{ASSTR 17} Maidens Beta and Omega, or Virgins the Second and 
Last {Big Billie} (m/F & M/F sex, F/F spank, controversial)


Maidens Beta and Omega

Or

Virgins the Second and Last

By Big Billie

© Big Billie 2004. Not to be distributed or sold for monetary gain.


Author' Statement: Big Billie is opposed to spanking except for 
consenting adults. However, spanking sexually excites him, so he 
writes about it.



Part the First: Beta Girl

***************************************

My name is Bill Rooney and I was born in Shoreditch in the East 
End of London in 1927. When I was 13 the Blitz began. The 
German bombers were particularly thick above my family home 
in the Thames docklands, so I joined the exodus of juvenile 
evacuees and, in November 1940, was billeted on a family in 
rural Dorset.

Oh, my dear young reader! You who have lived in times of peace 
and prosperity! I am so happy for you! I hope that you are my 
friend, but even if you were my worst enemy I would not wish 
you to be subjected to the trauma of those terrible days. I was 
lucky; I was not old enough to fight, and I was too young to be 
left to the tender mercies of Hitler's Luftwaffe. I got out. But, 
even so, to be torn from a happy family in a bustling and exciting 
metropolis, and to be dumped in a quiet country backwater 
among strangers, well, at first it devastated me. There were five 
of us children, my brother, my three sisters, and I, and the War 
scattered us to the four winds. I well remember our last night 
together as a family. There were tears aplenty from mother and 
the girls, and us lads too had lips that were quivering. We did not 
live together again as a family until 1945, and I will never forget 
the exhilaration of our reunion, the ecstatic joy of the armistice 
celebrations in central London, and the gigantic relief that none 
of our close relatives were killed or injured.

But these mighty and tragic themes are not for my pen. I am no 
Euripides, Tolstoy or Ibsen. My tale is in a lighter vein; I aim 
merely to titillate and amuse. I hope that you like my story. At 
least it shows that, even in those dark days, the human spirit was 
not easy to crush. Girls will be girls; boys will be boys. Young 
blood runs hot, and young flesh is passionate.

I was billeted on the family of the Rev. Thomas Stokes, an 
Anglican clergyman. In 1940 he was about 40 years old. His 
wife, Mrs Sarah Stokes, was younger than him. She was in her 
early thirties and her daughter, her only child Anna, was 16. For 
a few weeks we all lived together in the large vicarage, but then 
the vicar volunteered as an army chaplain. He spent the rest of 
the war in various barracks in England and then, after the 
opening of the Second Front in June 1944, he followed the 
troops as they advanced on Germany.

For the first few weeks I was thoroughly miserable in my new 
home. I was a working class lad and the restrained, genteel 
environment of a country vicarage was hard to take. I found it 
very difficult to fit in. The only bright spot was my schooling; I 
was quite an intelligent young chap, so they sent me to the boys 
Grammar School in a nearby town. Opposite my school there 
was a sister institution for girls where Anna studied, and where 
her mother Sarah spent part of her time teaching Geography, and 
the rest of it being one of the PT (physical training) and games 
mistresses.

After a month or so I settled down and I became a bit happier. 
The first good news was that just before Christmas 1940 the 
vicar left to take up his army duties. He was a stiff, stern, formal, 
unbending man with no discernable tenderness or sense of fun, 
and I was not sorry to see him go.  Then, over Christmas, there 
were carol services and children's parties at the Church, which 
was now serviced by a much friendlier and more pleasant vicar 
from an adjacent parish. Meanwhile I was making some good 
(indeed lifelong) friends at school, where my cockney accent and 
my streetwise anecdotes from the Big Smoke (as we Brits 
sometimes refer to our capital city) gave me a certain aura and 
cachet.

Anna, however, was a problem. She quickly discerned from her 
father's attitude towards me that I was, in class terms, her social 
inferior; and in those more structured and formal days there was 
a certain stigma attached to that. Then I was three years younger 
than her. She played the sophisticated adult lady to perfection. 
She patronised me, and treated me as a child. Even worse, I had 
no experience at surviving in a middle class environment and I 
possessed none of the necessary social skills and graces; I made 
gaffes and faux pas aplenty, and Anna teased me mercilessly 
about them. As for the usual middle class cultural 
accomplishments, well, I lacked those too. Anna was a good 
pianist, with a beautiful singing voice; as for me, it was as much 
as I could manage to play the paper and comb. Anna could make 
a very passable stab at knocking off a Scarlatti sonata, a Mozart 
minuet or a Chopin prelude; at that time my knowledge of music 
was limited to the Music Hall, and to Al Bowly, George Formby 
and the other popular entertainers featured on the BBC's Light 
Programme wireless service. Oh, yes! Anna was a shrewd and 
intelligent social observer. She soon picked up the nuances. She 
delighted in keeping me firmly in my lowly niche, and she soon 
slapped me back into it with her mocking and vituperative 
tongue if, in her opinion, I began to show tendencies that were 
above my station.

And yet, dear reader, and yet! Despite her haughty aloofness, I 
was infatuated with my persecutor. She was the only youthful 
female to whom I had ready access. I was randy and frustrated, 
and she was beautiful. In those days of hardship and poverty 
some of the girls in my native East End were pasty, scrawny, 
small, stunted and malnourished. In contrast, Anna was tall, big-
boned and meaty. For a girl of her age she had a beautifully 
curvaceous, well-developed body and she exuded an easy grace, 
amplitude and charm. Her hair was long, black and crinkly, her 
skin milk white except for a healthy ruddiness in her cheeks, and 
her bright blue eyes shone like sapphires. In a way her aloofness 
and her unattainability added to her charms. I fancied her like 
mad, but all I looked set to get from her was rejection, ridicule 
and contempt. Well, I was not the first working class lad to be 
infatuated with a youthful middle class lady, and I do not think 
that I shall be the last.

I suppose that my torment, and my degradation, might have 
lasted for the entire war. But then, in the dark days of midwinter, 
Anna made a mistake, an error that was to prove pleasurable for 
both of us but in the short term also quite painful for her. She 
began to inject a sexual component into her persecution. It all 
started on Christmas Eve, when I was on my way to bed. The 
door of Anna's room swung open as I passed by, and there, 
inside, was Anna in her long flannel nightdress.

"Come in!" she said imperiously. I meekly obeyed, and she 
quietly shut the door after me.

"Do you know what that is?" she asked, pointing to a twig that 
was hanging from the ceiling by a string.

"Mistletoe," I answered.

"Correct!" replied Anna in a particularly irritating and 
patronising tone of approval, as if she were a schoolmarm 
praising a small child. "And you know what?"

"No."

"Well, you can kiss me under it if you like. Yes, that's right." 
(As I stood wide eyed in astonishment.) "A Christmas kiss."

Well, there was more offensive persiflage from Anna along the 
same lines, but soon we were both under the mistletoe and I was 
about to do the business.

Now this, dear reader, is where, at long last, I had the advantage 
over my temptress. For all her airs and graces and her age 
advantage, Anna was still a callow and naive virgin. I, on the 
other hand, was not. In the East End the lower orders used to 
start snogging and bonking at an early age. I had experience, of 
heavy petting and of more, in bus shelters, behind bike sheds, 
and in a hut that we used to break into on our local allotments. 
Young as I was, I was the proud possessor of a thick, reusable 
rubber condom, and I had already put it to good use. I had 
deflowered one of my female acquaintances, and I had had 
sexual intercourse with several others. I now resolved to put this 
superior expertise to good use. Anna's contemptuous concession 
had really got my goat. In the absence of any more suitable or 
eligible young man this frustrated virgin intended to use me as 
her sexual plaything before, no doubt, tossing me aside as a 
creature of no worth. But no, I thought. If I have anything to do 
with it that is not the way it will go. This could be my chance to 
turn the tables on Little Miss Stuck Up. If this goes to plan the 
Crafty Cockney may yet prove more than a match for the naive, 
well-bred country girl! But first, I thought, I must do this bit 
right. I must try to use this one opportunity under the mistletoe to 
set up something for the future.

Like Anna, I too was tall for my age. In fact, I was about the 
same height as her. I now took advantage of this fact to stand 
close to her and slowly extend my arms around her waist. Then I 
embraced her tenderly, and gently placed my lips against hers. 
To lull her into a false sense of security I then left the next move 
up to her.

What my new paramour did next surprised me. I was to learn 
later that this was Anna's first proper kiss with a boy. She told 
me in retrospect that she had no idea how to play it, but that, 
having set the situation up, she decided that she had little choice 
but to go for it. And go for it, dear reader, she did. She kissed me 
hard and long, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and 
forcing her closed lips against mine with considerable force and 
enthusiasm. Meanwhile, I was in ecstasy as I caressed the small 
of her back, her sides, her tummy and her lower ribcage with my 
opened palms and fingers.

Well, madam, I thought, as our lips finally parted. That showed 
enthusiasm and initiative, but there is, I think, a certain 
gaucheness there, and a definite need for further practice and 
training. Now, let me show you how it is really done. While 
Anna was still savouring the memory of that first kiss, I gave her 
another one, and this time I, not she, was the owner of it. I 
started far more gently than she had, tenderly pushing and 
probing, working my lips into hers slowly and seductively. Then 
came the nerve-racking moment when I opened my lips slightly, 
pushed my tongue through them and, very tentatively and 
delicately, probed past Anna's lips, between her teeth and into 
her mouth. I knew that the next few seconds were crucial. Would 
Anna break off our kiss in outrage and shock, slap my face for 
me, and eject me from her room? Or would my gamble succeed? 
Well later, when we had got to know each other and were on 
much better terms, Anna told me that I had been in luck. She was 
at that time in her monthly cycle when she felt at her most randy, 
and at her most desperate for physical contact with a man. She 
gasped, and her eyes flew wide open in shock. But she did not 
withdraw for a second or two, and that was just long enough for 
her to become addicted to the voluptuous wetness of my probing 
French kiss. For thirty seconds or so she clasped me tight, but 
remained the passive recipient of my amorous, seductive 
advances. Meanwhile, my tongue became ever bolder as it 
discovered the warm, moist, deliciously seductive inner 
membranes of Anna's cheeks, of the roof of her mouth, and, 
finally, of her pert, twitching tongue. Then, at first slowly and 
hesitantly, but then more firmly and enthusiastically, Anna began 
to return my kiss. Her tongue started to confront the invader, and 
then to entwine and enwrap him. Then she pushed him back, 
beyond her own teeth and lips, out of her mouth, and back into 
his own territory. Now her tongue was the invader, exploring and 
probing into my mouth; and thus the tongue tennis continued.

Oh wow! I love kissing almost as much as I love fucking. It is a 
delicious sport, a delightful art, and throughout my life I have 
done my best to improve and perfect my skill. Kissing is the 
perfect hors d'oeuvre to a sexual feast. There must always be an 
element of selfishness in orgasm. The pleasure to the sexual 
organs and to the central nervous system is so intense that it must 
distract you, even if only briefly, from serving, from the gift 
relationship with your partner. There is always a fraction at least 
of orgasmic pleasure that is an individual indulgence. Kissing, 
however, is different. It is so romantic. The pleasure is less 
obvious and intense, but incredibly unitive.  Oh, my dear young 
readers! Please allow an old man to give you a few well-chosen 
words of advice. Take the time, take the trouble, to learn how to 
kiss; and do not kiss for yourself, but kiss for your partner. Let 
your kisses be selfless gifts, generous and open. Think of your 
partner's pleasure, not your own. Kiss slowly; take plenty of 
time, and never rush. Have a buffer, a lengthy time zone devoted 
to kissing and cuddling before you proceed to intercourse; and 
sometimes, to prolong the sexual intensity, do not proceed to 
intercourse at all, at least not until later. Then, when you do fuck, 
let the foreplay, the kissing, and the selfless giving and taking of 
sexual favours, prepare you well for it. Whatever the time 
constraints and the pressures of life, try not, in our English 
phrase, to "whip it in, whip it out, and wipe it." No. "Wham, 
bam, thank you ma'am," as you Americans say, is not the way. 
Sometimes, a "hot, sticky quickie" can be a turn on. I 
particularly like it when there are undertones of submission and 
domination. "Strip naked, young lady, and bend over the arm of 
that sofa. Now, thrust up your bottom, open your legs, and think 
of England. You are going to get it, and you are going to get it 
hard." But for me that kind of thing, exciting and stimulating as 
it is, is fantasy and role-play.  What really holds a marriage, a 
union, together is giving, not taking, unity, not individual go 
getting, selfless love not self-serving pleasure. (Yes, O.K! I 
admit it! Selfless love, but, in addition and for good measure, a 
very large dose of crude, sexy, sweaty, animal lust!)

But oh my dear! Even this early in my tale I find myself 
meandering. Please allow me to return to the events of that 
memorable Christmas Eve in 1940.

Well, after my triumphant victory in getting almost to first base 
with my paramour, I tried my luck further. Starting at the small 
of Anna's back I started rubbing the opened palms and probing 
fingers of my right hand lower down, across the tops of her 
buttocks. Meanwhile my left hand left off caressing the midriff 
area around Anna's belly button and roved up to gently squeeze 
and tweak her right breast and nipple. Until that point Anna had 
been moaning gently and returning my kisses with fervour. But 
that nipple jog was a tweak too far. Even though her thick flannel 
nightdress protected Anna's bare skin from my invasive hands, 
she clearly thought that I was getting cheeky and that I needed to 
be slapped back into line. And slap me back into line she did, 
with a stinging smack across my left cheek from the flat of her 
right hand that sent me reeling backwards. Ouch! It was hard, 
and it came sharp, very sharp.

"You insolent young cub! How dare you?" Anna fumed, and her 
eyes flashed fire.  "Go on, get out! Get out before I give you the 
sound spanking that you so richly deserve! I warn you, little boy! 
If you ever dare to goose me again I will take down your trousers 
for you, turn you over my knee and smack your bare bottom, 
hard, with a hairbrush. That's what a naughty child like you 
deserves!"

However, despite Anna's simulated anger I could tell that she 
was sexually excited, both at being goosed, and at her threat to 
discipline me. As for me, I was shamed and sexually stimulated 
in more or less equal measure. I was captivated by the feel of 
Anna's wet, delicious mouth and firm, nubile flesh, and deeply 
shamed and hurt by her merciless tongue-lashing. Now that sex 
had reared its head in the interactions between us it changed 
things forever. My humiliation entered a whole new dimension, 
as did my sexual frustration. I was shrewd enough to realise, 
however, that if I was patient, and if I played my cards right, I 
was in with a chance. I knew that I had got to Anna with my 
kisses and caresses. She had enjoyed them, and, if she wanted 
more, well, there was no other man around to supply them.

Thus things continued until February 1941. Many times Anna 
allowed me clandestine kisses and fumbles. She would lead me 
on and then, when I was all hard and rampant, she would slap 
me, push me away, and put me down with her coruscating 
tongue. She now had me eating out of her hand, like a tame 
pigeon, and I was on a hectic roller coaster ride between elation 
and despair.

In mid-February 1941 I celebrated my fourteenth birthday. The 
morning post brought a letter, with a card and a postal order in it, 
from my parents. Then, after school, Anna's mother organised a 
little party for the three of us. There was a homemade carrot cake 
with a thin filling of jam and ersatz cream, and a glass of red 
wine each. Then, as usual, we were sent to bed early, since it was 
school the next morning.

As I lay in my bed I snuggled my ears and face beneath the 
bedclothes. It was a cold, wet night, and rain was lashing against 
the windowpane. Then, I heard a light click as the catch on the 
bedroom door was turned. Next the door swung silently on its 
hinges and there, silhouetted against the doorframe, was Anna. 
She entered silently, closed and bolted the door after her and 
approached the bed.

"Bill," she whispered. "Are you awake?"

"Yes!"

"Well move over then, and let me in!"

The single bed was not wide enough to accommodate two well-
developed young people adequately so, when Anna climbed in 
beside me, our bodies were thrust up against each other, and 
firm, meaty thighs and pneumatic breasts were pushed into me.

"Thanks for the visit," I said breathlessly, "But what do you 
want?"

"Isn't that obvious?" replied the object of my desire as, to my 
amazement, she thrust her hand beneath the bedclothes and 
through the open flies of my pyjama bottoms; then she groped 
and fondled at my tumescent manhood. "I have come to give you 
your birthday present."

Oh dear! I am not so sure that I understand females any better 
now than I did then. Why, oh why, ladies, after you have long 
denied us will you sometimes suddenly decide to give us a taste 
of what we have been lusting after? Later Anna told me that this 
delicious birthday gift was carefully planned. She herself had 
passed seventeen in January; she was nearly full-grown, with the 
healthy sexual appetites and needs of an adult woman, and she 
was tired of life without a man. She craved romantic action and I 
was her only chance of getting any. She now pulled up her 
nightdress and placed my hand onto her naked vulva. Already 
her crotch was wet, and I could detect the musky smell of her 
female sex. The same smell, I noticed, was on her fingers since, 
as she later admitted to me, she had almost brought herself to 
orgasm by masturbating in her own bed immediately beforehand.

Has anything like this ever happened to you, gentlemen? Has a 
scornful lady ever relented, quite suddenly, and given you relief? 
It has happened to me two or three times in the course of my life, 
and on each occasion it has completely thrown me. By now I did 
not know if it was day or night. My caressed manhood was 
rampant and my probing fingers wet. Meanwhile, reason battled 
with lust and, as it did so, one overwhelming priority impressed 
itself upon my brain. I must not snatch at this chance. I must take 
it slowly. I must prepare my virgin well for her deflowering, and 
take her as gently and as considerately as I could. Anna had been 
a cow to me, and she deserved little courtesy. But, even so, 
tonight I would treat her with deference and respect. What she 
was now offering paid all accounts; indeed, it put me deeply in 
her debt. Well, that is what my head was telling me, but it took it 
all of its time to enforce the interpretation upon my rock hard 
fourteen-year-old cock, which by now was barely controllable.

The good news was that I managed to keep to my game plan; I 
took Anna's maidenhead beautifully, to the satisfaction of both 
of us. Even now, when we meet as an elderly gentleman and an 
even more elderly lady, we reminisce fondly over the events of 
that night. I began by taking off my pyjamas so that I was 
completely naked. Then I carefully removed Anna's nightdress 
to put her into the same condition. Then we kissed and cuddled, 
and, though she was goading me on with urgent body language, I 
refused to be rushed. Oh yes! I kept my virgin waiting and I kept 
her hot. I rubbed her, I pinched her, I tickled her and I playfully 
slapped her. Our kisses were long and deep, and our embraces 
firm and passionate. Soon wads of pre-cum were oozing from 
my throbbing member and, tickled and enticed by my eager, 
probing fingers, Anna's virgin rosebud was as hard and stiff as a 
matchstick and her vulva was dripping wet with her love juices. 
As our foreplay escalated I felt a dull, throbbing ache in my 
balls, the price I had to pay for my unnatural self-restraint.

Then I reached out of bed, and, through the darkness, groped for 
the drawer in my bedside cabinet. Inside, fumbling around with 
my fingers, I felt the smooth rubber contours of my reusable 
condom. Soon it was pulled down the length of my rock hard 
cock as I explained to Anna what it was, and the need for care 
and precautions. By now our foreplay had lasted for more than 
an hour. I remembered from the time when I had deflowered my 
previous lover, Mary, in the allotment shed one Friday evening 
in June 1940, that the rupturing of her hymen had hurt her, and 
that she had bled profusely. I had therefore been doing my best 
to prise from Anna's love channel any coating of impeding skin. 
But I need not have worried. Anna was a keen horsewoman, and 
this, together with a liking for candles and masturbation, had 
already opened her up nicely. It was a tight fit, but when my 
condom-covered cock entered her, I discovered that she could 
take it.

These snatched moments of illicit bliss, of course, were not 
perfect.  I felt like screaming in delight as I reached orgasm, but 
we had to keep silent to avoid detection, since Mrs. Stokes, 
Anna's mother, was a light sleeper. Then the old-fashioned, 
thick, reusable condom was not the ideal; it took away much of 
the sensation of skin-to-skin Nirvana. But hey! We were only 
young, and we had certainly never had anything better. There 
may have been an element of luck about it, but we both climaxed 
together, and we both climaxed hard; and there is something 
about stolen, forbidden delight that makes it even sweeter than 
the more relaxed and comfortable pleasures of a respectable 
marriage bed.

Well, from that night onwards Anna and I were plunged into 
what, I suppose, you might describe as an affair. Anna still 
enjoyed playing the dominatrix, but after I had taken her cherry 
she did so much more gently, even playfully. She still irritated 
me from time to time, and she thoroughly enjoyed doing it; but 
now I did not really mind. I knew that in the near future we 
would both be naked and together between the sheets again, and 
that soon another brisk, sharp sexual workout would make my 
lover pliable and pleasant again.

This brings me, dear reader, to the next part of my tale, and this 
features Anna's mother, Mrs. Sarah Stokes. The lady of the 
house was of dark complexion and medium height, with a neat 
trim figure. Her breasts were fairly small but pert and inviting. 
Her waist was slim and nicely tapered, her bottom big and meaty 
and her thighs and legs muscular. As might have been expected 
of a gym mistress, she was an excellent sportswoman. Even to 
me, a lad in his teens, she still, into her thirties, exuded youth and 
energy. Unlike her husband, she seemed to be fond of me, and 
she always treated me kindly. What first dumbfounded me about 
her though was an incident in November 1940. It occurred in the 
playing fields, which were shared between the boy's and the 
girls' grammar schools.

I had been playing football (or, as you Americans call it, soccer) 
for my house team. It was a good, tight game that we had 
managed to win by a narrow margin, and, after I had showered 
and changed, I was walking back to the main school buildings 
feeling pretty smug and pleased with myself, and with my mid-
field performance. I was in no rush, since our games session was 
in the morning, and there were no lessons to attend until after the 
lunch hour. My teammates walked ahead of me, and I loitered 
idly, casually watching the fifth year girls playing netball. In 
those days, girls' games attire was far more modest than it is now 
but, even so, I occasionally glimpsed with interest flashes of 
naked knees and thighs as the girls jumped up and their gymslips 
flew into the air. Unlike the more abrasive game of basketball, I 
mused, netball is a graceful pastime. The players can only run off 
the ball, and every time a successful pass is made the game is 
paused into a static tableau, like a group of dancers posing at the 
end of a sequence in a classical ballet.

Then, suddenly, my sporting conjectures and the graceful flow of 
the game were both rudely interrupted. Two girls collided and 
knocked each other over. They were both unhurt, but one of 
them uttered an indecent expletive against her adversary, and 
threatened that she would "get her" later. Her opponent not only 
responded in kind, but also decided on a trial of strength then and 
there. In the bat of an eye two big, strapping sixteen-year-old 
girls were into a catfight.

Now, dear reader, to understand what happened next you will 
need a little background information on corporal punishment in 
English schools in the 1940s. At that time physical chastisement 
was rife throughout the educational system, and it was used 
routinely, not just as a last resort. In secondary schools the boys 
caught it the worst. They were usually caned, either on the hands 
or across the bottom. The fate of the girls was much more 
variable. Male teachers in particular were often chivalrous, and 
would let the girls off, either completely or with lines or 
detentions.  Occasionally girls might be caned, and on the 
bottom too, if, for example, they fell into the clutches of a male 
or female pervert; but most teachers considered that the stick was 
inappropriate and excessive for the fair sex. Instead, if they were 
hit at all, girls were usually smacked across the bottom with a 
plimsoll. A female teacher most commonly carried out the 
sentence since, in those more innocent and courteous days, it was 
considered ungentlemanly, as well as inappropriate, for a male 
teacher to smack a young lady's bottom. Finally, during PT and 
games sessions, where there was a risk of injury, summary on-
the-spot bottom smacking of both boys and girls was frequently 
used to preserve order and safety.

Anyway, to return to our story, by now our two strapping 
sixteen-year-olds were flailing around on the grass, kicking, 
biting and pulling each other's hair. Then, suddenly, an angry 
and extremely loud voice rang out: "Stop!" It was the 
supervising teacher, Mrs. Stokes, and I would never have 
believed that so many decibels could be emitted from her 
averagely proportioned frame. The voice was both loud enough 
and sharp enough to shock the two assailants and to end their 
catfight. They both rose to their feet from the grass and looked 
apprehensively at their teacher. Mrs Stokes was incensed at their 
behaviour and the next few minutes were taken up with a savage 
tongue lashing of the miscreants that left them looking very 
sheepish, and very sorry for themselves.

"Catherine," said Mrs. Stokes to one of the offenders, "My sports 
bag is on the grass over there. Inside you will find my gym 
slipper. Bring it to me, please. Good. Now, both of you come 
here. Yes, you too, Patricia."

Next, I watched spellbound, with a rapidly stiffening cock, as 
Mrs. Stokes positioned the two girls a short distance from each 
other, and got them to straighten their legs and touch their toes. 
Then up went their gymslips over their backs. The girls were 
facing away from me, so the effect of this was to display to me 
perfectly their bare, shapely calves, their naked thighs, and their 
two meaty nubile bottoms, tightly encased in dark blue cotton 
knickers.

All this happened so fast that I could scarcely take it in. I 
certainly got the gist of what happened next, however. Mrs. 
Stokes raised the gym slipper into the air and then brought it 
round, very hard, onto Catherine's rump. It fairly whistled 
through the air before landing, with a loud ear-splitting crack, 
slap across her beknickered bottom. It struck just above the 
thighs, to the area between the vulva and the anus where the 
buttock meat was at its most plump, tender and smackable. 
Under her knickers I watched entranced as Catherine's big, 
meaty, womanly bottom wobbled, shuddered and quivered. 
Shocked and taken aback by the force of the blow, the victim let 
out a shrill, high-pitched scream. Then, over the next few 
seconds, as the initial sting was supplemented by a sharp 
tingling, Catherine let out a series of urgent, angry-sounding 
grunts: "Ngh! Ngh! Ngh!"

Meanwhile, another high-pitched crack rang out as Patricia's 
bottom got the same treatment. Her figure was more svelte and 
trim than that of her adversary, but, even so, she caught it just as 
hard, and her reaction was much the same as Catherine's. Then, 
long before Patricia's cries had subsided, Catherine's bum took it 
again. And so it went on. Catherine took it, and then Patricia 
took the same, as Sarah leant across Catherine's rump to give it 
to her second victim: Slap! Slap! Slap!! Slap!! Slap!!! Slap!!! 
_Slap!!!!_ _Slap!!!!_ The whacks seem to ring out louder and 
louder as the punishment progressed; they re-echoed around the 
field as bum flesh shuddered and the victims' shocked, pained 
and outraged cries filled the air. Each miscreant took eight slaps, 
and by the end of their ordeal the seats of their navy blue 
knickers had been well and truly dusted.

By now I was in a catatonic state. I had always been sexually 
turned on and amused by the spanking of females, but never like 
this before. I walked back to the main school building with a 
cock like a rock, and then went into a toilet cubicle to 
masturbate.

As you will have noticed, dear reader, in the USA, in Britain, 
and in Europe, the sexual protection of children is currently in 
the news. Every court case featuring a man having sex with an 
underage girl is extensively reported, ostensibly in the public 
interest, but mainly because most readers find it titillating and 
sexually exciting. In no area of law enforcement is there more 
hypocrisy and doublethink. Contrast this with old fairy tales. If 
you read the originals of stories from, say, Spain, you will often 
see that the sexually desirable princess is aged at, say, 15, or 1 to 
3 years below what is now considered adult and fair game. Then 
look at some of the old ballads. Child 2D ("The Elfin Knight") 
has an eleven-year-old girl going off to bed with a man, and a 
nine-year-old expressing a wish to do the same. Then Child 15A 
("Leesom Brand") has a twelve or thirteen-year-old boy who 
gets an eleven-year-old girl pregnant; and the girl is not depicted 
as a child, but as "a gay ladye." More recently, Nabokov's 
"Lolita" dealt with themes that were once considered appropriate 
for serious literature, but which have now been edited off the 
agenda by the new sex fascists. Hey, we are great democracies 
are we not? Any threat to free speech, whether from army 
dictators, from politically correct authoritarians, or from 
misguided, muddle-headed liberals, must be confronted; we have 
a right to write about, to debate, and to exchange ideas and 
feelings, on such questions. After all, not everyone who reads 
about death in a murder mystery is a murderer; not everyone who 
watches a Dracula film is a vampire. So why should it be 
presumed that everyone who reads about underage sex practices 
it?  Think straight, Uncle Sam; think straight, John Bull; because 
at the moment, on this one, your heads are up your arses.

On the other hand, dear reader, I do not myself condone 
underage sex, or sympathise with men who prey on young girls. 
In my view such men should be punished, and punished 
severely. But I am also saying that most people can understand 
why older men sometimes succumb to jailbait.

But what should happen to women who have sex with young 
boys? The current politically fashionable consensus seems to be 
that they should be treated equally with the men and suffer 
comparable penalties. Well, perhaps they should; but please keep 
an open mind on the question until I have finished my tale.

One Saturday afternoon, towards the end of March, Anna was 
staying at a friend's house overnight and I was alone in the 
vicarage with her mother. I had just returned from a nature walk. 
I had been caught in a torrential downpour, and I was soaked to 
the skin and frozen. Mrs. Stokes sent me to my bedroom to shed 
my wet clothes, and told me to come downstairs in my dressing 
gown. When I arrived, she sat me in an armchair before a blazing 
fire in the main living room, and gave me a large mug of hot 
sweet tea laced with a generous quantity of whisky. Then she 
herself sat in another armchair opposite to mine, and started to 
talk to me.

At the start of our conversation, the situation was difficult and 
embarrassing for me.  A vicar's wife, who was also a teacher, 
was far above the social milieu of the terraced houses of East 
London, and at first I was unsure how to talk to Mrs Stokes. But 
she was free, easy, and friendly, and, partly under the influence 
of the whisky, I soon began to lose my social awkwardness and 
my inhibitions.

It is strange what people will sometimes say to comparative 
strangers. Even more so was this the case during the War, when 
the stuffiness and formality of the middle classes could be swept 
away in the urgency of the moment. I remember how, on 
Armistice night in May 1945, a beautiful and very well dressed 
and well spoken young lady standing close to me in Trafalgar 
Square threw her arms around my waist; she then kissed me 
passionately on the lips, thrust her tongue into my mouth, and let 
her hands rove all over my body, even invading the area of my 
crotch and tweaking at my cock and balls. Then she briefly 
separated from me, hugged me tightly for a second time, and 
promptly disappeared into the night.

Well, Mrs Stokes too had clearly concluded that the times were 
too urgent for the normal social niceties. She was lonely, she 
wanted someone to talk to, and I was the only person to hand. 
Her first request, which was rather remarkable from a 
schoolmistress in those more formal days, was that I call her 
Sarah. I, of course, complied, hesitantly at first, but then more 
easily. After all, I thought to myself, us Cockney Sparrer's are 
supposed to be cheeky, chirpy, and non-deferential. (Note for US 
readers: folk from London's East End, to this day, are sometimes 
referred to as "Cockney Sparrows," since, in their stereotypical 
caricature, they are lively and resourceful, with an eye to the 
main chance, just like the house sparrow, passer domesticus, one 
of the most common, widespread and successful of the world's 
birds.)

Sarah began by telling me her life story. She was raised, she told 
me, in Bristol, where she had attended an exclusive, all-female 
academy. However, her educational career had come to an abrupt 
end; when she was 15 years old she had fallen pregnant. A swift 
wedding to her seducer (the Rev. Stokes) followed shortly after 
her sixteenth birthday, but the marriage had not been a happy 
one. At least, she concluded, she would make sure that her own 
daughter did not make the same mistake.

Sarah continued more positively. A vicar's wife did not have a 
bad life, she added. Her father had owned a small corner shop, 
and her early years had been spent in humbler circumstances. In 
contrast, the large, spacious vicarage seemed like a palace. Then, 
while Anna was small, and with the support of a nanny, she had 
attended a local college and gained a teaching qualification 
validated by Exeter University. She had also played for the 
college hockey team, from where she went on to gain several 
county caps. But, she concluded, life in a marriage without love 
was hard; or rather, she added with a girlish giggle, it often was 
not hard enough!

Sarah clearly thought that I would not get the sexual innuendo in 
her merry quip, or I do not think that she would have uttered it. 
But I did, and I was flabbergasted. From then on I felt a new 
edge to our conversation. The edge continued and sharpened as 
Sarah, having now broached the subject of sexual relationships, 
continued along the same theme. A lady needed a man, she 
concluded; Thomas had not been much of a husband to her while 
he was there; now that he was away he was no husband at all, 
and she felt bereft.

"But enough of me," Sarah continued at last. "Tell me about 
your life." As our conversation deepened and became freer and 
more intimate, we began to engage each other with long, 
lingering eye contact. Not much had happened in my life, really, 
and some of what had I at first tried to conceal. But eventually 
Sarah drew it all out of me. I spoke of my aspirations for the 
future. I was fond of English literature, I added, and one day I 
hoped to study it at college, if I could find the money. Then I 
liked football, both playing it and, when I could raise the 
entrance fee, watching our local club, West Ham United.

"What about girlfriends?" asked Sarah, so I gave her a report of 
my relationships with young females, editing out the sexual 
content and all reference to Anna.

"Well, what kind of girls do you find attractive?"

And so it went on, with our exchanges gradually becoming more 
personal and intimate, and with me becoming more and more 
engrossed at the sexual chemistry between us. I could not believe 
my luck. Here was a beautiful, mature, sophisticated and 
experienced lady showing more than a passing sexual interest in 
_me_, an unsophisticated, callow, 14-year-old geek.

"Come on, young man," said Sarah at last. "We shall be here all 
night and into tomorrow morning unless we are careful. Let me 
run you a hot bath. We need to sweat that cold and damp out of 
you."

Soon I was luxuriating in hot water and lounging on my back in 
a big, beautiful, ornate Victorian bath with large brass taps. "Stay 
in there until I tell you to get out," shouted Sarah from the 
corridor on the other side of the bathroom door. "You need to let 
the warmth suffuse through you or you will not get the benefit."

"Yes ma'am," I answered obediently; and I luxuriated in the tub 
for the best part of 20 minutes.

Then I got a shock. Suddenly, as I lay there naked and exposed, 
Sarah entered the bathroom, stood at the side of the bath and 
eyed me up and down. At first she could not see much through 
the soapy foam. But my cock, galvanised into activity by her 
presence, began to grow rock hard. Then, to my utter chagrin, it 
thrust itself above the water level, stiff, upstanding, rock hard 
and engorged.

Sarah looked at my newly exposed member with interest. Then 
she gazed into my eyes, and a twinkling smile flickered across 
her face. "I see we have company," she laughed, as her eyes 
turned back again to my embarrassing tumescence. She had 
entered the room with a bucket of hot water to maintain the 
temperature of the bath, and she now lifted it into the air and 
poured in, in one go, straight over my cock. The effect, if 
anything, was to make it even stiffer, as it was caressed and 
rubbed by the cascading torrent.

"I thought you might be getting cold," said Sarah, "But you seem 
hot enough to me!" Then she took the sponge, rubbed it on the 
soap that she had lifted from the soap holder, and started to 
cleanse and massage my chest and stomach, stopping, 
agonisingly, just short of my protruding manhood. Then, slowly 
and seductively, she turned her attention to my arms and 
afterwards, starting at my feet, worked her way up to my thighs, 
again stopping just short of my rampant member. Next, she told 
me to bend my knees and lie on my front, while she sponged my 
back and my buttocks. Meanwhile, my cock was pushed into the 
bottom of the bath, and my frenulum rubbed deliciously against 
the warm enamelled metal.

When she had finished her slow and luxuriant working of my 
body with the sponge and soap, Sarah pushed her flattened hand 
into the small of my back to hold me in position, and 
unceremoniously yanked out the plug. Then, when enough water 
had drained away to expose my bare bottom, she gave me a slap, 
sharp but playful, across my nether cheeks. "Come, on!" she 
said. "Out you get!"

By now the effects of the stiff whiskey that I had drunk in my 
cup of tea were beginning to wear off, and I was embarrassed at 
the prospect of standing erect, in more ways than one, in front of 
an older, but very attractive, lady. However, as my sobriety 
increased, lust took over and I began to see the possibilities of 
this interesting scenario. Deciding to try my luck I stood up in 
the bath, with my stiffened cock so hard and excited that it 
protruded like a stick of wood, almost flat against my stomach, 
stretching upwards towards my belly button.

"Hurry along!" cried Sarah briskly. "Step out!" And she gave my 
bum another sharp slap.

"Hey! That stings!"

"If you are not quick about it, young man, you will find out what 
stings is!"

Then a third spank really sizzled my bum.

"Aaaagh! Easy!"

Sarah's use of her flattened hand was deft and sharp, and it 
galvanised me out of the tub.

"Stand on the bathmat please. Now I am going to dry you."

The drying process was slow and seductive, and this time, to 
finish me off, Sarah rubbed dry my erect, throbbing manhood, 
stimulating it almost, but not quite, to orgasm. By now a thick 
globule of pre-cum was slowly oozing from my beleaguered 
prick tip.

Sarah herself had changed into a bathrobe, and she now stood in 
front of me and seductively undid the belt. Then she let it fall 
open, lifted it over her shoulders and dropped it to the floor 
behind her. Oh my! Naked she was gorgeous! Her trim, fit, 
athletic body did not have an ounce of fat on it, but was shapely 
and meaty in all the right places. I eyed my paramour up and 
down slowly, and as I did so I lingered over her assets. Her 
breasts were slightly pendent, but pert, her waist trim and 
shapely, and her hips curvaceous. Between her lower tummy and 
the tops of her fleshy thighs I could clearly see her vulva, dark 
and inviting, through a thick, curly, generous clump of pubic 
hair. 

Sarah gazed at me wistfully with big, brown, wide-open, come-
to-bed eyes. Then her lips confirmed the message. "Come on," 
she said gently, "Come to bed."

The nanny, who also acted as the cleaner and charlady, lived in 
the local village, and, as of Saturday afternoon, had been given 
the rest of the weekend off. We therefore had the house to 
ourselves, and we made good use of it. I used the same amatory 
techniques in seducing the mother as I had employed to deflower 
the daughter, and again they seemed to work. I held myself back, 
and I took my time, but oh wow! Despite the condom that Sarah 
skilfully rolled down the length of my erect cock, I will never 
forget that first mutual orgasm! I have never experienced sharper 
sexual ecstasy in my life, and, as for Sarah, she ended up 
screaming and wailing like a banshee from the sharp, 
incomparable pleasure that engulfed her.

The next morning we awoke early and lay in bed talking.

"You enjoy smacking bottoms, don't you?" I said, trying to 
sound casual.

"Why do you ask?"

I recounted to Sarah the incident on the hockey field, and the 
sound slippering of Catherine and Patricia, which, I added, I had 
witnessed. Sarah replied that she had not noticed me on the day, 
but that she hoped I had enjoyed the spectacle.

"Enjoyed? You bet. I was rock hard all the way back into school. 
Ouch! That must have stung! Your three hand spanks yesterday 
were as much as I ever want to take!

Thus commenced a most stimulating discussion on the corporal 
punishment of schoolgirls, a topic I have ever found interesting, 
salacious and funny. Sarah openly admitted to me that she was a 
spankophile, and that she thoroughly enjoyed the work.

"I think that Anna shares your proclivities. She once threatened 
to turn me over her knee, strip me bare and tan my hide big 
time."

I paused.

"I wonder. Have you ever spanked Anna?"

"No. Perhaps I should have done. She has a few too many airs 
and graces sometimes, and I think that she has been less that 
totally hospitable and welcoming to you."

By now, a saucy plan was slowly forming in my mind. It seemed 
a long shot, but worth a try. I abruptly changed the subject.

"I think that you are too hard with yourself over your teenage 
pregnancy. It could happen to any girl of that age."

"Well, all I can do is to look after and safeguard my own. I am 
trying to make sure that Anna does not go down the same path."

"But you cannot guarantee that."

"Oh yes, I can! For all of her faults, Anna is a good girl really, 
and she has much higher moral standards than I had at her age."

"But any lady can succumb in the heat of the moment. I think 
that, given the right circumstances, I could probably seduce 
Anna myself."

Sarah smiled archly. "Would you like that?"

"I have one lady now," I said chivalrously. "I would never bed 
another without her involvement and consent." (Liar!) "But what 
would you do if I ever did seduce your daughter?"

"You say that she threatened to tan your hide. Well, if I ever 
catch Anna _in flagrante delicto_ with you I will spank her so 
hard that she will not sit down for a week"; and Sarah, finding 
the prospect risqué and sexy, grinned broadly.

Well, dear reader, you get the picture. If her mother inflicted on 
Anna the same punishment that Anna had proposed for me it 
would be incredibly sexy, very funny, and a real turn-on. On this 
both Sarah and I agreed, and before we went to church that 
morning we had made a pact. If I could seduce Anna while Sarah 
was a clandestine observer, Sarah undertook to spank Anna hard, 
on the bare bum, with a big, broad, flat-backed hairbrush. The 
deal was that I was to be allowed actual intercourse with the 
victim as long as I wore a condom supplied by Sarah.

"But what if you intervene and interrupt me in pre-ejaculatory 
mid-thrust? Very frustrating!"

"If I do that, you can have your will of me. I agree to become 
your sex slave for the rest of my life! Yes, I am joking; but yes, I 
promise that I will keep my word." And my lover smiled 
impishly, as if she found the prospect of paying such a penalty 
exciting and far from unpleasant.

The rest, as they say, is history. Sarah did not know that I was 
regularly bonking Anna, and that it would not be too hard to 
engineer one of the bonks while she was watching. A few days 
later, prompted by me, Sarah slipped into Anna's bedroom and 
secreted herself in the wardrobe while her daughter was cleaning 
her teeth at bedtime. She was in there for more than an hour 
until, as if giving Sarah and the nanny time to doze off, I gently 
knocked at her door. Soon, Anna and I were naked under the 
sheets, locked into a lascivious embrace.

My plan, however, was not to go all the way with the younger of 
my two lovers on this occasion. Instead, I wanted to goad her 
mother into fury, so that she would impetuously discipline her 
daughter before she had been fucked. If I could succeed in this I 
was interested to know whether Sarah would keep her vow and 
become my sex slave.

The agreement was that I would reach for the condom from the 
top of the bedside table about five minutes before I attempted 
entry. This I did, and then nestled my hardened cock into Anna's 
bottom from the rear, to feel her short hairs protruding from the 
back of her vulva, rubbing against and tickling my frenulum. Or 
at least I tried to do that. But as my chopper attempted to nestle 
itself flat against and between Anna's bum cheeks, I got one of 
the biggest disappointments of my life. Instead of the lips of a 
warm, taut, hairy vulva, the base of my cock and my bollocks 
were pushed into the sharp metal spikes of a large hairbrush, as 
the flat side was pushed against Anna's naked arse.

Then, suddenly, the darkness was scattered as Sarah turned on 
the electric light. The pupils of our eyes were dilated in the 
darkness, so, for a few seconds, the light seemed blindingly 
powerful, and we blinked helplessly. To make her point, Sarah 
then pushed the sharp metal spikes of the hairbrush firmly into 
the place where my cock and balls met, painfully indenting the 
skin. Then, still pushing into me, she roughly raked the spikes up 
the full length of my engorged shaft, stopping when she reached 
the frenulum to spike me even harder, right where it mattered!

"Jeez!" I yelped, and I recoiled off my paramour in pain and 
frustration.

Before I could work out what was happening, Sarah grabbed her 
naked daughter by the hair and flung her over her knee.

_Crack!!!_ Sarah brought down the flat back of her large, heavy 
hairbrush across Anna's lower bum cheeks. The sound of the 
slap was deafening. It echoed around the room like an exploding 
firecracker.

"Aaaaagh!!!" Anna's high-pitched scream rang out almost as 
loudly as the slap that had elicited it.

Jus before Sarah had grabbed her victim she had sat down upon a 
bedside chair. She had thrown her daughter across her knee with 
her head towards the foot of the bed and her bottom pointing 
towards the bed head. I was thus in the ideal viewing position as 
I propped myself up on my pillow. The bright, naked electric 
light, shining from a powerful, 150 watt clear glass bulb, left 
nothing to my imagination as it shone down fiercely from 
directly over the victim's derrière. That first spank caused Anna 
to wriggle her bum and kick her legs, and, as she did so, I have a 
beautiful rear view of her dark, hairy vulva and of her neat, 
puckered anus. I noted that, as when she had spanked Catherine 
and Patricia, Sarah brought down her implement of correction 
slap across the undercarriage of both buttocks, to the back of the 
area between the cunt and the bum-hole.

At the force of the impact, Anna's bum shuddered and wobbled 
deliciously, and the breeze from the hairbrush scattered the 
bushy black hairs of her vulva like feathers flying fast in a 
hurricane. At first, however, the sizzling spank seemed to have 
made little impression. It took about 4 seconds for a deep red, 
livid weal to appear, etched right across the back of Anna's milk 
white, meaty buttocks. At the moment that it did so, Anna felt 
the full, escalating tingling, and she cried out a second time.

"Oh! Oh!! _Oh!!!_"

_Crack!!!_ Anna's naked bum cheeks took it again.

This second slap fell in exactly the same place as the first one, 
across both bare buttocks, onto the plump, succulent strip of 
meat between the pussy and the bum hole. The result was that 
the sting from slap number two was incrementally added to that 
from slap number one. Plump, nubile arse flesh wobbled, 
shuddered and quivered and pussy hairs flew.

Anna yelled out lustily, with all of her strength: 
"_Aaaaaaaagh!_" Then she started furiously kicking out with her 
legs as, after about four seconds, another red mark was stencilled 
into her bum, right on top of its predecessor.

Then, _Crack!!!_ Anna's butt end cried "_Spanko!!!_" to 
another hard, well-aimed slap.

It was with this third smack that Anna broke. The hairbrush 
struck yet again across exactly the same piece of arse that had 
taken spanks one and two, onto meat that was already red raw, 
and stinging and tingling sharply. The victim could not take it; 
she burst into tears, and began to blubber helplessly.

Sarah, however, was not finished yet and, after a brief pause to 
allow the meat to fully feel the previous swot, she landed a 
fourth one. This smack was every bit as hard as the previous 
three but, to give the victim a little respite from the merciless trip 
hammering, Sarah inflicted it higher up, across the middle of the 
rump, onto an area that had previously been left unchastised. 
Anna briefly left off her helpless sobs and cries to scream out 
against this latest painful indignity.

And so it went on. Wow, but Anna's bum was well smacked! 
Plump buttock meat wobbled and quivered, pussy hair flew, and 
succulent milk white flesh blushed and reddened. Big, strapping, 
nubile 17-year-old lady that she was, the victim was soon 
bawling like a baby.

Meanwhile, my own attitude towards the proceedings was 
changing. To start with, as Anna was unceremoniously yanked 
across her mother's knee, and as the first sharp crack of the 
hairbrush landed on her bare butt and echoed loud around the 
room, I was exultant; and I continued to luxuriate in my sexy and 
kinky victory until slap number three.

But when Anna burst into tears my opinion was altered. You see, 
dear reader, despite my addiction to the violent sport of spanking 
ladies, I am really quite a gentle person, and I am usually kind 
and courteous to ladies in general, and to young ladies in 
particular. True, Anna had treated me very badly in the earlier 
stages of our relationship; but she had made her amends and her 
behaviour had improved since then.

I was by now deeply concerned for Anna's welfare. Her mother 
was slapping her very hard, and with the flat back of a seriously 
large and heavy hairbrush. I recalled how sharply Sarah's three 
playful love swots had stung _my_ unclad sit-me-down, and they 
had been administered with the flat of the hand not with a 
fearsome instrument of correction. My sexual arousal was 
undiminished, still just as fierce; despite my distress at Anna's 
plight my rock hard cock was still straining upwards, pushing 
against my tummy and towards my belly button. But, after 6 
slaps, I decided to keep my options open, and also to have a bit 
of fun with Sarah. I rose to an upright sitting position on the bed, 
put my lips to Sarah's right ear, and gently whispered into it.

"Stop this when I tell you to, sex slave!"

Sarah paused, the hairbrush held high in the air. For a few 
seconds, she seemed angry and confused, but then she demurred. 
She looked me in the eye and nodded obediently.

Despite my tender feelings towards the victim, my rock hard 
cock would not allow me to call the proceedings to a halt until 
Anna had taken a full twelve of the best, six across the 
undercarriage, and six administered higher up, ad lib to the rest 
of the bum; but then I got a grip on myself and did the courteous 
and gentlemanly thing.

I grabbed Sarah's right wrist as she raised her arm, and started to 
plead urgently with her. To conceal from Anna my true 
relationship with her mother I expressed myself respectfully, in a 
tone of deferential pleading.

"Please Mrs. Stokes, that's enough! Please stop! Anna has been 
punished enough now!"

I continued along the same lines for some time, partly to reassure 
Anna that I was on her side; but at my very first request her 
mother, like a good sex slave, immediately complied with my 
instructions.

From my point of view, the aftermath to Anna's sexy 
comeuppance was gratifying in the extreme.

Anna, of course, soon twigged that I had set her up, and, when 
she asked me about it, I freely admitted as much while 
concealing the details of my intimate involvement with her 
mother. Understandably, for a couple of days or so the victim of 
my merry jape was so sore in a certain place that she failed to 
appreciate the joke; but after that she began to see the sexy and 
the funny side, even though it was _her_ bum that had taken the 
rap. Indeed, the incident seemed to indicate to me that the best 
way to tame a would-be dominatrix is to dominate _her!_ In this 
case, thanks to me Anna had felt the smack of firm government, 
and it did her nothing but good. She gave me no further trouble, 
and from then on was a very sweet, gentle, considerate and 
respectful lover. She had concluded, I think, after my dramatic 
triumph that I was a good friend, and that if she was ever in 
distress I would protect her, as I had when I had curtailed her 
bare bottomed spanking. On the other hand, as my sexy revenge 
had amply demonstrated, I could be a dangerous enemy. Anna 
got the message, and she never, ever, played Miss Hoity-Toity 
with me again. In retrospect she was also fiercely turned on by 
the way I had fitted her up. On many occasions, she relived her 
comeuppance with me, and ruefully thanked me for slapping the 
crap out of her, and for giving her the discipline that she so badly 
needed and deserved. Anna was particularly fond of talking dirty 
on this subject in moments of intimacy, of which, I am pleased to 
report, there were a very great number, as and when we found 
the opportunities for them, between my fourteenth birthday and 
the end of the war! 

I continued to conceal from Anna my ongoing affair with her 
mother, which I conducted alongside my Aphroditic antics with 
her. After all Sarah's kindnesses and generosity towards me, I 
concluded that it would be ungentlemanly of me to hold her to 
her promise to be my sex slave. But, like her daughter, Sarah was 
yet another dominatrix who was turned on by being dominated. 
Eventually, alas, in the years after the end of the war, Anna went 
her own way. She married someone else and my amorous 
relationship with her ended; but, right up until she died at an 
advanced age, Sarah professed herself my slave. As for me, I 
was a very liberal, gentle and undemanding master, but I would 
not have been a real, red bloodied male if I had not gone along 
with it.

On the weekend after Anna's spanking, for example, she went 
for another weekend sleepover at a friend's house, and Sarah and 
I were left alone again in the vicarage. On the Saturday 
afternoon, immediately after the charlady had left for her 
weekend break, Sarah bathed and went to her bedroom to 
complete her toilette. When she eventually joined me before the 
coal fire in the living room she was completely naked. She 
approached and bowed low.

"What is your pleasure, master?"

Well, the opportunity, as I am sure you will agree, dear reader, 
was too good to miss.

"Mrs Stokes," I replied in my best formal and legalistic voice, "I 
have been very concerned recently at your lack of respect and at 
your crude horseplay. I ask you, is it right to insouciantly 
administer unauthorised slaps to the bare bottom of your lord and 
master?"

"No, sir."

"Well, I am glad that you agree with me. I am also hoping that 
you will agree that appropriate chastisement is called for to atone 
for your peccadillo."

"Yes, sir."

"You are a vicar's wife, so I think that a Biblical retribution is 
the most appropriate. The Pentateuch teaches us that if a man 
steals a sheep a fourfold penalty is due; he must return the 
original sheep plus three others. Now, how many unauthorised 
smacks did you deliver?"

"Three, sir."

"And what is three times four?"

"Twelve, sir."

There was more persiflage along the same lines, but I am sure 
that you get the picture. The denouement, of course, was that 
Sarah ended up across my knee and took twelve of the best from 
my descending, flattened, right hand; I smacked her pretty hard, 
too, for a love spanking, and I made her sting and tingle.

But oh, wow, that spanking sent me into seventh heaven! Sarah, 
remember, was a superb, county standard sportswoman. Her 
body was fit and hard, and her bottom muscular, tight and taut. 
My hand made a series of delightful cracks as it struck Sarah's 
firm buttock meat, and then seemed to bounce back off with a 
delicious, springy recoil. It was quite different from the 
experiences that I enjoyed in my play spankings of Anna. Her 
bottom was bigger, plumper, floppier and more vulnerable than 
her mother's, so that my descending hand would slap right into 
it, and Anna's voluptuous derrière would passively take it, 
without trying to fight back. I have long considered which of the 
two bottoms was the sexiest to smack, and I still cannot make up 
my mind. I think that it is like comparing Claret and Beaujolais. 
They are both equally great wines; but they are different.

Anyway, after my sexy spanking of Sarah's bare bottom on that 
Saturday afternoon, firm but playful, we spent the rest of that 
Saturday, and a long time on Sunday, in bed together, naked. In 
the ensuing jousts of Venus, Sarah continued to act out her kinky 
slave-girl role. It would be ungentlemanly of me to narrate the 
precise details of the wanton and lascivious antics of this 
respectable middle class lady during that wartime weekend; so I 
will restrict myself to the more general observation that our 
sexual pleasure was intense, wild and abandoned. I will add, 
however, that Sarah was made to pay for her sharply painful 
pricking of my balls and cock with the metal spikes of that pesky 
hairbrush. She spent several other sessions over my knee, both 
during that weekend, and on several other occasions; indeed, it 
took quite a few bare bottomed spankings, playful but sharp, 
before I adjudged that she had fully atoned for her shrewd and 
effective assault on my wedding tackle! 

The same considerations of gentlemanly decorum also prevent 
me from detailing and itemising Sarah's slavish submissions to 
me in subsequent decades. When the war ended the homecoming 
of Sarah's husband, my return to London, and my two years of 
compulsory military service for a while severely curtailed our 
trysts. But the Rev. Thomas Stokes died young, in his early 
fifties, and after that things were easier for us. You might think, 
dear reader, that as Sarah was nearly 20 years older than me the 
affair must have fizzled out. But it never did, really, at least not 
until my lover was into her sixties; and our firm friendship 
continued until Sarah's death, as a very old lady. I particularly 
remember one playful bare bottomed spanking that I 
administered to my slave in the early 1960s, when she was well 
into her fifties; and the love-making afterwards was divine. 
Sarah retained her athletic physique, trim but meaty, and she had 
more than sufficient physical charms to keep me interested right 
into her old age, especially when she supplemented her love 
making with saucy anecdotes of her exploits as a gym mistress, 
and of her disciplining of schoolgirls.


(End of Part the First.)