Curiosity

The first of three features with Penny Lloyd Fox as Sharon and later Mel Penny as Jackie. Firstly this photo-story from Roué 71.

I was curious. Who wouldn’t be? All those references to my bottom. All those subtle hints about spanking. It was more than obvious what he wanted. The problem was, though, that he was too shy to take it any further. The furthest he’d gone was to give my bum a gentle slap as he passed behind me.

The thing is that, the more he mentioned my bottom and the more he talked about spanking, the more intrigued I became. I begun to wonder what it would be like to be spanked by a young and rather dishy man.

Of course, it would be painful — that was the whole point, wasn’t it? But something told me that such an experience would not be without its pleasures.

Oh, yes — I was under no illusions about the hurt that would be involved. Having been brought up strictly by my aunt, I knew all about hidings. Hardly a week would go by without me being turned over her knees and, with dress up and knickers down, undergoing a thorough spanking with her hand — or, if I’d been really naughty, her hairbrush.

But this was different. Wasn’t it?

Quite frankly, I became almost obsessed with the idea. ‘You know what naughty home-helps get, don’t you?’ he’d say, or: ‘Girls today. What they need is a good old-fashioned spanking to help buck their ideas up.’

Why didn’t he just get on with it? God knows I was trying my best — failing to do certain chores, being cheeky, etc. But nothing. I decided to try a little harder.

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He returned from work at the usual time to find me idling, much of my work undone. He spoke to me through the serving-hatch.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Not much,’ I replied.

‘I can see that, young lady.’ His tone was stern and — dare I say — rather exciting. ‘What do you think I pay you for, eh? I’m… I’m lost for words…’

He joined me in the kitchen and looked on in astonishment as I openly defied him by leaning casually against the cupboards, smoking a cigarette. I was allowed to smoke, but not in the kitchen.

‘Do you actually want me to sack you?’ he asked, flustered. ‘Because that’s what I’ll have to do.’

This was my cue. ‘Oh, don’t sack me, please, Mr Johnstone. You don’t have to sack me, do you, Mr Johnstone?’

‘I…I don’t see that I’ve got any choice.’

‘Couldn’t you… er… punish me in some other way?’ I couldn’t be sure if he knew my game; knew that I was trying to get him to deal with me in the manner that he had mentioned so often before.

Also, I wasn’t sure whether I was doing the right thing. After all, I was actually inviting this man to spank my bottom; actually asking for it. I became even more doubtful after his next statement.

‘There is another way,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think you would like it.’

Now the penny had dropped; now that my plan seemed to be working, I was more than a little anxious about where this was leading. He was speaking again.

‘Were you ever spanked by your parents, Sharon?’

‘My… er… my parents died when I was very young,’ I told him, ‘and I was brought up by my aunt. She spanked me.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it, young lady. What I propose is similar treatment as an alternative to the sack. But you would have to agree fully with it.’

His voice was still fairly stern, his eyes fixed on mine as I considered the situation. What had I got myself into? I must be mad. On the other hand, though, was a strange, exciting feeling. I didn’t want to go through with this, but then again I did. Confused is an understatement.

‘I agree to a spanking, Mr Johnstone. But, please don’t make it too hard.’

‘It will be as hard as I consider necessary, Sharon. Now, bend forward over the work-top.’

I did as I was bid and immediately felt his hand lifting the back of my denim skirt clear of my bottom. I was well aware of the fact that the briefs I had put on that morning would not give me any protection and that he was now casting his eyes upon my very bare bottom.

His hand landed, the room being filled with the crisp SMACK! as it did so. It stung, but wasn’t anything like as painful as the spanks my aunt used to dish out to me.

The whacks, however, got harder as he got into a rhythm, his hand sweeping down time and time again to land on my unprotected cheeks.

He certainly knew how to spank. Every square (or should it be round?) inch of my poor bum was being attended to. It was if he had been taking lessons from my aunt!

My mind went back to those days. I felt that I had to think about something, anything, to take my mind off what was happening to me. My aunt had never bent me over like this; it was always over her knee.

The first time she used her horrid hairbrush on me was for smoking. I’ll never forget the sight of that thing in her hand as she approached me. Up till then I had only felt her hand; this was obviously going to be something far more painful.

There was no need for words. She simply sat down on the sofa and pointed to her lap, and I simply responded by moving towards her and placing myself in the required position.

That room always seemed cold — and I felt quite a chill on the backs of my thighs when my dress was lifted onto my back. I was not to feel cold for long.

She began with my knickers on a — a full, snug-fitting pair, white and made of cotton. They might just as well have been made of rice-paper, the protection they gave me!

That wooden-backed thing whacked down time and time again, causing me to writhe about like mad, squealing for mercy — ‘Please, aunty… Please!’

My entreaties were useless; that brush continued to splat against my knickered bottom until she was satisfied that I had undergone sufficient punishment.

Back to the present…

He pulled what there was of my briefs tightly into the crease of my bottom. Any protection they had afforded me had now gone; my bum was bare, completely at his mercy.

The spanks continued to fall, my bottom warning up with each fresh spank. But there was another — rather strange — feeling. A rather pleasant sensation. It was, I suppose, a combination of having my bottom bared and on view to this man, plus a sort of inner-warmth that his hand was giving me.

Experiencing a mixture of fear and excitement, I felt my knickers being taken down to my knees. Although this action didn’t actually provide him with more bare bottom flesh than had been the case before he took the garment down, it brought home to me the fact that other — more intimate — parts of me were now on show. I tried my best to keep these from his view, but it was next to impossible to do so as my legs kicked and my hips swayed this way and that as the spanking continued unabated.

Quite frankly, I really didn’t care over much about what he was seeing; I was more concerned about the heat building up in my poor bum — a heat which grew with each new smack.

Here was I, half-naked, being soundly spanked by a man just a few years my senior. It was shaming — very embarrassing indeed, but that very embarrassment, somehow, was having an erotic effect on me.

I suppose I have for some time been something of an exhibitionist. I first became aware of this about a year earlier when I had to have a medical at a company I had just started at.

At first I was extremely nervous about having to strip in front of the male doctor, then I experienced what can only be termed as a sexual excitement as, item by item, my clothes came off before I stepped out from behind the screen to face him, my naked body on full view to him.

It was a similar feeling that I was experiencing now. But, of course, there the similarity ended. For I was having my bum well-and-truly spanked by the seemingly tireless hand of my employer.

I began to ‘Owch!’ and ‘Oh!’ and ‘Ooooh!’ as the spanks, if anything, got harder (or was it just that my bottom was becoming increasingly tender?) It crossed my mind that, because of my utterances, Mr Johnstone might stop.

Did I want him to stop? Well, yes and no. The heat building up in my behind was having a strange effect on me. Yes, it was certainly hurting, but it was also pleasant.

About another minute passed — and, with it, approximately twenty smacks. He spoke in calm, even tones.

‘You have taken this quite well. I wonder, however, how capable you will be when it comes to your punishment proper.’

What could he mean? Turning to face him, I asked: ‘What do you mean, Mr Johnstone? Haven’t you finished with me.’

It was quite plain that he hadn’t, and I had mixed feelings about that.

‘You don’t seriously believe that you’re getting off with just a spanking, do you?’ he said. ‘I can assure you, young lady, that this bottom of yours is in for a good deal more punishment — punishment, I might add, of a more severe nature.’

Now I was beginning to regret my earlier actions. ‘It’s hurting enough,’ I pleaded. ‘No more, please, Mr Johnstone.’

‘Quiet, girl! Now, I am a fair man. I will permit you a few minutes to recover from your spanking. You will take that backside of yours and stand facing the door. I shall go to my room to fetch the implement that will visit your naughty young bottom.’

I obeyed him, wondering what this implement was going to be. What was in store for me?

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My questions are soon answered — and in next month’s Roué, readers can see the photographic evidence: a sound strapping with a two-tailed leather tawse, bent over the kitchen stool…

Continuity wasn’t always a strong point with spanking magazines, with the honourable exception of Janus. The next month’s Roué (the last ever issue) did not contain any such photographic evidence, but Sharon/Penny did appear in a couple of further photo-stories in both the same issue and the next one.