{ASSTR 22} The Slippering of a Strawberry
Blonde.
{Big Billie} (F/F spank, sc)
Author's Statement: Big Billie is opposed to
spanking except for consenting adults; However,
spanking sexually excites him, so he writes
about it.
The Slippering of a Strawberry
Blonde
Or
The Dramatic Triumph of the Interfering
Parents
A Sally Trubshawe Henderson Story
Part 1: Dave the Magistrate
Hello, readers. I am Dave Henderson, Sally's husband,
and here is a story featuring the Henderson family in
recent years.
Corporal punishment in state schools was ended in
England in the 1980s when the European Court of
Human Rights awarded punitive damages against the
education authorities in Glasgow for allowing a girl to be
physically punished. However, in private boarding
schools it lingered on until after the Labour Party won
the general election of 1997. Then when Tony Blair
became Prime Minister there was a law to ban corporal
punishment in all schools, public and private. A few
private Christian colleges objected, but their objections
were overruled.
Meanwhile, in 1999, just before the millennium, when
she was in her mid-fifties, Sally retired as headmistress
of her school. This was financially possible because both
of us had come into a considerable amount of inherited
wealth. Sally loved her job, and at first she found it
difficult to cope with retirement; but, seeing the writing
on the wall, she preferred to leave rather than to
attempt to maintain discipline among several hundred
lively teenaged girls without the assistance of her trusty
slipper.
As for me, I am 8 years older than Sally and as a
policeman I was entitled to an early retirement. I left
the force with a good pension in 1990 when I was 55
years old.
After I retired I needed something to keep me occupied
so I applied to become a Justice of the Peace. These
days it is a lot easier to become a magistrate than it
used to be. For many of us modern life is fairly hectic
and stressful, suitable recruits are more difficult to find,
and the authorities are calling for volunteers.
The result was that by the early 1990s I had completed
my basic magistrates training and was regularly sitting
on the bench in our local cathedral city, located about
seven miles from Sally's boarding school.
As you may have gathered from listening to police
spokespersons on the media, we coppers have fairly
strict views on law and order. Nothing annoys us more
than to go to all the trouble of launching a successful
prosecution and then for the authorities to gently tap
the miscreant's wrist with a feather and tell him to be a
good boy. My magisterial style is thus strict and firm,
and in this I am supported by my partner on the bench
(magistrates these days usually sit in twos). She is
Betty Cockroft, a formidable old spinster, impeccably
middle-class, impeccably straight laced, and implacably
opposed to delinquency and law-breaking. Betty is a
likeable old bird when you get to know her, but if you
are on the wrong side of her she can be a fierce,
tyrannical and vindictive old harridan.
Quite a few of our cases feature young people who have
been drunk and disorderly on Friday and Saturday
nights. This is a comparatively new feature of life in our
ancient cathedral cities, and one that in my view has
got to be stopped. Anyone who can afford to get roaring
drunk in the overpriced clubs, bars and bistros in the
city centre can afford to pay a hefty fine, and Betty and
I always inflict one. Oh yes. In the cold, sober light of a
Monday morning many drunken revellers have been
given good cause to regret that they have fallen foul of
Betty and me.
I particularly enjoy slapping down young ladies who
have been caught drunk and _in flagrante delicto_. This
is something that Sally and I laugh and joke about. She
can no longer spank them on the bottom, I will tell her,
but I can and I will spank them in the pocket, and I will
spank them good and hard too. What makes the
discomfiture of these female offenders even more
delicious is that quite a few of them, when they are not
under the influence of alcohol, are charming and
delightful young ladies, many of them from the better
type of middle class home. By the time they come up
before the beak they are appalled at what they have
done and very nervous and apprehensive about what
we will do to them. They are ashamed of their antics
and deeply mortified at their public humiliation and
punishment.
Well, when Betty and I get one of these young females
up before us, we always give her a good smacking. I am
the more senior magistrate so it falls to me to
administer the regulation rollicking. This is a most
pleasant duty and I always fulfil it with enthusiasm and
gusto. I stress the serious nature of the offence and, in
great detail, the severity of the punishments that we
have it in our power to inflict. These include a large
number of hours of community service, an ASBO (anti-
social behaviour order) and a recommendation for a
period of probation of up to three years. I will point out
that the young lady is from an excellent home
background (if, indeed, she is) and that she has
seriously let down her family and her friends. Oh yes!
After a few minutes of GBH (grievous bodily harm) of
the ear-hole from me she is blushing profusely, her
heart is pounding, and she is all of a flutter.
Then I deliver my punch line. Since this is her first
offence I will say, and to spare her family from further
embarrassment, for just this once we are prepared to
be lenient with her. I then inflict a really swingeing fine
and send her on her way with a flea in her ear. The
really appalling thing is that, since I have prepared the
ground so well, the victim of my draconian justice
usually thinks that she has got off lightly.
Then, shortly afterwards, there appears a full and
detailed report of the victim's court appearance in the
local county newspaper. Now being fined, especially for
something comparatively amusing and trivial such as
getting drunk and going large at the weekend, is very
amusing, indeed hilariously funny, to almost everybody
except the victim, and the bigger the fine the funnier it
is. Thus, just when she is at her most rueful, and is
feeling very sorry for herself, the victim has to endure
the deep, delicious schadenfreude of her friends and
acquaintances, and to put up with their sly digs, teases,
and jokes.
I remember in 1998 I had a twenty-year-old female
undergraduate from our local university up before me.
There were two charges, drunk and disorderly, and
theft. The theft was that she had playfully taken a
garden gnome from a front garden and had gone
waltzing away with it up the street. As she stood before
us in her demurest clothing on that bright Monday
morning she looked as if butter would not melt in her
mouth. In general, I am sure, it does not, since she was
from a good family, and this was the first time that she
had ever been in any trouble. Her second year
examinations in English Literature, she explained, had
just finished, and she and her friends were celebrating.
Well, the offence was really little more than high spirits
and I suppose that we could have let her off with a
conditional discharge. But that, of course, could never
be. The locals in our county, especially the older
generation, take the hooliganism of the young very
seriously, and they expect something to be done about
it. So Betty and I decided to do something. I gave the
young lady a severe dressing down, told her that she
was getting off very lightly this time, and then fined her
GBP100 for being drunk and disorderly and GBP200 for
theft. Wow! GBP300 in total! An expensive night! She
and some of her friends were interviewed about it all in
the local rag. Most of her friends thought it was all one
big laugh, and par for the course for an end-of-
examinations celebration. But the young lady herself
was not laughing. She was well mortified and
chastened. Feeling very sorry for herself, she said that
it would take her more than eight days' wages from her
vacation job to pay the fine. She gave the figures and I
worked it out. It came to well over sixty hours of
labour, so, having offended in haste, she had plenty of
time to repent at leisure. Needless to say, after that
highly effective short sharp shock she has never come
up before Betty and me again!
This pleasant task that has been entrusted to me of
slapping down young ladies took on a new dimension in
April 2003. From that date all workers who come into
contact with children, such as nurses, teachers, doctors,
policemen and similar must be checked with the
Criminal Records Bureau (CRB'd) on appointment, and
every 3 or 5 years thereafter. And, when they are
CRB'D, the details of every little conviction except for
minor motoring offences will be revealed. So if, for
example, the young lady who stole the gnome becomes
an English teacher she will have to explain to her
headmaster, and/or to her Board of Governors, what it
was all about. Such a minor peccadillo could hardly lead
to her losing her job, but it is likely to cause great
embarrassment to her and considerable hilarity and
mirth to her superiors. And just as it used to be twice as
funny if a young lady took twelve, as opposed to six, of
the best from Sally's slipper, so it is three times as
funny that our female English student was fined GBP300
rather than GBP100.
Of course, I did not know of this development when I
sentenced our young gnome stealer in 1998, but I know
it now, and it gives an extra little sexual frisson to my
work. A short while ago, for example, we had a young
lady, an eighteen year old police cadet, before us. There
were two charges, drunk and disorderly and public
indecency. What the indecency bit was all about was
that she had flashed her bare tits at a group of admiring
lads, and had then turned around, pulled down her
knickers, raised her mini-skirt, and shown them her
naked bum. As a police recruit she might have got away
with it, since dog always tries not to eat dog. But
unfortunately for her the arresting officers did not know
her, and when she claimed to be a copper they
assumed that she was trying it on. Then, when the truth
came out, things had gone too far to stop the case
coming to court and, in any case, by then her superior
officers were amused at her plight, and had concluded
that she deserved to be taught a lesson.
Oh, wow, dear readers! Did I enjoy this case? The
evidence against the accused included CCTV (closed
circuit television) coverage. The security cameras in the
city centre have recently been upgraded and they now
produce images of excellent quality. Thus the videotape
footage displayed the young lady's assets perfectly to
my admiring and excited gaze. What full, well-
developed, buxom, bouncing breasts she had! And what
a beautifully plump and shapely rump! It was big and
white, and she shook it all about for the lads! Then,
between her two bum cheeks, Betty and I could clearly
discern her plump labial lips, pouting ever so slightly
open. Fortunately, she had shaved all of the pubic hair
from off her quim and we got an excellent view. (This
embarrassing footage, of course, was shown only to the
magistrates and not to the whole court, and it made me
feel very smug about the privileges of my office!)
Well, Betty was incensed at this lewd display of body
parts, and I had concluded that we had little option but
to make an example of the young lady. It is well known
that I am an ex-police chief and if I were seen to be
going easy on one of my own it would not look good at
all. So we really threw the book at this trainee WPC
(Woman Police Constable).
The pre-sentence rollicking was a joy. I took my time
and built up to the finale slowly. I told the culprit that
she was a disgrace to the force, that people expected
the police to set an example, that I had myself been a
police chief for many years and that I had never, ever,
in my long experience, come across anything so
disgraceful, so shaming and so outrageous, etc., etc.
(This was not strictly true, of course, but I was straining
for effect!) Meanwhile, the young lady stood in the
dock, blushing and palpitating profusely. She was by
now thoroughly ashamed of herself, and mortified at
what she had done. Then, after I had told her (liar that
I am!) that she was getting off lightly, we fined the
culprit a total of GBP500 (GBP150 for drunk and
disorderly, and GBP350 for public indecency). This
amounted to a sizeable percentage of her monthly pay
cheque, and as she stepped down from the dock she
looked ashamed and mortified, but also very sorry for
herself at the swingeing severity of the fine. Meanwhile,
call me a pervert and a dirty old man (both of which I
am!) because by now my cock was as stiff as a poker.
The county newspaper really went to town on this case.
There was a full, verbatim report of the proceedings and
also an editorial. The latter, would you believe, singled
out for praise "Magistrate Dave Henderson," an ex-
policeman himself who, despite his seeming clash of
interests, administered justice firmly and with no hint of
bias or corruption. The feedback that I got from my
police contacts was also gratifying. The embarrassed
victim was ribbed mercilessly by her colleagues with the
lads shouting after her "show us your tits, love," "take
down your knickers and let's see your bum," and so on.
A really sexy aspect of the case is that for the victim it
will never go away. Shorn of all the bullshit, this was a
minor peccadillo by a young lady who is honest, hard-
working, intelligent and able. She should go far in the
police force and, if she sticks with it, she will end up in a
very senior position by the end of her career. Yet every
single time that she gets promoted, and, as well as
that, routinely every 3 or 5 years, she will be CRB'd,
and her embarrassing antics will be brought to the
attention of her superior officers. The conviction is
trivial, and will in no way hold her back in her career.
But, wow! How I would just love to be one of her senior
officers quizzing her about it, and asking her to explain
exactly what it was that happened. You can imagine the
sort of thing. "Well, Miss Padgett, you were fined
GBP500, and it cannot have been for nothing. I think
that you had better explain exactly what it was that you
did. What was that? You lifted your top? Why did you do
that? And what were you wearing underneath? Explain
to me how all this adds up to GBP500 worth of
lawbreaking. There is more isn't there? Come on! As a
police officer you are duty bound to give a full and
accurate account. Now, would you like to start again?"
And all the time, of course, her male superior officer
would know exactly what it was that she had done, as
indeed would the entire force.
Part 2: Family Affairs
So far our family has not featured large in these
accounts of Sally's disciplinary exploits so I had better
fill you in on the situation.
We have four children, three girls and a boy, and Sally
bore all of them when she was in her thirties. In 1976
our oldest daughter, Sarah, was born when Sally was
33. In 1978 Rachel appeared, and in 1980 our only son,
David. The baby of the family is Angela, born in 1982
when Sally was 39.
By the time that Sarah was born Sally was already a
headmistress. She was promoted at a very young age
when her predecessor, Miss Pargeter, retired in 1974. It
was a struggle to keep the job through 4 pregnancies,
and there were murmurings from some of the parents.
But Sally had an able deputy and, in addition, on each
occasion that Sally took maternity leave, Miss Pargeter,
who lived near by, was tempted out of retirement to
stand in for her. When this happened it set all minds at
rest for Miss Pargeter was a formidable old party, well
able to impress upon any concerned parent that the
school was in safe, firm hands.
The story that I am telling you now concerns our son,
David. He is a delightful boy who, even as a teenager,
was not very obstreperous. He was a joy to the whole
family until, in 1996, just before his sixteenth birthday,
he contracted meningitis. Well, dear reader, you may
have picked up from the odd reference here and there
in these memoirs that Sally and I are both practising
Christians and regulars at our local Anglican church.
Now we got all of our friends and their families to pray
constantly for the recovery of our son. Our friends the
Mannions secured the prayers of the local Jewish
community. The O'Grady's dedicated masses in the local
Catholic Church and got an entire sisterhood of nuns to
send up constant invocations. And through our local
Churches Together group our vicar marshalled the
entreaties of all Christian denominations and those of
other faiths as well. And yet, for several days, our son's
soul, in the Shakespearian phrase, hovered on the
dreadful shores of Styx, and the Grim Reaper stood
over him, his sharp scythe raised into the air.
Oh, dear reader! How trite and silly are these light
hearted and amusing recollections when confronted by
the stark facts of life and death! I am a happy man, and
I have a good life. But I feel now, as I felt then, that I
do not wish to continue in this world if my son is not in
it with me. But, by the power of prayer, and by the
grace of God, our son was saved. The antibiotics began
to do their work and he started a slow, painful, but
fortunately complete recovery.
I would not have darkened the frivolity of this narrative,
dear reader, with such an inappropriate excursion into
seriousness unless it was relevant to my purpose. The
point I am making is that, after he had been snatched
so dramatically from the jaws of death, I was fiercely
protective of my only son. From then on anyone who
threatened or messed with David was my enemy unless
or until their behaviour was corrected.
The threat when she came was beautiful and fair. She
was called Susan O'Malley and her family was from
County Galway in Ireland. The O'Malley family were
Catholics, but Susan had known David since the 1980s
when, together with our daughter Angela, they both
attended the pre-school playgroup at our Anglican
Church.
When I was off duty I sometimes used to lend a hand at
the playgroups, and I met Susan there when she was a
toddler. Already she had those beguiling freckles around
her nose, and those long, flowing strawberry blonde
tresses that young ladies from Ireland seem to hold the
copyright on. But even before she was out of nappies
Susan had that spark of impishness and mischief that is
the mark of an intelligent, lively child, as well,
unfortunately, as a quick Irish temper. Oh, yes, she was
cute. Very cute. But even at that age you would not
wish to cross her.
Susan was two years younger than David. They
attended the same primary school, but went to different
schools at secondary level. Nevertheless, Susan was the
best friend of our daughter Angela, so she was always
around our place. From his early teens David was
infatuated by Susan, as well he might have been, and
from there on in things rapidly escalated. By her
sixteenth birthday Susan had developed into a
stunningly beautiful young lady. She was already nearly
six feet tall, slim, lithe and lissom, but beautifully well
developed, and meaty in all the right places. By now
David was mesmerised by her.
Now our son has been raised with three sisters, so you
might think that he was well prepared to meet the
challenge of young lady with whom he was infatuated.
But unfortunately nature in this case had been more
important than nurture; like me David lacked the ladies
man gene, and the lad was nearly as useless with girls
as I was at his age. Whenever he was thrown into
Susan's company he blushed profusely, froze up and
hardly uttered a word. As for Susan, I now know that
she, in turn, was very fond of David; but her way of
showing this was to tease and goad him into paying her
attention and this only caused him to be even more
withdrawn and embarrassed.
Then there was the incident of David's High School
Prom when he left school at the age of eighteen. This
Prom idea is a recent American import, and was pushed
and promoted by the girls in David's year group. David,
like most of the other lads, was not too enamoured, but
he went along with it. But then came the awful problem.
David knew who he wanted to take but, having placed
Susan on this ridiculous pedestal, he would probably die
of embarrassment before he had time to ask her. He
was a bright lad, but a hopeless and inadequate geek;
he had never had a girl friend and Susan, together with
girls in general, terrified him. He was yearning, aching,
to take Susan to the ball, but how on earth could he
summon up the courage to ask her? Well, needless to
say, as they always do, David's sisters rallied round.
Angela had a word with Susan; Susan, who had recently
celebrated her sixteenth birthday, was delighted to be
asked, and readily agreed that David could squire her at
the ball.
Now at that ball Susan took things into her own hands
and came onto David very strongly. I suspect that it
might have been that time in her monthly cycle when
she was at her most fecund, her most frustrated, and
her most randy. She was now sixteen, the age at which,
in the UK, young ladies can be legally deflowered, and
she was eager for David to do the business. Angela was
also at the ball, partnering one of David's friends, and
she later gave us graphic, not to say lurid, accounts of
what had happened. In the slow dances the couple were
kissing with their tongues down each other's throats;
their hands were roving over the more intimate parts of
each other's bodies; and David's raging hard-on could
be clearly discerned beneath the tight fitting trousers of
his dinner jacket. Angela added that she could not
vouch for what went on later, when the couple went out
for a long time into the school garden. But what did not
go on was that Susan was not deflowered. David did not
push home his advantage and, at least for the moment,
he lost his chance.
Well on the plus side the events at the Ball had certainly
created some sort of relationship between the two love
birds; but it was not, unfortunately, a healthy one.
Susan was furious with her paramour. She had planned
her strategy with great care. I now know that she had
gone prepared with three condoms hidden inside her
bra. She had offered her virginity to the boy with whom
she was rapidly falling in love, and, as she saw it, she
had been spurned. So she started to regale David with a
lot of nonsense. He had almost caught her off her guard
on the night, she told him, but she would never be so
foolish again. Our son, she swore, would never get her
into bed with him. After this fiasco she and David could
only ever be just friends.
Now few people are as gauche with ladies as I am, but
even I could see that these tirades were bullshit.
David's correct response was to cut through all this
nonsense, bring the young lady swiftly to bed, deflower
her, and then give her the bonking of her life. That
would have cleared the air between them and after that
they could have got on with their relationship.
But that, of course, was not what happened. Poor David
just could not cope with all of this, and during the long
hot summer before he went off to university he
withdrew into a sullen and morose shell.
And what was I to do? I was, as I have said, deeply
protective of David. The situation brought back all of the
amatory failures of my own youth. I knew what David
was going through and I felt for him. Soon, like David, I
was in a mood of deep depression.
But there was more. By now I was into my late sixties,
and my biological clock was telling me that I wanted
grandchildren. Susan was just the girl to carry the
Henderson dynasty into the third millennium; but our
two lovebirds were seriously cocking up their
relationship.
I felt very sorry for David. Susan, unfortunately, was
behaving like a lot of modern misses in England. She
was confident and self-assured; in my view she was too
cocky by half. Worse still she was insensitive and
unforgiving of David's weaknesses and inadequacies
and she was making no attempt to help him. She was a
typical product of the Spice Girls, "girl power" and the
1990s, and David, like a lot of our young men, just
could not cope with it. Susan needed, I concluded, to be
brought to heel. David had put her on a pedestal, and
she had to be knocked off it. I knew the perfect way to
chasten her and to slap her into line but unfortunately,
that, it seemed, was not on the cards.
Yet something needed to be done, and it needed to be
done urgently. Susan was an absolutely stunning drop
dead gorgeous piece of Eve's flesh. She was also witty,
vivacious, lively, coquettish, and enchanting in every
way. Young men would be swarming around her like
bees around a honey pot and if David dallied for very
long he risked losing her for ever. "A faint heart," I
pondered morosely, "never won a fair lady." And then I
added, with a determined glint in my eye, "Unless, of
course, it gets a bit of help."
The matter was resolved in early September 1998, just
before David went off to take up his place at Oxford
University. The cause of Susan's downfall was her quick,
rash, violent Irish temper. I do not know why but one
day when Susan had come around, supposedly to see
Angela, she and David had a blazing row. Something
that Susan had said or done, at long last, had stirred
David up and pushed him over the edge, because he
was arguing loudly and violently with his lover. I did not
catch all of it, but, from what I could make out, David
for once was giving as good as he got.
Susan was furious. She took a large can of emerald
green spray paint from our garage and sprayed it all
over David's car, windows and all. Now this car was a
fairly old vehicle that we had bought for David to
celebrate his success in the Oxford entrance
examinations; its bodywork was sound, though, and it
only had 39,000 miles on the clock. We hoped that it
would give David several years of decent motoring, until
after he had graduated and was earning enough money
to buy something better. So by damaging that car
Susan was being a very naughty girl and that gave Sally
and me our chance to strike.
Anyway, after her act of vandalism, Susan biffed off
back home while David, who had followed her to the
car, managed to get back into the house before he
collapsed into helpless tears, bawling and blubbering
like a baby.
That night as we lay in bed together Sally and I had a
long talk about the situation. Nineteen ninety-eight was
the year before Sally retired as headmistress and she
was still in her post; the girls of the school, however,
were not due back after the summer vacation for
another 2 weeks. The other teachers were all on
holiday, and even the caretaker and his wife had gone
off for a late summer break. The school, in short, was
deserted. But the headmistress's study lay at our
disposal and we decided to make good use of the
facility.
Three day's later Sally herself telephoned to Susan's
mobile. "Miss O'Malley, she explained, "I am calling on
behalf of our local magistrate, Mr. Dave Henderson. Mr.
Henderson would like to talk to you about a serious
case of criminal damage in which you were involved late
last week. He has summoned you to a meeting to
discuss the matter." Sally put on a posh voice that
cleverly disguised her slight Cheshire accent. Susan,
she told me, had assumed that she was my secretary or
an official of the court. She had sounded shocked and
frightened by the call, and had readily agreed to attend
the meeting.
It was my job to square David with what we were about
to do. I did not give him any details, but I made him
promise that he would support his parents, wherever it
led, for the period between the hours of 08.00 and
12.00 tomorrow morning. The lad was puzzled but
intrigued; in a somewhat theatrical show of solidarity he
swore a solemn oath that he would follow us, that he
would be loyal to us unto death.
The next morning at 09.00 hours Sally, David and I
arrived at the school gates to find Susan already waiting
outside them. Sally unlocked the gates, opened up the
school, and led us all to the headmistress's study.
"Very well, Miss O'Malley," I said peremptorily, in a tone
that made it clear that this was not a matter for
democratic debate. "Please stand on that mat and face
the desk." Susan was shocked at the formality of my
tone; after all, this was the girl who, ever since she was
at day nursery, I had called Susan.
"Yes, Mr. Henderson," replied Susan.
"Oh, that's all right then," I thought to myself. "Susan
usually addresses me as Dave, but she seems already
to have picked up the ground rules for this little game.
Sally and I then sat at the desk, and David stood behind
us. Susan, I noticed, shot him a glance and he shrugged
his shoulders to indicate his ignorance of what was
about to happen.
"Miss O'Malley," I began. "I thought I had better have a
word with you before I hand this matter over to the
police."
"The _police_, sir?" blurted out Susan, and she sounded
very frightened.
"Yes, young lady, the police," I affirmed severely. "Last
Friday a crime was committed; this young gentleman's
car was vandalised; it suffered several hundred pounds
worth of criminal damage."
"Yes, sir," replied Susan dully. By now her pretty
freckled face was burning red. All the anger, all the
temper, all the pertness and all the cockiness, had been
knocked out of her, and she stood before me demure
and contrite, the long, luxurious locks of her gorgeous
strawberry blonde hair dangling free over, between and
below her pert nubile breasts.
Then I administered to Susan one of my classic
magisterial rollockings. I stressed that the case against
her was absolutely watertight. There were at least 3
eye-witnesses, and in any court of law in the land their
testimony would be decisive. I then explained quoting
chapter and verse exactly what laws the culprit had
violated, and what charges were likely to be brought
against her. This case, I added, did not only entail
criminal damage. There was also the theft of the can of
spray paint, and of the paint itself, to be taken into
account. I then listed the maximum penalties for each
of the offences that had been committed, adding that it
was a moot point whether the magistrates had the
authority to deal with a case of such seriousness. It
might, I added ominously, be referred instead to the
County Court. Oh wow! Was I enjoying myself!
"Well, young lady," I concluded, "Have you got anything
to say in your defence?"
"No, sir," said Susan mechanically.
To this I replied acidly that if that was the best she
could do she would never make a good defence lawyer.
In the interests of fair and impartial justice, I added, I
myself would help her with a few questions. But in the
end it was up to the victim of the crime, the young man
who owned the vandalised car, to decide whether or not
to press charges. I glanced at David who by now was
looking embarrassed and mortified. But, true to his
oath, he kept silent and made no comment.
"What is the state of your parents' marriage?"
"Please sir, my father recently left my mother for
another woman."
"And what about your mother?"
"She has a new partner too, sir."
"Where are you living at the moment?"
"I spend some of my time with one parent, and some
with the other, sir. And I sometimes stay with my best
friend, Angela." Yes, that is true, I thought, and I
recalled how Susan had been having a lot of sleepovers
with us lately. Thanks goodness that Susan had got her
GCSE examinations out of the way in early summer,
before all of this shit hit the fan.
"And how do you get on with your parents' new
partners?"
"My father's girlfriend hates me, sir. My mother's
boyfriend thinks that I am intrusive. I am an only child
and both of my parents just want me out of the way so
that they can get on with their new lives."
Okay, I thought. I'll buy that. Susan's personal
misfortunes and traumas dwarfed the minor peccadillo
with the spray paint, and I started to feel very sorry for
this unfortunate young lady. But, of course, none of this
would affect Susan's immediate fate. She still needed to
be slapped down and knocked off that pedestal that
David had misguidedly put her on, and Sally and I were
just the guys to do it.
I next explained that, irrespective of any discretion that
the owner of the vandalised car might be prepared to
exercise, I myself, in my official capacity as a
magistrate, had a duty to see that the culprit was
properly punished. In view of the mitigating
circumstances in her favour I would prefer not to bring
this matter to court, and I thought that I could see a
possible way out.
"If you were a schoolgirl here," I explained, "I would
ask Mrs. Henderson, the headmistress, to discipline you
and you would take the normal punishment of twelve of
the best with the slipper. This is what has happened on
a number of previous occasions, and it has meant that
the school's good name has not been blighted, and that
the young ladies have not been saddled with a criminal
record. If you are prepared to undergo that ordeal I
think that, in this case too, I might reasonably exercise
magisterial discretion and let the matter drop. So think
hard, Miss O'Malley, and do not answer straight away.
Take at least a minute or two to ponder it over, and
then let me know your decision. And before you do
decide perhaps I had better explain that for such a
serious offence I must insist you take your punishment
across your bare bottom. This is what has always
happened in previous cases where a schoolgirl spanking
has atoned for a criminal act.
Susan was physically jolted by this revelation. By now
her face was beetroot and she looked very flustered.
"Yes my girl," I thought to myself. "You look very
fetching standing there. You're all hot and bothered,
aren't you? But you will be a lot hotter and much more
bothered by the time that Sally has finished with you!"
Then Susan made her answer: "I'll take the slipper, sir."
Part 3: The Slippering of a Strawberry Blonde
"I must warn you," I added, "That even if you are
spanked I can give no absolute guarantee that the case
will not come to court. After your punishment I will ask
the victim of the crime to call it. If he decides that your
chastisement is inadequate he is still at liberty to press
charges. Do you still wish to proceed, knowing that?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
"Hum," I mused to myself pleasantly. In a few years
time, dear Susan, I hope to hear you utter those last
two words to my son at the hymeneal altar. But for the
moment you have a sharp and uncomfortable lesson to
learn."
"Very well, Miss O'Malley," I continued briskly. "Take off
all of your clothes please."
"_All_ of them, sir?"
"Yes, _all_ of them young lady. Your crime deserves a
humiliating punishment, and the victim of the crime has
a right to see that justice is done. As for me," I lied
outrageously, "I am too old to be affected by it."
It was from this point on that I noticed a change in
Susan's demeanour. The full implications of what was
going on began to hit her and I did no think that her
reaction was totally negative. After all, David was the
young man with whom she was, for all of her denials
and her skirmishings, falling in love, and she was being
told to strip off stark naked in front of him! If she
wanted to sell herself to him this must have seemed like
a good marketing opportunity! Meanwhile I took a
glance backwards at David, and I could see his cock
standing rock hard underneath his trousers. These were
god omens indeed, I thought, for the final dénouement
that Sally and I had in mind.
Stimulated by the possibilities of the situation, Susan
began the process of stripping off more quickly than I
had anticipated. It was a warm, dry summer day, and
she was not wearing much anyway. Anyway, she
removed her cardigan with no trouble and, on my
instructions hung it on a nearby hat peg. But then,
embarrassed, she paused.
"Come on, young lady. Now the dress."
Eventually this too was removed and hung of the peg
leaving the victim stripped to her bra and knickers.
"Now the shoes and socks, please."
This suggested surprised Susan.
"Why? Do I have to?"
I nodded and Susan obediently complied.
"The bra," I prompted, and Susan slipped it off.
Oh wow! Now I got a clear, uninterrupted view of
Susan's naked breasts. She is quite a slim lady, and I
was surprised that they were so big. But oh my! It
wasn't just the size. They were beautiful. They were
slightly pendulous, but firm and bouncing, held in a
perfect position by the suppleness and elasticity of
youth. I began to fantasise. "I wonder what these
luscious mounds will look like," I mused, "In a few years
time after, as I hope, they have breast-fed several of
my grandchildren. The large, succulent nipples, with
their delicious coral pink aureolas, certainly seemed up
to the task of breast feeding. I was delighted to see that
they were also hard and engorged, giving clear
evidence of intense sexual arousal. The plan is working
out well, I mused.
"The knickers."
The enormity of this instruction hit home and elicited a
minor revolt.
"Please, sir, do I have to?"
"The knickers," I repeated. "Or, alternatively, of course,
we could still call this off."
"No, sir," replied Susan contritely. "Please don't do
that."
And she slowly and confusedly removed her skimpy
briefs.
I am sorry, dear reader, but I do not have the skill to
accurately describe the exquisite and delectable beauty
of the young lady who now stood naked, in all her
resplendent glory, before us. Such a task would have
challenged the genius of the mighty Shakespeare
himself. The sun was shining brightly from the large
window behind the desk and it illuminated every square
centimetre of flesh, every quivering muscle, and every
taut tendon. The colouration was exquisite. The long,
strawberry blonde hair cascaded over the breasts and
down to the navel. Susan's face and body were
beautifully suntanned except for parts of her bosom and
of her crotch, which had been protected from its rays by
a brief, skimpy bikini. Her face was lovely. Her clear,
blue translucent eyes shone like sapphires. Her
aristocratic nose was thin and elegant with a thick
clump of freckles, brought out to ripeness by the
summer sun, adding a delicious hint of impishness and
mischief. Her cheeks were rosy, the dimples of her
smiles temporarily banished by her expression. Oh
wow! That look of apprehension, embarrassment and
fluster on Susan's face was priceless. I felt a sharp
sexual arousal at her discomfiture and already, even
before the start of play, I had a cock like a rock.
Susan's neck was long and swan like. Her waist was
trim, tapering out delightfully to a broad pelvis. Her
belly button was pierced and from it there gleamed a
gold stud into which was set a large cut gemstone that
flashed in the strong sunlight, sending out bright beams
of light shimmering and gleaming with all of the colours
of the rainbow. The tummy was tight, firm and shapely.
Below the white meat of the crotch, two beautifully
suntanned thighs, plump, succulent and meaty, bulged
out invitingly.
But the features that transfixed me most were the white
meat of the labial lips, and the stunning clump of
auburn pussy hair that sprouted from those lips in
indelicate and saucy profusion. Susan's pubic hair was
slightly darker than the hair on her head and it shone a
rich reddish gold colour in the rays of the sun. Oh my,
my girl, I pondered. You are going to catch it, and catch
it hard! The hairier the pussy, the sharper Sally slaps it!
Your ring will sting and no mistake!
"Thank you, Miss O'Malley, for your co-operation. I am
now handing you over to Mrs Henderson, the
headmistress, who will administer appropriate
correction."
As Sally rose from her desk I signalled to David to
occupy the chair she had vacated. This, I had worked
out, would place Susan's bum, cunt lips and auburn
haired pussy at eye level, only a couple of yards or so
away from his face. And if that did not blow his mind I
did not know what would.
"Right, Miss O'Malley," said Sally brightly, "Turn through
180 degrees please to face the wall behind you."
Contritely and obediently Susan complied and, for the
first time, her bare bum was exposed to our excited
view. For such a slim, svelte lady it was big and meaty.
It was certainly very shapely. The word "callipygian"
came to mind. It means "having or pertaining to
shapely buttocks" and Susan's buttocks were amongst
the most shapely I had ever seen.
"Now touch your toes please."
Now of all the moments in this exciting and invigorating
scenario this was probably the most stunning. I had
been here before and was expecting it, but I could see
from his reaction that it completely blew David's mind.
Susan stretched to the floor and, as she did so, her
shapely calves, her plump labial lips and her thick clump
of pussy hair were presented perfectly to our admiring
gaze.
Susan's legs were slightly apart, and this exposed just a
little bit more of her inner thighs and pussy. There,
hanging just beneath her bum cheeks and pushed
together by her thighs was her large, prominent, hairy
vulva, with its vertical coral pink serrated edge pouting
open, as if a big red-bearded clam were pushed
between her lower buttocks and her upper thighs. Oh
wow! I thought. What magnificent cunt lips! And I
hoped that in the future a number of my grandchildren
would make their entry into to world through those
gorgeous portals.
Then I pondered the happy fate of my son David. If
our kinky plans succeeded he would have Susan's tight,
stunning box at his disposal; it would be all his to
enjoy and savour. And unlike me David has not been
circumcised. As I have narrated in another story,
after I was born an enemy of my father circumcised me
incredibly tightly and very messily. I have no frenulum,
an ugly circumcision scar, and a denuded, beat up,
battered dick. There are about eighteen square inches of
foreskin and tens of thousands of sensitive nerve endings
and pleasure receptors missing from off my cock shaft. I
was never given the chance to enjoy a lady perfectly and as
nature intended; only a fraction of the sexual pleasure
provided by a bountiful Mother Nature was to be allotted
to me.
But my son was infinitely more fortunate; he would be able
to enter the Nirvana of Susan's pussy, to push through
the portals of her moist, luscious labia, with a full set
of wedding tackle. Every scrap, every iota of sexual
pleasure would be his for the taking. The lucky young
devil, I thought. If this comes out right he will be
sent into seventh heaven, and he will be sent there again
and again!
At this point Sally cut across my lustful cerebral
meanderings. It was time for Susan to take a few
preparatory tail flicks.
Crack!
"Come along, young lady. I told you to touch your
toes."
Sally gave her victim a sharp tap to encourage her to
bend over further. In fact, Susan is a beautifully supple
and willowy young lady, and, as instructed, she was
already bending over beautifully, with straight legs;
and, despite her height, she was touching her toes with
ease. But Sally, of course, was, as usual, not satisfied.
Crack!!
"I said touch your toes."
This second tail flick, like the first, and as tail flicks
invariably do, struck the plump undercarriage of
Susan's rump, just above her thighs, between her pussy
and her bum hole. The spank was slightly sharper than
the first, and it hit home with a sharp, ringing crack.
Crack!!!
"That's not too bad. But come on. I think you can do
better."
Poor Susan pushed her fingers to the ground, but
basically I don't think she knew what else she could do
since from the beginning she had obediently complied
with Sally's instructions and had done exactly what she
had been told to do. This still did not prevent her from
taking these three extra gratuitous flicks, however, and
the third flick was a beauty. It slapped home onto
exactly the same piece of arse with another loud,
reverberating crack. Then Sally generously decided to
cut the victim some slack.
"Okay, Susan. That is very good. Please hold it there
and I will begin."
There was then an agonising wait as Sally prepared to
deliver the first of her dozen swats. She raised the
slipper high in the air and it hovered there tantalisingly
for several seconds. Then down it came with a loud,
swooshing swish. By now both David and I were leaning
over the desk to get a closer view, and we both felt the
breeze as the plimsoll whistled past our faces.
Then _Crack!!!_
The flat sole of Sally's plimsoll bit into the plump
buttock meat of Susan's undercarriage, right where the
three preparatory tail flicks had hit home. Bang! Like
the high pitched crack of a whip or the report of a
discharged pistol. Under the force of the impact Susan's
buttocks wobbled and quivered deliciously, and her
auburn pussy curls flew, scattered every which way by
the breeze from the pump.
Now I had witnessed some of Sally's bare bottomed
spankings of young ladies in the past, and I knew what
was coming. But even I was shocked at the sharp noise
of the impact. It rang out loud and clear, echoing
around the room. David, however, was not expecting it.
"Oh, mom!" he cried out in surprise, shock and outrage.
But then he remembered his oath and relapsed into
silence.
But the effect of the spank on David was as nothing to
its impact on Susan. As it struck home she let out a
high pitched squeal. "Aiiieeee!" Then over the next few
seconds as Sally gave the bum time to tingle she began
squeaking helplessly. "Ai! Ai! Ai!" Meanwhile, a deep red
welted indentation appeared, stamped into the nubile
pussy meat of Susan's succulent bottom.
_Crack_!!!
This second spank landed flush on top of the first one
and added incremental stinging and tingling to it. The
effect on Susan was dramatic. She started squealing, in
a loud, shrill, high pitched voice. "Agh! Agh!! Agh!!!"
Once more, bum flesh shuddered and pussy hairs flew.
_Crack_!!!
This third spank again struck home in the self same
place, between bum hole and cunt, and it was more
than the victim could take. Susan became hysterical,
squeaking out loudly at the top of her voice. "Aw! Aw!!
Aw!!!"
Poor David! I could see that he was utterly engrossed
and absorbed by Susan's kinky punishment. He had his
right hand inside his pocket and I could see that he was
helplessly tugging at his stiff, engorged member
through his trousers. But this was the girl that he loved
that was being so sharply and peremptorily disciplined
and he was moved by her obvious distress. Momentarily
forgetting his solemn oath he cried out, "Mom! Stop!
Please!"
Sally, usually so resolute and determined when she is
administering discipline, paused and looked at us in
confusion. "Wait a few moments, love," I advised. "Let
Susan recover. She is not taking this well." Yes, I know.
"Susan" when it should have been "Miss O'Malley." My
official mask was beginning to slip, but I did not mind. I
wanted to prepare the ground for an intimate end to
Susan's spanking.
There was a pause, while Susan recovered her
composure. Then, amazingly, Susan herself piped up.
"It's okay, Mrs. Henderson. It's only a schoolgirl
spanking and I'm being a wimp. I deserve all this and
more. Please carry on!"
"No, love," interjected David. "You've taken enough!"
"David Henderson," replied Susan gamely, "You too are
being a wimp. Kindly desist or when I get out of this I'll
spray paint you as well as your car."
Hey, I thought. This is a plucky girl! I like her!
Anyway, to cut a long story short, Susan did take the
regulation twelve of the best but Sally, shaken by
Susan's hysterical cries after spanks one, two and
three, and by David's intercessions, did not spank her
all that hard. Slaps four to nine were spread all over
Susan's bum so that no one place took more than a
couple of them. By now Susan had calmed down and
she was taking her slaps in silence.
But for the last three spanks Sally returned to strict
dominatrix mode; she girded up her loins and delivered
three really sharp ones. As always, these last spanks all
landed on the plump undercarriage of the bum, where
the buttock meat is plump and succulent. Three times
the plimsoll hit home between bum hole and cunt with a
sharp high pitched crack. Three times Susan's
disciplinarily challenged pussy meat wobbled and
quivered delightfully. Three times the victim's auburn
pussy hairs were scattered and rearranged. Meanwhile,
Susan, now that she had regained her composure, took
the rest of her stinging, undignified and humiliating
chastisement in complete silence. I listened hard, but I
could detect no noise at all coming from her lips, not
even of heavy breathing. This is a brave girl, I thought.
This young lady would be a very valuable addition to
the House of Henderson. May she be admitted, and may
she bear us many children.
Sally by now had regained her self-confidence and
resumed our game plan.
"Right, Susan," she said. Please put your hands on you
head without rubbing your bottom, and go and stand in
the corner by the bookshelf with your face to the wall.
You will stand there for ten minutes. During that time
there will be silence to give David time to consider
whether or not he is prepared to forgive you.
Susan contritely and obediently complied, and Sally and
I started the next phase of our plan. We silently went to
the sofa bed in the middle of the room and converted it
from a sofa into a bed. Then we took some bed linen,
pillows and a duvet out of a suitcase that I had brought
with us, and made the bed. Then I rolled back the duvet
and, with a sly wink at David, waved a large packet of
condoms in his face and then placed them under one of
the pillows. Next we adjusted the blinds and pulled the
net curtains to give our lovers a safe, secure love nest
hidden from the outside world. Then David and I
returned to our seats and spent the rest of the ten
minutes leering obsessively at Susan's sumptuous nude
rear view, and at her naked, red, well-smacked bottom.
Finally, however, ogling time was up. I reluctantly rose
to my feet, and Sally and I moved towards the door.
"David," I said. "Please go and stand behind Susan.
Now, Susan, please turn around and face David. Now, in
a moment, your mother and I will leave and go home.
We want both of you to stay here and talk through your
differences. Take your time; there is plenty of it. There
is a picnic set in that suitcase with a luxury lunch for
two and a bottle of wine. There are tea and coffee
making facilities there in the corner. We will lock the
door of this building and also the gates as we leave.
When you want to be let out telephone us and we will
come to get you. Susan, you are invited to dinner with
the family tonight, and after that you can sleepover with
us if you wish. But first, let us formally conclude our
business. David, look Susan in the eyes. Now, Susan,
please look at David. Now, David. Give us your answer.
Do you forgive Susan?"
The couple looked at each other for a long, long time.
"I do," said David, and the opportunity was too good to
miss.
"You may kiss the bride," I said.
Then, very gently, David took Susan, naked as she
stood there, into his arms and kissed her, very tenderly,
on the lips. I could see from Susan's hardened,
protuberant nipples, however, that she was still aroused
by her nakedness and her spanking. She threw herself
at David, tumbling him onto the bed.
"Come on, love," I said to Sally. "Two's company, four's
a crowd." And we left the two lovebirds to their own
devices.
Well, now I am going to hand over to David to continue
the story with an account of what happened next. But
briefly, and to set your minds at rest, I can record that
David and Susan did not telephone us until 8.45 p.m.
that night, and that by then Susan had been
successfully deflowered and our happy couple had made
long, slow, luxuriant love at least five times.
(To be continued.)