haze of blissful anticipation.  Old Mr. Reynolds was craning his neck forward in his wheelchair through the window across the narrow courtyard between the houses as he pointed to your mother and Susan and hollered hoarsely,
"'Oh, Mr. Jenkins!  Good fellow well met!  Watch this, sir!  She delivers a nice hot spank with her hairbrush to those twin girls' bare naked asses, let me tell you that!  Watch this, sir!  Just watch this!  She'll go at her nice big bare ass cheeks with that Mr. Pepper of hers like the very hellfire!  Watch!  You just watch!'"
Well, Jenkins was that day introduced to a little drama that repeated itself at rather regular intervals to this very day.  Judging from evidence given by his flushed face, heavy breathing and several transports which left dark wet spots about the crotch of his pants he was as passionately committed to the repetition of these little sessions as we all were.  A few words will describe the invariable course of events.
Mother never rushes these sessions.  Whatever pressing household matters come up they all take a "back seat" to the matter at hand, which is the proper leisurely and careful application of intense heat by means of Mr. Pepper in direct order to Susan's first and Sally's next plump naked arse cheeks.  Once Susan is in place over her lap with her dress trussed up above her waist mother falls to softly fondling and caressing her big round buttocks through the tight stretched sheer pink cotton panties that hug them like the skins of overripe grapes.  Only after many tender passes of her hands over the bawling girl's pantied rear end accompanied by words of praise and wonder at the loveliness of their deep cleft curvatures and plumpness does she grab ahold of the waistband and slowly lower them, an operation the Commander across the courtyard refers to as "hauling the sails down to half mast."  The blubbering girl's superbly plump and firm buttocks fairly pop inch by inch out of her drawers.  There is a wild bedlam of cheering, whistles, applause and hoots from the wide eyed voyeurs.
Fully aware of the torture she is causing the lecherous audience, mother nevertheless will not quicken her pace.  She takes twice as long fondling and admiring the bleating girl's superb naked arse as she did the pantied one.  She voices shamefully hypocritical "regrets" that the twin girls' scandalous pride stemming from the awareness of the fearful temptation their lovely hinders instill in boys and men of all ages demands that she spank the "sauciness" out of them regularly by means of her favorite instrument for "tearing up girl arse flesh:  Mr. Pepper."
She slowly rolls her right sleeve higher up on her smooth firm biceps.  We are all in a confusion of how to ward off the impending explosions in our groins to coincide with the later ones delivered to poor howling Susan's superb bare buttocks.  Often they come too soon but so intense is our fetish for the scene there will be several more before she's through.  
The corner of mother's mouth turns up in a mean smirk.  All our eyes are ready it seems to pop out of our heads.  I study each face and approve the ear to ear grins alternating with flushed red faces, heavy breathing and sweaty foreheads as their stares go from the girl's bare buttocks to mother's smiling face to suspended hairbrush in nervous sequence.  The first swat is delivered with great precision, blitzkrieg speed and burning impact as it lands squarely on the middle latitude crests of the howling girl's lovely fresh buttocks,
"S-S-S-Splatttttttttttt!"
She howls,
A-A-A-A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!  ...  W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!  ...  A-A-A-A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!  ...  W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!
I study the angry pink welt imprinted on Susan's naked rear end in the form of two hot silver dollar size pancakes.  I'm creaming my BVD's.  I look around and see that all the others are either doing likewise or are ready to.
Mother warns Susan to take her hands away from her scorched hinder cheeks with a mock tender warning,
"Away with the hands, darling.  Give mother a nice clear "firing line" as the Commander calls it.  Away with them now, dearest.  I'll let you know when there's a break for rubbing."
Susan obeys, but howls,
"N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...   N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  W-W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...  W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...   N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...   N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!  ...  W-W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...  W-W-W-W-We d-d-d-didn't d-d-do it!  ...  N-N-N-N-N-Noooooooo!"
Mother continues in a leisurely fashion, alternating lectures with swats,
"Didn't do it, dearest?  Well, perhaps not.  Old Mrs. Manning tends to make things up nowadays where you twins are concerned.  But a little "early" sting to your lovely naked hinders won't hurt in any case."
We all howl with laughter.  She goes on,
"Here's a little sample, darling, of what's in store for you girls when it comes next to my attention that you have offended Mrs. Manning!"
"S-S-S-Splatttttttttttt!"
Susan responds,
"A-A-A-A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!  ...  W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!  ...  A-A-A-A-A-Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!  ...  W-W-W-W-W-Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"
Trent, I've got to go now.  I have pressing fantasies that have been aroused.  You are the next best thing to being in the twins' bedroom I assure you.  I really love telling you about the twins' "netherlands'" ordeals at mother's hands.  I miss being home!  Be well.

Yours,
Alvin