Letters from Blushes Supplement 22

Dear Blushes,

Your magazine is well named for blushes are just what I often cause on both ends of my girlfriend Sue. The blushes on her rear end have her hopping and skipping but her real punishments, I have found, are when her top cheeks blush in humiliation!

It all started when Sue who is a cheeky miss, used to tease me, and I used to say something like. ‘Mind your manners, young lady or I’ll smack your bottom.’ It never came to anything, until one day she retorted. ‘Go on then, you wouldn’t dare.’

Well a remark like that is a challenge to any man and I grabbed her wrist and towed her across to a chair before seating myself and yanking her forward so that she sprawled over my left thigh.

‘Let me up, I’m sorry,’ she squealed, wriggling and squirming across my lap, but it was easy for me to clamp my other leg across the back of her thighs, and grab one of her wrists in the small of her back so as to push her head down to near floor level. I’m pretty strong and Sue was now held quite helpless, tightly bent over.

‘No way,’ I said. ‘You told me to go on and you’ve chanced it once too often; I’ve got you just where I want you and that’s where you’re staying until I have given your pretty bottom a real good spanking.’

The pretty bottom in question was a real beauty, full and firm, and covered only by the rather threadbare seat of her skin-tight jeans. I ran my hand over it, rubbing it teasinglly, and goosing her crutch gently with my finger, which made her squirm in a different way.

‘I thought you were meant to be spanking me,’ said Sue.

‘No rush,’ I said, continuing to titillate her, for a minute or so, before raising my hand and spanking her right buttock hard. It made a ringing smack, she jerked in my grasp and her tight bottom bounced my palm back. Smack, smack, smack went my hand alternating on each cheek, and then setting out to spank every square inch of her delectable rear. About a couple of dozen smacks later, I paused, resting my hand on her rump which felt hot and quivery through the denim, although its owner, apart from an odd gasp, remained silent. I was not going to be the first to break off the engagement but my palm was getting sore; then I spotted the flip-flop sandals that Sue was wearing. Ideal, I thought, as I reached down and took one off her foot. The flat sole of the sandal landed with a noisy whack covering most of her bottom at once and it only took about eight of them before she was ooowing and aaahing.

The next produced ‘Ooooh David, please that’s enough I’ll be good.’

‘Will you?’ I said. ‘Well I’ll just make sure; four more should make it a sound spanking,’ and four more times the sandal cracked across Sue’s pert bottom. She squealed and jerked in my grasp.

I rested the sandal on her bum. ‘Now repeat after me — I’m sorry I was naughty.’

‘I’m sorry I was naughty.’

‘And I promise to bend over.’

‘No, I won’t say that.’

Whack!… Whack!…

‘Ow, ohh, yes, I promise to bend over.’

‘For David to spank my big fat bottom.’

‘For David to spank my bottom.’

‘Wrong’ — Whack… Whack…

‘My big fat bottom,’ she stammered.

‘Whenever I need it.’

‘Whenever I need it, please let me up.’

‘All right,’ I said, delivering a final whack to her upturned rump, before releasing her to leap to her feet like a spring, where she stood rubbing it ruefully.

‘Oooh you are a big bully,’ and then opening the door went on, ‘but it didn’t hurt and I haven’t got a big fat bottom, it’s a jolly nice one,’ and she cocked a snook at me and ran from the room, presumably to inspect the damage in private.

I think it had hurt though, for when she returned later on, she was wearing a loose skirt. She sat carefully, and a hand ventured behind her when she thought I was not looking! Her pretty bottom was still a nice shade of red when she undressed for bed.

----//----

It was only a week or so later, when after more cheek, and a couple of warnings. I said ‘Right Sue, that’s enough, remember your promise and get over my knee.’

She stuck out her tongue at me. ‘OK, Big Daddy, if that’s what gives you a thrill, it’s no skin off my bum,’ and she plonked herself down across my lap.

Sue had just got back from working as a secretary and she still wore a smart grey coat and skirt, and she did not know that I had no intention of wasting time spanking the seat of that, nor that I had a solid wooden clothes brush hidden in my pocket; so to forestall any resistance, I again grasped her firmly as I had on the earlier occasion. The seat of her tight skirt outlined her buttocks nicely, and I slapped them half a dozen times, evidently causing Sue no pain, as she wriggled herself comfortable on my lap with a contented sigh.

‘Right,’ I thought. ‘Let’s get to the bottom of things,’ and tightening my grip on her I reached down for the hem of her skirt and started to tug it upwards. The effect was electric.

‘What are you doing,’ she screamed. ‘Leave my skirt alone,’ beginning to struggle like an eel.

I said nothing but I had her right arm in a sort of lock so that I could hold her across my knee. Even so it took me a couple of minutes to inch up the tight skirt until it was bunched around her waist, revealing lacy coffee-coloured French knickers and matching suspenders, holding up her dark seamed stockings.

As the seat of her knickers was unveiled, she stopped wriggling and went limp over my knee as she said. ‘Pull my skirt down, David, please David.’

My hand resting on her thinly covered buttocks moved up and twanged the elastic of her knickers. ‘Sorry, Sue, it’s a bare bottie spanking for you this time,’ and I yanked them down to her stocking tops.’

‘Oh no!’ she shrieked. ‘Not my knickers, not bare; pull them up, they won’t protect me, please,’ and she burst into sobs.

I had found Sue’s Achilles heel and not for anything would I have re-covered those chubby buttocks which peeped at me between raised skirt and lowered knickers, their cheeks spread apart to show every intimate detail between; no wonder Sue did not relish the pose she was in! I gave her treasures a quick feel and then delivered the first spank.

This was much better than spanking tight denim; my hand sunk into her buttock, which spread and bounced at the impact and a red palm print appeared almost at once.

‘Oowww oww ohhhh,’ she wailed, squirming again against my grip. I spanked on firmly and rapidly, covering every bare inch of her buttocks and upper thighs. It must have been at least two dozen later that I paused. Sue hung limply sobbing across my knee, her bottom flaming red and quivering; it was time for a further inquisition.

‘Repeat after me,’ I again ordered. ‘I further promise.’

‘I further promise,’ she sniffled.

‘To take down my knickers when I’m told.’

‘No I won’t promise that!’

The time had come for the clothes brush, which I now took out of my pocket. ‘Sue, you’ve got to learn to do as you are told.’

Whack-whack-whack went the brush, splatting each time into the soft overhang of her buttocks.

‘Owww!’ she shrieked, her bottom contorting frantically. ‘I’ll say it — to take my knickers down when I am told.’

‘And offer my big fat, bare bottom to David to spank.’

‘And offer my behind.’

Whack went the brush. ‘Big’ Whack! ‘Fat’ Whack! ‘Bare’ Whack! ‘Bottom’ Whack! ‘Now get it right,’ I intoned.

Sue, blubbing like a baby, sniffled ‘And offer my big fat bare bottom to David to spank.’

‘And to bend over as tight as possible, so that my cheeks are spread wide to show him the bits in between!’

This final bit took several more whacks to extract but at last she lay limp, tearful and scarlet-bottomed across my knee. I helped her to her feet. ‘Don’t touch your bottom and go and stand in the corner’ I ordered.

Hobbled by her panties which were now around her ankles, she shuffled to the corner and stood, eyes downcast, her smart city costume disarrayed to show her red quivering buttocks. I poured myself a large gin and tonic and sat down to admire this charming sight.

After ten minutes or so I decided to test her obedience. ‘Come here, Sue.’ She did so. ‘Touch your toes.’ She looked at me pleadingly but her fingers went down to the toes of her high heeled shoes. I made her brace back her knees so that her red buttocks were taut and gaping, just as I wanted. I slipped my belt from the loops of my slacks, and tickled the cool leather across her hot bottom.

‘Please no more David,’ she begged ‘I’m so sore.’

She was, and I put down the belt and slipped my hand between her legs. Her sniffles turned into moans.

----//----

Nowadays I don’t have to spank her as thoroughly as I did on that first bare-bottomed occasion but everything else has become an elaborate ritual, bending her utterly to my will.

First, I make her dress in whatever fanciful costume I decide, and we have quite a collection — her city suit, a traffic warden’s uniform, a nurse’s uniform. A French maid, a WRNS officer’s uniform, a skin-tight black ciré cat suit, and each with whatever combination of knickers, suspenders and other underpinnings I wish, and then it is all out to make the top cheeks blush as much as possible, followed of course by the lower ones.

A typical evening might be when I send Sue upstairs to change into the outfit I have told her.

Half an hour later she returns; now she is a smart young Wren one striper. She stands to attention as I inspect her, her cheeks already colouring well! Jaunty hat, well cut jacket, just covering her full hips, snugly encased by her tight skirt, seamed black nylons and black shiny court shoes — all must be immaculate.

‘Touch your toes,’ I order.

Down she goes. With her high heels it is a long reach down and the seat of her skirt is pulled very tight across her bottom; I fold back the tail of her jacket clear of the scene of operations. The serge covered buttocks are one smooth curve, as in accordance with the best traditions. I have told her to wear an elastic roll-on beneath. She is well covered, serge, elastic, knickers — I can use my cane, which I fetch from the drawer.

It is thin and swishy and the first cut makes a delightful Thwack!

‘Ooow!’ says Sue, lifting a foot at the sting across her bent rump. I don’t cane too hard, nice wristy swishes, as my Wren officer takes the usual six of the best spread from top to bottom of her spacious seat, the cane marking the serge to show where each has landed.

I leave her bending, as I put the cane away. ‘Stand up to attention,’ I tell her. She straightens up, hands by her sides, well away from her caned bottom, cheeks now flaming.

A tear trickles down her cheek, as I tell her to pull up her skirt. It is a struggle to get the straight skirt up, but after much wriggling it is finally bunched around her waist. What a sight — from head to waist a smart Wren, hat, jacket, shirt and tie — below black French knickers, edge of roll-on, it’s suspenders straining across her thighs to her stockings, beneath her rucked up skirt.

I point to the sofa arm. ‘Over there,’ I tell her. Trying to please and hoping things won’t get worse, she hurries over to it, and bends across it, head right down in the cushions, knees tucked in, offering her bottom as tight as possible, as I have taught her. The bottom in question is still covered by girdle and knickers, and I feel that a plywood paddle would be appropriate on a rump held so nice and tight by the elastic girdle. It makes a really noisy whack and her bottom bounces and quivers as a further six are spread across it.

I know now that her rear should be hot and smarting, as once again I tell her to stand up; she scrambles to her feet.

‘Take off your knickers.’

That is the final straw; Sue bursts into sniffling sobs, but obediently thumbs her panties down and steps out of them placing them on a chair awaiting my further orders. She is surprised when I tell her to lie flat on her back on the sofa, thinking that her chastisement is over and more pleasant things are in store. When she is in position, I tell her what to do next.

Her eyes open in horror. ‘No, David, no!’ she gasps; this is something new. I take a light two tailed strap from the drawer and Smack, smack it goes, twice across the fronts of her bare thighs. She shrieks, as I tell her that is where she will get it, if she does not do as she is told.

Slowly her legs come up and up then back and back, until her feet are either side of her head, arms clasped behind her knees to keep them in place. Her bottom and thighs rear upwards, the girdle leaving much of her cheeks bare, and her sex lips protruding between her thighs.

‘In view of your disobedience, it’s a dozen like this,’ I say. There’s a lot of Sue exposed for spanking, but I also want to keep her in this supremely humiliating pose as long as possible.

I use the strap with sharp flicks over bottom and thigh, and occasionally letting the tip stray onto the exposed area between them. A dozen makes it all nice and pink. I drape her knickers over her face, so that she can’t see what I am at, as I return the strap, leaving her still bum upwards.

‘What are you doing’ she yells, as the smooth end of a vibrator slips in-to her.

‘Keep in position,’ I warn her, switching it on.

‘Oh no David, no, it’s not fair. OOOh… I’m coming…’ and I stand back to watch Sue in the grip of an orgasm, holding her bottom on high, the jerking vibrator protruding.

I switch off and leave her there moaning and recovering whilst I give myself a restoring drink. Ten minutes later, I recover the vibrator, and with a slap to her sore thigh say, ‘On your feet girl.’

Limply she struggles to her feet. Hair disarrayed, but hat still in place, for she knows that there is a penalty if this falls off, cheeks tear-stained and flushed, skirt and undies rucked and creased, her thighs and stockings wet with her juices, Sue looks a sorry Wren.

‘Take your girdle down to your knees.’

‘Oh no David, please that’s enough, don’t spank my bare bum,’ she pleads but she knows it is in vain, as she wriggles and tugs the tight elastic down, until it squeezes her knees together, her half masted stockings dangling from it. As she once more stands straight. I can admire at last, her bare bottom, pinkened with just faint cane marks and her more glowing thighs beneath.

I place a chair at the other side of the room and sit down. ‘Over my knee, Sue,’ I order.

Her knees hobbled by her girdle make her waddle like a duck as she comes to me, before laying herself over my left thigh. My right leg over the backs of hers, and her wrist grasped behind her back. I soon have her arched over like a hairpin, bare sore bottom, taut and distended.

Then I spank her, not too hard on her already tenderised bottom, but long and thoroughly, until her rump glows like a furnace. I let her go and my sobbing Wren scrambles to her feet.

I make her tug up her girdle over her sore bottom, smooth down her skirt and tidy up, before having her stand to attention for inspection, any minor faults earning her a slap with the paddle on her tight skirt seat.

After a few minutes I dismiss her, and she goes to her room to get ready for the final part.

She returns, clad in just shoes, stockings and a suspender belt, and carrying her dress. The dress is special, long, tight and tubular, with an added refinement — it has no seat! She stands, arms crossed in front of her, as I slip it over her head and tug it down to ankle level; her pert, red bottom now protrudes through the seat of the dress. Finally, I take a saucy red pony tail and clip it to the rear of her suspender belt, where it twitches cheekily as she moves about the room during the rest of the evening.

Her bottom is perfectly placed for any additional smacks I may wish to give her, and when I get too worked up, she only has to kneel down and bend forward for me to take her doggy wise and give her her second come of the evening.

Yours sincerely,

David

Dear Blushes,

Thanks for all your efforts to keep us supplied with stimulating material each month. I think you succeed more often than you fail, though there are often times when I become very aware of the amount I have paid for a few interesting items.

We live in times where sexual appetites have become understandably jaded. When I was thirteen the sight of bare breasts might have been quite thrilling. These days the material published has to be pretty adventurous to get through to me. It’s a shame that most of the magazines seem to go little further than the tabloid newspapers in their efforts to titillate us.

As regards your features, I can’t honestly think of anything outstanding since Serena’s Debut. You seem to rely very heavily on photographs these days, and quite honestly your strength lies in written material. What I like is reading about young, innocent, naive girls being exploited and made fools of by adult males. Serena fits the bill nicely. Your pictures made a complete idiot of her, while maintaining her sexual desirability. I’m afraid that most of your photos seem to be slight variations in angle on not very remarkable bottoms.

It was a good idea to do a special on nurses, though I’m not an enthusiast for stockings and suspenders. Surely you could have had the wit to cater for my taste as well as the older generation. The article on nurse’s uniform is the sort of thing I’d like to see more of in theory, though it happened to be a rather fanciful affair with vaguely racist undertones, rather than a tautly constructed exploitation of nurses’ potential. What I did like was the first model you featured, who had such a delightfully nervous manner about her, looking straight into the camera as if deeply fearful of what is about to happen to her.

I do hope you’ll be giving schoolgirls a good work-over soon. It is very difficult to understand why you are the only magazine to treat them as taboo, when all the others seem to be only too keen to take over your position as chief scourge of the little poppets.

However, you still seem the most likely bet if one wants to see and read about girls being exploited, not woman’s own-type fiction about happy couples discovering the joy of love-play. I greatly hope that we’ll be getting plenty more of the readers’ adoptees, photos of unsuspecting teenagers together with detailed descriptions of how to humiliate them and keep them under control. This sort of thing is just what the CP magazines have needed over past years — close contact with reality, and our genuine feelings about the girls we meet from day to day.

Fondly,

J.D., London

Dear Blushes,

Your letters page seems to be fairly well-supplied with letters of praise as usual. But I can’t believe that there aren’t many more like me who have been greatly disappointed by your decision not to feature schoolgirls any more. And why is every girl over eighteen these days? It makes one positively ache to read about the thrashing of a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl. Such things used to be the mainstay of your magazines. For two years I ignored the competition and looked to Blushes for my entertainment. We all seemed to be on the same wavelength. Now I look first to your rivals. If they can serve up vulnerable young schoolgirls every month why can’t you. Probably you won’t print this criticism because it mentions 16-year-old schoolgirls. If you do, though, I hope many others will write and support me in my request that you once again start treating them with the open hostility you showed to them a year ago.

A year ago I was very optimistic about our future together. The replies to your questionnaire seemed to inject new life into the spanking press. I was thrilled to see just how severe your readers wanted to be with young girls. Most exciting of all were the strict regimes dreamed up for genuine girls known to your correspondents, especially when the letters were accompanied by photos of the unsuspecting victims. I was also slavering over one letter from a Nigerian headmaster who promised to provide ‘evidential’ photographs of the floggings he carried out. This would have been the utter pinnacle of CP literature. The tragedy is if he did send, or has sent, these pictures, you probably won’t ever print them. Come on now, it’s schoolgirls who put you where you are today. Don’t leave them as an untapped resource.

I hope you won’t be introducing a similar ban on celebrity punishment. Maybe you already have, which is why I’ve not seen any letters on the subject for some time. Here goes, anyway, in the hope that you still have some spunk in you.

My choice would be the delightful black American sprinter Valerie Brisco-Hooks. The athletics world is full of bulging black bottoms, but hers is definitely the champion. Just look at her after the race when her fashionable leotard has risen high and exposed her protuberant rump to the masses.

Valerie Brisco-Hooks

I’d like to have her naked across a vaulting horse. Legs splayed either side of the leather, leaving little undisplayed. Then I’d begin her punishment with a plastic ruler. There’d be no limit on the number of times it splatted against her springy brown flesh, I’d just continue zipping it in to flatten her cheeks until it was hot, very sore and beginning to throb.

Next the cane, from above my shoulder to raise nice raised tramlines from the cheek-crowns to the thigh crease, right where she sits.

By this time Valerie Brisco-Hooks will be howling between strokes. After two dozen she can dismount and lie on her back on the floor, knees clasped in folded arms so her genitals are cruelly exposed.

Then to finish with I scrub her bottom, thighs and anything else that takes my fancy with a stiff-bristled floor scrubbing-brush, after which she must maintain this position for an afternoon in a public exhibition hall, underneath a sign saying ‘photography welcome.’

Yours hopefully.

G.F.

Dear Sir,

Congratulations on your superb magazine Blushes. I discovered it on a recent visit to London, and now it provides me with considerable enjoyment and pleasure in the privacy of my journeys home on the night sleeper.

The feature entitled Carriage & Posture in Issue No. 27 is perfection with an attractive and delightfully dressed young girl being humiliated and caned by a much older man. This feature also scores because it includes shots of Veronica being forced to remove some of her clothes in front of Mr Mildmore — I find that extremely stimulating.

I know that you get comments and suggestions for improvements — everyone has their own likes and dislikes — and you cannot satisfy everybody, but apart from providing more colour (? increased costs and therefore price), please try and make the photos fit the description of the girl’s clothing. If it says ‘seamed stockings’, the model should wear them; also, if the story is set in the late 50’s or early 60’s make sure they are of the Aristoc type with the intricate join between seam and welt — not these hideous modern things where the seam stops at the base of the welt. Also, remember that in that particular period — the days of the first real stilettos — most girls wore seamless stockings. I know these details from being an avid admirer of the view up the back of girls’ skirts for many years.

Keep up the standards that you have now achieved, and I’m now looking forward to my next business trip to London!

Yours faithfully,

G.E., Aberdeen