Don Barton Spanking Tales, Book 1

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Sir -- I am very glad your newspaper has brought into the realm of discussion the above subject. I am headmistress of a school, in which there are 175 girls from 8 to 19 years, and I find it necessary to spank on the bare seat for disobedience. Last term I caned a girl of 19 years for giving trouble, and I must say it did her good. How is it brutal to punish in that way? If I hit the girls on the head, or continually nagged at them, I should be the victim of criticism. Your correspondent, "Parent," is very reasonable in her remarks. No amount of criticism will restrain me from inflicting capital [sic] punishment in the way I have done. I detest using the lash, but I have no other alternative. Karen remembers the day her adventure at Grammer School began. It was the day she received the letter telling her that she had passed the 11+ exam with flying colours. Facing their long dining table, she rubbed one die between her fingers. 'Five' would provide protection against the blistering oak, although five thunderous swats would be furious punishment. Maybe one vicious swat on her bare skin fitted her crime. OK, Steve, I won’t make you beg to be spanked. But you will be getting it, and getting it hard. And I expect you to submit without any resistance when I restrain your hands, do you understand?” Oh shit! Why today, why does she need a hug? Today of all days when I have let her down.” Thought Karen.

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The pain did not leave, it was still growing. Even in the dark of night she could feel the heat on her hand. And lying on her tummy, stroking her poor bottom, she fell asleep. His conviction carried to her ears, and she smiled from her heart. Her small soft hand, firm in his grasp, he pointed at the signature of her naked curves imprinted on their soaring glass.

When I came out of the shower Sandra was gone and Debby gave me a big hug for being the “Greatest Husband” in the world. She thanked me for being there for her friend. The next Monday I could barely sit at my desk at work when flowers came for me. They were from Sandra, the card just said “thank you” and there was a coupon to a day of golf at a good local club. Even though it hurt like mad, it feels great to know that I’m fulfilling my end of the DWC contract of being there at my wife’s discretion.

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We were the second couple to arrive at the house and started chatting with the other couples and Aunt Kay and her husband. I couldn’t believe how much like our friends at home they were, just nice normal people. After all the couples had arrived and formal introductions were made, Aunt Kay carefully explained the rules of the event and what was expected from the men in particular.You always are looking to blame me, aren’t you? If the teller made a mistake, it wasn’t my fault. Every little thing that goes wrong in this world is not my fault.” Jeez, I did exactly what you told me to. Why can’t you ever be satisfied? Maybe you should say ‘Thanks, Steve, for doing my banking.’ Or do it yourself.” Mummy was a perfect product of the 1950’s. A dutiful housewife who had kept an excellent house since the day she married. Sadly her husband was no longer around, but stoically, with a stiff upper lip and a gallon of fortitude, she had carried on running the house, her home, with pride.