The true story of Goldie Locques – Part 3

The story begins with The true story of Goldie Locques and continues with The true story of Goldie Locques – Part 2.

The men returned shortly from their trip to the barn. The first one entered with his cloak pulled low over his eyes and carrying a full load of firewood. A light dusting of snow finished off the picturesque woodsmen look. Big, burly and stronger than an ox. The kind of man I liked.

I tried to be helpful to the attractive older Behr, whimsically snatching the top log off his stack. I severely underestimated its weight and promptly dropped it to the floor from by single hand grasp. Each log weighted more than a full bolt of cloth and my mistake took both hands to lift off the floor and carry to the reserve next to the fireplace.

As I rose with the log, the cloaked man shook his head to reveal Wendel Behr, and not the expected father. Those eyes as blue as the sky joined his gentle smile in cutting through my emotional defenses. I could feel my flush out of embarrassment, but it wasn’t the bad type of embarrassment associated with a shameful act, rather it was that innocent awkwardness feeling of a young girl confronted by her first crush. My eyes and throat required constant watering as I stood gazing at the handsome man before me. Mrs Behr’s hand helped me break my gaze though. A quick swat to my still smarting posterior provided all the focus I needed to transfer the logs from Wendel’s arms to the reserve stack, abet one log at a time.

With arms empty I immediately tried to make him more comfortable by assisting him in the removal of his cloak and coat. Sliding the flowing cloak over his shoulders provided me with a whiff of pine, sweat and something else. The something else melted my legs while spawning butterflies in my stomach. It was so wonderful and irresistible that I had to get more. I got closer to him as took his coat, being regarded with another couple sniffs of wonder.

Mr. Behr joined us as I was helping Wendel from his coat. He also carried wood, though transferred it to Wendel all at once, rather than waiting for my piecemeal approach. I was quite glad at this choice since my arms were starting to tire, and more importantly it allowed me to admire Wendel’s exercise his strength. Why had I not noticed him earlier?

I did not have much time to dwell on the question, with Mrs. Behr immediately demanded my attention in finishing the preparations for supper. A few bowls, spoons and a large pot of porridge soon decorated the table. Alongside the table stood two long benches which served as chairs. Mr. Behr and Wendel sat on one bench, while I gingerly took a seat across from Wendel. It was hard not squirming when my bottom made contact with the hard wood, but I pride and attraction prevented me from show him anything was wrong. I am an adult lady and a spanked bottom was not very ladylike, even if he had performed such earlier.

Over dinner, the Behr’s peppered me with questions. Initially it was just simple things like what was my name, where was home, and why was I out on the road alone. All questions I had previously answered multiple times during my journey. Eventually the questions became harder, focusing on my family’s business and religion. No one had yet to ask about either subject, causing me to stumble through my lie filled responses.

During the entire meal, Mr Behr sad barely five words; four of which were “yes please” and “thank you.” Consequently, when he directed his attention to me I was startled.

“Miss Locques, you seem like a nice young lady,” Mr. Behr said. “You vocabulary and manners indicate you were brought up in a good household, where a girl is taught the difference from right and wrong, and where one is responsible for their actions.” He told me directly. “I try to run good household also. I know Wendel here said you stay here while the storm passed, and I have no problem with you staying here for as long as you wish, but you will obey the rules of this household. I doubt they are much different than your parent’s household. Do you want to continue staying here?”

“Yes, Sire,” I answered, uneasy where he was going with this line of statements. I did not really have much of a choice, and everyone at the table knew it.

“Then do you have anything you would like to tell me?” He asked.

I shifted my eyes over to Wendel, who had started to become more animated. He look nervous and also a little scared by the direction of his father’s questions. I doubt he would have been scared, had he said something about our little encounter upstairs. I had never left Mrs. Behr’s side since the trip over the table, so this was about something else. But I could not think of anything else I had did wrong. With as much confidence I could muster, I answered, “Ah…No sir.”

“I know Wendel let out some details when he said you were caught in the storm and asked for shelter. You broke into our house and he was only doing what he thought was the honorable thing, and protect you by leaving out those details.” I was playing with my hands as he revealed what he knew. “You probably even thanked his generosity with kiss.” This statement caused me to blush and I thought back to laying over Wendel’s lap in a very unladylike manner. I wish it had just been a kiss.

“Pa, she was cold and stranded outside in the storm. No one was here and she was just trying to protect herself. Please do not be mad at her.” Wnedel interrupted. I just swooned over him more as he became my valiant knight trying to defend his damsel.

“I can forgive that, the storm was coming and a city girl like you probably feared for your life. Then there is the issue of you stealing food.” How did he know about that? Mrs Behr had not said anything to him about it. I glanced in her direction and she seemed as surprised as me.

“But I can not forgive you sitting her and intentionally lying to us. I know you are not from Munich. There are no Locques in Munich. The only Locques I know of are in Hamburg,” He continued.

The older man’s glare burned right through to my soul. Unlike like the couple other times I had been caught in a lie during my journey, it hurt. I felt like I had betrayed their trust after they had been so nice. There was something in his tone that reminded me of my father when I was a little girl. A mixture of caring, compassion and disappointment. It hurt deep inside.

“When I was younger, I would do business with your grandfather when I was up that way. I do not know why you lied to us, but I you knew it was wrong.” Mr Behr paused to let the words soak in.

Wendel and Mrs. Behr craned their neck towards me at the revelation. I opened my mouth to respond, but my tongue refused to work. A hundred responses flowed through my mind, but I could not speak any of them.

Mr Behr then let the hammer fall. “You and I are going to spend some time with my strap in the barn, or you can leave this house and never come back again. After which you will be repent for all the sins you have committed on this holy day, including breaking my chair outside.”

“What? No, please!” I instinctively pleaded. “You cannot throw me out into that!” I pointed to the window where snow started to pile on the sill.

“I am not throwing you out, I am giving you a choice, stay her and pay for your sins or leave on your own regard.”

“You can’t do that to a lady!”

“A lady takes responsibility for her actions, you are not much more than a grown child.”

“But….but….but” I couldn’t think of anything else. I put up my hands like they would protect me, even though my backside would was more in need of protecting.

“I can see what your answer is. Wendel you mind lending Miss Locques your coat for a little bit?” Mr. Behr asked his son.

“No sir.” Wendel said, shooting me a compassionate frown.

The storm outside was not the only one brewing as I was dressed and dragged out the door. I tried resisting, but no one took them seriously, least of all Mr. Behr. My emotions were a complete mess; with everything from the embarrassment of my upcoming situation, to the shame of my lies to my infatuation for Wendel all swirling around inside.

Before long Mr. Behr and myself inside the narrow room adjacent to the barn. Two cords of split wood were neatly stacked from floor to ceiling along one wall while some cut boards and other tools lined the other wall. A large cutting block sat near the doors we entered while a pair of heavily reinforced sawhorses sat in front of the doors at the opposite end of the room.

“You even been taken to the woodshed?” Mr Behr asked, shaking snow from his cloak.

“No sir,” I managed to say as I was escorted towards the sawhorses. Each had a sallow curve cut into the top, presumably to hold a log in place while it was being cut. This shallow curve though was where my hips were destined to lie.

“Well, it’s a place were you’ll learn to follow the rules,” Mr. Behr said as moved one of the sawhorses away from the wall then took the coat from my shoulders. The cold air in the woodshed sent a shiver though my body. I did not have much time to complain, as he unceremoniously bent me over the sawhorse.

I stayed there looking at the dirt floor for a moment, while I my response. Should I plead forgiveness, beg for mercy or protest these barbaric actions? The latter probably wouldn’t work, though the former two might. He was a man after all.

My thoughts where interrupted when he tossed my skirts over my back, revealing my bloomers. I squeaked in protest, though he didn’t care as he unfastened the flap buttons, revealing my bare posterior. The cold air reaching such an intimate location startled me. I instantly tensed everything down there, which only reignited the previous tingling I had felt when gazing at Wendel.

“What…no..I..” I tried protesting but nothing that came out made sense. Mr Behr said something, which I did not understand due to my focus on getting my tongue to work correctly.

I have felt the slap of a palm, the wail of a hairbrush and even the bite of the junior cane, but nothing compared to the explosion of that strap. It was, well indescribable. I doubt childbirth even hurt that much.

The second stroke shot stars through my eyes. I tried to claw myself upright while I cried out in pain, but a strong hand on my lower back gently held me in place. That really messed up my head. How could someone creating such a barbarian act with that strap have such a compassionate touch? He didn’t allow me much time to dwell on the question, as the third stroke refocused my attention on my poor bottom.

I wailed like a banshee for the rest of the punishment. Something in my mind replaced the whole experience with a simple memory; DO NOT EVER DO THAT AGAIN! I am glad, because I probably would have had nightmares, even if I deserved it.

“Pa, can I take her to my room and let her rest there?” Wendel asked as he took his coat.

“Go ahead.”

Wendel lead me to his room and gently laid me on his bed. He left me there for a few moments as he left the room, returning with a jar in hand. He closed the door before asking if he could lift my skirts. I was crying to much to really answer and must have nodded my head, because the next thing I realize was my skirts were over my back and my bloomers were around my knees. I didn’t really care about modesty at the moment, especially since the cool air felt good on my hot bottom.

“Eekks!” I cried out when Wendel touched his cream covered fingers to my bottom. The cream was much colder than the air, and helped temper the fire I felt there. He rubbed it around and around, working it into the bruised muscles before getting another dose. His slow gentle motions, mixed with my emotional exhaustion and a light humming by him, lulled me to sleep.

I woke up the next morning feeling at peace for the first time in months. Mr. and Mrs. Behr treated me like their own daughter and I tried to help out as much as I could. The storm had passed during the night, giving way to a bright sun dancing across the snow covered hills. It looks so peaceful and pretty. I wished everything would stay like this forever.

Wendel spent the rest of the winter courting me, with us enjoying each others company more than once. After Christmas, Pa Behr, as I took to calling him, put me under Wendel’s care, which including teaching me the realities of a farm and providing adequate discipline as needed. After Easter, Wendel, and I made the trip north, to see my parents and for him to ask my hand in marriage. My two week journey south on foot took less than a day to cover on horseback. It was a long trip on horseback, especially since I had spent the previous evening with Wendel in the woodshed. It was not all bad though. His touches afterwards were always delicate.

Mother and father were happy to see me, and even happier when Wendel ask for permission to wed. I know father would have preferred my previous suitor, but accepted Wendel. The land Wendel brought help……


Southey flipped the page and found only water logged blurs. What about the land and wealth brought to the marriage? There was nothing else legible in the entire journal. He grabbed another book from the chest to find it filled with random recipes. The next book was an almanac. The next, a hymnal. None of the rest of the books were journals.

He slumped down beside the chest as he flipped through the journal. He had never known any of this about his grandparents. Even so, it would not help his current financial problems. He shook his head in disappointment as he looked over the books spewed about. One of the titles caught his eye, “The Works of William Shakespeare.”

The story in the journal was intriguing, what if he retold it? “The story of Goldie Locques and the Three Behrs,” he said to himself. “I’ll need to change a few details, but it could work as a child’s tale.”

The true story of Goldie Locques – Part 2

The story begins with The true story of Goldie Locques.

The boy’s parents arrived shortly after I finished straightening up the mess I made upstairs. They were the epitome of country folk, broad shoulders, broad waists and spoke slowly. Not the kind of people I normally associated with, but lately I had been doing numerous things for the first time.

The cold wind that entered with the owners snaked around the kitchen and up under my dress to bit my bare legs. the sudden chill in a normally protected place, sent a shiver through my body. I stood up to greet them as the boy took a satchel and shawl from his mother. It took a moment for either of the new comers to recognize they had guest.

“Hello?” the mother asked me first, “Wendel who is this?”

I immediately stepped forward and responded before the boy could respond. “I am Goldie Locques,” I said and for some unexplained reason curtsied before the older woman. She was just a peasant, but with their potential gratuity it felt appropriate.

“Pardon my manners, she was caught in the storm and asked to stay here until the weather got better. I couldn’t throw her out in that weather, especially on the Lord’s day,” the boy said.

“Hmmm, Where do you live, girl?” the mother asked me.

“Ahmmm, Munich,” I lied. I had repeated that same lie a dozen times in the last two weeks, but for some reason I stumbled this time.

“Munich you say? You are a far way from home, especially for a girl so young to be traveling alone.”

Why did she think I was just some child? It was like this whole family could not tell a sophisticated lady when they saw one. “I am not that young!” I said in a huff. “I turned eighteen this summer if you must know.”

The woman just snorted. “Your attitude says otherwise. You can stay until the storm passes, then you can be on your way. The vicar said it may last for a day or two, so while you are staying here, you can help me around the kitchen.”

I initially considered a witty retort, thought a slight tingle in my bottom changed my mind. These people did not know any better and I should not embarrassing them by publicly correcting their mistakes. “Yes, ma’am?” I posed it as a question in the hope she would provide me her name. Initially she seemed to ignore my request, instead focusing on helping her husband get dressed to go back out into the storm. The two men were going to the barn to check on their animals. Once she closed the door behind them, she responded to my earlier request.

“You can call me Mrs Behr. Goldie Locques? Is that English?” the mother asked, returning her attention to me.

“Yes ma’am, my grandfather came over from Sussex. He was a trader with the East India Company.”

“Trader you say? Hmm.” she stilled looked at me suspiciously. It was the same look my mother would give me when she thought I had been up to no good, but wasn’t yet sure what mischief I had created. “Well, you can wash and set the table while I tend to supper.”

I got a cloth and dampened it in bucket of water that sat on the counter. I made a couple passes over the plank table, before looking for the bowls and spoons.

“Do you know why a bunch of supper is missing?” Mrs. Behr asked, hunched over the large pot of porridge.

“” I lied. It took barely the count of ten for a guilty blush to stain my face. She had been suspicious of my answers before, but the last lie might have been too much.

The older woman turned away from the pot and glanced at me. Her expression quickly shifted from motherly caution to a hard glare. My eyes strayed towards the floor as I could already tell my goose was cooked. Why couldn’t I be good at lying like my older sister?

“Really? You didn’t eat any while Hans and I were gone?”

“No….” I mumbled. While technically true, my governess had always stressed a lie of omission was a lie in of itself.

“Hu? Speak up girl!”

“No, ma’am,” I said a little louder.

“It ain’t hard to tell that you’re lying to me. Why is there porridge missing?”

The tone of her voice told me this woman would not be manipulated by a soft small and a little flirting. What should I tell her, I asked myself. “I…I…didn’t eat it…I…hmmm…spilled some in the fire. It wasn’t my fault, the bowl just tipped over while I was looking for some cooked parts.”

“You spilled good food in the fire! That pot should have lasted two days, now we will be lucky to have enough for today!”

“Please don’t throw me out!” I don’t know where it came from, but my first thought was being tossed out into the winter storm.

“Toss you out?” Mrs Behr half laughed. It was the first time she hand broke her gruff demure since arriving home. “What would the Lord think if I did something so unmerciful as that. You’d surely die out there.”

I could feel the strain instantly float off my shoulders. Learning you will not be dying today is very stress revealing. Her next comment though instilled a different kind of stress.

“That isn’t to say you won’t wish you were died once I get done with your backside,” she said picking up a broad wooden spoon from the table next to the fireplace.

“What?” I half shrieked, half gasped. The next few moments felt like a whirlwind. The older woman took my by the forearm and planted me face down over the end of the freshly washed dinning table. The back of my dress flew up over my back while my shift slide up, until it was wrapped around my waist. With a pull of a drawstring, her target was exposed as my bloomers fell to the floor.

“No, please!” I pleaded.

“Quiet now girl, you wasted food and now you are going to get a good walloping for it.”

The spoon hand none of the hesitations of Wandel’s hand. The first spank was crisp, imparting a instant sting to my bottom. Abstractly the spoon felt like a smaller hairbrush, thought I wasn’t able to comprehend higher level thoughts at that moment.

The swats came fast and furiously, and my yelps of distress couldn’t keep up. She paddled one side for a while then switch to the other. When she moved lower, I got another burst of energy to resist the spanking. My increased wiggling and kicking did not even phase the older woman. She simply spanked on, burning up the lower sections of my bottom and the tops of my thighs.

My eyes were awash with tears when she returned to the top of my bottom to renew the sting in the areas where it had faded to a throb. At the moment it felt worst than any spanking I had previously received, though just about every spanking feels like the worst ever during the spanking. Looking back it would not have even made the top ten.

She stopped after giving my bottom a twice over with the wooden spoon. I was a crying mess, cursing myself for my earlier clumsiness and stupidity. Why had I taken so much? Why had I set the bowl on the side of the pot? Why didn’t I taste it first?

“Now girl, get the table set. The men will be back in shortly,” she said, returning to the pot.

The whole spanking was over as quickly as it started. There was little scolding or lecturing, just draped unceremoniously over the table and “walloped” as she put it. I did not know what to make of it, but I was certain that Mrs. Behr was a no-nonsense woman, and not someone I really cared to trifle again during my short stay here.

The true story of Goldie Locques

Southey flipped the latch and cast the lid of the old wooden chest open. The contents had been the most treasured possessions his late grandmother. Now it was all that he had left.

A shallow shelf greeted him, contain a dress that hadn’t been worth in a decade, the folder of legal documents relating to his portion of her estate and a well worm bible. Nothing of any actual value, he thought to himself as he wiggled the shelf free.

Setting aside the top shelf, he dug deeper, in hopes of finding some long lost treasure. Below he found half a dozen books, a music box and jewelry box. The jewelry box contained nothing more than a few old brass rings and a chain with silver cross. The cross might be worth something he thought to himself. carefully placing it in his vest pocket.

Setting the jewelry box on the floor, he next went for the music box. It was Swiss made, and even though he estimated it to be twice his age, with a turn of the handle it sprang to life. A gentle melody filled his small office with it’s mechanical tones.

Southey looked back into the box, hoping to find something of real value in the books. The first book was the ledger from his grandfather’s business while the second was a hymnal. The third book held some promise though. It had been a journal with wrote in a woman’s hand. Maybe it contained some secret family wealth, he thought wishfully.

“Dear Family,

I need to confess that I have lived a lie for many years. One day when, I’ve been laid to rest, I want you to know the truth, and not the story I have told you all many times.”

The rest of the page contained line upon line faded into obscurity by age, and a light dose of water. He flipped through a the pages until he found one not damaged by the water and continued reading.


The snow started with the first rays of morning. Having traveled all night, the potential of an incoming storm scared me. A gusting wind from the north joined the snow, removing potential from the situation. The road I traversed offered little protection to the biting shards of iciness already piercing through my shawl. I knew I had to find shelter or I’d surely die in the coming storm.

I made the top of the hill to spot a river cutting across the valley with small farm house situated on it’s near banks. Shelter at last, I thought and used everything I had to reach the house before it disappeared into the white abyss.

I reached the barn first, where a heifers and chickens could be heard inside. I hadn’t seen anyone at the house during my trek from the road, but livestock meant the farm wasn’t abandoned. I continued on, trekking through the slowly building snow drifts.

I tried the handle but the door wouldn’t budge. Knocking and yelling brought no one either. The few low windows had their curtains pulled tightly shut, preventing me from seeing anything. A small window to the left of the door, and about an arm’s length above my head lacked the concealment of its colleagues.

Below the window, a rocking chair made a makeshift step-stool. The seat creaked under my weight as I peered into the house. I could see a gentle fire going in the fireplace with a large pot suspended in the center. Inside looked warm and cozy. I tried knocking on the window pane, but still there was no sign of life inside. I tried again, this time with more force. The second set shifted the window frame as it rotated slightly around a central axis. Wedging my numb fingers under the bottom of the frame, I pulled outwards, swinging the whole frame upwards. My face was greeted with a blast of warm air. I needed to get inside.

I took one last long glance around the field and when only snow was visible I decided I would have to crawl through the window. Not a very dignified prospect for a lady, but harsh times necessitated it.

At first I tried pulling myself through the window, but it was too high and I was too week to perform the aerobatic feet. I started climbing higher on the chair, placing a foot one armrest then another foot on the backrest. Both actions were rewarded with me getting more of my body into the window, but I couldn’t quite get through the threshold. I lowered my stance slightly then jumped as high as possible. Luckily I got my chest and stomach through the window, because the cracking that came from below implied I wouldn’t get another chance. A little wiggling and I tumbled forward into the warm confines of the house’s kitchen.

I laid on the kitchen floor for a few moments, wondering, hoping, someone would come find me. The floor felt considerably more comfortable that the barn I had slept in a day and a half ago. I seriously considered just falling a sleep, but a rumble in my gut said differently.

A large black pot suspended over fire was my first stop. Inside a slowly bubbling porridge looked so tasty. Two weeks ago I wouldn’t have even considered eating peasant food, but now, it looked spectacular. I scooped out a couple large portions into a clean looking bowl and grabbed a small wooden spoon.

“Eww!” I spit out the first bit of the semi-cooked porridge. It was a horrible mixture of hard oats and milk. I sat the bowl on the edge of the large pot so I could poke around in the pot and find any softer oats. No sooner had I picked up the ladle than the bowl toppled off the pot and into the fire. I cursed by bad luck. I could have put the porridge back into the pot and let it cook, because nothing in the pot was currently ready. Returning the lid, I went to scavenge for more food, or at least a better place to rest.

I found a small loaf of bread but nothing else was edible without some serious cooking. Ripping apart the bread into bite size chunks, I explored the rest of the house. The main floor consisted of a small salon type room and the kitchen. Upstairs was dividing into two bedrooms, a larger one with a broad bed and a smaller room with a smaller bed. A wardrobe stood in the corner of the smaller room, so I opened it out of curiosity. Inside were trousers and shirts of a small man and a stack of blankets. I pulled out the blankets and tossed them immediately on the bed. I needed the rest and the bed looked like a great place. Shedding my dress, I crawled beneath the blankets and settled in for a short sleep.


“HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” a voice pierced through my dreams and pulled me back to reality. The young man stood over me for a moment before pulling back the layers of blankets to reveal my shift.

“How dare you!” I cried out, pulling a blanket to cover myself as I scampered into a standing position.

“You come into our house and make a mess of my room and you ask how dare I? How dare you!” He may have looked like a boy, but is voice echoed the depth only present in men.

I was taken back by the indignation of the accusation. No boy has ever spoke to me like that and got away with it. My anger overtook me and I slapped him. The look on his face told a progression of emotions from shock to puzzlement to anger.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” he bellowed at me, pointing towards the doorway.

“You can’t throw me out in that!” I pointed towards the lone window in the room, complete with snow piled high upon the window sill. “I’ll surely die!”

His head followed the direction of my fingers towards the window, then back at me, ending him shaking his head. “You are right. You can stay until my father returns and he’ll deal with you!”

“Fine!” I said, plopping down on the bed.

“In the meantime, clean this mess up,” the boy said as he turned to leave me alone. He had reached the doorway when he added under his breath, “And maybe he won’t take the strap to you.”

It took me a moment to comprehend what he had mumbled, and even then I did not want to understand it. “WHAT!” I yelled after him. I shuffled over towards the door to find him at the top of the stairs, “What do you mean strap to me?” I knew what it meant to my father, but this was the country, maybe it was something else. Hopefully it was something else.

He paused at the top of the stairs, pivoting on his heel to face me. “You come in uninvited, make a mess then have an uppity attitude about it. He would have taken the strap to my backside had I did that at your age.”

“My age?” I’m not sure why the slight of my age was what I took away from his statement, when the strap was much more important. “I’m your senior!”

He laughed at that statement. “You are, what, ten, twelve?”

I don’t know why, but I slapped him again for that comment. “I turned eighteen this summer. I was to be married before I left. So can’t talk to me, you child.”

I was just starting to berate him when he interrupted me, “With an attitude like that, no wonder you chased him away.”

I was taken back. I brought my hand up to slap him again but he was prepared, catching my wrist well clear of his cheek. “That is enough!”

The next thing I knew, he spun me around and delivered a half dozen firm swats to by bottom. “Ahhh, stop!” I screeched. His spanks were half-hearted, but the suddenness surprised me.

“You ain’t going to take that strap well if that’s your reaction to my hand.” He let of my wrist, allowing me turn back towards him.

He brought up that strap again. My cousins from Scotland had mentioned a strap during their last visit and warned me to watch out if my husband ever bought one. They feared it more than their mother’s hairbrush. It was not something I wanted to experience, especially from some strange man. Maybe I could trick this boy into not escalating the situation.

“Wait, I’m sorry, Please we do not need this disagreement to go any farther.”

“Disagreement?” he laughed. “After your attitude, you deserve to be firmly punished, and father will see to that.”

I bit my lower lip. It was clear, that he wanted me punished. He started to leave again, when I stopped him. “Wait, you are right. I should be punished, but it should be you. I offended you, so you should punish me.” I paused a moment to see if he’d bite but there was no reaction so I added, “I’ll bend over and you can spank my bottom with your hand and this doesn’t need to go any farther.”

He paused to contemplate my offer. I batted my eye lashes and tried to use all my feminine charms to persuade him this was the better route. The shift from hardened glare to reluctant smile was all the indication I needed. “Please?”

“Fine, but you’ll go over my lap,” he said.

Yes, I thought. A light spanking over my shift would be nothing. I would play up my distress of it with some thrashing and this backwoods boy would be none the wiser. “If I must,” I answered adding a slight pout.

He directed us back to his room and immediately took station on the end of his bed. I was guided over his lap and I settled into as comfortable of a position I could get. The shift had ridden up on the back to expose the back of my knees which caused some embarrassment, as well as a chill to run up my underclothes and dance across my lower thighs.

I laid there for quite some time without anything happening. I didn’t know if he was waiting for my acknowledgement or reassurance, but nothing happened. I guessed his emotions from a moment had already faded and he was wondering whether this was a good idea anymore. No matter, we waited in this odd position in simple, nerve-racking silence. I wanted him to get on with it, and I was about to express such when I heard a slight mumble coming from behind me.

Thap! I could have laughed at the meek attempt to spank me, but I knew better and foreigned a gentle cry of distress. This was going to be easier than I thought. His previous slaps to my backside were harder than this attempt.

He repeated the gentle tap with the other-side of my bottom and I complemented his meek efforts with another slight of distress. It took a few more taps before he started becoming more comfortable, thought barely any more forceful, with his spanks. The speed picked up, which I let him know was having a greater effect on me, even if his spanks felt more like a one-handed applause than anything my governess had dished out.

We continued our little dance for quite sometime, until my bottom felt like I had warmed it in front of nice fire and his arm was sore. I hadn’t really expected it to be this easy and actually became worried that I wouldn’t be able to fake some tears for him.

“OK, I think you’ve been punished enough.” he said, easing me up. Luckily his shyness saved me and he immediately turned me towards his back wall and got up and walked straight to the doorway. With his back to me he said, “Please get dressed and clean up my room. My parents should be back soon.”

By the time I could pick up the blanket and turn around he was gone. I smiled to myself at my good luck. I just wondered if his parents would be this easy to manipulate. Probably.

To be continued…